their dinner. He moved inside, checked his phone for messages, opened the logburner to add wood and crank up the air flow and then filled the three bowls in the laundry with dog nuts. Reaching into the fridge to retrieve the remains of last night’s casserole for himself, Hugo spotted the half-finished bottle of white wine. One glass wouldn’t hurt, even if he was on call. The only message on his phone was from his mother and Hugo had an uneasy feeling that talking to Gwen Patterson might not be the best way to try and unwind.
In fact, it might be better if he put off returning the call until tomorrow. Leaving the bottle where it was, Hugo put the casserole in the microwave and hit the reheat button. The old leather armchair near the fire looked extremely inviting and Hugo took his plate in that direction a few minutes later. The phone was within reach, recent, unread copies of his favourite medical journals were on the coffee-table beside the chair and his dogs were lying contentedly in the circle of warmth. Hugo felt his stress levels declining rapidly. He was, once again, a very happy man.
At least, he was until the insistent call of the telephone jerked him from a very pleasant post-prandial doze.
‘Darling, you’re finally home! I rang earlier.’
‘I was just thinking about you,’ Hugo said in surprise. The half-dream had been a less pleasant aspect of the doze. He had been almost convinced that his mother was about to arrive on his doorstep for another extended visit—intent on finding the woman who would bear her grandchildren. As much as Hugo loved his mother, anything more than a three-day visit was a daunting prospect. ‘I’ve been incredibly busy today,’ he added hurriedly. ‘In fact, life is generally a bit hectic at the moment.’
‘Don’t worry, Hugo. I’m not planning a surprise visit. Queenstown’s far too cold for me in winter.’
‘It’s freezing,’ Hugo agreed. ‘But the mountains are looking glorious with all the snow.’ He relaxed a little. ‘How are you, Mum?’
‘Oh, I’m fine.’ The fact that Gwen had something more important on her mind than the list of minor, age-related physical ailments she loved to discuss with her son, the doctor, was a warning. That she had rung twice in the space of two hours made the matter of some urgency.
‘Is everything OK at home?’
‘Oh, yes. Everything’s fine. Apart from the fridge. It’s making a very funny noise. Sort of a clunk and then a dribbling sound. It always seems to happen in the middle of the night.’
‘Are you not sleeping well?’ Talking about fridges reminded Hugo of that bottle of wine. He pushed himself slowly to his feet.
‘I’m fine,’ Gwen repeated impatiently. ‘I didn’t ring up to talk about me, dear.’
‘Who did you ring up to talk about?’
‘Maggie Johnston.’
Hugo sat down again abruptly. And silently.
‘Are you still there, Hugo?’
‘Of course. Did you say Maggie Johnston?’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten who she is?’
‘No.’ Hugo’s tone was cautious. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’
The silence spoke volumes. A single instant that managed to cover so many years. A wealth of memories, both happy and sad. Flashes of grief. Of laughter. Of a lifetime left well behind now.
‘I keep in touch with her mother, you know. Eleanor and I always exchange Christmas cards. She rang me up yesterday. Or was it Monday? Anyway, she wanted to talk about Maggie.’
‘Why? Is she in some kind of trouble?’
‘Oh, no! Nothing like that. She’s coming to Queenstown. On Friday. I told Eleanor she could stay with you, dear.’
‘What?’ Hugo stood up again and this time he kept moving. Towards the fridge. ‘What did you tell her something like that for?’
‘They’re old friends, Hugo. Almost family. You know how close we all were once.’
‘That was a very long time ago,’ Hugo reminded his mother. He shook his head. ‘She’s coming this Friday? What for? Does she ski?’
‘I didn’t ask Eleanor about skiing. Does it matter?’
‘No.’ Hugo gritted his teeth as he opened the fridge. ‘I just wondered why she was coming.’
‘Oh. She’s got a new job.’
Hugo extracted the bottle of wine. ‘What’s she doing these days?’ He reached for a glass from the cupboard as a horrible thought struck. ‘Didn’t I hear years ago that she had gone nursing?’ They were trying to recruit nursing staff at his hospital. The prospect of having to work with Maggie Johnston was alarming to say the least.
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Gwen sounded surprised. ‘I’d forgotten that. But she’s not nursing now…I don’t think.’
Hugo pulled the half-inserted cork from the bottle with his teeth and poured what he hoped would be a reviving drink. There was no point trying to jog his mother’s memory. She would be happy to agree with whatever he suggested and prepared to conclude that whatever it was was probably correct.
‘Eleanor said something about driving. Yes, I’m sure that was it. Maybe she’s driving a truck.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. Probably something articulated and weighing in at about twenty tons.’
‘That’s a bit heavy for a girl, isn’t it?’
‘Maggie’s not a girl, Mum. She’s a grown woman.’ Hugo’s mental calculation was swift. He was thirty-six. His sister Felicity and Maggie had both been six years younger. ‘She’s thirty years old, for heaven’s sake,’ he grumbled. ‘She doesn’t need someone looking after her. I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of finding her own accommodation. She’s probably quite happy to pitch a tent on the side of the road if she has to.’ Hugo breathed a sigh of relief. ‘In fact, those large trucks usually have a sleeping compartment behind the driver’s cab. I’m sure I could find her a place to park it.’
‘Oh, no! That wouldn’t do at all, dear. I don’t think she owns a truck. She just drives…something. Eleanor said she’s been trying very hard to find a house to rent but they’re as scarce as hen’s teeth and ridiculously expensive.’
There was no hint of relief in Hugo’s sigh this time. Queenstown was notorious for a lack of rental accommodation during peak tourist periods and for outrageous prices at most times. He could well remember his own delight in purchasing a property of his own. His own home. Where he lived, quite happily, by himself.
‘There’s always motels. I’m sure I could find an available room.’
‘That’s what Eleanor suggested.’
Good for Eleanor, Hugo thought. At least someone was on his side.
‘But I said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Nelly. Why should she pay a hundred dollars a night when Hugo has a spare room and he’s living there all by himself. Lonely.”’
‘I’m
