‘He earned a good salary as a doctor – in both public and private practice - but it meant, in the end, that he had more to fritter away,’ Carrie finished.
‘So, I’m not the only one with a gambler in the family,’ Morgan said.
‘You too?’
‘My brother.’
‘It’s tough, isn’t it?’ Carrie said, and Morgan nodded. ‘It’s an addiction. Not an addiction like alcohol and cigarettes that eventually shows in your face, but an invisible addiction. An illness, I suppose.’
Carrie had been sent on a counselling course by her doctor – not long after her father’s death to try and understand what it was that had made him gamble, but she doubted she ever would.
‘But a bloody expensive one!’ Morgan said – anger at how his brother’s gambling had affected him in his voice.
‘Yes. I was taken out the private school I was at when Dad could no longer pay the fees. I went to the local comp. Gambling killed my father in the end. It was an open verdict, but … well, I don’t have to say it, do I?’
There – it was out in the open. Or almost. Suicide. She hadn’t been able to talk about it before, but with Morgan and his shared experience of having a gambler in the family, it seemed easier somehow.
Morgan slid his chair along the floor until he was close to Carrie. He put his arms around her, pulling her head down onto his shoulder.
‘Gambling killed my brother in the end, too – too much time spent in casinos drinking too much brandy. He was well over the limit the night he and Georgina crashed the car.’
Carrie saw him glance at the kitchen clock and then quickly away again. Were they both thinking the same thing – that somehow it had all got too much for Louise and … no, Carrie wasn’t even going to think it.
‘I’ll ring those numbers again,’ Morgan said, going to the phone in the hall.
He came back shaking his head – no one called Louise Fraser had been admitted anywhere.
‘You’d better go,’ Carrie said. ‘You’ve got an early flight.’
‘It’ll wait,’ he said.
‘Flights don’t wait, Morgan.’
Carrie hurried to the window and peered out, but there was still no sign of her mother.
‘No, no,’ Morgan said. ‘Of course they don’t.’
‘Then go. Thanks for helping – I really appreciate it. But you haven’t said why you rang. Why did you?’
‘Come away from the window and I’ll tell you – you aren’t going to make Louise suddenly materialise by staring out into the dark.’
‘I know,’ Carrie said. Morgan was holding his hand out towards her.
‘Come on. Come here.’
Carrie slipped her hand into his and let herself be led from the window.
‘I only rang to thank you for coming out in the dinghy with me,’ Morgan said. ‘And to say I hope you’d have a good weekend, whatever it was you were going to do.’
‘But now it’s not good,’ Carrie said.
‘So, I’ll wait until it gets better,’ Morgan said. He pulled Carrie to him, and kissed her gently on the lips – another feathery kiss, almost platonic, yet it was the sort of kiss Carrie needed right at that moment. She put her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to him, needing his comfort, needing his caring.
And that’s how her mother found them when she opened the back door.
‘Carrie!’
‘Mum!’
It was hard to say who had the bigger surprise – Louise to find her daughter in a man’s arms when she’d been pretty certain Carrie hadn’t been seeing anyone, or Carrie to see a man she’d not seen before holding her mother’s hand and gazing adoringly at her.
Chapter Seven
‘Mum, he was holding your hand!’ Carrie said.
‘Well, of course he was, darling,’ Louise said. ‘He was helping me up the path.’
‘From where?’ Carrie asked.
‘A concert. At St. Andrew’s. To raise funds for a public sculpture.’
‘And you didn’t think to leave me a note?’
‘Well, I did think about it, and I started writing one, but then I thought I’d have been back before you arrived …’ Louise’s voice trailed away and she smiled to herself.
‘But you weren’t?’
Carrie struggled to keep jealousy that her mother had obviously had a better time than she had out of her voice.
‘No. There was coffee in the chancel so we stopped for that. Then Paul suggested a glass of wine on the way back. You know how these things happen.’
