Holly flicked another quick glance towards Gus in time to see him running fingers through his hair—such a familiar sign of his stress and agitation.
‘The only blessing to emerge from this tragedy is thanks to Frazer and Rick,’ the consultant added, the ghost of a smile relieving the sternness of his expression.
‘How do you mean?’ Gus asked, his voice hoarse.
Holly clenched her hands together until the knuckles turned white, hoping and praying that there was still hope for the baby.
‘There is much we still need to talk about,’ Mr Haggerty stressed, ‘but I can tell you, Gus, that thanks to the quick actions of the flight crew, combined with the skill and determination of everyone in Theatre, you now have a son.’
* * *
A son.
He had a son.
The words hammered inside Gus’s head, and for several moments all he could hear was the rushing of blood in his veins as it pulsed with a matching rhythm…a son, a son, a son, a son.
A shiver of reaction ran down his spine. As he struggled to control the welling of emotion that brought an uncharacteristic sting to his eyes he felt the light brush of Holly’s fingers on the back of his hand. Without conscious thought he gratefully accepted the physical contact, moving so they were palm to palm, their fingers naturally interlocking.
‘My s-son…?’ he asked, stumbling as he voiced the word aloud for the first time. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s a fighter. Given the trauma of the accident and the delivery—and the suggestion that he could be up to four weeks premature—he’s in miraculously good shape. So far,’ Mr Haggerty informed them.
Relieved despite the words of caution, Gus expelled a shaky breath. ‘Thank God.’
Holly’s fingers tightened on his and he returned the pressure, overwhelmed after the nerve-racking and stressful wait for news that his son was alive. Not only alive, but by all accounts with a real chance of survival.
‘We’re transferring him to the paediatric intensive care unit in the maternity wing so we can monitor him closely,’ the consultant continued. ‘He’s small. And he’s bruised. It appears your wife wasn’t wearing her seatbelt, so he must have taken a battering in the crash, and then there was his somewhat unceremonious entry into the world. We need to do some tests—’
‘What kind of tests?’ Gus demanded, anxiety once more rising within him.
‘As I said, your son seems remarkably robust. At the moment we can’t tell whether he’s suffered any ill-effects from the accident…how long he experienced any loss of oxygen or blood-flow, for example. There are a couple of other issues we need to clarify with you, too,’ the man added, a frown on his face.
Gus’s chest tightened. ‘What kind of issues? What’s wrong?’
‘We have questions about the validity of his due date—’
‘There’s no doubt about that,’ Gus interrupted, tension ripping through him. It was one of the few things he was certain about.
The older man raised an eyebrow. ‘No room for error at all?’ he asked, a note of disbelief edging his voice.
‘None,’ Gus confirmed, although he had no intention of explaining why he was so certain about his baby’s conception—especially in front of Holly.
‘If that’s so,’ the consultant remarked, his doubts obvious, ‘then he’s unusually well-developed. He’s not displaying the signs of prematurity we would expect in a baby of that age.’
‘Maybe the upheaval of the accident and delivery are masking other things,’ Holly suggested softly.
Gus glanced at her, noting the pallor of her skin and feeling the tremor of her hand in his. Her support of him took his breath away. And confused him. Guilt and self-disgust about the fateful night in question—the one that had resulted in the baby and sparked off everything else—returned with a vengeance. As did the memory of Holly’s reaction…her anger, confusion, hurt, and the cool disdain in her eyes when she’d looked at him that had chilled him to the marrow of his bones.
A short-lived but virulent virus which had kept him off work for a few days had knocked him for six—as had the medication prescribed to combat some of the more debilitating symptoms. Only the prospect of his first proper date with Holly could have tempted him out that evening. A date which, he’d hoped, would mark a turning point in their relationship, moving it from platonic friendship to something more intimate and permanent.
