on the plane.’ In actual fact she had barely touched any of the meals on the plane. She seemed to have lost all interest in food recently, and it was starting to show on her already slender figure. ‘I’ll have a drink, though,’ she said, looking over at Greg. ‘Brandy, if you have it.’
‘I’ll make some coffee to go with that.’ Margaret got to her feet.
‘No, really, Margaret…please don’t go to that trouble. I’m fine.’
‘Well, if you are sure…’ She hesitated and looked at Abbie guiltily. ‘Would you think I was very rude if I said I wanted to turn in for the night, Abbie? I’m just exhausted—it’s all these early mornings with the girls.’
‘No, of course not.’ Abbie stood up quickly and kissed Margaret’s cheek. ‘You go and lie down and don’t worry about the girls in the morning. I’ll see to them.’
Margaret nodded gratefully and, with a smile at Greg, she left the room.
Silence descended on the room after she had left.
Abigail glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll just pop in and say goodnight to the girls,’ she murmured. ‘Which is their room, Greg?’
He walked across and put her drink on the coffeetable. ‘Second door on the right. Try not to wake them if they are asleep.’
Abigail glared at the man. ‘Of course I won’t wake them.’ Annoyed at his suggestion, she rose stiffly to her feet without thanking him for the drink and left the room. It was clear Greg thought she was as useful around children as a chocolate teapot.
The girls occupied a pretty twin-bedded room. Obviously every effort had been made to make them feel at home, because lots of their toys lined the shelves and a large dolls’ house occupied an enviable position by the window, looking out over the lights of the city.
A small night-light sent a warm pink glow over the satin covers of the beds and lent a hint of warmth to the children’s skin.
They were nearly asleep, their eyes sleepily drifting as they struggled to stay awake for her.
Abbie sat on the edge of Rachel’s bed and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘All right, darling?’ she whispered softly.
The little girl nodded. ‘We are now,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You will stay, Aunty Abbie? You won’t leave us like Mummy and Daddy?’
Abbie shook her head, her eyes glimmering with tears as she looked at the little girls. They were both so like Jennifer—both had large blue eyes and blonde curls. ‘Certainly not,’ she promised in a husky whisper as she moved to kiss Daisy. ‘Now, get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.’
Daisy nodded and then clutched at her aunt’s sleeve. ‘Grandma says that Mummy and Daddy are in heaven now. Do you think that’s where they have gone?’
For a moment Abigail had difficulty in speaking. Her throat felt tight with suppressed tears. ‘Yes, darling, I’m sure that is where they are.’
‘Do you think they are happy?’ Daisy looked up at her woefully, her eyes clouded, her face bleak.
‘Oh, darling!’ Abigail put her arms around her niece and cuddled the little body tightly. How did you explain such cruel facts to a five-year-old? How could you explain something you didn’t understand yourself? ‘I’m sure they miss you as much as you miss them,’ she whispered softly. ‘I’m sure they are watching over you and they very much want you to be happy.’
For a while she just rocked the little girl helplessly in her arms. When she looked down, the child’s eyes were starting to close as she lost the battle against sleep. ‘See you in the morning,’ Abigail whispered softly as she laid her down and kissed her.
For a moment she just stood in the room watching them, her heart aching. They looked so small, so helpless. Abigail wanted fiercely to make everything better for them, to hold them and protect them from further heartache. She vowed there and then that, whatever it took, she would not let them down. Then she crept silently from the room.
‘Are they all right?’ Greg asked as she rejoined him in the lounge.
She nodded. ‘They are drifting off to sleep now.’ She sat down in the chair opposite his and reached for her brandy. Her hand was unsteady as she lifted it to her lips.
For a while there was just silence as Abigail went over and over the grim situation.
She glanced across at Greg and found him watching her closely, a hooded expression in his dark eyes.
What was he thinking? she wondered grimly. Was he as emotionally torn as she was? Somehow it was hard to relate the powerful turmoil that was inside her to him. He gave such an impression of hard control, as if nothing could ruffle him.
She took a deep breath. ‘Margaret looks absolutely shattered,’ she remarked aloud, glad her voice didn’t tremble as much as she had feared.
‘She wasn’t well before all this.’ He sighed. ‘Michael was three years younger than me, but even at thirty-two years of age he was still her baby. I think it will take a long time before the pain of losing him starts to dull.’
‘It will be a while before any of us gets over this,’ Abbie murmured, a look of deep unhappiness on her young face. ‘In fact, I find myself wondering if I will ever feel the same again. It’s like some aching void has opened up inside me.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’ The raw edge to Greg’s tone took her by surprise. He tossed back his drink and got up to fix himself another. ‘Michael was my brother, but he was also my best friend.’ There was such a wealth of emotion in Greg’s voice that for a moment Abbie felt overwhelmed by sorrow for his loss as well as for her own. She also felt guilty—guilty for assuming that he was so hard as to be indifferent to everything.
‘I always liked Mike. He was a…a good husband and father.’ She swallowed hard as a sudden picture of Mike’s grinning, good-natured face rose in her mind.
‘Are you OK?’ Greg looked sharply over at her, yet his voice was gentle, his dark eyes concerned. For some reason the gentleness of his tone made her want to cry.
She nodded and looked down into the amber depths of her drink.
Greg sat opposite her again and for a moment there was silence, but strangely it was a companionable silence now. She glanced up and met his eyes. ‘What are we going to do without them, Greg…?’ She tried to hide the anguish in her tone but it was still plainly evident.
‘All we can do is keep going…’ His gaze held hers, a look of deep contemplation on the ruggedly attractive features.
Then she found herself speaking in a low, soft tone…words that she hadn’t planned to say to him.
‘You know, sometimes when I wake up in the mornings I have this surge of hope. I wonder if it’s all been some dreadful nightmare.’ Her lips twisted in self-mockery. ‘Then I remember that it’s really happened and it’s like that void opening up inside me again, only wider and deeper.’
It was the first time she had been able to talk openly about her feelings of grief without breaking down.
Charles
