Silverbridge (20 page)

But the man he saw dancing with Tracy now was taller than Jon, and his hair was blond, not brown. Harry looked at him, and for the second time that afternoon felt his stomach drop. The man was himself.

He shook his head to clear it, further aggravating the pounding in his head, but when he looked again he still saw himself holding Tracy’s hand. Fighting down a feeling of rising nausea, he looked at the other people on the dance floor, and it was then that he realized that the lights and sound equipment had vanished.

Dots danced in front of his eyes, and he blinked hard. He blinked again, the scene cleared, and once again he was able to see the blond man and auburn-haired woman who were holding hands and looking at each other as if no one else existed in the world. He recognized that the girl wasn’t Tracy first. She wore a blue dress, but her nose was straight, not tilted, and her hair was purely auburn, with none of the gold threads that made Tracy’s so extraordinary. Nor was she as tall as Tracy.

His eyes went to the girl’s partner, and it was then that Harry realized that he was looking at the man who had posed for the portrait of Charles Oliver that hung in his office.

Dots obscured his vision once again and he had to lower his head to keep from passing out. His head had began to pound in rhythm with the beat of his heart.
Jesus,
he thought.
What’s wrong with me? Now I’m hallucinating.

He looked once more at the dance floor and still the
couple remained, misty now as his eyesight deteriorated, but oddly full of life. He didn’t break contact with them until he realized that unless he left instantly, he would be sick all over the restored wood floor of the salon.

20

W
hen Meg discovered that Harry was missing, she went looking for him, annoyed that he had not stayed for the entire filming session. She found him in his room, lying on his bed, which immediately dissipated her annoyance and sent a chill of fear through her.

“Harry?” She walked to the bedside and looked down at him. “Are you all right?”

He was still dressed, lying on his back on top of the bedspread with his eyes closed. When she spoke, he opened them so they formed two dark slits. “I have a really rotten headache,” he said. “I think I need a better pain medication than aspirin. Do you think you could call Webster, Meggie, and see if you could get him to prescribe something?”

“Of course,” she replied immediately. “I’ll do it right now.”

He looks terrible,
she thought worriedly as she ran to
the phone in the morning room.
I shouldn’t have asked him to go to the filming. He should have been in bed.

She dialed the London number of their private doctor, only to learn that he was at his Wiltshire home for the week. This was usually good news, as Dr. Webster lived only ten miles from Silverbridge. Meg called the Wiltshire number and Dr. Webster himself answered the phone.

“Lady Margaret,” he said warmly when she had identified herself. “How are you going along?”

Harry had originally taken her to Dr. Webster for treatment of her problem, but the doctor had referred her to a specialist. “I’m doing very well, thank you. But Harry has a terrible headache, Dr. Webster, and he needs some pain medication.”

“Harry doesn’t get headaches,” Dr. Webster replied instantly.

Meg explained about the accident and the concussion. “I think he probably overdid it today,” she ended. “He should have stayed in bed.”

“What was the name of the doctor who saw him in hospital?”

Meg didn’t know.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll call over there and find out. I’ll ring you back after I’ve spoken to him.”

Clearly, Dr. Webster wasn’t going to prescribe anything for Harry until he had more information about his injury. Meg said good-bye and reluctantly went back to tell Harry that he was going to have to wait for his pain medication.

His tawny hair looked darker than usual against the white pillow, and there were dark shadows, like bruises,
under his eyes. Once more Meg felt a shiver of fear. She never remembered Harry being sick. “Harry,” she said softly, “Dr. Webster is going to ring back within the hour with a prescription.”

The eyes he turned on her looked black not brown. “Thanks, Meggie.”

Ebony’s small, square face lifted from her own pillow next to Harry’s, and she growled. Clearly she sensed there was something wrong with Harry and was protecting him.

Dr. Webster called back within twenty minutes to say that Harry had a very severe concussion and should not have been released from hospital. “What was he doing to bring this headache on, Lady Margaret?” he demanded. When Meg explained that he had been to the stables and had spent the afternoon watching the filming, Dr. Webster hit the roof.

“I wish that man would take half as good care of himself as he does of those precious horses of his! Concussions are a serious matter, Lady Margaret. If they are not treated seriously they can lead to permanent brain damage—even death.”