Again that little smile to herself and Carrie thought, well, things might have happened like that for me once, but not for quite some time. And to think she’d turned down a trip to Cannes with Morgan!
‘And you completely forgot I’d said I’d call in?’
‘Yes … I mean no, I didn’t forget exactly. But everything was all rather last minute. Paul brought me my lunch as usual and I happened to have Mozart on the radio, and he mentioned the concert on this evening. We had an interesting conversation about Mozart and then he asked if I’d like to go to the concert. So I did. I took longer than I thought I would to get ready – you know a shower and changing my clothes and everything. But it was all worth it because the concert was rather good actually.’
‘And you didn’t take your chair. You never go anywhere without it normally.’
‘I know. But it wasn’t far from the car park. Paul said he’d help.’
‘But you hardly know him!’
‘I could say the same of you and the man you had your arms wrapped around!’
‘I was worried, Mum,’ Carrie said. ‘Morgan rang the hospital and the police for me – twice. He was just being kind.’
‘Hmm,’ Louise said. ‘The way he was looking at you …’
‘Was probably much the way Paul was looking at you!’
‘Darling, let’s not argue,’ Louise said.
‘I’m not arguing,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m glad you’ve had such a lovely time, but you gave me a scare.’
‘I know that now. And I’m sorry,’ Louise said. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Carrie said. ‘Morgan made me so many cups of tea I’m in danger of drowning in it. Tell me what you want to eat for the weekend and then I’ll go.’
‘Ah …’ Louise said. She fiddled with the silk scarf at her neck, loosening the knot, then tightening it again.
‘Ah what, Mum?’
‘Um … Paul’s taking me bird-watching tomorrow. We’re going to take a picnic.’
‘Bird-watching?’
‘Yes. Along the canal. In my wheelchair in case you’re worried I have to stand around too long. And then on Sunday he’s invited me to lunch at the Turf Lock Inn. So—’
‘So I’m pensioned off?’ Carrie interrupted.
‘I thought you’d be glad to be released from your duty for a while.’
‘It’s not a duty, Mum! I do it because I want to, you know, for all you did for me when Dad died and because of your arthritis.’
Carrie felt her emotions welling up again. It had been a worry wondering where Louise was. And Morgan turning up and being so kind had touched her. And he’d kissed her again – another platonic kiss, but in the circumstances it was all she had needed. She wondered just what his kisses might be like if he were to let his emotions run away with him.
‘I know, darling, I know,’ Louise said. ‘You’ve been more than wonderful to me – I couldn’t have wished for a better daughter. And, perhaps, I’ve rather taken advantage of that. But now … well, now maybe it’s time we both moved on a little? Perhaps you could see Morgan this weekend.’
‘No can do. He’s flying to Cannes in the morning.’
‘Ah, but you’d like to go with him?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to. But he has asked you, yes?’
‘Yes,’ Carrie said.
‘Well ring him and tell him you’re free to go now,
darling. You’ve been on your own far too long.’
‘You sound as though you’re trying to get rid of me!’ Carrie looked mock-outraged. And then another thought occurred to her – might Louise want Paul to stop the night? Her mother was barely sixty, for goodness’ sake – still young enough to have sex if she wanted to … in fact for all Carrie knew, that was exactly what she was having every weekday when Paul brought lunch. The thought made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. Jealousy, she reminded herself, is not a healthy attribute to have.
And then another thought occurred to Carrie – if she did ring Morgan and he could get her on the same flight, might the fact she was looking so keen mean he would expect sex with her as a given?
‘The phone, Carrie?’ Louise said, smiling at her.
Carrie shrugged.
‘I don’t know that it would be a good idea.’
‘You can’t let one bad apple put you off apples for life, darling,’ Louise said.
Her eyes were glittering with happiness, Carrie noticed. Just what, she wondered, had occurred between Paul and her mother, and when and where, and how often? And why hadn’t she noticed before?
