Christmas With Her Ex (13 page)

Connor took the snap of his gran, and had to smile at her waving him on to take another. It was a good thing he didn’t have time to see which coach Kelsie was boarding. As he put the camera down his grandmother came up, beaming, beside him. At least they were coming to the end of this awful train journey where he’d just complicated the blazes out of his life, but despite everything he was truly glad to have seen his grandmother so happy.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he frowned. Un-expected phone calls rarely heralded good news‘Excuse me,’ he said to Winsome, and answered. Listened. ‘I’ll ring you back,’ he said, and ended the call.

‘Gran?’

Winsome gazed around like a kid in a lolly shop, soaking in the moment, a brightness to her eyes that could have been excitement or maybe the shine of tears, and reluctantly she drew her attention back to him.

‘I need to head straight to London as quickly as possible for the patients I told you about. The mother is bleeding and they’d like me to be there. Would you be all right if I left now and had you met at Victoria?’

He saw her blink and focus more fully on him. ‘Now?’

‘They’re sending a helicopter for me.’

She frowned. ‘Don’t like helicopters. I’ll take the train.’ She glanced at him coyly. ‘I can always find Kelsie and sit with her.’

Internal wince. ‘Or Lady Geraldine. She’d love your company.’ He resisted the impulse to warn her to stay away from Kelsie. But it would only encourage her. ‘Would you like me to find Lady G. and Charlotte?’

‘No. No. I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re sure?’ He looked at her. Her cheeks were overbright and yet the rest of her face was a little pale. It had been a huge twenty-four hours and she’d had a fair intake of food—and wine! Maybe he shouldn’t go?

‘Go,’ she shooed him. ‘Go to that poor woman. I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine for eighty years without you hovering at my elbow. I’ll be fine for the next six hours.’

He redialled the number but the whole time he waited for a connection he studied Winsome. She didn’t seem to be flagging. Lord, the woman had more energy than he did.

Harry Wilson picked up.

‘That’s fine. If you send the helicopter I’ll come now.’

Gran would be fine. He’d ask Max to find a hostess to watch out for her and arrange for someone to meet her at Victoria. And Nick, Charlotte’s fiancé, was a doctor so at least there was medical help on the train if needed.

The Wilsons were his last patients with a baby due this year. His next wasn’t due till February. So he could stay longer with Gran afterwards to make up for this.

He spoke to Wolfgang, who nodded, and his bag was identified and handed over and he was directed to a far corner of the car park where a large orange cross was painted on the bitumen.

Apparently it wasn’t unusual for passengers to skip the Channel crossing and take a helicopter to London from here.

He didn’t have to wait long before the beat of helicopter rotors could be heard, which only increased his respect for Harry Wilson’s business arm.

As long as Winsome was okay, this had worked out well. He was glad to get away.

After he’d watched his grandmother helped aboard one of the big silver coaches he’d refused to look for any other people he might know. Specifically one who had labelled him a controlling sexist. No wonder she hadn’t married him if she thought that. All he’d ever wanted to do was look after her. What was so heinous about that?

The helicopter drew closer and he cast a last glance across to the coaches. Which one was she on?

No! He was glad he could remove himself from the temptation to do something as monumentally stupid as he’d done all those years ago. It was a good thing.

Ten minutes later, as the helicopter took off he couldn’t help but glance down. The train looked like a toy. As did the coaches as they began to pull out of the car park. He glanced ahead and the sky was grey and featureless. Not unlike his life stretching out before him.

K
ELSIE TURNED AWAY,
brushed away the regret that she’d probably never see any of these people again, and made darned sure she was on a different coach from the Blacks. It was time to move on.

There was a brief hold-up, their hostess informed them all, while a helicopter took one of the passengers away.

Kelsie settled into her seat and glanced out the window as she waited to see what would transpire in the crossing. She watched a helicopter take off and wished she could get on her plane now and head back home.