Icy cold fingers gripped Meg’s heart. If something should happen to Harry
…

“I want him back in hospital, where he can’t hurt himself,” Dr. Webster said.

“I don’t think he’ll go,” Meg said faintly.

“I’ll come myself to collect him,” the doctor snapped. “Tell him I’ll put him on a drip for the pain when I get him to hospital, but if he refuses to go then I wash my hands of him.”

“A
…
all right,” Meg said.

“I’ll be at Silverbridge in a half an hour.”

“All right.”

“Good-bye, Lady Margaret.”

“Just a moment!” Meg said hurriedly. “I’ll leave the door open for you, Dr. Webster. Would you mind letting yourself in?”

“Not at all.”

Meg hung up the phone, turned, and saw Tony standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Where won’t Harry go?”

“Oh, Tony.” Meg was enormously grateful to have someone to share her burden. “Dr. Webster is coming out here to take Harry back to hospital, and I know Harry isn’t going to want to go. But he got up today and was all over the place and now he has a terrible headache and Dr. Webster said he could die if he doesn’t give his concussion time to heal!”

Tony held up one elegant hand. “Whoa, Meggie. Calm down. I’m quite sure that Harry isn’t going to die.”

“It’s all my fault,” Meg said tragically as she approached her brother. “I was the one who persuaded him to come to the filming this afternoon when he should have been in bed.”

“If he hadn’t been at the filming, you can be sure he would have been somewhere else,” Tony said. “Harry isn’t the type to stay quietly in bed.”

Meg stopped in front of Tony. “That’s why the doctor wants him back in hospital. Will you come with me to talk to him?” Her blue eyes pleaded. “He’s not going to listen to me, I know he isn’t.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” Tony said
with a trace of bitterness. “He never has yet.” However, he accompanied Meg to Harry’s bedroom and went in with her to break the news to their elder brother.

Harry regarded them from under the shadow of the arm he had flung across his forehead, and said flatly, “I’m not going back to hospital.”

“But Dr. Webster is coming out here to get you,” Meg wailed.

“
Then he will have made a trip for nothing. All I need are some painkillers and rest, and I can get both of those things right here at home.”

Tony said, “I know hospital is a bore, old man, but you really do look wretched. You’re as white as your sheets, you know.”

Harry shut his eyes. “I feel much too wretched to get into a car and make a half hour trip to the hospital.”

Meg said, “Harry, Dr. Webster said you could have permanent brain damage if you don’t rest. You could even die!”

Harry spoke with his eyes still closed. “He was trying to scare you, Meggie. People don’t die from concussions.”

“I think you’re being egotistical and stubborn,” Tony said brutally, “but then again, what’s new about that?”

“Harry is not egotistical and stubborn!” Meg shot back in defense of her eldest brother.

“He isn’t?” Tony elevated a single perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Then why won’t he sell Mauley the land he wants?”

Harry’s eyes opened to narrow slits. “Because I’d rather the land be used for cattle than for golfers.”

Tony moved closer to the bed. “No, it’s because you
have this
idé
e fixe
about not going down in history as the earl who sold off Silverbridge’s farms. It’s all about ego, Harry, and nothing else.”

Harry moved his protective arm to cover his eyes. “Go away, both of you, and when Webster shows up, make him give you some painkillers for me. I don’t want to see him.”

“You’re the earl,” Tony said sarcastically. “We bow to your command. As always.”

Meg thought Tony was giving up much too easily and shot him a furious look. “Please see Dr. Webster, Harry,” she said pleadingly. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine.” His eyes were still hidden under his arm. “Just get the painkillers.”

Meg looked at his white face on the pillow, then turned to look at Tony. He jerked his head in the direction of the door, and reluctantly she followed him out.

“As always, Harry refuses to do the sensible thing,” he said bitterly after they had closed the bedroom door behind them. “I don’t know why we keep thinking that he will.”

“How can I tell Dr. Webster, after he’s come all this way, that he can’t see Harry?” Meg fretted.

“Let Harry deal with him,” Tony recommended. “He’s the one who’s giving all the commands.”

“You mean I should take him to Harry’s bedroom after Harry said not to?” Meg sounded aghast at the very thought.

