Читать книгу Penny Jordan's Crighton Family Series - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 15

A little nervously Jenny smoothed down the skirt of her dress. Jon hadn’t seen it as yet. In fact, no one had seen it apart from Guy Cooke.

She had been initially amused and then very touched when he had announced several months earlier that he was taking her to Manchester in order for her to buy an outfit for the birthday ball.

‘Manchester?’ she had queried, half-inclined to refuse to go, not sure whether he was serious or simply subjecting her to his sometimes wickedly dry sense of humour.

‘What on earth for? Chester is much closer and—’

‘Chester may be much closer but it doesn’t possess an Emporio Armani,’ he had countered, enlightening her obvious confusion by explaining, as though trying to instil comprehension of some arcane adult concept to a very small child, ‘Armani, my dear Jenny, just in case you are the only person on this globe who is unaware of the fact, is a designer—the designer so far as the vast majority of elegant, successful women are concerned. He designs clothes for women—not girls, you will note, not models, not fashion victims, but women with a capital W and there is a branch of his vast network of retail outlets in Manchester selling clothes from his diffusion range.’

‘Thank you, Guy,’ Jenny had retorted wryly, ‘but yes, I have heard of him and as for buying one of his designs or even looking …’ She had shaken her head and laughed. ‘My budget doesn’t run to that kind of extravagance.’

‘An Armani is never an extravagance,’ Guy had corrected her and then added smugly before she could argue further, ‘and besides, this is a diffusion range we are discussing with suitably modest prices. If you won’t come with me, then I shall just have to go by myself,’ he had added determinedly, ‘and choose something for you by guesswork.

‘I mean it, Jen,’ he had informed her sternly, ‘you are not going to this do wearing some dowdy, dull “bargain” bought at the last minute because you haven’t had the time to get anything else and because we both know that if you had you would not spend either it or Jon’s money on something—anything—for yourself. For once in your life you are going to be dressed in something that does you justice and for once in your life, even if you won’t put yourself first, then I’m damn well going to see that someone does!’

Jenny had had to sit down.

‘But why?’ she had asked him, honestly bewildered by the obvious strength of his resolution.

‘Why? If I said because you deserve it, you’d find some way of arguing me out of it,’ he had told her frankly, ‘so instead I’ll say because even if you yourself don’t recognise it, you owe it not just to yourself and to Jon but to me, as well, and to this business and before you come up with any more arguments, the business is going to pay for it. No, I mean what I say, Jenny,’ he had repeated. ‘Either you come with me or I’ll go by myself and—’

‘And you’ll what?’ she had teased him gently. ‘Make me wear whatever you choose or send me to bed in punishment instead with a glass of water and some dry bread?’

She had only meant it as a joke but she saw the look in his eyes as he told her oh so gently and oh so quietly, ‘If I ever got the opportunity to send you to bed, Jenny, it most certainly wouldn’t be in punishment and as for making you wear it … Well, let’s just say I don’t imagine it would be beyond my powers to work on Jon to ensure that he persuaded you to wear it.’

Bravely Jenny had met the look in his eyes.

There had been odd occasions before when her woman’s instincts had told her that Guy wanted more from her than just friendship, instincts that she had dismissed as the over-active imagination of a middle-aged woman. Now she knew she had been wrong, or rather that she had been right.

But they had still gone to Manchester, mainly because Guy had already preempted her by going behind her back to inform Jon of his plans and to get his assistance.

Jon, Jenny suspected, had little idea who or what an Armani might be but Guy’s comments had struck an unfamiliar raw chord within her, reminding her of how she had felt at the annual family get-together at Christmas dressed in the familiar security of her ‘good suit’ and humiliatingly conscious of how different she looked, not so much from Tiggy but from the other women present there, as well, women who were probably no more physically attractive than she was herself and certainly no younger but who seemed to have a confidence, a pride in themselves, that she had always lacked. Even Ruth had been more trendily dressed than she was herself, a fact that Joss had pointed out to her at the time.