She hadn’t been sure what to expect of the next hour but it hadn’t been coach travel and three border controls as well as immigration control, where they all needed to actually get out of the coaches, troop through the customs and immigration, and have their passports stamped.

It became less glamorous by the second as once everyone was back on board their driver navigated the maze of transit lanes and down into a train shell that encapsulated their coach for the trip under the Channel.

Kelsie felt a tiny twinge of claustrophobia as their
compartment was sealed and the coach engine switched off.

The hostess had handed out bottles of cold water and then picked up the microphone. ‘All lights and air will be shut down now and just letting you know it can get hot if there are delays.’

There were groans from the occupants and she hastened on. ‘Usually it only takes about thirty-five minutes once we’ve started.’

‘But we haven’t started yet,’ the coach driver said cheerfully. Then proceeded to share. ‘We’ll be in the tunnel, which is about forty metres under the Channel. Coaches and vans travel in one type of railway carrier and cars have a double-decker carrier, while lorries have carriers with open sides.’ He looked up into the rear-view mirror so he could watch the faces. ‘And there is an emergency tunnel running parallel to our tunnel in case of fire.’

Kelsie shuddered and decided she’d fly across if she ever came to France again.

Half an hour later, without drama of any kind, they popped out the other end into the English countryside, and she even spotted the famous white horse of Dover on the hillside as their coach zipped them towards Folkestone.

When they pulled up in the station, despite the English sleet a brass band jazzed them onto their new train and the mood, flattened by the officialdom and dimness of the tunnel, lifted again as the hostesses pointed out a printed list on the station wall that allocated their carriage by name.

Kelsie was destined for ‘Audrey’, and she could see the white dining cars laden with crockery as she spotted the beautiful Pullman carriage that would carry her to London—on her own. Peacefully. Without Connor Black.

Except that Winsome found her. At least there was no Connor cruising along behind her, though she couldn’t help a glance back to see if he was there.

‘May I join you? I’m all alone. Connor was called away.’ Winsome was puffing a little and Kelsie thought she looked a little pale. ‘And I haven’t got your address. Or given you mine.’

There’d been a reason for that. Then the end of the sentence clicked in. She blinked. ‘Called away? From the station?’

‘No. From Calais. In the helicopter. One of his patients may have gone into labour.’

‘Oh?’ Kelsie would have taken more notice if she’d known it had been Connor soaring off. She didn’t envy him the crossing in this weather. Served him right. Black widow indeed.

‘Apparently his patient rang him very early this morning and after brunch, so he thought he might need to go. It wasn’t too much of a shock when he abandoned me.’

He’d abandoned me, too, Kelsie thought, or maybe I abandoned him? But she didn’t say it. At least he’d told his grandmother he was going, but, then, his gran had probably been nicer to him than she’d been.

Later, when she had time to think clearly, she would have to consider whether that had been a factor in him
leaving her cabin so precipitously. Maybe even why he’d left? she needed to think hard about that. But Winsome was looking at her hopefully.

What was she thinking? Winsome was all alone. ‘I’m sorry. You poor thing. I’d love you to join me. I was feeling quite sad that I might not see you again,’ Kelsie said with a smile.

Winsome settled down opposite Kelsie in the big plush seat and they both gazed at the silver ‘1927’ plate above the doorway.

‘You haven’t got rid of me yet.’ It was said quietly and Kelsie wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to have heard, and she chewed her lip as she tried not to laugh.

‘I love these carriages,’ Winsome said in a louder voice. ‘The way they’ve created scenery in the wood. Look at that castle there. All made out of slivers of different-coloured wood.’

Kelsie pointed. ‘You’ve got an island and palm trees above your head, there. Just under the luggage rack.’ Winsome craned her neck and Kelsie hoped she didn’t strain her back as the older lady bounced around in the seat to look at all the murals made of wood.

A tall, ridiculously handsome waiter in formal white tails trimmed with gold braid bowed, imparted his name as Samuel, and offered them a glass of champagne.

