by Anne Mather
‘Luke’s dying?’ she choked, dragging Harley back as he would have surged outside, and Felix expelled a weary breath.
‘Not yet,’ he said honestly. ‘But he’s badly hurt.’
‘Hurt? How?’
‘His car was in collision with a farm vehicle,’ replied Felix heavily. ‘The fool driver of the combine harvester pulled into the road right in front of him. It’s lucky he wasn’t killed outright. Now, can you get dressed and come with me?’
‘Oh, God!’
Abby didn’t say another word. Leaving the retriever to his own devices, she turned and raced back up the stairs, hurrying into the bathroom. She was feeling sick again, but she couldn’t consider her own condition now.
She didn’t hesitate and tore off her kimono and nightshirt and pulled on the shirt and shorts, not bothering with any underwear.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, both Harley and Felix were waiting for her in the living room.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Felix was apologetic. ‘But your dog was threatening to run off, so I brought him inside.’
‘That’s fine. Thank you.’ Abby moistened her lips. ‘I’m ready.’
‘You’ll need a sweater,’ said Felix gently. ‘It’s cold outside.’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
Abby thought she’d never feel cold again, and, with a resigned gesture, Felix started for the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUKE OPENED HIS eyes to a blinding white light, and quickly closed them again.
His head was throbbing, and he could hear the hum of what sounded like electrical instruments all around him. The steady drip of liquid was almost deafening to his ears.
He risked opening his eyes again and saw the strip of neon in the ceiling above him. That was what was blinding him.
Why didn’t they turn the damn thing off?
Was he in a hospital? The pain of applying his brain almost caused him to lose consciousness again. But if he was, how the hell had he got here? He didn’t remember a thing after getting into his car.
The smell of Lysol and pine disinfectant was sickening and he gagged. His mouth was so dry, he felt as if all his saliva glands had given up in protest.
There was a man standing beside his bed, when he opened his eyes again. He didn’t think it was a doctor. Doctors were supposed to wear white coats, weren’t they? Unless they’d taken to wearing worn canvas trousers and sweaters. Anything was possible in this surreal world he was existing in.
His eyes drifted upward to the man’s face, and he expelled a relieved breath. He recognised him.
It was his father. But what was his father doing here? Oliver Morelli’s face looked strained and anxious, but so familiar Luke wanted to reach out and touch him.
But he couldn’t move.
When he tried, an agonising pain knifed into his ribs, and he couldn’t deny a groan of anguish.
Oliver Morelli saw his son’s eyes open and gave a cry of relief. ‘Luke,’ he exclaimed fervently. ‘Oh, dear God, I’ve been so worried about you.’
Luke stared at him. He tried to say his father’s name, but no sound emerged. His mouth was too dry, his lips too parched to form the words.
But Oliver Morelli didn’t seem to notice. ‘Do you remember anything of the last twenty-four hours?’ he asked, pulling a chair out from beside the bed and dropping into it.
‘You were conscious when they first brought you into the hospital, but then—’
He broke off as if he didn’t want to say what had happened next, and when he continued, it was in a very different vein. ‘How do you feel? Are you in pain? Can I get you anything?’
A drink?
Luke tried to speak, but all he produced was a guttural sound, and, looking alarmed, Oliver got to his feet again.
‘I’ll get the nurse,’ he said, but somehow Luke managed to get a name past his lips.
‘Ab—Abby,’ he breathed hoarsely, and his father, who had hurried across the room, turned back from the door.
‘Abby?’ he said. ‘Oh, you mean the young lady who was here when I arrived?’
Luke absorbed that with some difficulty. Abby had been here? But how? And where was she now?
Frustrated at his own helplessness, he was filled with a feeling of defeat. His head throbbed with the effort of trying to think. Once again, he attempted to speak, but before he could formulate the words a nurse bustled into the room.
She saw at once that the patient was conscious and she turned sharply to his father. ‘How long has Mr Morelli been awake?’ she asked, her tone reproving. ‘You should have come and fetched me, as soon as he regained consciousness.’
‘Minutes, only,’ said Oliver apologetically. ‘I was going to come and let you know, but—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
The nurse came to look down at Luke with critical eyes. Then she gave her attention to something that was above his head; a screen, possibly. Turning, she checked another monitor that was ticking away beside him, making notes on a clipboard she’d taken from a slot at the bottom of his bed.
As his brain kicked in he realised that there were tubes and wires attached to various parts of his body. There was something in his nose and another tube going into his mouth. What had happened to him?
After assessing the contents of the drip that was attached to his arm, the nurse frowned. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Morelli?’ she asked, repeating his father’s words. ‘Do you remember how you got here?’
Luke’s tongue pushed helplessly between his lips, and the woman nodded her understanding.
‘You’d like a drink, yes?’ She reached for a jug of water that Luke realised must have been sitting on the bedside table all the time and poured a small amount into a glass. Then, after attaching a straw, she held it to his lips. ‘Just a little.’