He’d been waiting for Holly in the Strathlochan Arms, the favoured haunt of many of the local services personnel, where he’d been renting a room until contracts were signed and he could move into his new house. Holly had not only stood him up without contacting him herself, but she’d ensured her rejection was delivered in the most public and humiliating of ways in front of many of their colleagues.
He’d been ridiculously early, sitting at a table near the log fire and counting the seconds until Holly’s arrival, excitement and hopeful expectation firing his blood and distracting him from how rough he was feeling. A change in the atmosphere had drawn his attention and he’d glanced up to see a striking-looking woman walking towards him. A noticeable buzz of tension and anticipation had rippled through those present in the bar.
There had been no doubting the stranger’s outward beauty, capturing as she had the interest of most of the men in the room—and the envy of many of the women. She’d been tall, her platinum-blonde hair sleek and styled to perfection, its fashionable cut framing the somewhat angular bone structure of her face. Given the colour of her skin, she had been no stranger to sunbeds and fake tan. Her hazel eyes had been almond-shaped, her nose narrow and up-tilted at the tip, while her pouting lips—which he’d suspected were a result of filler injections rather than Mother Nature—had been defined with siren-red lipstick. Skin-tight jeans tucked inside knee-length leather boots had emphasised long, long legs, while an expensive cashmere top had clung to her slender figure.
In Gus’s view she had been too slender, too polished and too artificial. He’d infinitely preferred Holly’s womanly curves and natural beauty. The disinterested assessment had run rapidly through his mind as the unknown woman approached him, and he’d regarded her with suspicion when she stopped at his table.
‘Are you Gus Buchanan?’ she asked, her head tilted coquettishly to one side.
Wary, Gus nodded. ‘Yes, I am. Why?’
‘My name is Julia Tait.’ The woman paused for a moment before completing her introduction. ‘I’m Holly’s sister.’
‘Her sister?’ Gus repeated, aware of the shock and confusion in his voice.
‘Let me guess…Holly never told you about me.’
Embarrassed by the unexpected situation, Gus frowned, puzzled and annoyed by Holly’s blatant omission—and Julia’s apparent expectation of it. ‘No. No, I—’
‘Don’t worry, I’m used to it,’ Julia admitted, rescuing him from his clumsy efforts to explain the unexplainable. With a sigh, she shook her head. ‘I’m afraid Holly has been lost to me for some time…she only acknowledges me or asks for help when she wants something. And this time, I’m afraid, my uncomfortable mission is to tell you that Holly’s changed her mind about dating you. She’s not coming, Gus…tonight or any other night.’
As she paused something flashed in her eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it. He was having enough trouble hiding his dismay as the full realisation of what she was saying sank in.
‘I’m really sorry, Gus, but Holly doesn’t want to go out with you.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘I SEE.’ Gus had struggled to mask his bitter disappointment, hurt and confusion. ‘Why can’t Holly tell me herself?’
Julia had sighed, shaking her head. ‘That’s Holly for you. She gets in too deep and expects someone else—me—to do her dirty work.’
Irritation rose within him—not just because Holly had stood him up but because she had chosen not to do the decent thing and say so herself. Not to mention the fact that she had kept things from him…like the existen
ce of a sister. Given that he’d opened up to her about his past as he’d never done with anyone else before, with Holly professing her understanding about why family was so important to him, it was even stranger that she’d declined to tell him the truth about her own. It seemed out of character for the Holly he knew. But maybe he didn’t know her after all. Wary and cautious, he’d begun re-establishing his protective guard, afraid his fledgling trust had been misplaced.
‘May I sit down?’
Julia’s query had cut through his thoughts. He’d wanted to say no, to be left alone so he could retreat to his room to think over Holly’s rejection—a rejection witnessed by colleagues present in the bar.
Sensing that he and Julia were being watched, Gus reluctantly succumbed to politeness. ‘Of course,’ he invited, waiting as she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him before good manners drove him to prolong the awkward and unwanted encounter. ‘Would you like a drink?’
A smile curved her mouth. ‘Thanks. A vodka and orange, please.’