Carrie shrugged again, but said nothing. What could she say? What is sex like with a new man after so long a time without, Mum? No, she could hardly say that. And yet it was what she most wanted to know.
‘Phone him, Carrie.’
‘When I get back to my flat,’ Carrie said, gathering up her jacket and her bag. ‘Maybe.’
Back at her flat, Carrie searched drawers looking for her passport – if she could find it she would ring Morgan and ask if she could join him after all. It would be good to see Gen again, and meet Jean-Claude. She regretted the years she’d wasted letting their friendship drift to birthday and Christmas cards and the occasional e-mail. She knew, in her heart of hearts, it was Gen who had kept the friendship alive more than she had. And she had so much to thank her friend for in getting her the commission for Oakenbury Hall.
Damn, where was the thing?
Then a thought struck her – what was the likelihood of getting on the same flight as Morgan even if she did find it? Probably nil. And if she couldn’t, would she get one in time to make going all that way worthwhile?
Decisions, decisions. But there had been something about the look of pure happiness on her mother’s face that someone – in this case Paul – cared for her, and cared enough to cope with her handicap, that had Carrie scrolling through her phone book for Morgan’s number. Carrie wanted that pure happiness for herself – life couldn’t be all work, as it had been up to now. Her passport had to be here somewhere – she’d carry on looking until she found it.
Even if she couldn’t find happiness with Morgan, at least if she went to Cannes she might find out who the mysterious woman he was wanting to have babies with was. And then she could get him out of her life – move on and seek that happiness elsewhere.
But every time Carrie pressed ‘call’ all she got was Morgan’s answerphone service on his mobile. And when she rang the landline the engaged tone purred in her ear every time.
Ah well. Carrie shrugged. Obviously a trip to Cannes wasn’t meant to be.
Carrie didn’t sleep well. She dozed off at last just as it was getting light again. And then she was jerked into wakefulness by a knock at the door.
‘Who on earth …?’
Carrie stumbled from bed, grabbed a robe and slipped into it, pulling it around her without bothering to fasten it properly. She’d see who it was and then get back to sleep.
Putting the security chain on, Carrie opened the door.
The postman stood there grinning at her. She pulled her robe more tightly round her but realised she’d have to take the security chain off and open the door to take in the large package being held out towards her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the package. It was the fabric samples and trimmings she’d sent for, to add to her work book to show potential clients. There might be something inside suitable for Morgan’s nursery. Apple green perhaps.
And then she saw the car, parked by the kerb at the end of her garden path. A sleek, low, sports car. Vintage. Now who would own a wonderful car like that around here? she wondered.
Someone was sitting in the driver’s seat, head bent low over the steering wheel. As though whoever it was had dozed off. Longish fair hair that curled down the side of the neck. Male. Morgan. Oh my God, what was he doing here?
Clutching the package, Carrie walked, barefoot, down her garden path. She opened the gate slowly, and for once it didn’t squeak. Was Morgan all right? He hadn’t noticed her walking towards him. Perhaps he’d been there all night and was asleep?
Tentatively, Carrie tapped the glass.
Morgan jerked awake, leaping in his seat so that this head hit the roof lining of the low-slung car.
‘What are you doing here?’ Carrie said.
Morgan frowned – obviously he hadn’t been able to hear her through the glass and couldn’t lip-read. He wound the window down – a hand lever Carrie noticed.
Carrie bent down so that her head was level with his.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Er, missed my flight,’ he said.
‘And you’ve been here ever since waiting for me to get up?’
‘Something like that,’ Morgan said.
‘Oh God, and it’s all my fault!’ she said. ‘All that fuss over my mother and she was out on a date, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Looked like she’d had a good time,’ Morgan said.
‘Better than we did,’ Carrie replied. ‘Well, apart from, you know, when you comforted me and, um …’
‘Kissed you?’
Carrie pressed her lips together and nodded. She so wanted to kiss him again, but as she was only partly dressed, and outside on the pavement in view of the neighbours should they be up and peering out of their windows, she thought she’d better not.
