Ishbel's Party

by Stacy Absalon

  She slept for the rest of that day and most of the next, waking only for meals, and by the time she had made a good dinner on the evening of the third day she

  was feeling much stronger, strong enough anyway to get to the bathroom unaided and to feel wide awake for the first time since her collapse. So when there was a tap on her door and Siriol put her head round to ask if she was feeling well enough to receive a visitor, she welcomed her eagerly, only to have a wave of weakness return when Fraser followed his fiancée into the room.

  He was wearing a light-green safari suit, impeccably tailored in a light drill fabric, open at the neck as it was such a warm night to show the beginnings of the dark hair on his chest, and she watched him as he crossed the room to sit on the window seat. 'You're feeling better?' His voice was clipped and the expression in the grey eyes trained on her was unreadable.

  Bethan moistened her dry lips, glad of her high-necked cotton nightdress that was anything but glamorous. `Th-thank you. Much better.'

  'Fraser says you knocked yourself up working in the vineyard.' Siriol's voice brought her head round sharply to where the girl had taken a chair beside her bed. 'Whatever made you do that? I know you were interested in the wine-making, but wasn't hoeing the vines carrying an interest too far?'

  At once Bethan's eyes swung back warily to Fraser as she wondered how she should answer, but he was gazing' out of the window and offered her no clue. It was obvious he hadn't told his fiancée he had ordered her to work in the vineyard, and for some reason she found herself unwilling to tell Siriol that either. So she shrugged the question off with a light, 'You could say that', and felt a measure of satisfaction in the startled movement of his head as it jerked round towards her.

  Siriol gurgled with laughter. 'Oh Bethan, you're cool! But then I suppose you have to be.'

  'Do I?' Bethan raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  'Well I mean ... being one of Hugo Fielding's nurses. I understand you've been working for the relief agency

  for years?' Siriol was sitting forward in her chair eagerly, her dark eyes avid with curiosity.

  'Yes, for quite some time,' Bethan agreed reluctantly, hoping her uncommunicative answer would deter the girl from any more questions.

  It was a vain hope, 'Oh, do tell me about it,' the younger girl pleaded. 'You must lead a very exciting life.'

  'There's nothing exciting about watching sick and starving children die and being able to do little to prevent it,' Bethan said sharply, and then regretted her sharpness when Siriol looked abashed.

  'No, of course not. I'm sorry. It's just that well, the

  kind of life you've led makes mine seem very dull and

  ordinary. What countries have you worked in, Bethan?'

  Ordinary? When she was loved by Fraser? Bethan thought, recognising her own envy. When she was going to be his wife, was perhaps already his lover? She shook her head to chase the unpalatable thought away. 'Oh, several African countries—Angola, Ethiopia

  'Ethiopia?' Siriol broke in excitedly. 'Isn't that where some doctors and nurses were kidnapped by the rebels? I saw something about it on television.'

  It wasn't that she really minded answering Siriol's curious questions, but all the time Bethan was uncomfortably aware of the silent figure listening on the window seat. 'Yes,' she said quietly. 'One of them was a friend of mine, though I was in the Lebanon at the time and didn't know anything about it till it was all over.'

  Siriol's dark eyes were round with awe, making her seem very young. 'That's where you were injured, wasn't it, in the fighting in Beirut?' She shuddered. 'I don't know how you have the courage to take on such dangerous work. You must be very brave.'

  Bethan's hands clenched until the pain reminded her of her blistered palms. 'That's utter rubbish.' She shook her head in vehement denial. 'You couldn't be more wrong. The most familiar taste to me is the metallic

  SHBEL'S PARTY

  taste of fear in my mouth. I've often been sick with terror, wanting only to run to the nearest bolt-hole. Once, during the siege of Beirut when we were getting the children—all mentally or physically handicapped—down to the shelter during a raid, I lost one of them, a little boy, who'd wandered off into the compound not realising the danger he was in. I had to force myself to go after him, and then I was so terrified I could only do it crawling on my hands and knees. Believe me, I'm the biggest coward alive.'

