Читать книгу Eclipse - Lynne Pemberton - Страница 10

‘I’m Mr Wilcox. I believe you want to talk to me urgently.’

‘Yes I do.’

Mrs Neil shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was wearing the same brown clothes that she’d worn the previous night to deliver Serena’s babies. Dressing hastily, she had merely thrown a Barbour jacket over the top and pulled on the felt hat bought for her sister’s wedding. She hadn’t slept, so her eyes were puffy.

The consultant thought she looked a little odd. He glanced at his watch with obvious impatience. ‘I’m due in theatre very soon, please Mrs …’ The doctor read a note on his desk, ‘… Neil.’

The booming voice was not lost on Mrs Neil who twisted her mouth into a polite smile before she continued, ‘What I have to say won’t take long, sir. I’d just like to know whether there’s ever been a case of a white woman producing twins, where one child is black and one white?’

If Mr Wilcox was surprised he didn’t show it. ‘Do you know of such a case?’ he asked. ‘Because if you do, I’d be very interested.’

‘Yes, I do; but it’s somebody who lives abroad.’

The excuse came out far too quickly, and the consultant knew immediately that it was a lie. But the stubborn set of his visitor’s jaw, and the determined ring to her voice, dispelled any hope he might have of persuading her to identify the mother involved. He doodled on a note-pad for a few seconds, pondering his reply.

‘Conceiving and giving birth to mixed-race twins – non-identical I presume – is an extremely rare phenomenon. To my knowledge it’s been recorded only a few times in Europe. It’s very unusual for a mixed-race couple to have twins where one baby is pure Caucasian and the other black. A million-to-one chance in fact.’

Mr Wilcox seemed to warm to his subject and added, ‘Actually about five years ago, a Jamaican colleague of mine delivered black and white twin boys to a white woman who had a West Indian husband and a relationship with a white man.

‘It means, of course, that two entirely separate eggs are fertilized by two men. It can only occur if the woman has intercourse with the men concerned within a period of approximately eighteen hours.

‘For this to be possible she would need to be in natural ovulation during intercourse with the first man, and that could lead to fertilization of the first egg. Then, what we term as a “spontaneous ovulation” during orgasm with the other man could produce a second egg, and if that’s also fertilized, non-identical twins, or more to the point siblings, could be conceived within hours of each other.’

‘Thank you, doctor. As a midwife, I just wanted to understand how such a phenomenon was possible.’

Her chair scraped across the polished oak floor as Mrs Neil stood up. ‘And thank you for seeing me at such short notice.’

‘You gave me very little choice,’ Mr Wilcox replied. Then he offered, ‘Are you sure the lady concerned can’t be persuaded to come and see me? I’d be more than happy to talk to her. I might even be able to help.’

Mrs Neil had reached the door, and turned to face him. ‘I don’t think she’s ready to see or speak to anyone just at the moment. Goodbye Doctor.’

When Serena awoke she thought she’d wet the bed.

Slowly she slipped a hand between her legs, touching her inner thigh, before lifting her fingers to her face. They were sticky and covered in blood. The sedative that Mrs Neil had given her earlier had started to wear off; the realization of where she was, and what had happened, was creeping slowly into her consciousness. She shut her eyes, and replayed the images of the last few hours in her head: Mrs Neil screaming for her to push; her baby daughters covered in blood; one crumpled, dark face; one equally crumpled white face.

She was only vaguely aware of the footsteps on the stairs. It was the sound of knocking that finally grasped her attention. Pulling her blanket up to her ears, she fiddled with it nervously, staring at the door as it slowly opened. A tentative smile flickered across her face when Mrs Neil’s red curls appeared.

‘I see you’re awake.’

The midwife sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled the blanket away, a little roughly Serena thought.

Serena looked at her and said, ‘I seem to be bleeding rather a lot.’

‘I know, I’ve got you some sanitary towels, and here’s some stuff for the little mites.’ She gestured to the occupied cot by Serena’s side. ‘Look at them sleeping soundly. That’s because they’re well wrapped up all nice and warm.’

‘Thank you so much, Mrs Neil. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘Plenty of time to talk about that later, dear. Got to get you cleaned up first. Now … let’s look lively because it’s four-thirty and I’ve got to make us both some tea.’

Something about her manner placed Serena on her guard, but she allowed herself to be helped out of bed and sat down in the nearby chair while Mrs Neil stripped the sheets.

‘I think you should bathe and put your clothes back on now,’ suggested Mrs Neil, handing her a clean towel and her own things. ‘You can use the shower-room, next door.’ She indicated the direction with her eyes. ‘Off you go.’

Serena wrapped the towel around her aching body and, picking her way past several boxes on the landing, headed for the shower. She was very weak and her legs shook as she washed herself from top to toe. This left her feeling more refreshed, but not much stronger. After managing to dress, she emerged and almost bumped into Mrs Neil at the top of the stairs. The midwife was cradling the sleeping babies, one in each arm.

‘Come on down to the living room, if you can manage, and I’ll give us both that tea.’

Serena accepted gratefully, following Mrs Neil downstairs, holding on to the wall for support.

‘Sit yourself in that chair, Mrs Boyd, and I’ll put the babes in this one next to you. Just rest whilst I get the tea. I won’t be a tick, the kettle’s already boiled.’

Serena sat down carefully in the overstuffed chair, which was upholstered in dark green brocade, and very comfortable. It seemed as though Mrs Neil had moulded it to the shape of her own ample bottom. She looked at the twin bundles next to her, but then she thought of Royole, thought of Nicholas, and felt overwhelmed, almost panicky. She had to look away again and concentrated on her immediate surroundings instead.

