by Unknown
Matthew's free hand balled into a fist. 'And what would you know about it?' he demanded, as Rosemary started to squirm about in an effort to free herself. 'As far as I know, you've only met my daughter on one other occasion
'
'Two other occasions,' Rachel corrected him swiftly. 'We spoke together yesterday, remember? Before you ordered her off to bed!'
Matthew was incensed. How dared this woman stand there and accuse him of ignoring his daughter's needs, when she had never had a child of her own and obviously knew nothing about children. She hadn't even wanted a child, he remembered, with bitter loathing. All those months, when he had hoped she might get pregnant and she had been using a contraceptive. The memory was painful; it exposed an unprotected nerve.
He stepped towards her then, infuriated enough in that instant to do her some physical injury, and, sensing her father's distraction, Rosemary chose that moment to break free. With a rueful grimace in Rachel's direction, she darted off along the beach, ignoring Matthew's angry summons to, 'Come back here, at once!' and plunging between the trees that edged the lake shore at that point.
There was a moment's shocked silence, while both of them turned to watch Rosemary's departure, but when Matthew would have started after her Rachel stepped into his path.
It was a brave thing to do, even Matthew had to give her that, but he was in no mood to respond to courageous gestures.
Rosemary was disobeying him, and at this point it was the final ignominy.
'Get out of my way!' he exclaimed, pushing Rachel aside without compunction, but she was lighter than he had imagined.
Instead of making her step back, his hasty propulsion sent her sprawling on to the sand, and there was an ominous thud as her head struck a rock.
'Oh, hell!'
His pursuit of Rosemary forgotten, Matthew dropped down on to one knee beside Rachel's now still form and, laying his hand against her neck, he felt the fluttering pulse. Dear God, she was unconscious, he realised sickly. She must have hit her head harder than even he had imagined, and the realisation that he might have caused her some irreparable damage caused his heart to accelerate in horror.
He was hardly aware of Rosemary's return until she, too, dropped to her knees beside Rachel. 'She—she's not dead, is she, Daddy?' she exclaimed, her pale face even whiter than usual as she lifted her head to look at him, and he found himself giving her an impulsive hug of both relief and reassurance.
'No, she's not dead,' he declared, although his mouth was dry as he said the words. 'She's just—lost consciousness, that's all. I think she hit her head when she fell. She'll come round in a minute.'
'How did she fall, Daddy?' the little girl asked, evidently emboldened by his unaccustomed display of affection, and Matthew sighed.
'She just—fell, that's all,' he said, not altogether truthfully.
He took off his jacket, and laid it over Rachel's unconscious form. 'God, I wish she'd open her eyes!'
'I think she's bleeding!' Rosemary burst out suddenly. She pointed to the trickle of blood that was darkening the rocks near Rachel's head. 'Oh, Daddy, she is going to be all right, isn't she?
She's not going to die like—like Mummy?'
'I hope not,' muttered Matthew absently, hardly aware of what he was saying as he rolled Rachel's head to one side to expose a small but deep cut at the base of her scalp. Then, realising what he had said, he reached out and squeezed the child's hand, 'No. No, of course she's not going to die,' he repeated, with more vehemence than conviction. 'But we're going to have to get her to a doctor. And quick.'
A tear trickled from the corner of Rosemary's eye. 'You won't let her die, will you, Daddy?' she persisted. 'I liked her. I really liked her. And—and I think she liked me.'
'Don't say UkedV For a moment, Matthew's composure slipped. Putting one hand beneath Rachel's neck, and the other behind her knees, he lifted her into his arms. 'You like her,' he amended, getting somewhat unsteadily to his feet. 'Present tense.
Not past.'
It was doubtful that Rosemary understood what he was saying, but she seemed sufficiently reassured to hurry ahead of him to open the door of the Range Rover.
'In the back, Rosemary,' her father directed, and the little girl swung the rear door open. 'Now, you get in the other side and try and keep her head still. It's going to be a bumpy ride.'
