Читать книгу By Request Collection April-June 2016 - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 34

IN THE end Melanie didn’t lose consciousness. She was aware of Forde kneeling beside her and holding her against him as he told her to take deep breaths and stay still—not that she could have done anything else. She was also aware of the wonderful smell and feel of him—big, solid, breathtakingly reassuring. It was when he tried to lift her into his arms, saying, ‘I’m taking you indoors,’ that she found her voice.

‘No. No, you can’t. There’s a cat, Forde. It’s in trouble,’ she muttered weakly.

‘A cat?’ The note of incredulity in his voice would have been comical under other circumstances. ‘What are you talking about? You’re frozen, woman. I’m taking you in.’

‘No.’ Her voice was stronger now and she pushed his arms away when he tried to gather her up. ‘There is a cat, behind the wood there, and it’s ill or pregnant or both. Look, see for yourself.’ She allowed him to help her to her feet but wouldn’t budge an inch, saying again, ‘Look, there. And I can’t reach it and it’s terrified, Forde. We can’t leave it out here in this weather—’

‘All right, all right.’ Thoroughly exasperated but less panicked now she was on her feet and seemingly OK, Forde peered into the shadows where she was pointing. At first he thought she must be imagining things and then he saw it—a little scrap of nothing crouched behind the logs. ‘Yes, I see it. Are you sure it won’t just come out and go home once we leave it alone?’

Her voice held all the controlled patience women drew on when the male of the species said something outrageously stupid. ‘Quite sure, Forde. And I don’t think it has a home to go to. Whatever’s happened to it, it isn’t good. The thing’s absolutely scared stiff of humans, can’t you see? And it’s starving.’

Forde narrowed his eyes as he tried to see in what was rapidly becoming pitch blackness. ‘It looks plump enough to me,’ he said eventually. ‘In fact quite rotund.’

‘That’s its belly. The rest of it is skeletal, for goodness’ sake. We have to do something.’

‘Right.’ In a way he was grateful to the cat. He’d come here tonight because he’d heard the weather was going to get atrocious and it was the excuse he’d been looking for to see her for weeks. While she’d gone to see Miriam as promised he hadn’t wanted to do anything to rock the boat, and her demands had been very explicit—no contact. But, he had reasoned to himself on the drive from London, she could hardly object to him calling to see if she was well stocked up with provisions and ready for the blizzard that had been forecast for some days. He’d bought half of his local delicatessen just in case, as well as a few other luxuries he could blame on the festive season. He’d been hoping she would be mellow enough to ask him in for a drink, but he hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms like this—even if it was due to a homeless moggy. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

‘What are you going to do?’ she said. ‘We have to help it.’

He glanced at her. She was literally wringing her hands. Feeling that chances like this didn’t come that often, he gestured towards the cottage. ‘Go and open the door and get ready to close it again once I get the thing in the house.’

‘But you won’t reach it,’ she almost wailed.

‘I’ll reach it.’ If there was a God, he’d reach it. Once she was in position in the doorway to the cottage, he reached into the narrow void between the fence and the logs. He heard the cat hiss and spit before he felt its claws but somehow he got it by the scruff of the neck and hauled it out so he could get a firm hold. He realised immediately Melanie was right, the poor thing was emaciated apart from its swollen stomach, which, if he was right, was full of kittens.

He had grown up with cats and a couple of dogs and now he held the animal against the thick wool of his coat talking soothingly to it and trying not to swear as it used its claws again. But it hadn’t bit him. Which, in the circumstances, was something. Especially as it was frightened to death.

Melanie was all fluster once they had got it into the house and shut the door but he still held onto the cat, which had become quieter. ‘Nell, warm a little milk in a saucer, and we’ll need some food.’ He sat down on one of the breakfast bar stools, holding the cat gently but firmly. ‘Have you got a cardboard box we could use as a bed for it?’

She shook her head as she slopped milk into a saucer and then began to chop some chicken up. ‘I can fetch a blanket if you like? I’ve several in the airing cupboard.’