She had been unnerved at first on stepping into the solidly built King Street building that housed the Armani store. The female assistants, every one of them impeccably dressed and groomed, all seemed to possess the same Italianate good looks. They exuded a certain air that initially she had found slightly intimidating but that, on closer inspection, melted away to reveal a genuine helpfulness that soon had her forgetting her doubts and allowing herself to be coaxed into trying on clothes that ten minutes beforehand she would have totally refused to even consider wearing.

In the end she had bought the dress she was wearing tonight—a handful of cream crêpe in the simplest of styles that fell from a sort of Empire-style bodice to her ankles in a swathe of material that owed nothing to the vagaries of fashion and everything to the eye of the master who had designed it.

It was, as the enthusiastic saleswoman pointed out to her, a dress designed to complement and flatter a woman’s figure. Without a single frill or flounce and without coming anywhere near fitting tightly to her body, it somehow still seemed to subtly emphasise all her good points, Jenny had realised as she stared at her own reflection in silent astonishment.

It was a dress that made her look and feel very much a woman; a dress that brought back all her teenage yearnings and longings to be seen as desirable … yearnings and longings that she thought she had packed sensibly away with all her other memories of those years. Yearnings and longings that she had told herself sternly were most certainly not appropriate to a woman of her age. And yet, she had still bought the dress and a trouser suit, as well, which she was saving for the family lunch they were having the next day.

The dress went beautifully with the pearls that Jon had given her for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, reflecting their creamy colour and satiny texture. She held her breath a little as she fastened them.

The phone was ringing as Olivia walked across the hall on her way to join the others in a predeparture drink in the drawing room. She answered it automatically, asking the caller to wait as she went to find her father.

‘There’s a call for you,’ she told him. ‘The Cedars Nursing Home.’

David could feel himself starting to sweat and he knew that his heart was beating far too fast. He could feel the tension invading his chest, tensing his muscles, his whole body, and with it the accompanying nausea of fear.

His palm was so damp he had to wipe it as he picked up the receiver and cleared his throat. ‘Yes, David Crighton here.’ His jaw was aching again. He massaged it with his free hand, turning his back towards the half-open drawing-room door as he listened to what his caller had to say.

Upstairs in his attic bedroom, Caspar grimaced as he finally managed to knot his bow tie and reached for his jacket. He wasn’t looking forward to the evening ahead and not just because of his quarrel with Olivia who, in his opinion, had been wrong to blame Hillary for it even if it had been her revelations that provoked it.

He had noticed a change in Olivia over the past few days; suddenly the family that, at a distance, she almost disdained had become all-fired important to her. Suddenly he and his views were no longer apparently of any value to her. Look at the way she had dismissed his advice over her mother’s obvious need for professional help and counselling.

‘It doesn’t matter how much they quarrel with one another, in the end they always stick together,’ Hillary had warned him this afternoon. ‘They stick together and they shut you out,’ she had added emphatically with a bitter look in the direction of her husband.

‘I suppose I should have seen the writing on the wall when Hugh told me about Ruth,’ she had added, ‘but at the time I didn’t realise exactly what he was telling me, any more than I realised exactly what it meant when I discovered that it was part of Ben’s grand plan for the family that ultimately Saul should marry Olivia.’

Saul should marry Olivia! Caspar frowned his lack of comprehension. Olivia had never said anything to him about there being any family hopes that she might marry her father’s cousin. But then she had never mentioned the fact that her great-aunt had apparently had an extremely passionate relationship with an American major who, according to Hillary, had virtually been co-erced into giving her up.

How much more was there about her family, about herself, that Olivia hadn’t told him?

* * *

‘You look just as I’ve always known you could look, should look. You look wonderful, perfect. You look … you.’

Strange how such words, such emotions, when expressed by one man, the wrong man, could mean so little and could cause more embarrassment and self-consciousness than pleasure and yet the same words when said by the right man …

Logically, of course, Jenny should have expected, anticipated, that Guy would be the one to praise and admire her appearance, take a long look at her as she welcomed him and then seek her out at the first opportunity to take hold of her hand and draw her close to him as he told her what he felt. But for some reason she was still idiotically hoping that …

The meal was over and the band had started to play. Several couples were already dancing.

