Christmas Eva (2 page)

A screech of brakes hung in the air; a car horn blared.

A thud
.

Was she flying?

Darkness folded around her, cutting off a brief instance of pain.

 

~*~

 

Three weeks later

Harry Matthew Lyell pounded the treadmill in his front room, hymns blaring from the MP3 player around his neck. He hummed along, knowing he was out of tune, but not caring. After all, the Bible said
make a joyful noise unto the Lord.
It said nothing about it having to be tuneful.

Which was probably just as well.

He glanced at the wall clock. 9AM—way too early, but a lie-in compared with a three-thirty wakeup call on a film set. Early mornings were a killer, but they did have the advantage of getting the necessary evil of keeping his body in trim out of the way.

The phone resting on the front of the treadmill lit up—the display indicated his agent was calling.

Harry removed one of the earphones and hit
speaker
. “Hey, Frank. Kinda busy right now. Leave a message, and I might get back to you.”

“One of these days I'm going to believe you, Matthew, and I'll hang up and you'll miss out on a huge film deal.”

Harry laughed. He used his middle name as his stage name. That way he kept his two lives separate; besides, when he'd applied for his acting card, there was already a Harry Lyell registered with Equity. “Yeah, right. So, what can I do you for?”

“You got the audition for the role of DI Herrick—the lead in that TV series you wanted. Tomorrow at ten in Elstree.”

“Cool. I'll be there. Did you hear back from the director of
Long Beach
?” He'd auditioned for the film over a month ago now.

He'd gotten the part, but the writer had mentioned some added scenes, so he'd had Frank look into it before signing a contract.

“I did, and he confirmed there will be sex scenes in it. Several, actually.”

Harry didn't hesitate. “Turn it down. I don't do smut and you know it, no matter how essential to the plot the director says it is. Kissing, yes; shirtless or shower scenes if need be, but alone and half-dressed; sex, nope.”

“That's why I already said thanks, but no thanks. He wasn't happy, but when I told him that you have a ‘no nudity or sex scene' contract with me, there wasn't much he could do about it.”

“Cheers.”

“Welcome. You also have an audition for pantomime at the Adelphi Theatre in Headley Cross tomorrow afternoon. The panto director contacted me himself. Apparently, he's seen you in several things and is impressed with your stage presence. Insists you'll be an asset to his show and pull in the punters.”

Not slowing a beat as he ran, Harry grabbed the bottle of water from the shelf and flipped off the lid. “I don't do panto and especially not in some backwater town I've never heard of.”

“You'll love it. Anyway, the panto is Peter Pan, and they want you to play Captain Hook.”

Harry chugged back the water and then wiped his face on the towel around his neck. “They want me to do
what
?”

“Captain Hook. He's a pirate.”

“I know who he is.” He paused. “A pirate?”

“It'll look good on your CV.”

Harry scoffed. “It'll ruin my CV. Whoever heard of a Christian pirate?”

“It's called
acting
, Matthew. Something you're good at. So shut your larrup.”

Harry chuckled. “My mother's favorite phrase.”

“So, tomorrow the car will pick you up at nine to get you to Elstree for ten. It'll hang around and take you from Elstree to the audition in Headley Cross at three. And have you back in London in time for curtain up. Are you at home or the gym?”

“Home—I prefer to work out away from cameras and teenage fans. But I have another three miles to run before I can do anything.”

“OK. I'll send the scripts over by courier.” Frank paused. “You had a letter this morning.”

“I get hundreds of letters a week. Send a signed photo. I sent a load of new ones to you yesterday.”

“This one's different. I'll send it with the courier as well, but you need to hear it now.”

“Go on.” Harry didn't let up running, watching the screen in front of him.

Frank began to read.
“Dear Mr. Lyell. Three weeks ago, my sister Eva came to see you in your play on the West End. She's long been a huge fan of yours and was looking forward to seeing you in real life as she put it. On her way home that evening, she and her friend Sue were in an accident. Sue was killed. Eva has been in a coma ever since.”