‘Anything.’ The cat had calmed right down but was still shaking. He loosed one of his hands enough to begin stroking it and to his surprise it didn’t squirm or try to escape, but lay on his lap as though it was spent. Which it probably was, he thought pityingly. How long it had been fending for itself was anyone’s guess, but it hadn’t done very well by the look of it. He could imagine it had been a pet that had got pregnant and—with Christmas coming up and all the expense—had become expendable to its delightful owners.

Melanie brought the saucer of milk over and held it in front of the cat as it lay on his lap. It took seconds to finish the lot. Her voice thick with tears, she said, ‘The poor thing, Forde. How could someone dump a pretty little cat like this?’

So she had come to the same conclusion as him. ‘Beyond me, but I’d like five minutes alone with them,’ he said grimly. ‘Try the chicken now. I don’t want to put it down yet in case it bolts and we frighten it trying to catch it again.’

The chicken went the same way as the milk. Opening his coat, he slipped the cat against the warmth of his cashmere jumper and half closed the edges of the coat around it, making a kind of cocoon. ‘It needs to warm up,’ he said to Melanie, ‘and holding it like this is emphasising we don’t mean it any harm. That’s more important than anything right now.’

‘Shall I get some more milk and chicken?’ she asked, putting out a tentative hand and gently stroking the little striped head. The cat tensed for a moment and then relaxed again. It was clearly exhausted.

‘No, we don’t want to give it too much too quickly and make it sick if it’s been without food for a while. Leave it for an hour or two and then we’ll try again.’

She nodded, her hand dropping away. Then she looked him straight in the eyes and said honestly, ‘I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life. I didn’t know what to do.’

Anyone. Not him specifically. But again, better than nothing. He grinned. ‘I left my white steed in the car park but it’s good to know I can still warm a fair maiden’s heart. Talking of which, there’s various bits and pieces in the car I need to fetch in a while.’

‘Bits and pieces?’

‘I wanted to make sure you were stocked up with provisions in view of the snow that’s coming.’ Considering how well he’d done with the moggy he thought he could push his luck. ‘And I was hoping we could perhaps share a meal?’ he added with a casualness that didn’t quite come off. ‘Before I go back?’

Melanie’s big brown eyes surveyed him solemnly. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said simply.

The cat chose that moment to begin purring and Forde knew exactly how it felt. To hide the surge of elation he’d felt at her words, he smiled, saying, ‘Listen to that. This is a nice cat. In spite of what’s happened to it it’s still prepared to trust us.’

‘I’ll make us a coffee. It’s decaf now, I’m afraid.’

‘Decaf’s fine.’ Mud mixed with water would have been fine right at that moment.

He drank the coffee with the cat still nestled against him, now fast asleep. They talked of inconsequential things, both carefully feeling their way. Outside the wind grew stronger, howling like a banshee and rattling the windows.

After a while Melanie fetched a blanket from her little airing cupboard and they made a bed for the cat in her plastic laundry basket. They fed it more milk and chicken before Forde gently extracted it from his coat and laid it in the basket, whereupon it went straight to sleep again. Melanie had placed the basket next to the radiator in the kitchen and it was as warm as toast.

‘It’s still a very young cat,’ said Forde as they stood looking down at the little scrap, ‘but those are definitely kittens in there and if I’m not much mistaken she’s due pretty soon.’

‘How soon?’ Melanie showed her alarm. She liked animals but she had never had much to do with any while growing up. As for the mechanics of a cat giving birth …

‘Hard to tell. Could be hours, could be days.’

‘But time enough to get her to a vet?’

‘That might freak her out.’ Forde was thinking. ‘How far is your nearest vet?’

Melanie stared at him blankly. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

‘OK. Look in the telephone directory while I get the stuff in from the car and find a local vet. It’s—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—getting on for five o’clock but they should still be working. I’ll give them a ring and ask if someone can come and make a house call.’

‘Would they do that if they don’t know us?’ Melanie asked doubtfully. ‘It’s not as if we’re clients, is it?’

‘We won’t know that till we ask.’

Without thinking about it she reached up and looped her arms round his neck, kissing him hard and then stepping back a pace before he could respond.

He stared at her, clearly taken aback. ‘What was that for?’

‘For caring.’

‘About the moggy?’

‘No, not just the cat,’ she said softly.