Moving her had caused the wound on Rachel's head to bleed more freely, and the darkening stain on the velour upholstery spread with frightening speed. Giving her one last look, Matthew was forced to get into the driver's seat and take control, but it was difficult to concentrate on what he was doing when his thoughts were all with the woman lying so motionlessly on the back seat.
Dear God, he prayed silently, let her be all right. You know I never intended this to happen.
He drove straight to Rothmere. The house was nearer, and he knew it would be easier for the doctor to come to them than the other way about. Even so, his arrival at the house caused no small upheaval, and the situation wasn't improved when Lady Olivia appeared just as he was carrying Rachel upstairs.
'Matthew!' she exclaimed, gazing up at him from the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide with accusation. 'In God's name, what is going on?'
'Watkins will tell you,' replied Matthew, not pausing in his ascent. 'Oh, and will you ask Agnetha if she has a nightgown Rachel can borrow? Her sweater and jacket will have to come off.'
'But what has happened?' demanded his mother fiercely, but her son had gone. Matthew, with Rosemary skipping anxiously at his heels, had disappeared along the corridor that led to the west wing.
CHAPTER FIVE
HER head hurt. That was Rachel's first thought. As she stirred on the pillow she felt the restrictive pressure of something that was bound about her head, and when she lifted a curiously weak hand to explore the reasons her fingers encountered the unmistakable fabric of a bandage.
A bandagel She blinked, and found that hurt, too. In fact, her whole head ached; so much so that she didn't even have the strength to lift it off the pillow. But what was she doing lying in bed, in the middle of the day, wearing a bandage? It didn't make sense. She hadn't put the bandage on her head, so what was it doing there? Of course, her head did feel as if it was definitely not misplaced, but how had it happened?
And then she remembered. Or at least, she thought she did.
She had been down at the lake, playing ducks and drakes with Rosemary; and Matthew had found them...
A sense of dizziness swept over her at this thought, and she gripped the quilt that was covering her with suddenly sweating fingers. But even the quilt was unfamiliar, and when she cautiously opened her eyes again she realised she was lying in a totally unfamiliar bed.
For a moment the room swam before her dazed eyes, but then, unbelievably, she realised where she was. Oh, the room had changed, of course. When she had used it, it had been decorated in shades of cream and lilac, and the floor-covering had been a dusky Aubusson that she had chosen herself. Now the walls were covered with peach silk, and the rug had been replaced with a white pile carpet, but no one could alter the size and dimensions of the room Rachel had occupied when she was eighteen years of age. She was at Rothmere, she acknowledged disbelievingly. But why?
She frowned, trying hard to think, but her brain felt like a sponge. All she was certain of was that it had had something to do with Matthew—and Rosemary. She tried to shake her head and winced. Surely he hadn't attacked her for playing with his daughter?
Her efforts to bring some coherence to her thoughts were arrested when the door of the bedroom opened. She heard the sound, even if she couldn't turn her head to see who had entered.
For a moment she was tempted to close her eyes again and pretend to be asleep. There was always the possibility that it might be her ex- husband, come to see how she was, and she didn't think she had the strength to face him right now. But the figure that swam into her vision was not tall enough to be Matthew, and her eyes widen
ed to encompass the uniformed figure of a nurse.
'Ah, you're awake!' she exclaimed, with evident relief. She came towards the bed. 'How are you feeling?'
Rachel moistened her dry lips. 'Thirsty,' she admitted. 'What am I doing here?'
'First things first,' said the nurse, who was younger than Rachel, and very attractive. She slipped a hand beneath Rachel's shoulders, and helped her to take a sip of water from the glass she held in her other hand. 'There. Is that better? I must say, you do have a little more colour.'
Rachel tried to be patient. 'But why am I here?' she protested. 'What happened? What time is it?' Now that she noticed it, the pale sunlight filtering through the half- drawn curtains did seem awfully low. 'My uncle—he'll be wondering where I am.' She shifted agitatedly beneath the nurse's soothing hands. 'Has anyone thought to tell my aunt and uncle where I am?'
'Of course, of course.' The nurse was coolly unperturbed.
'Naturally, your family have been told where you are. Mr Conroy saw to that himself. And I expect they can come and see you later, after Dr Newman has examined you again.'
