Читать книгу Eclipse - Lynne Pemberton - Страница 9

Lady Serena Frazer-West checked the clock in her new Range Rover. It was almost ten p.m. She had been held up for the last hour. A quick calculation made her realize that at this rate she’d be lucky to reach Redby Hall, the Frazer-West Wiltshire estate, by midnight. She began to wish she’d rung to let the staff know of her sudden decision to leave London for a spot of country peace; still, at least it meant no one would be expecting her and fretting about her non-arrival.

A serious collision, between a minibus and an oil tanker, had resulted in the bigger vehicle overturning and spilling most of its contents on to the icy road. The consequent mayhem was further exacerbated by freezing fog, so that traffic was now at a standstill, apart from police vehicles and several ambulances.

Suddenly the traffic began to move, albeit slowly; a mass of steel creeping forward, with the artificial eyes of car headlights burrowing through the swirling fog. As the sign for Junction Thirteen loomed into view, Serena indicated left and followed several other cars on to the slip road. Pulling into the nearest lay-by, she consulted a map and decided that it would be simpler to take the road across country towards Swindon, then rejoin the motorway for the remainder of her journey to Castle Coombe.

This plan would have been fine if she had not taken a wrong turn at the village of Lenchwick Cross, becoming hopelessly lost on the Lambourn Downs in a maze of twisting lanes and tiny villages that all looked exactly the same. To make things worse, it was very dark – with only the occasional yellow light from a semi-curtained cottage window to remind her she was not totally alone in the world.

Her spirits lifted as she entered the small village of Letcombe Bassett and spotted a dim light behind the grimy windows of the Plough Inn. Parking at the rear of the pub, she was relieved to hear muted voices and laughter as she walked towards the bar.

The door was locked.

She knocked several times; then, stepping to one side, she peered through the dusty window to see three faces staring back at her. One man was leaning across the bar top and appeared to be the publican.

‘I’m lost,’ Serena mouthed plaintively.

No one spoke or moved, they just continued to stare.

She shivered, deciding that it might be better to get back into the car and drive to the next village. She was about to turn away when the landlord moved from behind the bar and walked towards the door. He opened it a couple of inches, so that she could just about see a long nose and one dark eye.

‘There was a bad crash on the M4. I’m trying to get to Castle Coombe.’ Her words tumbled out.

He opened the door a few more inches. ‘Yer a long ways off course, miss,’ he said, his beady eyes probing every detail of her body before eventually resting on her huge stomach, heavy with advanced pregnancy.

Serena felt uncomfortable; she shuddered, pulling her coat closer to her body. ‘If you could just point me in the right direction I would be very …’

Her voice trailed off as she became acutely aware of a wetness between her legs; a slight trickle at first, but followed seconds later by a gush of warm secretion, streaming downwards and forming a small puddle on the stone step.

‘Oh my God, no! My waters have broken.’

The man stared at her as she cradled her distended belly with both hands. Then the pain came.

The first contraction felt much stronger than she’d ever imagined. She clutched the side of the wall, her hand slipping on the frosty stone, panting until the pain gradually subsided.

‘You’ve got to help me, I’m in labour. Where’s the nearest hospital?’

Her desperate appeal finally stirred the landlord into action. ‘Come in miss.’

He moved to one side and she shuffled gingerly into the bar. Through a thin film of smoke, she could now see the faces of the two other men. One of them, Tom Bayley, was beside her in a single, long stride.

‘Sit yerself down here, miss.’ He was a big man and held her as she slid down into the nearest chair. He smelt of tobacco and manure, not a particularly comforting mixture.

‘Here, tell her to drink this Tom, it’ll help.’ The landlord had poured a large brandy.

She swallowed it gratefully, just before a further rush of warm discharge trickled down the inside of her thigh, followed by another contraction slicing across her lower back; this one even more intense than the last. Holding on to Tom Bayley’s hand, she squeezed so tightly he winced.

He watched the colour slowly drain from her face, leaving it ashen; and he still thought that she was the prettiest girl ever seen in the Plough, or roundabout for that matter.

‘You’re going to be fine. I’ll take you to Mrs Neil, she’ll see to you.’

‘Who’s she?’ Serena panicked. ‘I don’t want to go to any Mrs Neil, I must get to a hospital. You don’t understand!’

Hearing the hysteria creep into her own voice, she told herself to keep calm as no good would come from getting in a state. ‘My babies are four weeks premature. I need special medical care.’

‘The nearest hospital is more than twenty-five miles from here. With this fog we might not make it at all.’

The publican had spoken with authority and both other men nodded in agreement. They continued nodding as he went on.