Something told him not to push it at this stage. ‘I’ll get the food in. You find that number.’

When he called the veterinary surgery, which was situated some fifteen miles away in the nearest small market town, the receptionist was less than helpful, although she did eventually let him speak to one of the vets after Forde wouldn’t take no for an answer. As luck would have it, the woman was young, newly qualified and enthusiastic, added to which Forde used his considerable charm along with offering to pay the call-out fee with his credit card over the telephone and any further costs with cash before she left the cottage.

But Melanie, listening to Forde’s end of the exchange, was quite convinced it was the charm that had swung it when the vet said she would be with them within the hour.

Once she began to unpack the bags Forde had brought in she could hardly believe the amount of food he’d bought. A whole cooked ham, a small turkey, a tray of delicious looking canapés, a mulled-cranberry-and-apple-chutney-topped pork pie, cheese of all descriptions, jars of preserves, a Santa-topped Christmas cake and a box of chocolate cup cakes, mince pies, vegetables, nuts, fruit, and still the list went on.

‘Forde, this would feed a family of four for a week,’ she said weakly when the last bag was empty. ‘There’s only me. Whatever possessed you?’

‘I must have known you’d have a visitor.’ He smiled at her over the heaped breakfast bar as she began to stuff what she could in her fridge.

‘A visitor?’ She glanced at him, colour in her cheeks.

He nodded towards the sleeping cat.

‘Oh, yes, of course, but she’s hardly going to eat much,’ she said flusteredly. For a minute she’d thought… But no, he wouldn’t invite himself to stay, not after the rules she’d made. If she wanted him to spend Christmas with her she would have to ask him. But did she want that? Or, more precisely, did she want what that would mean in the days after Christmas and beyond? Because one thing was for sure: she couldn’t play fast and loose with his heart any more. She had to be sure. And she wasn’t; she wasn’t sure. Was she?

‘You’d be surprised. She’s going to have kittens to feed and she’s got lost time to make up for.’

And as though on cue the cat woke up, stretching as she opened big amber eyes and then stood up amid the folds of the blanket. When Forde lifted her out of the laundry basket she didn’t struggle but gave a small miaow. Melanie quickly warmed more milk and cut more chicken, and this time Forde set the little animal on its feet to eat. She cleared both saucers, stretched again and then walked over to her makeshift bed and jumped in, settling herself down by kneading the blanket how she wanted it. Then she looked at them.

Melanie knelt down beside her, stroking the brindled fur beneath which she could feel every bone. ‘She’s so beautiful,’ she murmured softly, ‘and so brave. She must have been desperate, knowing her babies are going to be born and she had no shelter, no food. It’s a wonder she’s survived this long.’

A steady, rhythmic vibration began under her fingers as the little cat began to purr; it made her want to cry. How could anyone treat this friendly little creature so cruelly? To throw her out in the winter when they must have known her chances of survival and those of the kittens was poor?

‘But now she’s found you,’ Forde said quietly. ‘And she knows she can trust you to look after her.’

Flooded by emotions as turbulent as the weather outside, Melanie looked up at him. She felt as though she were standing at the brink of something profound. ‘Do you think I should keep her?’

He didn’t prevaricate or throw the ball back in her court. ‘Yes, I do. She needs someone to love her unconditionally.’

Melanie blinked back tears. ‘But she’s so fragile and thin. I can’t see her surviving giving birth, Forde. And what of the kittens? If their mother’s been starving, what shape will they be in when they’re born?’

‘Take it a moment by moment, hour by hour. She might surprise you. I think she’s a tougher little cookie than she looks. Don’t give up on her yet.’

‘I’m not about to give up on her,’ said Melanie, a trifle indignantly. ‘That’s the last thing I would do.’

‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘In that case she has a fighting chance.’

The ringing of the doorbell ended further conversation. The vet turned out to be a big, buxom woman with rosy cheeks and large hands, but she was gentleness itself with her small patient. The cat submitted to her ministrations with surprising docility and when she had finished examining her, the vet shook her head. ‘I’d be surprised if she’s more than a year or so old. She’s little more than a kitten herself. That’s not good for a number of reasons. She might find it difficult giving birth and in her state she hasn’t got any physical strength to fall back on. Being so malnourished I don’t know if she would be able to produce a good quality of milk for the kittens, should she or them survive the birth. But—’ she looked at them both ‘—she’s a dear little cat, isn’t she?’