‘Jenny! Goodness! You do look—’

Jenny tensed as she saw the look Tiggy was giving her and heard the critical edge in her voice, but before she could say anything more, Ruth interrupted firmly, ‘You look wonderful, Jenny. I love your outfit.’

There was no mistaking the sincerity in Ruth’s voice, or the warm approval in her eyes as she, too, studied her, Jenny recognised, and even David, who was standing slightly behind Tiggy, was looking at her now, his eyes widening slightly and then lingering on her.

‘It’s Armani, isn’t it?’ she heard Tiggy demanding as she self-consciously forced herself to break the eye contact David was maintaining with her. Ridiculous of her to start blushing like that. David was her brother-in-law, that was all, even if once …

‘Yes, yes, it is,’ she answered Tiggy hastily.

‘What on earth made you buy it?’ Tiggy persisted. Her eyes had narrowed, her voice was slightly shrill and she looked almost unhealthily pale, Jenny noticed. ‘It isn’t you at all.’

‘Mother …’ Olivia upbraided her mother warningly, giving Jenny an apologetic look as she started to draw Tiggy away.

Jenny frowned as she watched them. It wasn’t like Tiggy to be bitchy or unkind and her comments were making Jenny have second thoughts about the advisability of wearing her new outfit. Perhaps Jon hadn’t said anything about it not because he simply hadn’t noticed that she looked any different but because he had not wanted to upset her by criticising her appearance.

‘Tiggy’s wrong, you know….’ Her head came up as she heard David’s voice. He smiled warmly at her. ‘It does suit you.’

As tongue-tied as a small child, Jenny could only stand there and shake her head mutely.

‘Tiggy’s just jealous of you, that’s all.’

‘Jealous of me?’ Jenny stared at him. ‘She can’t possibly be,’ she protested. ‘Not when she’s …’

‘Not when she’s what?’ David prompted, taking hold of her arm and starting to draw her towards the dance floor.

Jenny shook her head again. ‘I can’t dance with you now, David,’ she told him huskily. ‘The caterers—’

‘Of course you can,’ he told her. ‘The caterers can wait, but I can’t. Mmm … you feel good,’ he murmured as he turned her into his arms and began to dance.

Helplessly Jenny realised that David wasn’t going to let her go and that it would cause less fuss to give in and dance with him than to go on protesting.

Unlike Jon, David had always been a good dancer, a natural dancer, and her face grew hot in the darkness of the subtly lit dance floor as she remembered what was said about men who were naturally good dancers. Too good, she decided shakily as he ignored her efforts to keep a respectable distance between them and pulled her closer to him.

‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered against her hair. ‘You used to enjoy dancing with me like this once.’

Jon was standing on the opposite side of the dance floor talking to Ruth. He didn’t appear to have seen them.

‘You look wonderful tonight,’ David told her softly, his hands sliding up to caress her back. ‘You look wonderful, you feel wonderful … you are wonderful, Jenny, and I wish to hell I’d never been stupid enough to let you go.’

‘David …’ Jenny protested, finding her voice at last.

‘David what?’ he demanded roughly.

His breath smelt faintly of drink, which must surely be why he was talking to her like this, Jenny decided.

‘How many years is it since we last danced together like this, since we last held each other like this?’ he asked her.

Jon had seen them now, and out of the corner of her eye Jenny could see him frowning slightly as he watched them. Max had seen them, as well, and there was no mistaking the expression in his eyes as he glowered at David’s dinner-suited back.

‘Do you know what I’d like to do right now?’ David was murmuring to her. ‘I’d like to—’

‘David, we really ought to get back to the table.’ Jenny almost gabbled the words in her haste to bring the situation back to normality. ‘There are still the speeches and the toasts.’

‘And the congratulations and the kisses,’ David agreed, turning his head to look right into her eyes. ‘You haven’t kissed me yet, Jenny.’

‘Yes, I have,’ she corrected him. ‘I kissed you earlier when you arrived.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ David denied. ‘You gave me a dutiful, sisterly peck on the cheek, yes, but you didn’t kiss me. I can still remember the first time you kissed me, Jenny. You tasted of blackberries and fresh air….’

‘David …’ Jenny protested. ‘Stop it.’

