'It's for the best. Really, it's for the best.' She began to walk, knowing her movements were jerky but unable to do anything about it. She half expected him to walk with her and when he didn't, she waited for him to call her back. The call didn't come. She walked on but still it didn't come.
Willow reached the end of the field and stepped onto the small style that led into the lane. Then she was in the lane and walking swiftly, woodenly, aware of the cold air on her face and the smell of woodsmoke. Jim must have lit a bonfire, she thought vacantly. He often did on a Sunday afternoon.
By the time she reached the cottage the tears were streaming down her face and she fumbled with the key for what seemed like an age before the door opened. She all but fell across the threshold, pulling the door shut and then sinking down with her back against the wood as she sobbed and sobbed.
It was over. As she had wanted it to be. He thought she didn't love him and, Morgan being Morgan, that would be enough to keep him from contacting her again. No more hour-long phone calls, which had changed mediocre days into something wonderful; no more weekends filled with laughter and music and life; no more being able to watch his face as he talked and smiled; no more Morgan. What had she done? What had she done?
He had told her he loved her and she had flunked it big time, ruining any chance for them in the future. She couldn't have put the final seal on this relationship more effectively if she'd planned it for a lifetime, she thought sickly. She had lied to him and, in lying, sealed her fate.
Willow couldn't have said how long she sat there wallowing in misery, but by the time she dragged herself into the kitchen it was dark outside and beginning to snow. Fat, feathery flakes were falling in their millions from a laden sky. Willow wondered briefly if she was going to be able to get to work tomorrow, and then dismissed the thought just as quickly. What did work matter? What did anything matter? she asked herself wretchedly. If this was all there was, if life was going to continue to be as horrible as it had been the last few years, she might as well hibernate in the cottage and become a recluse.
After making herself a mug of hot chocolate she put a match to the fire and curled up on the sofa, staring unseeing into the burgeoning flames. Morgan said he loved her, but how could she know he wouldn't change once they were together? She didn't let herself consider marriage; togetherness was too frightening as it was. And he hadn't mentioned marriage anyway.
Piers had been the perfect boyfriend before they'd got wed: charming, amusing, loving, attentive. He hadn't put a foot wrong and she'd thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. And then they'd tied the knot and even on honeymoon he'd begun to show his true colours. How could anyone ever really know anyone else?
'They can't,' she whispered into her mug of hot chocolate, cupping her hands round its warmth. They can't, that's the truth of it. Some things had to be taken on trust and she was all out of that commodity. She couldn't, she just couldn't, take the risk.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she told herself to get a grip. She had a nice job, her own home and she was in good health. Furthermore, she had plenty of friends and was as free as a bird to do what she pleased. She was so lucky.
It didn't help. It should have, but it didn't.
After another hour or so of fruitless soul-searching she resolutely switched on the TV. The weather girl was happily warning of severe snowstorms causing major traffic problems, her hands waving like an air hostess as she pointed out the worst-hit areas. It looked worse directly where Willow lived.
Great, Willow thought. Still, she was warm and snug and had plenty of food. Even if she was kept home for a day or two it wouldn't matter. She sat gazing at the TV screen wondering if Morgan would come round to see if she was all right if they got snowed in. He might, she thought, her heart thudding, before picturing the look on his face when she'd said she didn't love him. Of course he wouldn't come. Why would he? Silly to expect it. He might go as far as sending Jim but he wouldn't come himself. Not now. He'd stay away because he thought she wanted him to.
After another bout of crying she watched an inane comedy, which even the studio audience didn't seem to find funny judging by the forced laughter, and then made herself more hot chocolate. She had just swallowed two headache pills when her mobile phone rang, causing her heart to jump into her throat.
Her hands trembling, she looked at the number and could have cried again but this time with disappointment. Beth's mobile. Likely her sister and Peter were out somewhere and checking she was safely at home in view of the weather. She was still faintly annoyed that Beth and Morgan had been having private conversations she'd known nothing about, and her voice was stiff when she said, 'Hallo, Beth?'
'It's me, Peter.'
She knew immediately something was badly wrong; she'd never heard stolid, reliable Peter's voice shake before.
'Beth's had a fall. I'm ringing on her phone because when the ambulance came I forgot mine but Beth's was in her handbag.'
Blow whose phone he was using. 'Where are you? What's happened?' she said urgently. 'Is Beth badly hurt?'
'We're at the hospital. Beth fell down the cellar steps earlier. Why the hell she went down there without telling me I don't know; apparently she wanted to sort the last of the packing cases we stored down there when we moved. It had something in she wanted for the baby's room. The first I knew I heard her scream-' His voice broke, then he went on, 'She landed awkwardly, Willow. They-they think the baby's coming.'
A month early. Endeavouring to keep the alarm out of her voice, she said quickly, 'It might be a false labour, Peter. A reaction to the fall. Things might calm down. They often do.'
'No, we thought that at first but now they're pretty sure it's coming. Her waters have broken and everything.'
'Three or four weeks early is nothing these days,' she said reassuringly, 'and babies are tougher than you think. It'll be fine, I know it will. Beth's healthy so don't worry.'
'She's asking for you. Is there any chance of you coming to the hospital tonight? She … she needs you with her, Willow.'
She didn't have to think about it. 'Absolutely. I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll leave straight away.'
'Drive carefully though, the roads are already getting pretty bad,' Peter said worriedly. 'When you get here, go to the maternity reception and they'll direct you. OK? I'll tell them you're coming and explain so there won't be any problems.'
'That's fine. Now get back to Beth and hold her hand, and don't forget to give her my love and tell her I'm on my way.'
'Thanks, Willow.' His voice was husky. 'I appreciate it.'
She stared at the phone for a stunned moment once the call had finished, and then leapt into action. Five minutes later she was dressed in warmer clothes, the fire was banked down and the guard was in place, and everything was off that needed to be off.
When she opened the front door and the force of the wind threatened to tear it out of her fingers, she realised how bad the storm had become. Already the snow was inches thick and it showed no signs of abating, just the opposite.
Pulling her hat more firmly over her ears, she staggered to the car, wondering if she was going to be able to get out of the lane, let alone all the way to the hospital. In the event she needn't have worried. The engine was as dead as a dodo.
She tried everything, including crying, praying and finally stamping her feet and screaming like a two-year-old. It was after this she accepted she was going nowhere in this car tonight. She would have to phone for a taxi. It was going to cost a small fortune but it wasn't the time to count the cost. Beth needed her. Whatever it took, she was going to get to that hospital. 'Hold on, Beth,' she prayed. 'I'm coming.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
MORGAN sat staring down at the papers on his desk. He'd been sitting in the same position for a while, his mind replaying for the umpteenth time the whole disastrous last conversation with Willow. In fact ever since he'd got home and immediately gone to his study, telling Kitty he had some urgent financial reports to look through, he'd been dissecting every word, every gesture, every glance they'd exchanged. It had been a relief when Kitty and Jim had turned in early due to the weather, and he'd had the house to himself. He appreciated Kitty's motherly concern for his welfare, but there was the odd occasion when he was very thankful their flat was situated over the garages and separate from the main house, and this was one of them. He couldn't stand her fussing tonight.