'Again?' Rachel's head was throbbing, but she had to know what was going on. 'What do you mean? Has he examined me already?'
'Has he examined you already?' The young nurse chuckled at her words. 'Don't you remember?'
Rachel swallowed. 'Obviously not.' She tried not to panic at the thought. 'When—when did Dr Newman examine me?'
'At the hospital,' said the nurse firmly. 'In Penrith. You don't remember going to the hospital?'
Rachel made a negative gesture.
'Oh, well ' the girl was unbearably casual about it all '—not to worry. You will. It often happens like that.'
Rachel's hands clenched. 'What often happens?' she demanded unsteadily. 'What happened to me? Please— you've got to tell me!'
'Now, now, don't go getting upset.' At last, the nurse seemed to realise that Rachel was getting really scared. 'You fell. Do you remember that? By the lake?' she prompted. 'You hit your head.'
'By the lake?' Rachel massaged her temple with a shaky hand.
And then it all came back to her. There had been an argument, she remembered that. Or was argument too mild a description of the heated exchange she had had with Matthew?
In any event, he had been furious, partly because he hadn't known where Rosemary was, and partly because when he'd found her she had been with Rachel. And she hadn't helped matters by goading him into—into what? Surely he hadn't hit her, had he? She thought there had been a moment when she had half expected he might, but then—then something had happened
... Yes, that was it. Rosemary had run away, and when she had tried to stop him from going after her, he had pushed her out of the way——
'You do remember, don't you?' The nurse's anxious voice broke into her thoughts and, wincing, Rachel nodded.
'Most of it,' she agreed. 'But I don't remember anything about a hospital. Did—did Matt take me there?'
'Actually, no——' began the girl, and then broke off abruptly as the door opened again, this time to admit a slim, dapper man, with a thin moustache and sideburns.
Dr Newman? wondered Rachel doubtfully, and then felt a sudden return of panic when her ex-husband followed the other man into the room.
'The patient's awake, Doctor.' Unknowingly answering Rachel's unspoken question, the nurse moved back from the bed.
'She remembers what happened—or most of it, anyway. And she's had a drink of water.'
'Good. Good.' The doctor took the nurse's place at Rachel's bedside, and took her limp wrist between his fingers and thumb.
He smiled at her as he took her pulse, and then replaced her arm on the quilt and folded his hands together. 'So—Miss—Mrs Conroy, how does your head feel?'
Conscious of Matthew standing behind the doctor, listening intently to everything that was going on, Rachel found it difficult to speak audibly. 'Um—sore,' she managed, after a moment. And then, clearing her throat, she added, 'When can I go home?'
'Well, not yet,' declared Dr Newman frankly, casting a swift glance over his shoulder at Matthew. 'You've had a mild concussion, Mrs Conroy. I recommend that you stay where you are for at least the next twenty-four hours. Then we'll see.'
'Twenty-four hours?' Rachel was horrified. 'But—I can't.'
'Why can't you?'
Matthew spoke for the first time, coming round the doctor to look down at her with a dark, enigmatic gaze, and Rachel licked her lips. 'Because I can't!' she exclaimed, looking at the doctor and not her ex-husband. 'Dr—Newman, is it?' And at his nod, 'I don't know what you've been told, Doctor, but I have to get back to London on Sunday.'
'In three days' time?' Dr Newman shook his head. 'I don't think so, Mrs Conroy.'
'Three days' time?' Rachel was confused. 'No, not in three days' time. Today's Wednesday ------- '
'I'm afraid it's Thursday, Mrs Conroy,' the doctor corrected her gently. 'You were unconscious for over twelve hours.'
'Tw—twelve hours!' Rachel's head was pounding now. 'No.
No, I can't have been ------- '
'You were,' said Matthew, with rather less vehemence.
'Believe it.'
Rachel could feel the hot prick of tears behind her lids now.
This couldn't be happening, she thought wildly. She couldn't have lost a whole day! It wasn't possible.