‘Old Radley’s wife had her baby on the way to the hospital only last week; happened in a lay-by. Almost lost the little mite.’ He pointed to the big man. ‘I think Tom here’s right. We’d best get you to Mrs Neil. You’ll be fine with her, she’s by far the best midwife in the county. All the mothers swear by her. They won’t go near a hospital if they can have Mrs Neil.’

If Serena had been able to find the strength she would have screamed. As it was she had to conserve her energy for the next contraction that was about to begin. She realized with growing fear that the contractions were coming every few minutes.

‘OK, take me to this Mrs Neil. Anything’s better than a damned lay-by.’

‘Good girl,’ said big Tom, promptly lifting her effortlessly into his arms and carrying her out of the pub.

‘I’ll call Mrs Neil and tell her you’re on yer way,’ the publican shouted after them.

Tom settled Serena gently into the passenger seat of her own car, took the ignition keys from her, and then adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his long legs.

‘It’s not far,’ he reassured her, as the car purred into life. ‘No more than about half a mile down the road. Can you hang on?’

‘I don’t have much choice,’ she mumbled, relieved when the Range Rover pulled smoothly away.

The road to Mrs Neil’s was a treacherous, unmade lane, and Tom had to swerve suddenly to avoid a pothole. Careering off the road he bumped along for few moments, the overhanging branches of a huge sycamore tree slashing the windscreen and obscuring his view.

‘Sorry ’bout that,’ he apologized in his thick Gloucestershire brogue.

Serena thought the pothole would have been preferable, but said nothing. Holding her stomach, she ground her teeth together, half in discomfort and half in anger. She was thinking about Nicholas. He was out of the country on a business trip. She had begged him not to go but he’d insisted, reassuring her that it was only for a couple of days. But the thought of how guilty and remorseful he was going to feel at least made her feel marginally better.

Finally they reached the end of the lane and Tom stopped the car. ‘We’re here!’ he announced, jumping out and running round to the passenger side with the agility of a sixteen-year-old.

He helped her down to the ground, bearing all her weight, and then opened a three-bar gate at the bottom of the pathway to Saddlers Cottage. ‘Lean on me,’ he urged, as they struggled towards the front door, their feet crunching on the gravel path.

‘Mrs Neil!’ hollered Tom, rapping sharply. ‘Mrs Neil!’

There was no reply; the only sound being Serena’s laboured breathing.

He tried again. ‘Mrs Neil, are you there?’

A neighbouring dog barked, then stopped abruptly. A few moments later they could hear a voice, muffled and thick with sleep, speaking through the letter box.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Tom Bayley, Mrs Neil.’

‘What on earth do you want at this time of night?’ she demanded. ‘It’s gone twelve, man!’

‘Did Jack from the Plough not call you?’

‘No, he did not!’ she snapped, then added grudgingly, ‘Well, he may have tried, but my phone’s been playing up the last few days. I can dial out; it’s in-coming calls that are the bother. Still waiting for the blasted engineer to come; the rate they—’

Tom interrupted. ‘I’ve got a woman in labour with me, Mrs Neil. I don’t think she’s got long to go.’

With that the door was flung open and the midwife appeared in her nightclothes.

‘This lady,’ Tom glanced in Serena’s direction, ‘came into the pub earlier, asking for directions. She was lost.’ His eyes opened wide. ‘She started her labour right there and then in the bloody Plough.’

A stupid grin covered his face, making Serena think he looked slightly simple. Just my luck, she told herself, to get stuck with an ageing midwife and the village idiot. Then she felt the now familiar pain beginning its steady rise. Gasping for breath, she grabbed Tom’s arm, her hand as white as bone upon his black donkey jacket. The contraction peaked and small beads of perspiration broke out on her brow. Struggling to stay on her feet, the panic in her voice was obvious.

‘I think you’ll have to be quick, the contractions are coming fast.’

Instantly alert, Mrs Neil took charge. ‘Come on, let’s get the poor woman in out of the cold Tom Bayley, instead of you standing there like a big oaf,’ she ordered briskly.

Tom nodded, ushering Serena inside.

‘Take her into the back bedroom, you know where it is.’

‘I should do.’ He grinned again, this time in Serena’s direction, and by now she was convinced that he was simple.

‘Mrs Neil here delivered my boy last year. Nearly lost him an’ all,’ he added.

‘Thanks Tom,’ Serena commented sarcastically, ‘that’s very encouraging.’

He dropped his head on one side to concentrate before helping her upstairs, and into a sparsely furnished room that smelt strongly of lavender and damp. It contained a washbasin, a high delivery bed and battered medical trolley.