‘You tasted of blackberries and fresh air,’ he repeated, ignoring her, ‘and it was the most delicious kiss I’ve ever had. You were the most delicious …’

To Jenny’s relief the band stopped playing.

‘We must go back to the table,’ she told David firmly. Her heart was beating far too fast and her face was far, far too flushed. She felt … she felt …

The last thing, the very last thing she needed tonight was to be reminded of how she had once felt about David or how … When he finally let her go with obvious reluctance, Jenny made her way quickly back to their table, but she knew that the damage had already been done.

‘I can still remember the first time you kissed me,’ David had told her. Well, so could she, although her memories of it were, she suspected, different from his.

It was true that she had been picking blackberries and no doubt her hands and her mouth had been stained with their juice, but it had been David and not she who had instigated the kiss, David who had teased and challenged her by guessing that she had still not been properly kissed, demanding, when she denied it, that she prove it to him by showing him just how expert and experienced she actually was.

She had put down her basket of blackberries and walked slowly towards him, her head held high, her pride refusing to allow her to back down and inwardly feeling more terrified than she had ever felt in her whole life.

From before the previous Christmas the other girls in her class had been boasting about their new-found skills in the art of snogging and whilst she had smiled and pretended not to care that she was excluded from this new game, in private she had secretly studied every kiss she’d seen in films, endlessly wondering and worrying how she would fare when a boy finally kissed her. And now that that day had come it wasn’t just any boy; it was him … David Crighton.

Screwing up her courage as tightly as she had already screwed up her eyes, she pursed her lips and made a despairing dart in David’s direction and then stopped, her face burning with humiliation as her lips made contact only with thin air.

Opening her eyes she saw that David had moved to one side and was watching her in amusement, his mouth curled into a wide smile.

‘You really haven’t a clue, have you?’ he had told her, shaking his head.

‘Yes, I have,’ Jenny had fibbed.

‘Liar,’ he had chided her softly, adding with a smile, ‘It doesn’t matter, though. In fact, I rather like the idea of being the one to teach you.’

‘I don’t need anyone to teach me anything,’ Jenny had stormed at him.

‘No?’

She had turned round, intending to retrieve her basket and walk away, only David moved faster, planting himself between her and the blackberries, walking towards her slowly as she backed away from him until she could back away no longer. He had, she discovered, trapped her very neatly between his body and the stone wall behind her.

What happened then was, of course, inevitable. He had kissed her tightly closed lips once briefly and then a second time less briefly and then … and then he had bent down and picked up a handful of blackberries from the basket, popping one into his own mouth before offering one to her.

Naïvely she had opened her mouth for it—and for him. The fate of the rest of the blackberries he had removed from the basket was something that left her trembling and weak-kneed for weeks afterwards every time she thought about it, although the sensual intimacy of it was spoiled for ever for her when illuminatingly she later overheard another girl describing David’s favourite trick of passing sweets from his own mouth to a girl’s.

She had ended up with her mouth ripely stained by blackberries, a fact that gained her a scolding from her mother for eating the fruit she had wanted for a pie but that thankfully, at the same time, helped to disguise her tell-tale swollen lips.

Odd, but she never ate blackberries these days, blaming her aversion on the seeds.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jon shifting uncomfortably in his seat; the toasts were about to begin. Apart from that one small hiccup when David had insisted on dancing with her, everything had gone perfectly and according to plan. Even Ben had praised the food and Jenny had lost count of the number of guests who had come up to her and praised the décor of the marquee and in particular the richness of Ruth’s floral arrangements as well as doing a very gratifying double take as they noted her own appearance.

The quartet engaged to play through the meal had been an excellent if expensive idea and the cream backdrop had provided exactly the right touch of quiet elegance for the women’s gowns and the men’s dinner jackets. Even the younger members of the family had behaved impeccably. So why did she have this dull, heavy feeling, of emptiness almost, of … disappointment …?

David was getting to his feet whilst the eagle eye of the catering manager checked that everyone had a full glass of champagne; Jenny could see the look of pride and love in Ben’s eyes as he watched his heir, his most loved son; and she knew without having to check that the same look would be mirrored in Jon’s eyes. The feeling of heaviness intensified.

