by Liz Fielding
The doorbell began to ring. A long, urgent blast that sent her flying to the door. It was Catherine.
‘Tell me,’ she demanded.
‘I tried to get to you before the damned news…’
‘Tell me, Catherine!’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t due to come home for another six weeks but he sent an urgent e-mail telling me to book him a flight and apparently left camp straight afterwards. He never arrived…’
Fran sank on to the bottom of the stairs. ‘I begged him not to go.’
Catherine joined her, putting her arms around her. ‘It’ll be all right. He’s tough as old boots.’
‘He’s not bullet-proof.’
‘He’s no use to anyone dead, Fran. If the rebels have him they’ll want to negotiate.’
‘And how long will that take?’ Months. Years. ‘What the hell is he doing there risking his life?’ Then, ‘I wish I’d told him about the baby. I wish I’d told him that I love him.’ She looked at Catherine, pleading for understanding. ‘I should have told him that I love him…’
The sound of the stair-lift announced the arrival of Matty. She took one look at them and said, ‘I’ll go and make some tea.’
‘Tea? Where’s your bottle of Scotch when we need it?’
‘Safely downstairs where it won’t play havoc with your blood pressure. Go and put your feet up—’
‘Don’t treat me like an invalid!’ The phone began to ring and she leapt up before Catherine could beat her to it and snatched it up. ‘What?’
‘Francesca…’
‘Guy…’
She could scarcely hear him, his voice breaking up, too distorted to be recognised. But it had to be him. No one else called her Francesca. It was the one word that came through whole and unbroken as the poor connection stuttered and hissed so that all she caught were fragments that she had to guess at.
‘Okay… Home…’
Words that tortured her and she cut them short. ‘Guy, I don’t know what the devil you’re saying so stop wasting time talking and get back here! Right now! Do you hear me?’
And then there was nothing. Only an echoing silence. Had he hung up? She stared at the phone in horror.
‘That was Guy? Is he okay?’ Matty demanded. ‘What did he say?’
‘He rang me…’
‘Who else would he ring, idiot…?’ Catherine was grinning. Why was she grinning?
‘I don’t believe it. He rang me and I shouted at him. How could I do that? I was going to tell him that I love him…’
For two days she wouldn’t go out, but remained glued to the television. Never moved out of reach of a telephone. Waiting for him to call again. Waiting for news. There was plenty of it, but most of it was confused, contradictory. He was still a prisoner. The rescue helicopter had been brought down. He had never been kidnapped but was simply lost somewhere. He’d been shot—
All she had to hang on to was his voice, her name in the ether…
‘Fran?’ She looked round. ‘We’re going now,’ Connie said. ‘You going to be all right?’
‘Going?’
‘Toby has a birthday party with his friend.’
‘Oh, yes…’ She forced herself away from the television. ‘Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. Have you got money for the taxi? A present? You’ll be good, Toby, won’t you? Remember to say thank you.’
‘Maybe you should go,’ Connie muttered darkly. ‘Baby could do with a change of scene.’
Baby needs his daddy, she thought, looking back at the television.
‘We’ll be home about six.’
‘Have a good time,’ she said. Then, ‘Damn!’ as the front door slammed shut.
Angry with herself, she turned off the television, got to her feet. Guy might not be rescued for months. Was she planning on spending every hour in front of the television in case there was the slightest snippet of news? It was the last thing he’d want. Catherine would let her know the minute anyone heard anything and in the meantime there were a hundred things that needed doing. She still hadn’t settled on the final layout for the slender catalogue that was going to be mailed out to all their customers, as well put as an insert in one of the Sunday supplements.
It was going to cost a fortune. It had to be right.
She caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. What a wreck. She needed to take a shower, wash her hair, change. Get her mind back on the job. On her family…
But when she opened a drawer, searching for underwear that would stretch around her expanding belly, she found herself staring at the tiny silk box that contained the wedding ring Guy had put on her finger and she opened it.
The simple circle of gold gleamed rich and warm and she picked it up, slipped it on to her finger, felt…comforted. As if he were closer. And, instead of working on her catalogue, she went across to the newly decorated master bedroom where the few possessions he’d packed up and removed from the apartment had been placed, waiting to be unpacked.
She opened a large, old-fashioned leather trunk and began putting away his things. Shirts. Sweaters. Suits. She lifted up the sleeve of the one he’d worn at their wedding, touching it to her cheek.
Put his shoes on the racks. His socks and his underwear in drawers.
An affirmation that he would soon be home.
The box contained sealed packets of personal papers and she stored them in the lowboy. Then took out a large padded envelope that had been sent to Steven. Opened. Marked ‘Return to Sender’. And nothing on earth could have stopped her from looking inside.
She stared at the silver rattle for a long time. Guy had sent Steven this family treasure for Toby. And Steven had returned it. He hadn’t wanted to let his brother back into their lives.
Why?
She finally put it to one side, finished emptying the box. Took out the few books he’d brought with him, placing them beside the bed. A piece of paper fluttered out of one of them and as she bent to pick it up she recognised the writing.