  'And yet you went back there,' a harsh voice said from the window, and Bethan's head jerked round in startled surprise, so immersed in remembered terrors she had for several minutes forgotten his presence. `To admit your fears and yet to be prepared to face those same fears again and again hardly smacks of cowardice.'

  Stunned and embarrassed by what was almost an accolade, her gaze locked with his.

  'Well, I know I couldn't do it.' Siriol's unashamed candour defused the tension that had leapt up to crackle between them and Fraser looked away.

  'Neither you could, sweetheart. You're much too fond of your creature comforts.' There was no censure in his voice and the smiling affection in the look he directed at his fiancée made Bethan close her eyes instinctively.

  Mistaking the reason for her withdrawal, Fraser rose to his feet. 'I think Bethan's had enough of us now, darling,' he said quietly. 'We must let her rest.'

  But somehow when they had gone rest seemed very far away and peace of mind elusive. Talking about her life in the service of the relief agency had reminded her that soon she would have to return to it, to the heat and dirt and privations, to the heartbreaking sights and the ever-present dangers. Even now the fear reached out to clutch at her, making her shake, and she was ashamed of being so afraid.

  Lucky, lucky Siriol, she thought enviously, to be so young and carefree and safe. To have the love of a man like Fraser and the prospect of sharing a home and a family with him here in this secure and untroubled corner of England. Lucky Siriol not to know what it was to carry a burden of guilt that would take a lifetime to pay off. Bethan sighed, knowing it was wrong to envy the girl so much. Since that night ten years ago, a home and a family of her own had never been on the cards for herself, even if Fraser hadn't

  But that was a stupid train of thought. Fraser had shown her long ago how little she meant to him and how amusing he'd found her infatuation. And even though he knew now she had been telling the truth about what she had been doing with her life in the ten years since, there was still an element of hostility in his attitude towards her. He didn't like her, and for all his aunt's championing of her, her presence here was still unwelcome.

  For all it was such a warm night, she shivered. It wasn't pleasant to be disliked by someone so intensely, but when it was by the man she loved ...

  She let out a long, despairing sigh. She hadn't wanted to admit it, even to herself, but she couldn't blind herself any longer to the reason why his cruel hostility gave her so much pain. She had loved him years ago as a young girl and she loved him still, only now in her maturity with a depth and power that frightened her. Her mind could tell her it was hopeless, that he was not for her, but her heart and body seemed to have an independent will of their own, leaping to coruscating life whenever he was near.

  She only risked laying herself open to more humiliation, for if she stayed here there was always the danger she might betray the way she felt. And anyway, the longer she stayed the more painful it was going to be when the job was over and she must inevitably return to her old life. Lorna, bless her kind,

  compassionate heart, had no idea of the difficulties she was creating when she had so adamantly opposed Bethan's departure. She was blissfully unaware how much better it would be for all of them if Bethan were allowed to make the break now, before any more damage was done.

  But she did have an ally against Lorna's well-meaning partisanship—albeit an unlikely one. Fraser himself. He was just as reluctant to have her here as Bethan was to stay. Surely if she spoke to him he would find a way of allowing her to leave without upsetting Lorn
a too much? The decision made to see him in the morning, she was able to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A WEEK later Bethan was still waiting for the opportunity to speak with Fraser privately. Lorna had determinedly kept her in bed for another two days, cosseting her to the point of acute embarrassment, and although Fraser had looked in politely to see her once or twice, it was only when his aunt was also there, and it wasn't a subject Bethan could bring up in her presence.

  The dressings were removed from her hands, and her palms, though still tender, were healing nicely, and at last Dr Stratton had overruled Lorna's caution and given her permission to get up, providing she promised to rest whenever she began to feel in the least tired.