The water was cool and delicious. Luke felt as if he could have drunk all that was in the glass and more. But after a few sips, the nurse drew it away.
‘That will do for now, Mr Morelli. I’ll get Mr Marsden.’
‘No...’
Somehow Luke got the word out, but the nurse only shook her head. ‘Mr Marsden asked to be informed as soon as you regained consciousness,’ she said firmly.
Luke said nothing more. He was aware that for the present, his opinion meant nothing at all.
‘Don’t upset yourself, Mr Morelli,’ the nurse continued briskly. ‘Mr Marsden was the surgeon who dealt with your injuries when you first arrived at the hospital. He’s taken a personal interest in your case, and I know he’ll want to assess your condition for himself.’
She was out of the door before Luke could offer any further protest and as soon as she’d gone his father resumed his position beside the bed.
‘Do you remember anything about the accident?’ he asked anxiously.
And Luke, who had been wondering why he’d needed a surgeon in the first place, was suddenly thrust back to the moment when he’d realised the heavy farm vehicle, lumbering out of the field, wasn’t going to stop.
The memory of what had happened slammed into him with the force of a freight train. His brain suddenly felt as if it were exploding, pain radiating to every part of his skull. Blood throbbed in his temples, and his heartbeat accelerated. He felt again the horror of what he’d had to face.
His eyes closed, and this time he didn’t try to open them. He thought he heard his father utter a cry of protest. But all he could do was give in to the pain, and pray for blessed relief.
* * *
Abby sat in the waiting area attached to the intensive care unit of the hospital and wished she knew if Luke had regained consciousness yet.
She hoped so. Oh, God, she hoped so.
When she’d first seen him, she’d bee
n horrified, sure that Felix hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that Luke was in a critical condition after the accident.
He’d still been covered in blood when she’d been allowed to enter the trauma unit, and all she could do was pray that the paramedics, who had airlifted him to the hospital, had got to him in time.
And he had been conscious at that time, asking for Abby, as Felix had said. When she’d appeared at his bedside, he’d recognised her instantly, grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips.
‘Love you,’ he’d said, his voice barely recognisable. And Abby had turned her fingers until they were grasping his, uncaring that they were soon as covered in blood as his were.
‘Oh, Luke,’ she’d whispered brokenly, wishing there were something she could do to ease his pain. ‘I love you, too.’
But he hadn’t responded. The nurses in the trauma unit had already been telling her she must wait outside, and Abby had realised Luke hadn’t heard a word she’d said. He’d lost consciousness the moment after he’d spoken those words to her.
Had he even known she was there? She didn’t know, and no one had bothered to tell her. She’d just been shunted into the corridor and told to find the waiting area.
Her only comfort had been Felix, who had been pacing about the room where relatives and friends were expected to wait.
He’d seen her tear-stained face, and had immediately come to give her a hug. ‘He’ll make it,’ he’d told her gruffly. ‘Luke’s a tough customer. No old combine harvester’s going to beat him.’
‘That’s not what you said before,’ Abby had reminded him, sniffing back her tears. ‘Oh, Felix, I feel so responsible.’
‘Why?’
Felix had been so sympathetic that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from telling him about the row they’d had before Luke had left the apartment.
Somehow, she’d managed not to mention the baby. That was something Luke would have to tell him if—when—he recovered.
Of course, Felix had reassured her that she was blaming herself unnecessarily. As far as he knew, Luke hadn’t been driving recklessly, as he might have been if he’d been in a bad frame of mind. He’d simply been going to see his father, before driving back to London.
‘The accident could have happened to anyone,’ he’d said gently. ‘Try and relax. We may have some time to wait.’
Luke’s father had arrived a few minutes later. He’d come into the waiting room looking dazed, and Felix had immediately gone to speak to him.
There’d been a whispered conversation, during which the older man had cast a questioning look in Abby’s direction. She’d guessed he was asking who she was and Felix was telling him.
Then Felix had accompanied him along the corridor to the ICU.
Felix had eventually returned alone, and for the next few hours they’d sat mostly in silence, only exchanging an occasional word, each occupied with their own thoughts.
The following morning, a doctor—she didn’t know his name—had come to inform them that Luke was in a coma. He’d said they shouldn’t worry about it; that the doctors were doing all they could to relieve his pain. He’d said he would let them know as soon as the patient was conscious again.
Apparently unaware that Abby’s face had lost all colour, he’d then suggested they should go home and get some rest. He’d said he’d phone them if there was any news.
Abby hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital. She’d been afraid that something terrible might happen if she wasn’t there.
But Felix had reminded her that she couldn’t stay in the waiting room indefinitely. And Harley was at home, waiting to be fed.
But that had been three days ago now. And, although she’d gone through the motions of caring for Harley, putting notices out that the café would be closed for the foreseeable future, reassuring her neighbours that she wasn’t ill, but that a close friend was, her heart had never been in it.
She’d phoned the hospital constantly. But, as she wasn’t a close relative, their information had been impersonal at best. Felix had given her his number, thank goodness, and she’d been able to phone him for news. He’d proved a tower of strength, assuring her that Luke’s condition hadn’t deteriorated. That he was progressing as well as they could hope.