David cleared his throat. He knew his speech off by heart and had no need really of the notes he had placed on the table in front of him; that had always been one of his gifts, the ability to memorise whole tracts of written material.

He glanced round the marquee. His shirt collar felt tight and he was hot, too hot, his stomach muscles tense, the meal he had eaten lying like a millstone in his stomach. That damned phone call. A spasm of pain ripped through him, paralysing him with its intensity. It seemed to spring out of nowhere, forking through him like lightning and with the deadly speed of a poised snake. First came the sharp sting of its poisoned bite and then the burning flood of its deadly aftershock; it was a pain like no other he had ever experienced or dreamed of experiencing. All around him he could hear noise but it no longer seemed to touch him; only the pain could touch him.

Someone was screaming. It was Tiggy, Jenny recognised sickly as she and Jon struggled to get David into a recovery position, his body a leaden weight in her arms. She must not use the word ‘dead’. Not yet … please God, not yet.

‘What is it … what’s happened …?’

That was Ben, his voice querulous and shaky, the frightened voice of an old man, as he stood helplessly watching the chaos erupt around him.

Someone—one of Hugh’s sons, she couldn’t see which one—was trying to calm everyone down, to stem the panic that had flooded the marquee when David slumped across the table just as he was starting to give his speech.

‘The ambulance is on its way.’

Jenny turned gratefully towards Neil Travers. ‘Thank God you were here,’ she told their doctor simply. ‘If you hadn’t been …’ Unable to stop herself, she asked anxiously, ‘How is he? Will he …?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘It’s too soon to say. Right now he’s alive. We won’t know any more until we get him into hospital. He’s obviously had a pretty major heart attack, how major we won’t know until—’ He broke off as they both heard the wail of an ambulance siren. ‘You stay here with him,’ he instructed Jenny unnecessarily. ‘I’ll go and tell them what’s happened.’

As they waited for the ambulance crew, Jenny turned to look at her husband. If anything, his face was even greyer than David’s, his skin putty-coloured. He had been the first to react to David’s collapse, reaching out to him as he yelled at her, ‘For God’s sake, do something. He’s had a heart attack.’

Almost single-handedly he had tenderly lifted his brother off the table and placed him carefully on the ground. He had not said a single word since and that was because he was, Jenny knew, expending every single ounce of energy he had in willing his twin to stay alive, his hand clasped tightly around David’s as though he could physically pour his own strength, his own life’s blood, into his brother’s inert body. It was as though no one else, nothing else, existed for him.

‘David … David …’ Tiggy started to scream, trying to throw herself over her husband’s motionless body as the ambulance crew placed him on a stretcher, and she had to be physically restrained by Olivia and Caspar.

Jenny winced as Olivia used the flat of her hand to give her mother a short, swift blow against her cheek, not out of pain for Tiggy but more out of sympathy for Olivia.

All round her she could see the shock and disbelief mirrored in people’s faces as they found themselves unable to fully take in what had just occurred.

‘What’s happened to Uncle David?’ she heard one of the younger children asking in panic. ‘Is he dead …?’

It was one of Saul’s children who asked the question and Hillary immediately tried to silence her.

Poor child. She hadn’t, after all, done anything wrong. Jenny sympathised even if Ben was looking at the girl as though he would like to murder her.

‘David … David … where is he? I want to be with him. Where is he …?’ Tiggy was crying noisily.

‘They’re taking him to hospital, Tiggy,’ Jenny said, trying to soothe her. ‘He’s in the best of hands now and—’

‘They can’t take him without me. He could die without me. I should be with him….’

‘Uncle Jon’s with him, Mum,’ Olivia was telling her mother quietly whilst she looked appealingly at Jenny, silently asking her for help, just as all of them were looking to her for help, Jenny realised as she looked round at the shocked faces that surrounded her.

She took a deep breath and then said as calmly as she could, ‘Caspar, if you could take Olivia and her mother and Ben to the hospital. You can use my car and—’

‘I’ll drive them,’ Saul interrupted her tersely. ‘It will be quicker,’ he added as Caspar looked as though he was about to argue. ‘I know the way. Come on,’ he instructed, taking hold of Tiggy’s arm and relieving Olivia of her weight so that she was able to go over to Ben and gently guide him towards the exit.

