Annis demanded in sudden fear. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Linda tripped and fell downstairs. She has a broken arm and there may be internal injuries… The shock caused her to go into labour, but they said it might be hours yet…’
Annis could have wept for her brown-haired, blue-eyed sister-in-law, pretty as a picture and not twenty-one until next month.
‘Mrs Duffy is with the twins, but her husband works nights and she needs to get back to her own family.’
‘I’ll go straight over,’ Annis said through stiff lips. ‘Try not to worry too much. Everything will be all right, I know it will.’
Shaking from head to foot, she depressed the receiver rest, then released it again to call the taxi-rank.
Before she’d put in the first digit, Zan, who’d been standing close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, took the receiver from her hand and replaced it.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried. ‘I need a taxi to get to Notting Hill.’
‘I’ll take you.’
‘I don’t want you to take me,’ she cried fiercely. ‘I don’t need you or your help.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Annis,’ he said shortly. ‘You’re about out on your feet.’
‘I’ll manage,’ she declared stonily.
‘You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met!’ He turned off the gas fire, then dropping her coat around her shoulders fairly hustled her out of the flat and across the snowy forecourt to his car.
‘Whereabouts in Notting Hill?’ he asked, as he pushed her in and took his place beside her.
Feeling harassed to death, unable to fight any longer, she told him, and let him remove the safety belt from her fumbling fingers and click it into place.
Resting her pounding head against the soft grey leather of the seat, she prayed silently, feverishly, please let Linda and the baby be all right.
Despite her anxiety she must have dozed again, because when she opened her eyes they were drawing up outside the end-of-terrace villa that Linda and Richard had bought just before the recession sent house prices tumbling.
Snowflakes swirled around them, and her feet, inadequately clad in suede court shoes, were wet and cold before they reached the glass-panelled door.
A plump, dark-haired, flustered-looking woman in her middle thirties answered the knock promptly and exclaimed, ‘Oh it’s you, Miss Warrener! What a relief! They’re both awake. You can probably hear them crying…’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so long getting here.’ Annis’s voice was croaky.
Mrs Duffy pulled on her coat. ‘Well, now you are here I’d best be off. My own kids are ten and twelve, but I still don’t like to leave them in the house on their own.’
‘It’s very good of you to have stayed so long,’ Annis said gratefully.
‘Can I take you home?’ Zan offered.
Looking gratified, she said, ‘Thanks, but I only live next door.’
The crying, which had temporarily abated, was resumed, rising to a crescendo as Annis hurried up the stairs.
When she reached the narrow landing, all at once feeling sick and light-headed, she staggered a little and was forced to lean against the nearest wall.
Zan’s fingers encircled her wrist, keeping her there while he checked her pulse rate.
‘Let me be,’ she tried to shake off his detaining hand. ‘I’m going to see to the twins.’
‘You’re doing nothing of the kind,’ he corrected firmly. ‘Firstly, you’re not up to it—’ while he was speaking he was opening doors ‘—and secondly, you don’t want to risk them catching any infection.’
She could see the sense in that, all the same…
‘Ah…this looks like the spare room.’ He propelled her inside. ‘Now you’re going to get into bed and I’ll bring you some hot milk.’
‘But what about…?’
‘I’ll deal with the twins.’
And he probably could. He appeared to be able to deal with anything.
The combination of illness and emotional strain making her feel too spent to battle any longer, she stripped down to her undies and, climbing into bed, sat shivering.
In just a few minutes Zan returned carrying a couple of hot water bottles, and a tray with a beaker of milk and two red plastic feeding cups.
Having settled her with a hot water bottle behind her back and another at her feet, he put the beaker and two aspirin tablets on the bedside table before vanishing again.
She was just wondering anxiously how the twins would react to a strange man appearing in the nursery when, as if by magic, the crying stopped.
Sipping the hot milk, which had been liberally laced with brandy, she listened to the murmur of Zan’s voice and thought bitterly how easy he seemed to find it to charm females of any age.
As soon as the beaker was empty she lay down, and within seconds was sound asleep.
Annis surfaced slowly and reluctantly to find her bedroom was full of snowy light. Only it wasn’t her bedroom…
The events of the previous night rushed in like a tidal wave, and she sat up abruptly.
As soon as the room stopped spinning, she struggled out of bed and peered into the nursery. Both cots were empty.
Snatching a robe from behind the bathroom door, she went downstairs as fast as her shaky legs would allow.
No one was in the living-room, but a pillow and a neatly folded blanket suggested Zan had slept on the couch.
The smell of toast and coffee directed her to the kitchen.
Showered, shaved, immaculately—if a shade inappropriately—dressed, and clearly in command of the situation, Zan was putting boiled eggs into Beatrix Potter egg-cups.
Strapped in their high chairs, Rachel and Rebecca, models of rectitude, and as alike as two peas in a pod, contentedly spooned up their breakfast cereal.
‘Hello, darlings.’ Not wanting to get too close, she blew them a kiss.
Rachel, always the more solemn of the two, stared at her round-eyed, while Rebecca smiled and crowed and dribbled ground rice and apricots down her chin.
‘Good morning.’ Zan gave Annis a smile that stopped her breath as effectively as a silken noose. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
‘Fine,’ she muttered untruthfully.
He