The coma, however frightening it sounded, was allowing his body to mend. He was receiving the very best treatment and everything that could be done for him was being done.
Which hadn’t done a lot to improve Abby’s sleeping habits.
When she’d slept at all, it had been fitful, filled with horrific dreams of Luke colliding with the huge farming machine.
It hadn’t helped to hear from Felix that the driver of the combine harvester was being charged with dangerous driving. It didn’t do anything to improve Luke’s injuries, which even she, with her limited knowledge, had realised must be very serious indeed.
So she’d come back to the hospital, hoping that, as she was there, she might be allowed to see the patient. But so far, she’d had no success. The nurses were polite but firm, and she didn’t have Felix to turn to because he was attending to other matters. She hadn’t even been allowed a glimpse of Luke through the windows of the ICU.
A man appeared in the waiting-room doorway at that moment and she realised it was Luke’s father. She hadn’t seen him since that first night at the hospital, when he’d turned up looking as if he’d just got out of bed.
She’d probably looked the same, she conceded, remembering her panic when Felix had come to fetch her. But she’d had more time to attend to her appearance today, and so had he.
He looked at her consideringly for a moment, and then said, ‘It’s Abby, isn’t it? Felix didn’t introduce us, but he tells me Luke asked for you. I’m Oliver Morelli. Luke’s father.’
Abby rose to her feet, her heartbeat quickening at the memory of Luke’s choked words. ‘Yes,’ she said, shaking the hand he held out to her. She paused. ‘This must have been a terrible shock for you. It’s been a terrible shock for all of us.’
‘Yes.’ Judging by the haggard lines around the older man’s eyes, he wasn’t sleeping very well either. He frowned. ‘Have you seen Luke this morning?’
‘I haven’t seen him since the night he was brought into the hospital,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not a relative, you see. Just—just a concerned friend.’
‘Really?’ Oliver Morelli frowned. ‘Don’t you own one of the businesses in South Road?’
‘Well, yes—’
‘Oh, dear.’ Oliver grimaced. ‘I seem to remember that Luke told me the tenants had organised a petition against that development. I’m sure he could do without any more stress now.’
‘I had nothing to do with the petition,’ said Abby defensively. ‘And I’m certainly not here because Luke plans to develop the site where my café stands.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Oh, well, I suppose that’s something,’ he said. And then, rather sadly, ‘I doubt if Luke even remembers the development at present. I must go and speak to his doctor. Marsden said he might have some news for me today.’
Abby caught her breath. ‘Could I come with you?’
Oliver Morelli looked doubtful, and she was sure he was about to refuse.
But then his expression changed. ‘Well, he did ask for you again, on the one occasion he regained consciousness,’ he admitted, shocking her completely. ‘You didn’t know that?’ This because she swayed on her feet and he reached out to save her. ‘Oh, yes, yours was the first name on his lips when he opened his eyes.’
He helped her regain her balance, and then added ruefully, ‘Unfortunately, he lost consciousness again soon after.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SUITE OF rooms Luke was occupying was as tastefully furnished as the rest of the house.
The sitting area
was large, with lots of flowers decorating every surface. Abby guessed they were from well-wishers, and wished she’d thought to bring some flowers herself.
She’d stopped to admire them when Mrs Webb indicated she should go through to the room beyond.
‘I’ll fetch some tea in a little while,’ she said. ‘You go ahead now. Luke’s waiting for you.’
The room that opened off the sitting area was Luke’s bedroom. And it was much more austerely furnished. Although it was just as spacious in size, the quilted spread and curtains were a subtle bronze in colour, and there were few paintings on the silk-hung pale green walls.
There were no flowers here, just a huge Turkish rug that covered most of the floor, its many vivid colours adding opulence to what was otherwise a fairly spartan room.
Abby thought at first that Mrs Webb had made a mistake; that Luke wasn’t in the room. Although the huge bed had evidently been slept in, there was no sign of its occupant.
And then she saw him, sitting on the window seat. She saw bare feet below loose-fitting drawstring sweat pants, a tight-fitting black tee, and one bare foot propped casually on the sill beside him.
He looked pale, and much thinner than he’d been before the accident. But he still possessed that almost indefinable magnetism that not even the puckered scar, angling down his cheek from just below his eye, could dispel.
She could see the bulge of padding from the bandages that encased his leg and upper thigh beneath the soft fabric of his sweat pants. One forearm, too, was covered with a dressing, which it hadn’t been so easy to disguise.
She knew there’d been internal injuries—for one thing, his father had told her, they’d had to remove his spleen. There’d been a couple of broken ribs, one of which had punctured a lung. But, according to his surgeon, he was definitely on the mend.
There was no sign of his father now, however, but Felix, who had apparently been keeping Luke company, grinned when she came into the room.
‘Yo, Abby,’ he said good-humouredly, and Luke turned to give him a warning look.