‘I can hold the fort here,’ Ann, Hugh’s wife, told Jenny. ‘You’ll want to get to the hospital yourself.’ She patted Jenny on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, David and Jon might be twins, but that doesn’t mean that Jon …’

Quickly Jenny shook her head. ‘No. No, I know it doesn’t,’ she agreed, anticipating what Ann was going to say. How many other people were wondering the same thing. David had had a heart attack … would Jon be stricken down in the same way?

‘They’re two separate people, Jenny,’ Ann was reiterating firmly.

‘I know that,’ Jenny agreed, ‘but I sometimes wonder …’

Shakily she took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to start losing her temper or her self-control and especially not with Ann.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind taking charge here? I would like to be there….’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Ann assured her. ‘You’ll ring us—’

‘Just as soon as I hear anything,’ Jenny promised. She could see Ruth standing a little apart from everyone else, Joss close to her side, her arm pressed around him. ‘I’m going to the hospital,’ she told Ruth. ‘Ann’s offered to take charge here, if you want to come with me.

‘Max,’ she called out, summoning her elder son who virtually hadn’t moved from the moment David had collapsed and whose face was still blank with disbelief. ‘Max,’ she repeated more sharply when he looked uncomprehendingly at her, waiting until she was sure she had got his attention before telling him, ‘Laurence and Henry will want to know what’s going on. We can’t all go to the hospital. I want you to stay at the house with them. As soon as we know what’s happening, we’ll give you a ring.

‘Luke will drive his parents and his Uncle Laurence back and James will take the others. Apparently Luke is the only one his father will trust to drive his Rolls, and fortunately, since he was late arriving, he hasn’t had anything to drink,’ Jenny explained to her son.

The mention of Luke’s name seemed to have caught his attention.

‘God bless Saint Luke,’ Max sneered nastily under his breath, causing Jenny to draw a sharp breath and then bite down hard on her bottom lip. Quarrelling with Max was the last thing she had the energy for right now.

Behind his back, Ann gave a brief understanding shake of her head. ‘Don’t worry,’ she mouthed reassuringly, ‘I’ll sort everything out here. You go.’

As she drove her car into the parking area for the hospital’s new cardiac unit, Jenny acknowledged the irony of the fact that she herself had been extremely active in helping with the fund-raising for the unit and was more grateful than ever for all those people who had contributed their time and their money to making its existence possible. Whether or not the unit and the skills of its specially trained staff would be enough to save David’s life was another matter.

Shakily she released her seat-belt and turned to smile as reassuringly as she could at Ruth.

The receptionist’s greeting was a comforting blend of professionalism and sympathy. ‘The specialist is still with your brother-in-law,’ she told Jenny, once she had given her name. ‘If you’d like to join the others in the waiting area.’

‘Joss, why don’t you and Jack go and get your mother and me a drink?’ she heard Ruth instructing her younger son. ‘It’s given them a bad shock,’ Ruth told Jenny when they had gone.

As they walked into the waiting room, Jenny automatically looked for Jon. He was at the other side of the room with Olivia and Tiggy and hadn’t seen her walk in. Tiggy was crying and Jon had his arm around her. Gravely Jenny watched them.

‘It’s Livvy I feel the most sorry for,’ Ruth announced unexpectedly. ‘If she’s not careful, she’s going to find herself turning into a leaning post for Tiggy.’

‘You stay here with Ruth while I go and have a word with your father,’ Jenny instructed Joss when he came back in, carefully carrying their coffee.

Jon still looked as though he was in shock, Jenny noted as she reached him and saw the way he was barely able to focus on her, even recognise her, his face almost a total blank.

‘Is there any news yet?’ she asked him anxiously. It was Olivia who answered her.

‘No, nothing concrete. They’ve confirmed that Dad’s had a heart attack but as yet they don’t know …’

She put her hand over her mouth as her eyes started to fill with tears.

‘Come on now, take it easy. At least he’s still alive and he’s in the best place … safe hands …’

Olivia gave Saul a grateful look as he had obviously overheard Jenny’s question and come across to join them.