Surprisingly, even Winsome declined more bubbly, but nodded vigorously when he suggested tea.

Along came the silver teapots, sandwiches, caviar and quail eggs, pikelets and the inevitable scones and clotted cream. When the trolley with pastries and cakes
was offered, Kelsie could see that nearly everyone shook their heads and declined. She didn’t blame them.

She was learning to taste the array of food only. Neither of them had spoken for the last five minutes and Kelsie felt obliged to open conversation. ‘Connor missed another lovely meal.’

The quail-egg wafer stopped halfway to Winsome’s mouth and landed back down on her plate as if she’d been waiting for just such an opportunity. ‘I want to talk to you about Connor. Do you mind?

Kelsie bit back a laugh. As if I could stop you, she thought, but it was a poor choice of topic, Kelsie admonished herself. ‘Why should I mind?’

‘How much do you know about Connor’s childhood?’

Actually, he’d always been more interested in her childhood but she knew a little. ‘That he lost his mother at a young age and he didn’t get on well with his stepmother.’

Winsome was nodding. ‘Both true. You know he was there when his mother died. Did he tell you that?’

Kelsie felt cold all over. ‘No. Just that she’d drowned when he was twelve.’

Winsome looked sadly surprised. ‘I thought he might have told you more. He changed from a happy-go-lucky boy to a serious young man that day.’ She sighed. ‘All of us changed.’

Winsome shook her head with regret. ‘He told me once it was his fault. That he should have told her to come back. Shouted it out. It’s funny how youngsters can blame themselves for something they have no control over.’

Winsome gazed into the distant past. ‘I always blamed his father but really it was my daughter’s fault. She was headstrong. Impulsive. She was always losing things. Took after me in the way she’d misplace things like her handbag, her purse, keys—it used to drive Connor’s father mad but she’d just sail on serenely.

‘The day she died she’d lost her engagement ring in a rock pool, and she left Connor on the beach, even though the tide was coming in.’

Winsome sighed. ‘A freak wave came, she hit her head badly, and it didn’t end well.’

Kelsie remembered the serious young man who’d been the Connor she’d known. How good she’d always felt when she’d made him laugh. How good he’d said he felt when he cared for her. ‘He was always going to be a doctor.’

Winsome sighed again and looked at Kelsie. ‘I think he felt at some deep level it was his life’s work to care for the people he loved from that day on.’ She smiled softly. ‘Caring for people. He has been there every inch of the way since my husband died. I was ready to curl up and die then but Connor made me sit up and believe I still had a life to live. That’s not a bad trait to have.’

‘So the loss of his mother is what made him so controlling.’

‘Controlling?’ Winsome’s head came up. ‘He’s not controlling, not in a negative way.’ She laughed. ‘He cares. Worries. Gives in all the time to me, but he worries all the same, and, yes, sometimes I humour that and allow him to boss me around a little. But that’s not controlling. He doesn’t do it for his own gratification.’

The old lady looked concerned. ‘He might have seemed that way to you,’ she continued. ‘You probably did need time to spread your wings before marriage and luckily you were tough enough to take it. Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.’

She shrugged. ‘And it hasn’t all been bad for Connor. He loves his work. Has made a difference to so many couples. And, yes, with the work he does now, he does have to weigh risks and make decisions so he can help a woman come to a viable pregnancy, and he’s used to organising things.’

The faded blue eyes looked directly at Kelsie. ‘But Connor’s nowhere near controlling. What on earth made you think that?’

‘My father was a very domineering man. Worse when he drank. My mother left him, one Christmas, when I was fourteen. She died not long after and I never saw her again.’ She looked out the window where lonely countryside stretched away into the distance. ‘I vowed I would never let someone run my life again. Or ruin it.’

Winsome shook her head. ‘No wonder you weren’t sure you were doing the right thing, getting married, if your home was unhappy.’

Then her eyes focused on Kelsie and her voice didn’t waver. ‘But Connor is a world away from how you say your father was. I think it would be quite normal to have trust issues after that.’