  But it began to seem that even though she was up and about, her chances of catching Fraser alone were as remote as they had been while she was still confined to her bed. On her first day, by the time she had come downstairs with both Molly and Lorna fussing round her, Fraser had left the house. He didn't come back for lunch either, and after an afternoon spent stretched out on a lounger in the garden with Lorna she had hung around the sitting-room for quite a while, but there was still no sign of him before Molly came in to set the table for dinner and she was obliged to retreat to her room to wash. He put in a brief appearance as she sat with Lorna sipping their pre-dinner drinks—Bethan opting for apple juice—but he went out again almost immediately and still hadn't returned when she went to bed. And the following days repeated the same pattern, almost as if he was deliberately avoiding her.

  When she finally did run him to earth it was so unexpected she could only stand there gaping at him,

  everything she wanted to say flying out of her head. She had come into the house from the garden to fetch some more silks for Lorna's embroidery, to see him just emerging from his study. He too stood stock-still for a moment, then merely nodding to her, made for the front door.

  Seeing her opportunity slipping Bethan said desperately, 'Mr Laurie, could I speak to you, please?'

  His dark eyebrows rose, his mouth twisting in bitter mockery. 'You've been calling me Fraser since you were thirteen years old, so what's all this "Mr Laurie"?'

  She flushed. I'm no longer a child and you're now my employer.'

  `My aunt is your employer,' he corrected her stiffly. And I notice you don't have any difficulty calling her Lorna.'

  Bethan's flush deepened. I'm sorry if you think I'm too familiar.'

  'Oh, for pity's sake!' He turned away as if to put an end to the dispute, then changing his mind turned back again, barking, 'Well? What is it you wanted to speak to me about?'

  Bethan hesitated, reluctant to reveal what was on her mind in such a public place as the hall, but the subdued clatter coming from the kitchen reassured her that Molly was busily occupied preparing the lunch and wasn't likely to interrupt them. She lifted her shoulders helplessly. All this. The fact that you don't like me and can't stand having me around the place,' she said quietly. I did tell your aunt it would be better if I left but she wouldn't hear of it. So I'm asking for your help. I'm sure you could think of a way to let me leave without upsetting her.'

  Instead of the curt agreement she had expected, Bethan found her wrist held in an iron grip as she was dragged bodily into his study. Finishing up in a rush halfway across the room she turned to see Fraser leaning against the closed door breathing heavily.

  'And what excuse do you suppose she would accept?' he demanded grittily. 'Hugo told her you have no friends in England and nowhere to go from here. So what construction do you think she'll put on your departure? That I've hounded you out, of course. She's already called me to task more than once for my behaviour towards you. Or is that what you want—to leave strife behind you?'

  Several days of sitting out in the sun had put some colour back into Bethan's face, but now it all drained away. `No!' she gasped. 'The last thing I want is to cause any more trouble. I've already told her you were not to blame for my collapse.'

  'It was very—generous of you under the circumstances.' The apology seemed to be dragged out of him unwillingly but then he brushed a hand wearily over his face and as he moved away from the door all his earlier anger and antagonism seemed to have left him. 'Bethan, you must see that I can't possibly let you leave yet. Only a few days ago you were too weak to move, and whatever excuses you made to Lorna, I was responsible. She'd never forgive me if I turned you out now. And quite frankly,' he added in an undertone, 'I'd never forgive myself.'

  Bethan began to tremble inwardly. His former hostility had hurt but it had helped to armour herself against' him. Now it was gone she had no defence against the feelings that were overwhelming her, feelings she was afraid she wouldn't be able to go on hiding. 'But there would be nothing to forgive,' she pleaded. 'I'm perfectly fit again now, and I have enough money to keep myself until I can find another job.'

  'No!' He turned angrily away from her to the window and she followed him with widened eyes, startled at his vehemence. 'Why bother when you have a perfectly good job here? Or isn't Lorna's obvious affection for you reciprocated?' That biting mockery was back, and Bethan flinched.

  'I'm very fond of your aunt. She's been like a mother to me—how I've always dreamed a mother should be.' Immediately she regretted her unguarded reply for Fraser spun round, his eyes narrowed.