‘What can you do to help in the short term?’ Forde asked quietly. ‘We want to give her every chance.’

‘The main thing she needs is rest and food and food and rest. Have you got a litter tray so she doesn’t need to go outside? It’s important to keep her warm.’

Forde shook his head. ‘But I can get one.’

‘Not at this time of night. Follow me back to the surgery and I’ll give you one of ours, along with a food made specially for pregnant females and feeding mothers. I’ll give her a vitamin injection now and once she’s a little stronger she’ll need various vaccinations for cat flu and other diseases. I don’t want to tax her system by doing that now, and as long as you keep her confined to the house for the time being she won’t come into contact with other felines who might be carrying diseases. I think she’s due very soon, although it’s difficult to tell in a case like this. If she does begin and you’re worried for any reason, call me. I’ll give you my mobile number.’

She smiled. ‘Having done that we can almost guarantee she’ll start as I sit down for my Christmas lunch.’

‘That’s very good of you,’ said Melanie.

‘This is an exceptional case,’ the young woman said quietly. ‘I hate to think what she’s been through in the last weeks. Now, let her eat and drink little and often in the next twenty-four hours and try to get as much down her as she wants. But I have to warn you—’ again she glanced at them both ‘—the odds are stacked against her giving birth to live kittens. I can give you vitamin drops to put in her food but I’m afraid it might well be too little too late.’

Melanie nodded. ‘Nevertheless, we want to try.’

‘Good. Fuss her, talk to her and give her plenty of TLC. You won’t read that in any veterinary journal but in my opinion it works wonders with animals that have been ill treated. They understand far more than we give them credit for.’

The vet gave them a few more instructions and then she and Forde left, leaving Melanie with Tabitha, as she had decided to call the pretty little animal. She found she was on tenterhooks all the time Forde was gone. Forde had carried the basket into the sitting room for her before he departed, setting it on the thick rug in front of the fire, and after a little more food Tabitha had gone soundly asleep. Melanie tried to watch TV but her whole attention was fixed on the sleeping feline.

The vet had run through the signs to look for when the cat started labour and what to expect, and Melanie found herself praying the whole time nothing would happen before Forde got back. He’d know what to do; he always did.

The relief she felt when she heard him call to her when he let himself in with the key she’d given him was overwhelming. She flew out into the hall, her words tumbling over themselves as she said, ‘Did you get everything? Should we try and give her some of the special food right now? Where should we put the litter tray? Do you think she’ll let us know when she needs to use it?’ She stopped to draw breath.

Forde regarded her with amused eyes. ‘Yes, yes, litter tray by the basket and maybe.’

He looked big and dark and impossibly attractive in her tiny hall, and sexy. Incredibly sexy. Before she knew what she was saying, she blurted, ‘Will you stay here tonight, in case something happens?’

He smiled a sweet smile. ‘I didn’t intend to leave you by yourself, Nell. Now, we’ll get our patient organised with some more food and then we’ll eat ourselves, OK? Ham and eggs, something quick and easy. Have you got a spare duvet I can use tonight and perhaps a pillow for the sofa?’

‘You’ll never sleep on my sofas.’ His long frame was double their length. ‘I can stay down here with her.’

‘You need your sleep.’ He glanced at the swell of her stomach under the soft Angora sweater-dress she was wearing. ‘And I’ll be fine. Now, let’s see how she likes this food compared to the chicken.’

The food smelt quite disgusting when they opened the tin, the odour of fish overpowering, but Tabitha finished a saucerful without seemingly pausing for breath.

‘Cat caviar,’ commented Forde drily. ‘It should be too, considering the price. Remind me to come out of property developing and into cat food.’

Melanie smiled. It was scarily good having him here. And not just because of Tabitha.

They ate their own meal at the dining-room table. Melanie was glad she’d cleared it of paperwork a few days before and put a festive centrepiece of holly with bright red berries in pride of place. That, along with her small, fragrant Christmas tree decorated with baubles and tinsel in the sitting room and the cards dotted about, gave the impression she’d made some effort. In truth, she’d never felt less like celebrating Christmas. Or it had been that way until she had heard Forde’s voice.