Was that true? Was that a big part of the reason she’d run that day? She’d thought about it a lot since then. Had she been scared to love because of her parents’ bad marriage? ‘It’s probably why I’ve never really been into
Christmas since then, though Connor bought me a little tree once.’ She thought about that and couldn’t help but smile. ‘It was very cute.’

Winsome studied her with sympathy. ‘That’s the sort of thing Connor does.’ But she frowned as she thought it through. ‘So you left Connor all those years ago because you thought he was like your father?’

Had she? ‘I guess a few things were said when I left home that started me thinking. It seemed to fit into a few thoughts I’d already had about wishing I could just run my own life for a change. But blaming Connor doesn’t seem quite as logical when I look at it now.’

Did it mean that Connor had never been the reason she’d run away? Was that how it had been? Was that why she’d still not found a man she was comfortable to share her life with? Or was it because she’d been waiting for the magic she’d experienced with Connor? She didn’t want to consider that she’d blown it with him for a second time.

Winsome was gazing off into the distance. ‘A good marriage is worth waiting for.’

Kelsie thought about the man Connor had become, how wonderful he’d been with Anna and her baby, his sense of humour, his sincere affection for his grandmother, the way he’d held her when she’d let him.

Then she thought about the way he’d organised her in the run-up to their wedding that had never happened. What if none of it had been his way of controlling her but all so it would be easier for her? And she’d balked and panicked unnecessarily when she’d let him down.

She thought about the last twenty-four hours, how
they had been able to talk and connect when they hadn’t been fighting over silly things, how he’d made her laugh.

Winsome had reached the point of her story and Kelsie came back to the present. There was new determination in his grandmother’s voice. ‘He needs a life partner to give him balance.’

Didn’t we all? But Kelsie wasn’t going there. ‘I hope he finds one.’ She had such a lot to think about before they arrived.

Winsome didn’t look at all put out by her noncommittal answer. In fact, she looked like the mischievous older lady from Venice all those hours ago. ‘Oh, I think he will.’

Connor was having a day from hell.

His flight across the Channel had been horrendous, with turbulent wind gusts and heavy sleet, and he decided he hated helicopters almost as much as trains.

Plus he’d been unsure if he had done the right thing by his grandmother or by Kelsie, but at least they’d been on the ground. Safe in the damn train.

It hadn’t actually snowed on the flight but it had been falling heavily on the wild drive to the hospital.

Connie Wilson’s labour was being stubborn. Stuck in the on-off contraction phase that robbed the mother of sleep. Her uterus contracted irregularly and inconsistently in strength, and therefore she wasn’t any closer to actual birth but a lot closer to exhaustion. It was a pattern of an hour of contractions, none for two hours, three hours of contractions, and then none.

Connie and Harry were physically and emotionally exhausted and stressed and he felt bad that he hadn’t been there earlier to allay their fears.

‘Latent phase of labour is unpredictable,’ he explained for the third time in a quiet voice. ‘It’s much more difficult to look at this slow start as a natural progression, especially when you have gone through so many medical procedures to finally get to this stage.’

He crouched down beside Connie and looked into her frightened eyes. ‘It is normal, though.’ He didn’t say it could go on like this for days.

Connie smiled damply. ‘I know. They told us in prenatal classes. And again when we arrived here this morning. But I guess I needed to hear it from you. Thank you for coming. I do appreciate it.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe I don’t have the faith in my body that I should have but it has let me down. We couldn’t fall pregnant without help and I just worry I won’t be able to give birth to our baby without help.’

He understood that. Wished he could do more. ‘That’s perfectly understandable but I believe in your body’s ability to do this. And you can take comfort that it’s a very common mindset from parents who have gone through assisted reproduction, like you have.’

She sighed. ‘And you have kept telling me I’m not sick or a patient.’

Connor looked at the worried father. ‘That’s because everything is normal. The baby’s monitoring has shown lots of reserves yet, but as her mum you need a good sleep.’