Harry stopped running. What was the name of that girl who'd stood in the rain waiting for him that night? He'd been unable to get her image out of his mind ever since.

“I know you're a busy man, but they say that hearing is the last sense to go. I was wondering if you'd have the time to record a short message we could play to her. Asking her to wake up, saying that her family misses her. I understand if you don't have the time to do this, but I didn't know what else to try. I don't want to lose her.
It's signed Felicity Anderson.”

“What was the girl's name again? The one who got hurt?”

“Eva.”

“No, not Eva with a long e, it's A-va.” Harry closed his eyes. He could see her now—long brown hair, blue eyes, beautiful blue dress, silver sandals, and matching bag. “It can't be…”

“You all right?”

“Several weeks ago there were two girls outside the stage door, wanting autographs. One of them said her name was Eva. What are the odds of it being the same girl?”

“No idea. What do you want to do?”

He stepped off the treadmill. “Give me an hour to shower, change, and fight the traffic, and I'll come to your office to record a message. I'll pick the scripts up at the same time. Then, the courier can go and deliver the tape before lunch.”

 

~*~

 

That evening Harry sat in the makeup chair, the TV news playing in the background. He'd spent the afternoon reading and attempting to memorize the audition scripts, but he couldn't get the message he'd recorded out of his mind. Or the image of those two girls standing in the rain. He prayed that the message would work, and the girl—whether or not she was the girl in the rain—would wake up.

But what if she
was
the same girl? She had made a lasting impression that rainy night. He'd thought about offering the ladies a ride home, but in his line of work he'd become very cautious. An offer he extended as a kindness could easily be misconstrued and end up in a tawdry tabloid, so he'd become distant, closed off.

The news reader mentioned his name, and Harry jerked up his head and gazed at the TV. “Turn it up for me, please?”

The makeup girl did so, and returned to working on his makeup. Eva's picture was on the screen, along with his picture, and the theatre. His stomach pitted.

It
was
her.

“…see his play,
The Tide Turns
, at the Duke of Clarence Theatre in London's West End, three weeks ago. She and a friend were involved in a hit and run on the way home. Sue Giles died at the scene. Eva Anderson has been in a coma ever since. Her sister, Felicity, contacted Matthew Lyell's agent who arranged for the actor to record a message for Eva. This has been played at her bedside constantly since it was received early this afternoon, so far to no effect.”

Harry winced. He'd said no press, but once again, Frank hadn't listened.

The camera changed to a young woman standing outside a hospital. “We are incredibly grateful to Mr. Lyell for recording the message and will keep playing it to her.”

“Miss Anderson,” one reported yelled. “How do you feel about the fact the driver who hit your sister hasn't yet been caught?”

Harry hissed under his breath. “How do you think she feels?”

The girl paused. “We're praying he or she does the right thing and comes forward, but our main concern right now is Eva.”

Harry pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his agent. He got the answerphone. “Frank, it's Matthew Lyell. Can you let me know what hospital Eva Anderson is in, please? Oh, and thanks for informing the media. I'm all over the evening news.” He hung up and watched in the mirror as the girl finished his makeup.

She smiled at him. “That was a really nice thing you did—recording that message.”

“I would rather the world didn't know.”

“Even so, not many actors I know would do it.” She paused. “There, you're done. Just try not to smudge it this time.”

Harry grinned and stood. “Now where's the fun in that? See you tomorrow, Annie.”

He reached his dressing room and picked up the paper, flicking through it. His phone rang. “Hello.”

“Matthew, it's Frank, I got your message. I thought the press would like a cheery story for a change. Plus, it might make the jerk who hit the girl come forward, or someone might know who it is and dob them in.”

“That's as maybe, but I'd rather my good deeds go unseen, thank you.”

There was a knock at the door. “Five minutes, Mr. Lyell.”

“OK.” Harry nodded. “I'm about to go on, Frank.”