  'And that's something else! Hugo Fielding gave me chapter and verse of what you've been doing these last ten years, not only your service with the relief agency but your hospital experience before that, your training. So if you were nursing right from the beginning, how did the story that you'd taken off for America to join your mother start?'

  Bethan swallowed hard, still reluctant to accuse her stepfather of lying. 'ff—if that's what my stepfather wanted everyone to think, it's not so surprising, is it? Not after the way I'd disgraced him?'

  'Are you trying to tell me he made it up?' Fraser moved back towards her, all his old antagonism beating against her in waves. 'Oh, no, Bethan, I don't buy that. However much you'd hurt him, he loved you, for God's sake! He'd never have instigated that sickening gossip about you. If he'd wanted to cover up your desertion of him, all he needed to do was tell the truth—that you'd left home to take up nursing.'

  `Then I have no explanation to offer.' The lump in her throat made it difficult to speak as she thought of the only father she had ever known, of his generous open-heartedness in giving her as much love as he'd given his own flesh and blood, his only son Mark. That in return she had hurt him she would regret till her dying day, hurt him so much she had killed his love and caused him to turn his back on her. `Do—do you ever see him?' she asked longingly, still immersed in her own thoughts. Perhaps he might be willing to see her again, if only so she could tell him how sorry she was.

  The quality of the sudden silence following her question made her look up to see a thunderstruck expression on Fraser's face. 'I don't know what damage that bomb blast did to you,' he said

  frowning, 'but you can't have forgotten Charles died nearly six years ago.'

  There was a rushing sound in her ears and the room began to swing slowly round her. The next moment she was being thrust into a chair and her head held down between her knees. When at last he allowed her to sit upright again she stared up at him, her green eyes huge with shock in her ashen face. 'Dead!'

  Fraser's mouth was tight, his own expression shocked. 'You really didn't know?'

  She shook her head. 'How

  He fought against the utterly lost look in the eyes swimming with tears. 'Oh, come on now. Maybe you hadn't heard, but it can't have come as such a shock,' he said harshly. 'Not when you were well aware how desperately ill he was before you did your disappearing act. That's what I find so impossible to understand about you, Bethan. To be a good nurse—and Hugo Fielding assures me you are—you need to have compassion. And yet you showed not an atom of compassion for Charles Latimer.'

  His words battered against her but they made no sense when she was still trying to
assimilate the fact that her stepfather was dead. The only person in the world who had ever loved her and he was gone. Even though she had spent the last ten years estranged from him the sense o loss was devastating. Now the estrangement really was irrevocable. With his death had gone the last slender hope of his forgiveness.

  Slowly Fraser's words began to sink into her consciousness. 'III? But he was never ill.'

  'Until he had that stroke a few days before your trial, brought on, I might add, by worrying over you. Dear heaven, Bethan!' he exploded fiercely. 'However ashamed of yourself you were, however hard you must have found it to face him, couldn't you have put your own feelings aside and gone to see him when he was asking for you?'

  'He had a stroke! But I don't understand ... why did no one tell me? Oh God ...' She buried her face in her hands, reeling under this new shock. Why hadn't Mark told her? If it had happened before the trial, why hadn't Katy Bourne told her? She must have known. She lifted her head crying hoarsely, 'You can't believe I'd have stayed away from him if I'd known!'

  But it was obvious that was just what he did believe. She sprang to her feet, too anguished to sit still, but her legs were shaky from shock and she had to lean against the desk to steady herself. The consequences of what she had done the night of were still spreading ten years later, like ripples from a stone dropped into a still pool.

  'I didn't know he was ill. I swear I didn't know.' Her voice was raw with emotion and the man watching her took an involuntary step towards her.

  `It—it just isn't possible you didn't know.' She was giving the impression that he was crucifying her, and he resented being made to feel guilty. 'You lived in the same house, dammit!'

  He was so sure of himself, Bethan thought, so certain he knew all the answers. And he didn't. And now there was no reason for her to keep silent. Charles Latimer was dead and the truth couldn't hurt On any more. She straightened up and turned to face her accuser.