Gus rose to his feet, pausing with one hand resting on the table as light-headedness assailed him. He made his way to the bar, conscious of people looking at him, and along with Julia’s drink he was grateful for the glass of iced water the landlady gave him.
‘Still feeling rotten, Gus?’ the kindly woman asked him.
He nodded in assent, regretting it immediately when the headache hammering inside his skull intensified. ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ he admitted, managing a smile.
As he made his way back to his table Gus noticed Julia bending forward, apparently engrossed with something he couldn’t see. Before he could rejoin her he was waylaid by one of his colleagues, who was pulling on his coat and on the point of leaving.
‘Gus?’ Dr Trevor Wilkinson—a registrar, Strathlochan born and bred, who had recently returned to work in A&E following a long spell of illness—rested a hand on Gus’ arm, detaining him. ‘You don’t look well. The medication not helping?’
‘The pills have improved things. I just react badly to them,’ Gus admitted wryly, understanding for the first time why some patients complained that the side-effects of the medication they were prescribed were as bad as, or worse than, the condition with which they’d been diagnosed.
Trevor gestured to the glasses Gus was carrying. ‘You’d do better taking it easy on the alcohol, then!’
‘Mine’s water—I don’t drink.’
‘Good. You’ll need all your wits about you,’ the registrar advised cryptically.
Gus frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘You’re playing with fire,’ Trevor replied, lowering his voice so those nearby couldn’t hear. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Gus.’
The comments puzzled him, but Trevor was gone, edging through the crowd, before Gus could question him further.
Perplexed by the conversation, Gus returned to his table. Julia, still with her back to him, glanced round briefly, before making a couple of furtive movements out of his sight, but by the time he sat down and met her gaze she was smiling at him, the picture of innocence.
‘Thank you for this,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink.
Gus nodded, still nonplussed and knocked off-kilter by the events of the evening. Feeling too warm, he shifted along the banquette away from the heat of the log fire, his hand coming into contact with his mobile phone as he did so. He’d had no idea it had slipped from his pocket. Surreptitiously he checked the screen, but there were no tell-tale indications of missed calls or texts. What had he expected? That Julia was wrong and Holly had tried to contact him? Disenchanted, his hopes dashed, he refocused his attention on the unwanted companion opposite him.
‘What happened between you and Holly?’ he forced himself to ask, taking a long drink of ice-cold water.
Julia looked sad, but resigned, and the story she told him of her estrangement from her younger sister touched his heart, resonating as it did with his own lack of family. And he couldn’t help but be further disappointed in Holly. Not only had she listened to his explanation about his background but she’d professed her sorrow and understanding. She had even cried for him.
Had they been crocodile tears? It appeared so. If Holly had understood, surely she would have told him about Julia. In one night the only woman he’d ever believed himself in love with had rejected him publicly in front of their colleagues, and he had discovered she had also lied to him by omission. What else didn’t he know about her?
Hurt, upset and confused, he drained his glass before leaning back and closing his eyes. His head was pounding. The virus and the pills were still affecting him, leaving him feeling hot and cold at the same time, his whole body aching, and occasional waves of nausea gripping his stomach.
‘Are you all right?’ Julia asked with concern.
‘I’m sorry.’ He might be a loner, and unused to socialising, but he disliked rudeness, and guilt assailed him for his lack of manners. Gus gave himself a mental shake. ‘I’ve not been feeling too good.’
Julia rose elegantly to her feet and picked up his empty glass. ‘Let me get you another drink. Unless you’d rather have a coffee or something to eat?’
‘No!’ His negative response was swift, the very thought of coffee and food causing his stomach to rebel once more. ‘Just water. Thanks.’
Julia soon returned, this time choosing to sit next to him on the banquette. Disconcerted, Gus nevertheless welcomed the glass of water she handed him, which this time had twists of lemon and lime in it.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, taking a long drink. It tasted a bit odd, but he was thirsty enough to ignore it—although he did set the citrus slices aside.