Serena couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of the antiquated trolley holding an assortment of ominous-looking instruments. Tom sat her down in the one and only chair. Seemingly reluctant to leave, he held on to her hand.

‘You’re shaking,’ he said, ‘Can I get you something warm to drink?’

Serena shook her head. ‘I’m terrified. I don’t want to give birth here.’

Catriona Neil entered the room at that point. Overhearing what had been said, she addressed her patient in a businesslike tone, ‘First time is it? Well, I’m afraid you may not have any choice, my dear. How often are you having the contractions?’

‘Every few minutes.’

‘When you have the next one, tell me,’ instructed Mrs Neil as she walked to the small sink in the corner, where she washed her hands vigorously.

She had changed from her nightdress and dressing gown into a more suitable outfit: tailored blouse; tweed skirt and court shoes, all in exactly the same shade of donkey brown.

‘Tom, now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. Go and boil some water, and get fresh linen from the cupboard under the stairs.’

Tom looked helpless. ‘I’ve got to be off Mrs Neil, my missus will be worried sick, and it’s a long walk from here.’

‘It’s Friday night Tom Bayley; your Lucy will be fast asleep, confident that you’re holed up in the Plough as usual. So go on, do as you’re told.’ She pushed him towards the door.

Serena watched with a kind of morbid fascination as Mrs Neil lifted a small scalpel off the trolley and placed it in a kidney bowl. Shifting in her seat, she suddenly gasped.

‘The pain! It’s coming again.’

The thickly set midwife, who looked cumbersome but was actually extremely agile, reached her side in an instant and placed her hands either side of Serena’s stomach. There they remained until the contraction had subsided. At that point Mrs Neil stood bolt upright, with a knowing look in her eyes.

‘Is this your first?’ Serena nodded as Mrs Neil went on. ‘I see you’re carrying twins.’ After a slight pause she continued. ‘Don’t worry lass, you’re in good hands. I’ve been delivering babies long before you were even a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.’

There was something about Mrs Neil that instilled confidence. For the first time since her labour had started, Serena felt a little less afraid. A faint smile crossed her face.

‘I’m just a bit scared, that’s all.’

‘Well, I’m sure you didn’t plan to have your babies in the middle of the country, with a couple of strangers in tow. But you’re young and healthy; I foresee no problems whatsoever. Now, let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed.’

When Serena didn’t move immediately, the midwife had to click her tongue.

‘Where do I undress?’ Serena scanned the room.

‘Well, here for heaven’s sake! No point in being shy, you’re about to give birth.’ Rummaging in a cupboard to her left, Mrs Neil pulled out a long, cotton nightdress. ‘Here, put this on, and get into bed. We’ve got work to do.’ She chuckled, and went downstairs to chivy Tom.

Serena could’ve sworn the midwife was enjoying herself. Well, I’m glad one of is, she thought.

She pulled her woollen maternity dress over her head. Dropping it on to the floor, she was standing in her bra and panties, shivering, when Mrs Neil came back.

‘Not ready yet, miss? And by the way, hadn’t you better tell me your name?’

For some reason Serena did not want the midwife to know who she really was. She muttered the first name to come into her head, that of her housekeeper in London.

‘Mrs Boyd. June Boyd.’

When she looked up into Mrs Neil’s eyes they held the same knowing look she had noticed earlier. For a split second their mind’s met; Serena could see that the midwife knew she was lying.

‘Come on then, June, let me help you out of your underwear and into the nightie.’

Serena smiled meekly as if she were a child, when she heard Tom’s footsteps approaching the door.

‘Don’t you be coming in here yet, big Tom,’ Mrs Neil shouted. ‘Just wait a minute.’

She lifted the nightdress above Serena’s head and pulled it roughly over her naked body, leading her towards the bed. ‘Now young lady, you’ve got a tough job to do, so you’d better pull yourself together. You and I have got to bring these babies into the world.’

Mrs Neil’s obvious authority soothed Serena a little. As she lay on the hard bed with her eyes closed, she could have been listening to her first housemistress at boarding school, the much loved Mrs McKenzie whose bark had always been far worse than her bite. For some reason, not knowing that she couldn’t have been more mistaken, Serena suspected that Catriona Neil was the same type.

Stretched out on the bed, she stared up at the ceiling and submitted herself to an internal examination by Mrs Neil. A fringed, floral lamp-shade covered the overhead bulb. She tried to concentrate on counting its faded rosebuds, while the midwife probed inside her, pressing hard into her groin. She’d got to fourteen when the intruding fingers slipped out.

Mrs Neil pulled off her transparent gloves and announced: ‘They are well on their way; it won’t be long.’ Serena sighed and muttered a relieved ‘Thank God!’ under her breath.