Melanie had insisted on having Tabitha’s basket where they could see her while they ate, and after they’d finished the meal she carried their decaf coffee and the chocolate cup cakes Forde had bought through to the sitting room, while Forde brought Tabitha. The little cat looked out serenely from the basket as Forde set it in front of the fire again, apparently quite happy with all the coming and going.

The cup cakes were heavenly. Melanie ate three, one after another, and then looked at Forde aghast. ‘I’m going to be as big as a house before this baby’s born. Now the sickness has gone all I think about is food. I no sooner eat breakfast than I’m thinking about lunch and then dinner, and Christmas doesn’t help with all the extra temptations of cake and plum pudding and chocolate.’

‘Nell, you could never look anything but gorgeous to me.’ He lifted her small chin, licking a smear of chocolate icing from the corner of her mouth before kissing her as though no one else in the world existed. Her lips, as soft and warm as mulled wine, moved against his and she kissed him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulders and tangling in his hair.

He caught the moan that fluttered in her throat with his breath, his kiss deepening still more and his tongue beginning an insistent probing that brought every nerve in her body to singing life. Before she knew what he was doing he had moved and lifted her so she was sitting on his lap. Now his mouth moved from her lips to trail a burning path to her throat and down into the V of her cleavage.

Melanie gasped and he lifted her head to look into her flushed face. ‘I want you,’ he murmured softly, ‘all the time. At my desk when I’m working, in the car, at home when I’m eating a meal or taking a shower. There’s not a minute of a day when I’m not thinking about you. You’re in my blood, do you know that? For life. A sweet addiction that’s impossible to fight.’

‘Do you want to fight it?’ she asked faintly, his silvery eyes mesmerising.

His mouth twisted in a bittersweet smile. ‘There have been times when I’ve thought the pain would be easier if I did, but, no, I don’t.’

This time she kissed him and his body throbbed with the contact. His hands ran over her breasts, the soft wool beneath his fingers moulding to the rounded globes and her nipples hard and engorged. She didn’t object when he tugged her dress upwards, helping him by lifting her arms as he pulled it over her head. Her lacy bra showed her breasts were fuller and her cleavage deeper, the firm mound of her belly making his breath catch in his throat. Her body was changing, to accommodate his son or daughter. The surge of possessive love expanded his chest and made it difficult to breathe.

‘Forde?’

‘You’re so beautiful, Nell,’ he whispered, his eyes brilliant with unshed tears. ‘So beautiful.’

They undressed each other slowly and completely, touching and tasting as they did so until they were both naked and trembling with desire. Then she climbed on top of him on the sofa where they were lying, sitting astride him as she lowered herself onto the proud rod of his erection.

Her body was warm, unbelievably soft and welcoming as it accepted him, and as she began to move he struggled to keep control so she was fulfilled along with him. He could see the pleasure in her face and it was almost more erotic than he could bear, his body shaking as his muscles clenched against the release it was aching for.

He felt her climax and went with her, their sanity shattering into pure sensation and then reforming in the aftermath of drugged passion. It was a few moments after she had snuggled against him before either of them could speak. ‘Wow,’ murmured Forde huskily. ‘Tell me this isn’t a dream and I’m going to wake up in a minute back at the house.’

‘It’s real.’ She shivered as she spoke and he reached for the throw hanging over the back of the sofa, wrapping it round them as she settled her head on his chest. Within moments she was fast asleep, just the odd spit and crackle from the fire disturbing the pine-scented stillness. He glanced at the basket. The cat was sleeping too amid the folds of the blanket, its small striped body barely moving with each breath.

I owe you, Forde told it silently. And now you’ve got me this far I’m not leaving.

The room was all dancing shadows, the flickering flames of the fire and the lights on Melanie’s Christmas tree creating a soothing, womblike feeling. Outside the wind continued to moan and howl, and now sleet was hurling itself against the windows with a ferocity that made the room even warmer and cosier in comparison to the storm outside.

Holding Melanie close, he shut his eyes.