'Besides which, you lost a great deal of blood, Mrs Conroy,'
Dr Newman was continuing steadily. 'You cut your head, you see. If Mr Conroy hadn't had the foresight to bring you straight to Rothmere, it might have been a great deal more serious.'
'No——'
'I'm afraid it's yes,' declared the doctor firmly. 'Your local doctor was able to stanch the bleeding until an ambulance could be sent out from the Infirmary, and you were in a stable condition by the time you reached the hospital.'
Rachel could hardly take it in. 'I don't remember,' she murmured blankly. 'I don't remember anything after— after—'
'After I knocked you down,' Matthew finished for her tersely. 'Don't worry. I've told the doctor what happened. It was all my fault.'
Rachel steeled herself to look up at him then. 'I fell,' she said distinctly. 'You didn't knock me down. I stumbled, that's all. I—
someone stood on my foot yesterday—I mean, on Wednesday—
and it must have buckled when I put my weight on it.'
Matthew's mouth tightened. 'If you say so,' he essayed stiffly. 'In any event, you're staying here until you're fully recovered.'
Rachel wanted to protest. She wanted to say that Rothmere was the very last place she wanted to be, and that no one, least of all his mother, would welcome her being here. Aunt Maggie, for one, would be furious. She'd see it as a deliberate attempt to insinuate herself into Matthew's life again.
'I think Mr Conroy is right, you know,' said Dr Newman now. 'Wounds to the head should never be taken lightly, and, no matter how important it is for you to get back to London, you would be extremely foolish to risk your health in that way. My opinion is that you should spend at least one more day in bed, and even then you'll find that getting up is not as easy an option as you seem to think.'
Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'But—
couldn't I go back to the vicarage?' she ventured, but even before Matthew voiced his objections she had realised how impractical that would be. Aunt Maggie might not like her staying at Rothmere, but she certainly wouldn't welcome taking the responsibility upon herself.
'There simply aren't the facilities at the vicarage that there are here,' Matthew informed the doctor impatiently. 'And Rachel knows it. She—well—I imagine she feels it's hardly suitable that she should be staying here, in the circumstances, but
'
'You mean because your wife has just died?' suggested Dr Newman thoughtfully, and Matthew nodded.
'That, of course, but also because of our past— relationship.'
'I see.' The doctor nodded now. 'We
ll, I'm sure that, the present circumstances being what they are, no one could doubt the veracity of Mrs Conroy's presence.'
'No.' Matthew inclined his head in assent. 'Do you agree, Rachel?'
Her lower lip trembled, and she bit on it hard to disguise the obvious weakness. 'Do—do I have a choice?' she responded tautly. She determinedly looked at the doctor. 'And—how long do you expect me to be— inactive?'
'Mmm...' He frowned. 'Well, shall we say—two weeks?'
'Two weeks?'
Rachel fairly squeaked the words, and he gave her a rueful smile. 'At the very least, I would say,' he declared firmly. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Conroy, but I really don't see you withstanding any mental strain for some time.'
By the next morning Rachel had learned enough about her condition to realise that Dr Newman's prognosis had not been as exaggerated as she had thought. Her strength, which she had thought was lying dormant while she was in bed, had simply deserted her, and it was frustrating to find that she really was as helpless as a baby. Even sitting up to swallow some of the chicken broth that Mrs Moffat had prepared for her left her feeling weak and shaky, and she didn't argue when the nurse, whose name she had learned was Linda Douglas, insisted Rachel didn't attempt to get out of bed when she wasn't there.
'Don't worry,' she said, when Rachel expressed anxiety at her own helplessness. 'You'll be surprised how much better you'll feel in a few days. What really upsets your system is the shock.
Once you've had time to get over that, you'll find your strength will return fairly rapidly.'
'I hope so.' Rachel spoke with urgency. 'As soon as I can, I'd like to return to the vicarage.' She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She could just imagine what a juicy item of scandal this was providing for the gossiping tongues of Rothside.
The nurse made no comment as to when she might be able to leave Rothmere, but Rachel was determined to make it sooner, rather than later. In all honesty, she planned to return to London as quickly as possible, convinced that any recuperation that was needed could be accomplished equally as well in her own home.