Steven’s letter. She sank on to the edge of the bed, holding it in both hands, knowing that it was private. Knowing that it held all the answers…
She was still staring at it when the doorbell rang. It would be Catherine. She had said she’d drop by after work. She hadn’t realised it was so late and glanced at her watch. It wasn’t…
And then she knew. Was running down the stairs, fumbling with the door, but when she flung it open there was no one on the step and for a moment she was utterly confused.
Had she imagined it? She stepped outside to look up and down the street but there was no one about, only someone paying off a taxi that had stopped a few yards away. His hair was long and unkempt. His beard days old. His clothes past saving. He didn’t look as if he could have afforded the price of a bus ticket, let alone a taxi. And then as he turned, looked up, she saw his face. The cut roughly stitched over his right eye, his cheek bone bruised black, his arm in a makeshift sling…
Guy.
Shock took her breath away. She struggled for air so that she could say his name. Say the words that were rushing in a torrent to get out. But as she walked slowly down the steps to meet him, his gaze dropped from her face to her burgeoning stomach, to where the baby they’d made in an explosive moment of passion lay beneath her heart.
Guy was exhausted, aching in every limb, but as he saw the woman he loved standing in the lamplight he felt a surge of something so powerful that he could have taken on the world. He felt such overwhelming gratitude that she hadn’t rushed for the morning after pill. He could not have blamed her…
Choked, all he could do was smile stupidly and say, ‘I really buggered up your plans for an annulment, didn’t I?’
For a moment Francesca thought her heart might break. Was that all it meant to him?
She’d kept his baby when Matty had tactfully suggested the morning after pill. Protected it against the raised eyebrows of neighbours, the gossip of Steven’s friends. Cherished it with her love and hope for the
future and all it meant to him was that he had stopped her from ending their marriage.
Then, as she saw the tears glinting in his eyes, she realised that she had been wrong. That he was simply protecting himself from hurt, from rejection. That somehow he’d found out and rushed back to her. And she finally understood the few words of Steven’s letter that she’d read before the ring on the doorbell had her racing down the stairs.
…when I walked in behind her you were lit up…
It had not been an illusion. That split second of mutual recognition when their eyes had met…
It was why he’d gone away. Why Steven had returned the rattle. If he’d shown it to her she’d have written to thank him and Steven didn’t want her even that close to his brother.
It had happened again in his apartment. It was as if they had both been locked in that moment for the last three years, holding their breath, waiting for the completion of a connection that could only have one outcome.
And she reached out, took his undamaged hand in hers and placed it on the baby growing inside her, holding it there with her own so that he could feel the life they’d created kicking strongly. See his ring gleaming softly in the light spilling down from the street lamp.
‘It’s all right, Guy,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. I know.’
And she reached out for him, drew him close, pressed her cheek against his. Kissed him.
His mouth was cold and for one terrible moment she thought she had it all wrong as he pulled away to stare down at her. Then, with a desperate cry that broke the silence, he called out her name and caught her to him, kissing her until she thought she would turn to liquid heat, crushing her to him so that she felt his tears mingle with her own.
‘You going to stand out here in the street kissing like kids all night? Letting in the cold?’
He broke away, but his eyes never left hers as he said, ‘Hello, Connie. I’ve missed your cooking.’
‘Don’t you “Hello, Connie” me. Where you been, eh? Worrying Fran half to death…’
‘Were you?’ he asked. ‘Worried? You didn’t fancy being a rich widow?’ Maybe he already knew the answer because he didn’t wait for it but looked down and said, ‘Hello, Toby. Been to a party?’
‘Mmm.’ He gave Connie the balloon he was holding and offered up his goodie bag. ‘I’ve got cake.’
‘Any to spare? I’m starving…’
‘Later. It’s bath time,’ Fran said. ‘Can you take care of Toby for me, Connie?’
‘I can take care of both of them if you like,’ she offered. ‘He’s going to need help with his arm in plaster. No? You don’t want Connie?’ And she went inside chuckling to herself. ‘Just you make sure you wash behind his ears, Fran.’ Then, ‘I call Matty and tell her Mr Guy is home.’
‘What do you want first? Drink? Food? Bath?’
He circled her with his arm as they walked up the steps into the house. ‘I’ve got everything I want right here, my love. Absolutely everything.’
‘My love?’
‘I’ve waited too long to tell you.’
‘No. Before would have been too soon. Today is just right.’
‘You believe me? I thought I’d have to keep telling you for the next ten years before I managed to convince you.’
‘Oh, I’ll expect you to go on telling me for longer than that. A whole lifetime more. But right now you should have a bath, and while you’re soaking you can tell me exactly what happened to you.’
‘Tom Palmer sent me an e-mail,’ he said a few minutes later, as he lay back, relaxing in the warmth of the newly decorated bathroom. ‘I thought it was about the annulment—I’d been expecting it for months. But it was an article with a photograph of an amazing young woman who was running a business out of her attic. A very pregnant young woman.’
‘Oh.’
‘I thought… I don’t know what I thought… I just knew I had to get home. To be here for you. Help. Do anything. Everything. Except go away. Why didn’t you tell me, Fran?’