Tony rolled his eyes and said impatiently, “Do what you want to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to dress. I have a dinner date in Warkfield.”

Meg stood indecisively in the hallway as Tony went
into his room. There was little point in going back to plead with Harry. She was only his little sister, and clearly he was not going to listen to her.

Who would he listen to?

Tracy.
The name flashed like a lightbulb in Meg’s mind. She didn’t stop to think why she would go to someone both she and Harry had known for so short a time. She acted purely on instinct and raced all the way to Tracy’s trailer, praying that she would be there.

She was. When Meg burst in, Tracy was sitting at her dressing table removing her makeup. She was alone; there was no sign of Gail.

“Tracy,” Meg said tensely as she closed the door behind her. “Harry is sick and the doctor wants to take him to hospital and he doesn’t want to go.”

Tracy swung around on her chair. Her hair was tied back, and her face glistened with the cold cream with which she was taking off her makeup. “What’s wrong?”

Meg came closer. “He’s in bed with a horrible headache. Dr. Webster is furious that he didn’t stay in bed today as he said he would.”

“I knew he shouldn’t be up,” Tracy said grimly. “He looked awful.”

“It’s all my fault,” Meg said despairingly. “I asked him to come to lunch and then go to the filming. And now the doctor says that he could die!”

Tracy stood up and said, even more grimly than before, “He’s not going to die, Meggie. I’ll see to that. Wait a moment while I get into my jeans, and I’ll come with you.”

It took Tracy four minutes to wipe the cream from her face and get dressed. Then she and Meg exited the
trailer and turned their hurried footsteps in the direction of the house. They had gone about forty feet when they ran into Jon.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, scanning their worried faces.

“My bro
ther Harry is sick,” Meg said. “
Tracy is going to try to convince him to let the doctor take him to hospital.”

“Sick?” Jon repeated. “We just saw him at lunch. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have time to stand here chatting with you, Jon,” Tracy said crisply. “Come on, Meg,” and the two young women began to jog across the grass. After a moment of indecision, Jon followed them.

M
eg knew she had done the right thing in fetching Tracy the moment she saw Harry’s face. Drawn with pain though it was, a look came over it that had not been there before. Tracy said, “Bad headache?”

“Mmm
.
”

It was as though even talking hurt his head.

“The doctor will be here soon to take you to the hospital,” Tracy said. “He’ll give you something for the pain once you get there.”

His mouth took on the stubborn look that his family was all too familiar with. “I am not going to hospital.”

“Why not?” Tracy asked, her tone dangerous.

“Because I’m not.”

A male voice said authoritatively from the doorway, “Oh yes you are.”

Meg turned and gave Dr. Webster a nervous smile. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Webster.”

“You have wasted a trip, James,” Harry said. “I am not going to hospital.”

Webster, who had been Harry’s doctor since he set the broken arm Harry had got playing rugby at Eton, walked over to the bed. He was a silver-haired man of about fifty, and he looked like the prosperous practitioner that he was.

“You have a severe concussion, Harry,” he said gravely. “The hospital had no business releasing you.”

Tracy held out her hand. “Harry intimidated the doctor. How do you do, Dr. Webster. I am Tracy Collins.”

Webster’s face took on the slightly fatuous look that Meg had noticed all men wore when they looked at Tracy. “How do you do, Miss Collins.”

She smiled, and the fatuous look deepened. Meg thought enviously that even with no makeup and her hair scraped back into a ponytail, she looked beautiful. She said pleasantly, “I believe that you actually have
two
patients in this room, Harry and Meg. Isn’t that so Dr. Webster?”

“Lady Margaret is currently being seen by a specialist, but I am certainly her family doctor,” Webster returned cautiously.

Meg had stiffed at the mention of her name, and she trained wary eyes on Tracy’s face.

Tracy said, “Well, I have a suggestion that I think would benefit them both.” Her dark blue eyes focused on Meg. “You want Harry to go to the hospital. Isn’t that right, Meg?”

“Y—es,” Meg said carefully.

Tracy looked down at Harry. “And you want Meg to eat normally. Correct?”

Lines of pain bracketed his mouth. “Yes,” he agreed grimly.

Tracy said to the doctor, “So what if we do a deal? Harry agrees to go to the hospital if Meg agrees to eat three meals a day while he’s gone.”