He had been marvellous on the way to the hospital, taking charge calmly and easily, even managing to stop her mother’s hysterics without betraying any of the disdain or disapproval she suspected that Caspar might have shown, and once they had got to the hospital he had dealt equally efficiently with everything there, even managing, Olivia noticed, to have a discreet word with one of the nurses to make sure that a professional eye was kept on Ben who, shockingly, seemed to have aged a decade in as many minutes, turning from a domineering, irascible patriarch into an almost frighteningly frail and vulnerable old man.

Just like the rest of the family, she had always known, of course, how much David meant to him and it made her heart ache with pity for him now to see the debilitating effect David’s heart attack had had on him.

Uncle Jon, too, looked equally devastated although in a different way. He had remained with her father right up until the specialist had arrived to examine him, and the moment he had walked into the waiting room, Tiggy had run over to him, flinging herself into his arms, demanding, ‘He’s not dead, is he? Tell me he’s not dead. I can’t live without him. I can’t …’

‘No. He’s not dead, Tiggy,’ Jon had reassured her.

No, David wasn’t dead, thank God. Thank God. No doubt it was the shock of seeing his brother collapse in front of him—his fear for him, his love—that was responsible for the feelings he was experiencing now. He had the oddest sense of somehow not really being a part of what was going on around him, of somehow having stepped outside himself, seeing himself as though his mind, his spirit, had somehow become detached from his body.

His movements, his behaviour, his words, were all automatic, instinctive. He was acting as he always had, as the dutiful, responsible brother.

He tried to put himself in his twin’s shoes, to imagine what it would be like if he were the one lying in the hospital bed. Would Jenny be weeping over him, distraught, inconsolable at the thought of losing him?

Or would she be looking at David and thinking … wishing …

He had watched them dancing together earlier, their bodies so close, Jenny’s head resting against David as he whispered in her ear. What had he been saying to her?

Jon had never been under any illusions about Jenny’s reason for marrying him. If it hadn’t been for the baby … And he, after all, had been the one to insist that they did get married. He couldn’t blame Jenny for that. He had known all along, too, how she had felt about David. Had known how almost relieved his father had been when he announced that he and Jenny were getting married and he had discovered why. Once married to him, Jenny could not pose any threat to the future Ben had planned for David. There had been the expected stern parental lecture, of course, about the fact that Jenny was pregnant and he had sat stoically through it, speaking only once to defend Jenny and to remind his father that creating a new life took two people and not just one.

He had seen the relief in Jenny’s eyes when David had written to say that he couldn’t make it home to attend the wedding and then naïvely he had taken that to mean that Jenny hadn’t wanted David there; that she no longer wanted him in her life.

He knew that Jenny had tried very hard to make their marriage work just as he had done himself; that she had been a good wife and was an even better mother—that could never be called into question—but he had seen the look in her eyes earlier in the evening, watching her as she stood in front of the bedroom mirror studying her reflection, not realising that he was there.

Her face had looked unfamiliarly flushed, her lips half-parted, her eyes shining with … with what? Expectation … excitement … because she had known even then that David …?

It had shocked and disturbed him to see her looking so different … so … so … desirable and … feminine. She had not looked like the Jenny he was familiar with and an odd sensation had gripped his chest as he realised the trouble she had taken with her appearance; revealing herself as a serenely sensual and feminine woman had not been done for his sake. Never once in all the years they had been married could he ever remember Jenny taking the trouble to dress like that for him.

And there had been no doubt that David had been impressed, and not just David. Jon wasn’t blind. He had seen the way the male guests had looked at Jenny, a quick, startled frown of semi-recognition followed by a much longer and far more sexually appraising study of her feminine attributes.

What had David been saying to Jenny whilst they danced? Had he been telling her how attractive she was, reminding her that the two of them once …? And what had Jenny felt, or did he really need to ask himself? As a teenager Jenny had loved David even if she had sturdily dismissed her feelings as a mere teenage crush when she had accepted his proposal of marriage.

David was his brother, his twin brother, and he had been raised from childhood in the belief that that relationship created a closeness between them, a bond formed on his part by unquestioning love and loyalty and on David’s by a careless affection that must come before everything else and everyone else in his life.