‘How could I tell you when I didn’t know how you felt? I wanted you to come home but not out of guilt. I wanted you to come home because nothing would keep you away.’
‘You think I didn’t want to? Words can’t describe how much I yearned to be here with you. I thought you hated me. I’d given you every reason—’
‘I know. I know why you did it.’ She knelt down beside the bath, took his hand, lifted it to her lips. ‘I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to absolve Catherine from the promise I extracted from her…’
‘Thank goodness you didn’t get at Tom. I’ve never packed up a camp so fast, but by the time I left it was dark and raining stair-rods. Of course I was driving like a complete maniac and didn’t see the road had been washed out until it was too late. Fortunately some villagers found me, took me to the nearest clinic to be patched up, but communication was a bit hit and miss.’ Then, ‘But I did get the message.’
‘Message?’
‘What was it? Something along the lines of “…get back here. Right now…” Very forceful.’
‘Oh, that message.’ She grinned for a moment. Then, more seriously, ‘I didn’t mean to shout at you but you were all over the news as missing, kidnapped, shot… I was so scared. So desperate. I meant to tell you then how much I love you…’ Then, when she saw him grinning, ‘And, by the way, you’re staying home from now on. I don’t care how important the project is, someone else can do it.’
A long time later, after he’d had a bath and a shave and they’d tucked Toby up in bed and they were curled up on the sofa, his arm around her, she said, ‘Steven knew how you felt, didn’t he?’ She twisted around to look up at him. ‘I found the rattle while I was unpacking your things earlier this evening. And his letter. I never had a chance to read it, but a couple of lines seemed to leap off the page at me…’
‘Yes, he knew. When you burst through that door you caught me off-guard. If I’d had any idea what was coming I might have been ready…’ Then, looking down at her he smiled, leaned forward to kiss her. ‘No. I’ve been fooling myself. Nothing could have saved me…’
‘You are getting better at the compliments.’ Then she frowned. ‘I think.’
‘He had no idea that you were equally felled, if that helps. I didn’t know myself.’
‘He used it, didn’t he? To drive you away.’
‘He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold on to you. He was so insecure he thought that if I was there, if I wanted you…’ He shook his head. ‘He was wrong. I wouldn’t have done anything to come between you. He didn’t have to—’
‘What?’
‘Make me angry. I already knew I had to stay away. You were having his child. Whatever I felt, in the face of that, was completely irrelevant. And I was right. If he hadn’t died, you’d have married him.’
‘He loved me, Guy. He was a good father.’
‘I’m glad he was happy.’
‘And that he had the good sense to leave me to you. In his will. Give you a second chance.’
Guy didn’t disillusion her. Instead he said, ‘Oh, right. And what would you have done if I’d come home demanding to move into my non-existent attic flat?’
‘You don’t need a flat, Guy. I, on the other hand, had to cut overheads to the minimum when the bank refused to back me and the top floor is the perfect place. Just big enough for Claire and Jason and me.’
‘Don’t you need a warehouse? Thousands of people answering the phones and despatching the goods?’
‘I outsourced that to a call centre and a warehouse facility. We just do the buying and the marketing.’
‘It couldn’t have been easy.’
‘It wasn’t, but then nothing worthwhile ever is.’ Then, ‘Anyway, forget business and forget the flat. The master suite has been redecorated just for you. I know it’s not quite what you had in mind but it’s very comfortable—’
‘It’s perfect, Francesca. But I’m done with our marriage of convenien
ce. Unless you come with it—’
‘I thought I already had,’ she said, grinning up at him wickedly.
‘—until death us do part,’ he went on, although his voice wasn’t quite so steady, ‘I’d rather take my chances with pushing together two desks in the attic.’
‘Guy, when I made that vow in front of the registrar and those two sweet ladies who were our witnesses, I meant it. That was why it was so difficult for me when I thought you were simply doing what you saw as your duty.’
‘Is that what you thought?’ And, taking her hand, he slipped the wedding ring from her finger, tilting it to show her the inscription engraved inside. There was just one word.
Forever.
Fran caught her breath. ‘I didn’t know,’ she began. ‘I didn’t see…’
‘I wanted it written somewhere, even if I was the only person in the world who would ever know.’ Then, ‘Would you like to do it again? Properly?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘In church, with a big dress, a vintage Rolls and a reception in a marquee in the garden with everyone we care about around us.’
‘You mean a blessing?’ She couldn’t keep the smile from breaking out all over her face. ‘That is the most beautiful…’ For a moment she thought she was going to cry again, but this time from sheer happiness. Then, ‘But there’s just one condition.’ He waited. ‘If I’m going to wear the big occasion dress, I’d like to wait until it’s only the dress that’s big…’
The Saturday after the baptism of Stephanie Joy Dymoke, her mother and father made eternal vows to love, honour and keep one another in sickness and in health for all their days.
Matty, her wheelchair decorated with white and silver ribbons, held her little god-daughter throughout the service.
Toby performed valiantly as ring-bearer.
Connie wept buckets and told everyone who would listen that Francesca was the kindest, most wonderful woman on earth and Guy kissed her and told her that she was absolutely right.