‘Home is where the heart is.’

Serena smiled sardonically at the mass-produced sampler. There was also a reproduction coffee table which was chipped and badly stained, and a pine cabinet containing an assortment of books. Behind a brass fireguard, the fading embers of a dying fire flickered occasionally. She glanced at a photograph on the mantelpiece. It showed what looked like a young Mrs Neil. It all made her aware that she was sitting in someone else’s house; and what she really wanted was to call home and get a message to Nicholas. Except that she’d have to work out what on earth to say first …

‘There you are, a nice cup of tea! The remedy for all ills,’ chimed Mrs Neil as she walked in, and then poured from a teapot covered in a red knitted cosy.

Handing Serena a steaming brew, she sat down in the chair opposite. ‘Now, I think we should have a little chat.’

Serena peered over the rim of the cup, eyes raised in anticipation. ‘Go ahead, please.’

‘First of all, young lady, we both know that you’re not Mrs June Boyd.’

Sipping hot tea, Serena considered telling Mrs Neil the truth, then hesitated. Fate had brought her to this anonymous place, and who was she to argue with fate? With warning bells ringing loud and clear in her head, she replied in a firm voice.

‘Does it matter who I am? You’re a midwife and your job is to deliver babies. You did just that for me last night. I know that I would’ve been in dire straights without you, and I’m very grateful. Naturally I intend to thank you generously.’

Serena noticed that Mrs Neil’s body language had changed, albeit subtly. There was a strange tension in her that had not been present before.

‘My dear, you’ve had mixed-race babies; that’s a rare phenomenon, one in a million, have you any idea how it happened?’

Serena smiled wistfully. ‘Yes, I’ve got a good idea.’

‘Well, I can tell you exactly how it happens, medically, so to speak. You have to have intercourse with a black man and a white man, within hours of each other.’ Mrs Neil made no attempt to disguise the contempt creeping into her voice. ‘That, young lady, is how it happens. So, what do you have to say?’ she asked.

Serena closed her eyes, rested her head on the back of the chair, and made an effort to compose herself. ‘Only that it was the most wonderful day of my life. He was—’ her voice trailed off.

Mrs Neil was certain she could see a glimmer of tears in the younger woman’s deep blue eyes.

‘I loved him, you see. I would have stayed with him, but he didn’t want that.’

There was a profound sadness in Serena’s voice, yet Mrs Neil felt no sympathy for her. If anything, she was actually irritated by this obviously wealthy and beautiful young woman, who sat twisting her wedding ring as she talked of one-day love affairs. What did she know of life? Real life. Of hardship and loneliness? The aching kind of loneliness that never went away. It clung like shit to a blanket, so her old mother used to say.

Mrs Neil was staring straight through Serena, her voice odd and detached. ‘Your sort will never be able to understand my sort.’

Serena shivered, in spite of the heat in the stuffy room. She desperately wanted to go home, back to the warm security of familiarity.

Both women sat in uncomfortable silence, until Mrs Neil spoke again.

‘It wouldn’t be difficult for me to find out who you really are, you know.’

Serena returned the midwife’s probing gaze, a knot of fear tightening the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly Mrs Neil stood up and gestured at the twins. A smile flashed across her face. ‘Please don’t worry, I’m only trying to help.’

Serena was feeling bewildered now, not sure whether or not she could trust this woman to whom she owed so much.

‘Come on, let’s give you a good look at them.’

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Serena replied nervously.

The babies were still sleeping, each one snugly wrapped in a woollen blanket.

Serena eased herself from her chair and knelt forward tentatively. She was totally unprepared for the rush of love that filled her entire being as she stared at Nicholas’s daughter.

The child was perfectly formed. As if on cue, she had begun to stir and her perfect fingers, capped with the whitest nails Serena had ever seen, fluttered in front of her pink, oval face. She had a mass of fine hair, the colour of old gold. Although her eyes were tightly shut, her mouth, the shape of a rosebud, was moving as if she were blowing kisses.

Serena gasped, awestruck by her own tiny creation, and she pulled at the blanket to get a better view.

It was at that moment that the baby opened her eyes. Serena could see that they were the exact image of her own. Transfixed, she held her daughter’s gaze, convinced that the little girl could see her.

‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ prompted Mrs Neil.

‘Absolutely,’ Serena whispered, eyes never leaving her daughter’s face, voice filled with longing. ‘I want to hold her.’

The midwife recognized the wonderment of motherhood. ‘Well, I think you should look at your other daughter first; she’s a little smaller and …’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ Serena replied sharply, reluctant to move her eyes for a moment, but turning her head towards the second baby with a sense of apprehension.

The baby had sensed the attention and wriggled free from her blanket, kicking her legs furiously. They seemed ridiculously long, completely out of proportion to her narrow torso and neat head.

A wave of nausea swept over Serena. Looking at the child’s skin, so dark in comparison to that of the other one, she felt as though she might faint. She breathed deeply, noting the shiny black hair curling on to her daughter’s brow. The small features were almost identical to those of her sister, a fact which for some inexplicable reason filled Serena with dread.

Uncurling long, thin arms, the baby reached out towards her mother. But this frail, human gesture was too much for Serena. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she bit her palm so hard that it drew blood. She looked up and stared out of the dirty living-room window, but saw only the image of Royole Fergusson.

Suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do. If it worked, it would be the ultimate solution for her mulatto love-child, and herself.