scrubbed the bitter, angry tears away and headed out of town, with no clear idea of where she was going and what she was going to do, just knowing she had barely a hundred pounds in her bank account, no job and nowhere to stay, and her prospects of getting some money fast to tide her over were frankly appalling.
Her only thought was to get away, as far and as fast as she could, but even in the midst of all the turmoil, she realised she couldn’t just drive aimlessly forever.
‘Oh, rats,’ she said, her voice breaking, and pulling off the road into a layby, she leant back against the head restraint and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She really, really wouldn’t cry. Not again. Not any more. She’d cried oceans in the past three years since she’d known James was dying, and it was time to move on.
But where? It would be dusk soon, the night looming, and she had nowhere to stay. Could she sleep in the car? Hardly. It was only April, and she’d freeze. Her old friends in Bristol and Cheshire were too far away, and she’d lost touch with most of them anyway since James had been ill and they’d moved back to Essex. The only person who would understand was Emily, and she and Andrew were away and in any case the last people in the world she could really turn to. It just wouldn’t be fair.
But Sam was there.
Sam, who’d as good as told her to get rid of the baby.
No. He hadn’t, she thought, trying to be fair. She’d thought he meant that, but he hadn’t, not that way. He’d come after her, offered his unconditional support, whatever her decision. Said he thought she’d made the right one.
If there’s anything you need, anything I can do, just ask… Promise me you’ll call me… You need a friend—someone who understands.
And he’d given her his card.
She looked down and there it was in the middle, a little white rectangle of card lying in the heap of sweet wrappers and loose change just in front of the gear lever where she’d dropped it. She pulled it out, keyed in the number and reluctantly pressed the call button.
CHAPTER TWO
‘HUNTER.’
He sounded distracted, terse. He was probably busy, and for a moment she almost hung up, her courage failing her. Then he spoke again, and his voice was softer.
‘Emelia?’
How had he known?
‘Hi, Sam.’ She fizzled out, not sure what to say, where to start, but he seemed to understand. ‘Problems?’
‘Sort of. Look—I’m sorry, I expect you’re busy. It’s just—we need to talk, really, and I’ve gone and got myself into a rather silly situation.’ She took a little breath, then another one, and he interrupted her efforts to get to the point.
‘I’m not busy. Where are you?’
She looked around. She’d seen a sign ages ago that welcomed her to Suffolk—where Sam lived, according to Emily, in a ridiculous house in the middle of nowhere. Had she gone there subconsciously? Probably. She’d been driving in circles, lost in tiny lanes, not caring.
‘I’m not sure. Somewhere in Suffolk—close to the A140, I think. Where are you? Give me your postcode, I’ll put it in my satnav. What’s the house called?’
‘Flaxfield Place. The name’s partly buried in ivy, but it’s the only drive on that road for a couple of miles, so you can’t miss it. Look out for a set of big iron gates with a cattle grid, on the north side of the road. The gates are open, just come up the drive and you’ll find me. You can’t be far away. I’ll be watching out for you.’
The thought was oddly comforting. She put the postcode into the satnav and pressed go.
This couldn’t be it.
She swallowed hard and stared at the huge iron gates, hanging open, with a cattle grid between the gateposts. A long thin ribbon of tarmac stretched away into the dusk between an avenue of trees, and half hidden by ivy on an old brick wall, she could make out a name—something-field Place, the something obscured by the ivy, just as he’d said.
But she could see weeds poking up between the bars of the cattle grid, and one of the gates was hanging at a jaunty angle because the gatepost was falling down, making the faded grandeur somehow less intimidating than it might otherwise have been.
His ridiculous house, as Emily had described it, falling to bits and shabby-chic without the chic? There was certainly nothing chic about the weeds.
She fought down another hysterical laugh and drove through the gates, the cattle grid making her teeth rattle, and then up the drive between the trees. There was a light in the distance and, as she emerged from the trees, the tarmac gave way to a wide gravel sweep in front of a beautiful old Georgian house draped in wisteria, and her jaw sagged.
The white-pillared portico was bracketed by long, elegant windows, and through a lovely curved fanlight over the huge front door welcoming light spilt out into the dusk.
It was beautiful. OK, the drive needed weeding, like the cattle grid, but the paint on the windows was fresh and the brass on the front door was gleaming. And as she stared at it, a little open-mouthed, the door opened, and more of that warm golden light flowed out onto the gravel and brought tears to her eyes.
It looked so welcoming, so safe.
And suddenly it seemed as if it was the only thing in her world that was.
That and Sam, who came round and opened her car door and smiled down at her with concern in those really rather beautiful slate-blue eyes.
‘Hi, there. You found me OK, then?’
‘Yes.’
Oh, she needed a hug, but he didn’t give her one and if he had, it would have crumpled her like a wet tissue, so perhaps it was just as well. She really didn’t want to cry. She had a horrible feeling that once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
‘Come on in. You look shattered. I’ve made you up a bed in the guest room.’
His simple act of thoughtfulness and generosity brought tears to her eyes anyway, and she swallowed hard. ‘Oh, Sam, you didn’t need to do that.’
‘Didn’t I? So where were you going?’
She followed his eyes and saw them focused on her suitcase where she’d thrown it on the back seat. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t really have a plan. I just walked out. And I am so angry.’
‘With the clinic?’
‘No. With my in-laws.’
His brow creased briefly, and he held out his hand, firm and warm and like a rock in the midst of all the chaos, and helped her out of the car. ‘Come on. This needs a big steaming mug of hot chocolate and a comfy chair by the fire. Have you eaten?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got a sandwich,’ she said, pulling it out of her bag to prove it, and he tutted and led her inside, hefting her case as if it weighed nothing. He dumped