“OK, won't keep you. Eva Anderson is in the High Dependency Unit of Headley General, in Headley Cross. Why do you want to know?”

“So I can send her flowers. Gotta go.” Harry hung up and rang the florist he always used to send flowers to his mother. He made up his mind, there and then, to visit Eva after his audition tomorrow. It had to be a God-thing, right? She was in hospital in the same back water town he had to go to. Only this time, the press wouldn't find out, because Frank wouldn't know.

 

~*~

 

After his auditions, Harry persuaded the driver to stop at Headley General before driving him back to London for the evening performance. He'd rung his understudy, and asked him to be ready to cover if he wasn't back by curtain up. But he should be, as he had plenty of time.

Harry jumped from the car outside the hospital's main entrance and ran up the steps, taking them two at a time. Then, he made a beeline for the reception desk. “Hi, can you tell me where HDU is, please?”

The receptionist furrowed her brow as if she possibly recognized him, yet wasn't sure. He hoped she wouldn't call him on it. He was just one of thousands that pass through these doors every day.

“Sure. Follow this corridor and the blue signs to South Block. Then take the lift to the third floor, and follow the green signs.”

“Thank you.” It didn't take him long to find the ward where a whole group of people waited. He recognized one of them from the TV report the previous evening. That should make this easier. “Excuse me?”

The girl turned. “Oh…aren't you?”

Harry smiled and held out a hand. “Matthew Lyell. And you must be Eva's sister, I saw you on the news last night.”

She shook his hand. “Felicity Anderson. I wrote to you. Thank you so much for replying and sending the tape, and for the flowers. I wasn't expecting you to come and visit as well.”

But even with her smile, obvious worry radiated from her and the older couple with Felicity.

“I was in the area, so thought I'd pop in. How is she?”

“No change. These are my parents, Neil and Juliet.”

Harry shook hands with them. “It's nice to meet you. I'm just sorry it's like this. Would it be possible to see Eva for a few minutes? I'm due back in London at seven thirty. I thought perhaps if I spoke to her in person...”

Mrs. Anderson nodded. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

His stomach a bundle of nerves, Harry followed them to the ward door and waited while Mrs. Anderson spoke with the nurse on duty. Then, he washed his hands and followed Mrs. Anderson to the bed.

Eva lay completely still, wires everywhere. Her long hair was either gone or under the swathes of bandages covering her head. The flowers he'd sent were in a vase at the side of the bed; a potted plant sat on a table to one side. Machines hissed and beeped, recording every beat of her heart. He wasn't going to pretend he knew what they all meant, despite having played a doctor on TV for a couple of seasons.

“They had to cut off her hair,” Mrs. Anderson said quietly. “And I put the signed photo where she could see it. She's always wanted your autograph. She'll be thrilled when she wakes and sees that.”

Harry nodded, not about to suggest they check Eva's phone. It was up to her to tell them about the photos when she woke…if she woke. He sat by the bed, again praying for Eva and that God would see fit to restore her. He didn't want to think that God's plan might be to take Eva to be with Him now.

Eva's hands rested on top of the covers. She didn't wear any rings, so chances were she was single.

He mentally shook himself. Why did that matter?

He gently took one of her hands in his. She was cold. Automatically, he gently rubbed her fingers in an effort to warm them.

“Hi, Eva. I, uh, figured as my taped message didn't wake you, I'd come here in person. I'm really sorry this happened on the way home from seeing the play. You know, no one has ever thanked me for being an actor before. So you standing there, in the pouring rain, waiting for ages after the show ended to do so, meant a lot. Means a lot,” he corrected.

Did he imagine her hand moving in his? Such a tiny movement…

He squeezed her hand. “I mean, I get fan mail and marriage proposals by the dozen. What actor doesn't? I even get awards. So I know people like what I do, but to actually be thanked and told in person how much a performance has moved someone, is really something else altogether. It actually means way more than the BAFTA sitting on my shelf at home does.”

The monitors beeped faster, and Eva's hand definitely moved.