A knock interrupted them, followed by Tom’s voice.

‘Shall I come in now?’

Even Serena managed a weak smile as Mrs Neil opened the door, chuckling, ‘Sorry Tom, we almost forgot about you in all the excitement.’

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Serena prayed for her babies and herself; in that order. She had read somewhere that it helps if you focus the mind on anything but the pain. She tried thinking about the new curtains in the nursery at Redby. She imagined herself floating in the warm Caribbean sea; reliving the day in Port Antonio when Nicholas had capsized their hired catamaran, and she had lost her bikini top. But nothing worked. For the next five hours, the excruciating pain banished every other thought and eventually she gave herself up to all of its agony. Wild, dislocated noises tumbled into her head – her own moans – and she thought she might die.

‘Push harder, June, push!’

Serena wished she had the energy to yell back that she was already pushing as hard as she could. She really felt like telling the other woman to fuck off; but when she did manage to speak her voice found the right words.

‘Please help me.’

‘Come on love. I can see the head, you’re almost there. One last push.’

Big Tom was holding her hand, constantly whispering encouragement, for what it was worth. His voice, with its strange accent, didn’t help; she actually longed for him to shut up. The pain inhabited every fibre of her being, it was all she could register. Finally, taking a deep breath, she summoned a new surge of energy and pushed as hard as she could. Then she gathered every last ounce of strength and pushed again.

One minute later the first of her twins was born.

Ten minutes later the second baby followed.

‘You have twin girls,’ shouted Mrs Neil in triumph.

Serena, panting, soaked, gave a final push to expel the afterbirth which slipped out easily.

‘Thank God,’ she whispered. Aware only of a profound rush of relief, she made no attempt to stem the tears that slipped down her cheeks, trickling across her parched lips.

Mrs Neil was visibly bubbling with excitement, smiling joyfully at Tom – who looked equally delighted, his face beaming with such pride that he could have been the father himself.

‘Are they all right?’ Serena asked the question that all mothers ask.

Mrs Neil nodded emphatically. ‘They’re very small, but absolutely fine,’ she confirmed, smacking each baby’s bottom in turn.

With the first cries of her offspring filling her ears, Serena sat up. Turning to Tom, she pointed in the direction of the sink.

‘Could you pass me some water, please.’

‘Of course miss, you must be mighty dry after all that effort.’

She swallowed the ice-cold water thirstily, thinking it tasted better than anything in her entire life. Handing back the empty glass, she turned to face Mrs Neil.

‘Can I see my babies?’

It was then that she first noticed a strange look on the midwife’s face. She didn’t know why, but it frightened her. And Mrs Neil had whispered something to Tom that she couldn’t hear. He left the room immediately, and this frightened her more.

‘What’s wrong?’ Serena’s panic was echoed in her voice. ‘Are my babies OK?’ she demanded.

Leaning as far forward as possible, she desperately searched the older woman’s face, trying to discover why she was shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes firmly fixed on one particular baby.

‘Your babies are f … fi … fine,’ Mrs Neil stammered, ‘It … it’s … it’s just—’ She could not contain the shock registering in her voice.

‘It’s just what?’ Serena’s own voice rose. ‘Is there something wrong?’

The midwife didn’t look up. She was still staring at the baby closest to her. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’

When she did lift her face, it was filled with a look of astonishment that Serena wrongly interpreted as fear. Voice faltering a little, Mrs Neil eventually explained.

‘You have given birth to one white baby, and one black.’

There was no mistaking her total incredulity. Serena’s mouth dropped open; she was stunned. She continued to stare at the midwife whose features were frozen in an expression of horror.

‘Have you gone mad!’ she shrieked, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Mrs Neil shook her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I only wish that I had. I really don’t understand what’s happened.’

The woman sounded almost apologetic, as if in some way she was responsible. She lifted one of the babies and, cradling her carefully, carried her to Serena. ‘Here, look for yourself and you will see that this baby is most definitely not one of us.’

‘I don’t want to look.’ Serena was shaking her head, holding her hands tightly clenched in her lap.

‘You must. She is your child,’ insisted the midwife, holding the tiny bundle right in front of Serena’s face.

The baby was still attached to the umbilical cord, her body crouched in the foetal position, with string legs curled up into her chest. Serena stared at the top of the baby’s head. It was slippery wet with blood. Suddenly, the newborn infant began to wail, arms and legs thrashing out in every direction. Tiny hands were thrown up in protest and, for the first time, Serena had a clear view of her daughter’s face. Instantly, visions of Royole Fergusson flooded her mind.

It was then that she began to scream.