David might now be dying, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was not his brother’s stricken face as he collapsed, but his brother as he danced with Jenny.

Of course he wanted David to live. Of course he did. So why did he feel this hollowness inside, this emptiness, this almost complete and total lack of emotion?

Tiggy was still crying and trembling. Automatically his arm tightened protectively around her. Here at least was someone whose feelings were not tainted, whose sole concern was for David. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Jenny, to see what she was feeling, to read what was in her eyes, just in case …

Jack still had his arm around his mother whilst she clung weepily to him, Olivia noticed. She would have liked the support and comfort of Caspar’s arms around her right now, she reflected, but he’d stayed behind, probably seeking out Hillary for company and support.

‘Try not to worry. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can.’ Saul gave Olivia’s hand a comforting squeeze as he picked up on her tense anxiety.

The waiting-room door swung open and the specialist walked in. He looked tired and grave-eyed as he began to speak in an even graver voice.

‘David is out of immediate danger—for the moment. But …’ He paused and looked round the room, choosing his words carefully as he took in Tiggy’s tear-drenched, pale face and Jon’s equally tense, too rigid one. Ben was holding on to Hugh’s supporting arm whilst Ruth stood slightly behind him, Joss’s hand tucked comfortingly within her own.

Without knowing she had done so, Olivia took a step closer to Saul, glad of the male comfort of his arm and the heat of his body as he drew her closer.

Only Jenny stood alone, somehow positioned so that the specialist was closest to her, and perhaps for that reason he addressed himself more directly to her than anyone else. To an unaware onlooker it might have seemed as though Jenny were the sick man’s wife and Jon and Tiggy the married couple.

‘He’s had a very serious heart attack,’ he continued, pausing briefly as Tiggy sobbed audibly and clung harder to Jon, ‘and in fact he’s very lucky to be alive. But he is alive and …’ He paused again and it was Jenny who stepped into the silence.

‘What exactly is it you’re trying to tell us?’ she asked quietly.

‘David is a very seriously ill man. The next twenty-four hours will be critical. Until then, we won’t know—’

‘You mean there’s a danger that he could have a second attack? Is that what you’re trying to tell us?’ Jenny demanded.

‘It does happen,’ the specialist warned them gravely, ‘but hopefully …’

‘Can … can we see him?’ Jon asked huskily.

The specialist shook his head. ‘No. I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Not at this stage. It’s imperative that he’s kept calm and sedated. In fact, the best, the only thing you can all do for him right now is to go home and try to get some sleep, because …’ As he saw the quick, frowning look Jenny gave in Ben’s direction, he beckoned to a hovering nurse, then took Jenny aside and said reassuringly, ‘I’ll prescribe something for your father-in-law. I know his own heart’s not as strong as it might be.’

‘Tiggy’s very upset, Jenny,’ Jon announced ten minutes later as Saul started to usher everyone back into the corridor. ‘She can’t be left on her own. I think I’d better go back with her tonight, just in case she needs me.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jenny agreed, quietly refraining from reminding him that Tiggy had a house full of Chester relatives to turn to should she decide she needed a shoulder to cry on during the night in addition to her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend.

What would be the point after all? Jon simply wouldn’t understand. He would expect her to accept, just as he had always accepted, that David’s needs and wishes and therefore the needs and wishes of David’s closest relatives must automatically take preference over everything and everyone else.

As she got back into the car, she remembered that he had never commented on her dress. Silly to cry over something as senseless as that when she had so many more important things to cry over. Appallingly selfish of her, too, to even be thinking of her own hurt at Jon’s lack of response to her tonight, to have that at the forefront of her mind rather than, if only momentarily, David’s heart attack.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t concerned for David; of course she was. He was, after all, Jon’s brother and as such … She and Jon hadn’t even managed to have a dance together; she couldn’t, in fact, recall the last time they had danced together. This was so wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking about her own selfish needs when David was so desperately ill. Why hadn’t Jon said anything about her dress? Hadn’t he liked it? Didn’t he …? Stop it, she warned herself. You’re not a teenager any more; you’re an adult.