‘If it’s any consolation, Gus, it isn’t you. Holly’s shy of commitment. This is by no means the first time that she’s led a man on and given him false hope,’ Julia informed him sadly, the scarlet-tipped fingers of one hand coming to rest on his jean-clad thigh. ‘I think it stems from her engagement all those years ago.’
Diverting his attention from her unwanted touch, Julia’s latest revelation delivered another hammer blow. Gus reeled, turning to Julia in shock.
‘Holly was very young—still a teenager,’ she continued, looking into his eyes, her own gleaming large and wistful. ‘She and Euan were childhood sweethearts—Euan was besotted with her. At the eleventh hour Holly dumped him. Aside from the embarrassment of cancelling arrangements, returning presents and explaining to everyone, Euan was devastated.’ She paused a moment, her expression sombre. ‘There was no reasoning with Holly. She refused to talk with Euan again. Since then she’s done what she’s doing with you…allowed men to get close, only to back off when they want to take things further.’
The engagement was another thing Holly had failed to tell him about. Why? If he was to believe her sister, it was all Holly’s fault. He didn’t want it to be true…it was contrary to all he had thought Holly to be. But after this evening he couldn’t help but wonder who Holly really was and if she’d fooled him completely.
Gus ran a hand through his hair in agitation, wishing his head would clear as he struggled to reconcile what Julia had told him with the Holly he had thought he knew. Feeling increasingly fuzzy-headed and out of sorts, he took another drink.
‘Poor Gus,’ Julia sympathised, leaning closer and resting her arm around his shoulder. ‘This is the last thing you need when you’re feeling so ill. Holly should be here, caring for you.’
‘I’m OK,’ he refuted, frowning in confusion as he heard himself slurring the words. What was wrong with him? He felt worse now than when the virus had been at its most virulent.
With a wry laugh, Julia gave him a hug. ‘Sure you are.’
‘I’m used to being alone.’
‘Me, too,’ Julia confided, all trace of humour gone. ‘And that’s so sad…for both of us.’ She paused, head tilted to one side as she studied him. ‘You should be in bed, Gus. Come on, I’ll help you to your room.’
Finding it difficult to focus on anyt
hing, Gus felt too ill to argue. He craved the sanctuary of his room, and allowed Julia to assist him as he summoned his last reserves of energy and struggled to his feet, swaying alarmingly. Julia remained at his side, holding him steady, and he draped an arm around her to brace himself.
He vaguely remembered walking unsteadily out of the bar, but he had no recollection of the journey down the pub’s corridor, nor the arrival at his room. Nor did he have any memories of what had happened next. Only that he’d woken in the morning with a thudding headache, horrified to find that not only was Julia real, and not a figment of his fevered imagination, but she was curled up next to him in bed…and both of them were naked.
Edging away from her, he’d flung an arm across his sore eyes and stifled a groan, a rush of confusion, guilt and self-disgust sweeping through him. The virus, pills and disappointment over Holly’s rejection were not sufficient excuses for his behaviour. And he’d compounded that bad behaviour by pretending to be asleep when Julia stirred so he wouldn’t have to face her. Thankfully she’d seemed as keen as he to avoid a post-mortem as she’d risen and swiftly dressed before quietly letting herself out of his room.
He hadn’t wanted to talk with Julia, but that had been as nothing compared to his reluctance at the thought of seeing Holly—of not only dealing with what he had done, but confronting her about her rejection and the various things she had kept from him. A fresh wave of nausea had assailed him.
Illness had kept him in bed and away from work for another twenty-four hours. Had he known in advance how terrible his return to A&E and the scene with Holly were going to be, he might have stayed in bed for ever.
He’d certainly had no idea how horribly that wretched night would come back to haunt him, destroying his relationship with Holly and resulting in the announcement that Julia was expecting his child. An announcement that had led him into an unwanted, loveless marriage with only months to prepare for his unexpected role as a father.
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