Читать книгу Heavenly Angels - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 6

NICK thought of following them, of demanding answers from the ‘heavenly angel’, but as peace descended over the room for the first time in the last chaotic twenty-four hours he thought better of it. After all, what harm could come to the children when they were only a few feet away from him in the kitchen? And they were finally quiet. And being fed…

Damn it, he had forgotten all about giving the children lunch. He so rarely ate that particular meal himself, he just hadn’t thought—

Goddamn it, he didn’t know how to look after children for any length of time! What the hell Robert had thought he was doing bringing them here, he had no idea. What had made it even more difficult was that it had been the first time he and Robert had spoken more than abrupt words of greeting and parting in over five years.

Robert, who had been his best friend, his business partner—and who had taken Nick’s wife and children from him five years ago!

And now, through necessity, he had brought the children back. But Nick had never had any idea of how to look after the children—had always left that part of their marriage to Samantha. Oh God, Samantha… Was she going to be OK? Was she going to live? They had left so many things unsaid between them, so much bitterness, so much pain. And now she had been seriously injured in a car accident, might die from her injuries. Why was it, Nick agonised, that people never felt remorse for past hurts until it was possibly too late? Why—?

‘Mr Rafferty?’

He looked up blankly, blinking as he focused on the angel. A red-haired angel! Whoever had heard of such a thing? And yet, as he looked up at her, he could almost swear that he saw a glow about that red hair. A little like a halo…?

‘Your lunch, Mr Rafferty.’ She held out a plate, pushing it into his unresisting fingers before turning away to return to the children in the kitchen. Children now quietly eating the lunch she had prepared for them…

Nick shook his head in self-disgust. A halo! He was losing his mind. The woman had merely been standing with the light behind her, giving a glow to the deep red of her hair. Almost twenty-four hours of caring for the children had obviously started to affect his judgement.

The woman was no angel, was only flesh and blood—rather pretty flesh, he decided as he watched the gentle sway of her bottom as she returned to the kitchen. She was a little young for his tastes, probably only in her early twenties, but nevertheless the tiny body looked to be perfectly proportioned—the breasts small and pert, the hips narrow and shapely. And that hair, it was—

God, he was losing his mind! What the hell did the physical attributes of that young woman matter? His life was in chaos! He was supposed to be leaving for Aspen, Colorado, tomorrow, for a skiing holiday over the Christmas period, instead of which he had three children to care for until further notice. What the hell was he going to say to Lisa when he told her they couldn’t go away, after all?

Lisa! Damn, he hadn’t given her a thought since Robert had delivered the children to him here early yesterday evening. She was going to throw a tantrum at his lack of attentiveness. Oh, damn Lisa—a diamond bracelet would soon calm her ruffled feelings. Lisa was the least of his worries at the moment; it was what he was going to do with the three children over Christmas that should be uppermost in his thoughts. It was uppermost in his thoughts; he just didn’t have an answer!

‘You haven’t touched your sandwich, Mr Rafferty.’ The angel had returned, a cup of tea in her hand this time and her coat removed now, her hair falling softly onto a green jumper that exactly matched the colour of her eyes.

How did she do that? Just suddenly appear in front of him, almost as if— He shook his head, rousing himself enough to take the cup and saucer with his free hand, realising as he did so the impracticality of doing so; now he couldn’t eat his sandwich even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. The children may have a partiality for jam sand wiches, but he certainly didn’t!

‘Everything will be all right, Mr Rafferty.’ She reached out to touch his arm gently. ‘Mrs Fairfax is very ill at the moment, but I’m positive she will recover.’ She smiled, a smile as gentle as her touch. ‘I would have been told if it were to be otherwise.’

Nick could never remember feeling at a loss for words, but somehow this young woman seemed to have that effect on him. What did she mean; she ‘would have been told’ if Samantha wasn’t going to come through this? Perhaps he should be concerned about the children being alone in the kitchen with her after all; she was obviously slightly deranged. First claiming to be an angel and now assuring him that his ex-wife would recover from the accident that had left her with multiple injuries.

‘The baby is going to be fine too,’ the strange young woman continued smilingly. ‘Now, please eat your lunch, Mr Rafferty. Everything will seem much brighter once you’ve eaten.’

Nick had the impression that she was talking to him as if he were another of the children, and he—Baby! What baby? Samantha wasn’t pregnant; Robert would have told him if she was.

This young woman was the strangest person he had ever met in his life, and made the most outrageous remarks. Why, she— He turned helplessly in the direction of the telephone as it began to ring, looking down at the cup and saucer he held in one hand and the laden plate in the other.

‘I’ll get it for you, Mr Rafferty.’ Once again there was that gentle pat on his arm. ‘Perhaps it’s Mr Fairfax, with news of your wife,’ she added brightly.

