Waiting. Uncertain.
She took a step towards him. He took one towards her and then she reached out, took his hand and carried it to her waist. ‘You’re going to be a grandfather,’ she said.
‘I read about it in
‘It’s not Jeremy’s baby.’ She covered his hand with her own. ‘It’s Tom’s baby.’ Then, ‘He knew you were here, didn’t he? That’s why he sent me on ahead of him.’
‘He said he thought we might need some time on our own.’ Then, ‘I’d given up hope. When I read about the baby and you still didn’t get in touch, I knew it would never happen.’
‘I’m sorry. So sorry…’
‘Hush. You’re my little girl, Sylvie. You don’t ever have to say you’re sorry.’ And he put out his arms and gathered her in.
Later-after they’d both cried as they’d talked about her mother, as they’d discovered they could laugh too-she said, ‘Did you bring Michael with you?’
‘We’re staying in Melchester. He’ll come tomorrow. Thank you for asking him.’
‘You love him. He’s part of our lives.’
‘And Tom? Is he going to be part of yours?’
‘I…I don’t know. Just when I think that maybe it’s going to be all right, I realise it isn’t.’ And she shivered again.
‘Maybe you should go and find him, Sylvie. We can talk some more tomorrow.’
‘Tom?’
She’d watched her father’s tail-lights disappear over the brow of the hill and then walked through the house looking for Tom. Not just to thank him, but determined now, as never before, to make him see reason about the baby.
Mrs Kennedy was in the kitchen making a sandwich. ‘Tom asked me to make sure you had something to eat.’
‘I had some soup.’
‘Hours ago. Did you have a visitor?’
‘My father. He’s coming for the Fayre tomorrow. He hopes to see you.’
‘I should think so.’ And she smiled. ‘I’m glad you’ve made up.’
‘Yes. Me too.’ Then, ‘Where is Tom?’
‘As to that, I couldn’t say,’ she said, wiping her hands and reaching up behind a plate on the dresser to take down an envelope. ‘But he called in to the cottage on his way out and asked me to come over in an hour or two and make sure you had something to eat. He said to tell you he left something upstairs for you. In your room.’
‘On his way out? When?’
‘A while back. Just after he turned out the lights in the marquee.’
She checked her watch. Nearer two hours. She’d thought Tom was just staying out of the way, giving them time to talk.
But she remembered the way she’d shivered. The finality in the way he’d said, ‘Enough’. That he’d left something upstairs for her. Something he hadn’t wanted her to find before he’d left…
She bolted up the stairs, flung open her bedroom door and saw the clown teddy propped up on her bed, just where Tom had been lying a few days ago. Looking for all the world as if he belonged there.
Because he had.
She picked up the bear, knowing that Tom had taken it from the trunk, carried it down to her room, placed it there. She buried her face in it, hoping to catch something of his scent. Trying to feel him, understand what had been going through his mind as he’d been putting things right for her. For her family.
Just as, all week, he’d been making things work for her fantasy wedding. Coming up with neat little ideas to part the visitors to the Wedding Fayre from their money. All little extras for the Pink Ribbon Club.
Then, as she looked up, she saw the letter that had been lying beneath the bear and she ripped open the flap, took out the single folded sheet of paper, then sat down before she opened it, knowing it wouldn’t be good.
Sylvie read the note. Maybe she was tired; she was certainly emotionally drained, but none of it made sense.
She’d seen him just a couple of hours ago. And what the heck did he mean about her having a long and happy life with Jeremy?
She read the letter again, then went back down to the kitchen.
‘What does Tom mean about you never having to leave your home, Mrs Kennedy?’
She smiled. ‘Bless the man, he gave it to us. Said that’s what Lady Annika would have done if she’d been able to and anyway it wouldn’t be missed from the estate when it was sold.’
Sylvie sat down.
He’d given it to them. Just because she’d said…‘And the clothes? You’re to send them to the Museum?’
‘I believe he spoke to someone there just yesterday. He said to tell you that if there’s anything you want, you should take it.’
She shook her head. ‘No…’
He’d been planning this? Why hadn’t he said anything?
She re-read the last paragraph again:
Jeremy?
He was always bringing up Jeremy. Had even mentioned seeing them in
Oh, good grief. No. He couldn’t possibly think that all this wedding stuff was real. Could he?
Did he really believe that she was marrying Jeremy while she was carrying his baby? While she had been practically swooning in his arms in the attics? Was that why he’d pulled back from that kiss over the kitchen table?
Was that what he thought she’d wanted to talk to him about? To plead for his discretion?
‘Oh, no, Tom McFarlane, you don’t…’
She had his cellphone number programmed into her phone and she hit fast dial but his phone was turned off and all she got was some anonymous voice inviting her to leave a message.
‘Tom? Don’t you dare do another disappearing act on me-not until you’ve spoken to me! Ring me, do you hear? Ring me now!’
But what if he didn’t?