‘I was happy to help,’ Morgan said. ‘With or without the kiss.’
‘But now you’ve missed your flight. I’m sorry. I’d ask you in but …’
‘You’ve got someone there?’
Carrie thought he looked really upset that this might be the case.
‘No … it’s just that, well, I’m not the tidiest of people on my home patch. I’m not a very good ambassador for my trade, I’m afraid.’
‘I won’t look,’ Morgan said. ‘If you’ll just stand back, I’ll get out. Legs are a bit stiff.’
‘Follow me,’ Carrie said, doing as she was told.
She ran back up her path.
Once inside, Carrie raced around like a headless chicken plumping up cushions, clearing magazines and newspapers and fabric samples off the couch so Morgan could sit down. He seemed so large in her tiny flat. So very out of place. But what else could she have done really but ask him in, seeing as it was her fault he’d missed his flight?
‘I’ll put the kettle on and then get changed,’ Carrie said, pulling her robe tightly around her. Oh my God, had it been gaping that much all the time she’d been talking to him, bent down on the pavement by his car?
‘No rush,’ Morgan said, grinning at her.
Just for a moment Carrie allowed herself to imagine who it might be Morgan was thinking of having babies with, but then told herself firmly that it was time she put herself first for a change. And Morgan was here with her and not with whatever-her-name-was, wasn’t he? His choice. Or was it? Was he here only because he’d missed his flight?
And then she fled to the bathroom, showered rapidly and towelled herself roughly, before dressing in jeans and a black and white polka-dot blouse.
Carrie ran down the hall towards her sitting room, running a brush through her hair as she went. Then the smell of strong coffee hit her. Carrie pivoted around and back towards the kitchen.
‘Pardon me for taking liberties, but I thought I’d make a start on coffee.’ Morgan beamed at her. ‘I know how long it takes a woman to get ready.’
>
‘I’m sure you do,’ Carrie snapped.
She didn’t want to know how many women Morgan might have woken up with, might have made coffee for – not right now she didn’t; all she wanted to do at that moment was take Morgan back to bed with her for some nice, long slow love-making. And then she remembered she was right out of the habit of love-making and would probably move at the wrong time and come across as a spinster of long-standing.
‘Not that you’ve taken very long.’
‘I never do,’ Carrie said. ‘And, trust me, the mother of your children won’t take very long either once your nursery is fully functional. Although I expect you’ll be having a nanny.’
Best remind him of that right now before she did something – like slide her arms around his neck and kiss him long and slow and deep.
‘That,’ Morgan said, taking two mugs down from their hooks under Carrie’s one and only pair of wall cupboards, ‘will depend on what the mother of my children wants. Now then, if you point me in the direction of the bread bin, I’ll make toast.’
‘Oh, but you don’t have to. I can do that.’
‘Oh, but I will. It’s the least I can do for inviting myself in and making you rush when I’m sure that was the last thing you wanted to do. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything today? You know, responsibilities?’
‘My mother,’ Carrie said, ‘seems to have absolved me of them with someone called Paul.’
‘Ah. In that case, after we’ve had breakfast, perhaps you could throw a few things in a bag and we’ll catch that flight after all?’
Oh yes, please, Carrie thought. Then I’ll be able to quiz Gen or generally just keep my eyes and ears open to find out who this mysterious potential mother of Morgan’s children is and get him out of my system once and for all.
‘Um …’ Carrie said.
‘You haven’t got any excuses left, Carrie,’ Morgan said, his face serious. He’d found the bread bin all on his own and was cutting great doorsteps for toast.
‘Oh yes, I have,’ Carrie said. ‘I can’t find my passport.’
‘I’ll help you find it,’ Morgan said. ‘Is there anywhere you haven’t looked?’ He glanced around the room and grinned. ‘You seem to have been pretty thorough in your searching.’
Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit) Page 32