Ex-wife. Samantha was Robert’s wife now, had been for the last four years. And it was more likely to be Lisa making the call, furious with him for not calling her—and having another woman answer the telephone would not improve her temper!

Too late—the angel had already answered the call, was lifting the receiver to her ear. Hell, what was this young woman’s name? He couldn’t keep thinking of her as an angel!

‘Mr Fairfax!’ she greeted brightly, smiling reassuringly at Nick. ‘Yes, of course Mr Rafferty is here. Just a moment and I’ll get him for you.’ With the minimum of effort she put down the receiver and divested Nick of the cup of tea and the plate, putting them both down on the coffee-table before disappearing from the room.

Nick stood watching her for several dazed seconds, too bemused to move. And then he remembered that Robert was on the telephone. ‘Robert.’ He barked the greeting, wincing as he heard his own aggression. ‘How is she, Robert?’ He gentled his voice as he spoke of the woman who had once been his wife but belonged irrevocably to this man.

‘Off the danger list,’ the other man said thankfully. ‘But I can’t leave her, Nick. I’m sure you understand.’

Yes, he understood. Robert loved Samantha more than anything else in the world—more than his own friendship with Nick, more than the wealth his business partnership had brought him. More than anything. It had come as a blow to Nick to realise that Samantha felt the same way about Robert.

Had Nick ever loved her that deeply? Had Samantha ever loved him in the same way? Maybe, in the beginning—before other things had become more important, before complacency had made him take for granted the one thing that had given everything else in his life meaning. But if he had loved Samantha enough surely that wouldn’t have happened? He—

Oh, God, not now; he had been over all of this so many times in the last five years, and in the end it changed nothing. Samantha was now Robert’s wife, and the two of them loved each other—they had for a very long time.

‘The children?’ he prompted Robert abruptly, part of him envying the other man, another part of him knowing it had never been that way between himself and Samantha.

‘Their presents are all at the house, Nick, hidden in the wardrobe. If you—’

‘Robert, Christmas is still two days away,’ he interrupted agitatedly. So Samantha still hid the presents in the wardrobe… ‘Surely you’ll be able to get away by then?’

There was silence for a moment at the other end of the telephone line, and then Robert drew in a ragged breath. ‘Lord knows I love the children as if they were my own, Nick,’ Robert finally rasped. ‘I’ve had to; you’ve practically disowned them the last five years. But the truth of the matter is they are your children, Nick, and it isn’t going to kill you to give up your usual skiing holiday with the latest bimbo to spend Christmas with them!’

How well this man knew him, Nick acknowledged self-derisively. Strange, he had forgotten how well Robert did know him, with the five-year gap in their friendship. But Robert was wrong about one thing. They weren’t all his children. Jamie and Josh, yes—and he admitted he should have spent more time with them since Samantha had left him—but Samantha wouldn’t hear of him taking Jamie and Josh without Lucy, and Lucy wasn’t—

‘I’m not leaving Samantha, Nick,’ Robert told him determinedly. ‘So you’ll just have to cope. I’m sure the young lady who answered the telephone just now is more than capable of lending a hand;she sounded rather sweet. It’s quite easy; Jamie and Josh just want to watch television and fight with each other all the time, and Lucy will take to anyone who gives her jam sandwiches!’

‘The “young lady” has already given her those,’ Nick told him drily. And Jamie and Josh had done nothing but watch television and fight since they’d arrived yesterday!

‘There you are, then,’ Robert said with satisfaction. ‘More than capable.’

Maybe she was—it certainly still seemed very quiet in the kitchen—but that wasn’t the point. The point was what was he going to do with three children over Christmas? ‘Robert—’

‘I’m not leaving the hospital, Nick,’ the other man cut in with vehement determination. ‘I want to be here when Samantha wakes up. Her life is out of danger, but there are still complications.’

Nick felt his stomach contract; he and Samantha might be divorced, and Samantha with Robert now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still care what happened to her. ‘What sort of complications?’ he asked warily.

‘They’re concerned about the baby,’ the other man told him distractedly. ‘Sam has wanted another baby for so long, I can hardly believe it’s happened now,’ he continued worriedly. ‘It will break her heart if anything goes wrong.’

Nick had stopped listening, was barely aware of his own agreement to take care of the children until such time as Robert could leave Samantha, or of the other man terminating the telephone call, of replacing his own receiver.

He sat down heavily, staring at the closed kitchen door. She had known about the baby, had told him, ‘The baby is going to be fine too.’ How had she known about the baby? How—?

Nick looked down at the sandwich in his hand, which he had begun to eat without being aware of it, staring at it uncomprehendingly. Not jam at all, but smoked salmon. His favourite…