over and over in a broken little voice until Abigail thought her heart would break.
‘Don’t cry, Rachel.’ She went to sit on the other side of the bed and reached out a hand to stroke the little girl’s curls back from her face. ‘Mummy wouldn’t want you to cry.’
The child tried to stop the deep sobs but her breath caught in painful gasps and she clung tightly to Greg, her face buried against him. Slowly he rocked her backwards and forwards, murmuring gentle endearments.
He was wearing a burgundy silk dressing-gown, Abigail noticed distractedly. So much for thinking he had just come in. Her eyes lingered on his face.
The dim lamplight gave no softness to features that were set in grim lines. As the child’s breath caught raggedly, he glanced up and there was an expression in his eyes that startled Abigail. She realised suddenly that Rachel’s sobs were cutting through that tough exterior of his, and that he was holding the child with the gentleness of someone who deeply sympathised.
Their eyes met over the little girl’s head and Abigail swallowed hard as she was caught rawly in the emotion of the moment. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she looked away, desperately striving for control.
‘She’ll be all right.’ Greg’s voice was husky, yet somehow very calm, very much under control. ‘You go back to bed, Abbie.’
She bit down on her lip. Was he trying to make a point that she wasn’t needed? Watching the scene in front of her, it wasn’t hard to imagine that was indeed the case.
She swallowed hard. ‘I’d rather stay,’ she whispered rawly.
He made no reply, just continued to soothe the child with a gentleness that somehow tore at Abigail’s heart just as profoundly as the little girl’s tears. After a while Rachel’s sobs began to fade and her eyes to close from sheer exhaustion. As sleep started to claim her, Greg moved to put her down. She looked so small and helpless against the wide breadth of his shoulders, her face flushed, her little hands still clutching his dressing-gown.
Slowly he eased her down, then smoothly he took her hands from his shoulder and tucked her under the covers of her bed. She didn’t stir, and her eyes were tightly closed. With infinite tenderness he bent to kiss her cheek gently.
Abbie realised in that instant that, no matter what she thought about Greg, it was obvious that he cared for the children. She watched as he tucked Daisy in and then she kissed both of the sleeping children before following him silently from the room.
‘Has she been crying long?’ Her voice was a strained whisper as they closed the door.
Greg shook his head. ‘Luckily I got in there before she woke Daisy.’
‘Poor little thing.’ Abigail bit down on her lip and for a moment tears sparkled clearly in her bright blue eyes. ‘I’d give anything to make everything all right for them again.’
‘Wouldn’t we all?’ Greg raked a hand through dark ruffled hair. ‘It’s been a hell of a day.’ The words were spoken with grim feeling.
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
For a moment there was just silence as they both stood in the corridor. Somehow Abigail felt loath to move away from him. It was as if she was frightened to be on her own after the emotional atmosphere in that bedroom.
‘Are you all right?’
The softly spoken question made her nerves tingle. She nodded. ‘I…I just hated seeing Rachel so upset—it tears me apart.’
He nodded. ‘But now that the funeral is behind us we can start trying to pick up the pieces. The girls are young, and youth tends to be remarkably resilient.’
‘I suppose so,’ she murmured reflectively, then raked a distracted hand through long blonde hair. ‘I’ll never sleep tonight,’ she admitted hollowly. ‘My mind is so active—it’s whirling around over all sorts of tortuous things.’
‘I know what you mean. I can’t sleep either.’ His eyes flicked over her pale skin. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a drink.’ He turned and led the way into the dining-room and for once she didn’t argue with him.
Talking to anyone—even Greg Prescott—was preferable to facing the dark silence of her room in her present state of mind.
She noticed absently that the table in the dining-room was strewn with papers; obviously Greg had been working in here when he heard Rachel cry.
‘How long have you been home?’ she asked curiously.
‘Hours. I was surprised to find everyone in bed.’
Abigail shrugged. ‘I think we were all just glad to see the end of today. Your mother looked shattered.’
‘Mmm. She hasn’t been too well. Really she could do with going back to her own apartment for some peace and quiet, but I’m loath to suggest it in case she thinks she’s not welcome here. She has bad arthritis, you know. Usually at this time of year she goes down to Florida for some sun.’
Abigail nodded. Jenny had told her a long time ago that Margaret’s health wasn’t good. ‘Well, now that I’m here there is no reason why she shouldn’t go.’
Greg’s eyebrow lifted. ‘I thought you were going home in a few weeks?’ he said, then added drily, ‘Children are very demanding you know—very hard work.’
Abigail didn’t care for the edge to his tone but right at this moment she didn’t have the energy to take him up on it. ‘I do realise that,’ she said flatly.
‘Will coffee do?’ Greg held up the glass coffee-pot from the hotplate beside where he had been working. ‘It is fresh. I made it a short while ago.’
‘Thanks.’ She watched silently as he took out a cup and saucer from the sideboard and poured the strong liquid.
‘Black, one sugar—right?’ he asked.
She nodded, surprised that he should remember. Probably a lucky guess, she decided grimly. Her hand trembled as she reached across to take the cup from him. Her nerves were in chaos. Seeing Rachel so upset had stretched emotional strings inside her even further. She felt as if all the nerve-endings inside her body were being wrenched tighter and tighter and she was hanging on to them with a kind of grim desperation. She couldn’t break now, especially in front of Greg.
‘It will get better, you know.’
Greg’s gentle voice sent her eyes flying to meet his.
‘I know I sounded somewhat sarcastic when I spoke yesterday about time healing things—but it does, you know. After a while we will be able to think about Jen and Mike without the pain. We will think of them and remember the good times and be able to smile.’
Abigail stared up at him. It was strange, but something about that low, soothing tone made her want just to fold into his arms. A shiver of apprehension raced down her spine and she glanced quickly away from him. No matter how enormous her grief, she could never let her guard down in front of Greg…No matter how softly he spoke she must always remember what kind of a man he was. They were united in their grief—that was all.
She turned
