The Perfect Match (13 page)

In truth, she herself sometimes wondered if her enjoyment of their new-found discovery of one another
was
quite appropriate in a woman of her mature years, but Grant assured her that it
was,
most certainly.

'But he is my brother,' she had emphasised firmly when Grant tried to kiss her. Then she added more seriously, 'I'm worried about him, Grant. He's aged so much since the break-in, become so vulnerable, and he's got this operation facing him, as well.
Would
you mind if I didn't come with you this time?'

'Of course I damn well mind,' Grant had responded gruffly, 'and of course I understand.'

Predictably, though, Ben was going through one of his awkward phases, refusing to see her or anyone else, so she might just as well have gone with Grant after all. She was missing him quite desperately already and he wasn't due back for another week. Ruth started to frown as something or
someone
on the other side of the walkway from her bedroom window caught her attention.

The poor girl, whoever she was, didn't look very well at all, she decided as she watched Chrissie cling to the railing for support. Concern etching her features, Ruth started to make her way downstairs.

'Hello there. I saw you from my upstairs window,'

Ruth announced. 'You don't look very well. Why don't you come inside and sit down for a few minutes?'

Chrissie hadn't heard Ruth approach and so there was no way she could hide her tear-stained face from her. She tried to refuse her kind offer, but Ruth was already taking hold of her and gently but very firmly drawing her in the direction of her open front door.

Feeling too weak to argue or protest, Chrissie wanly allowed Ruth to direct her. She had always been very independent, stubbornly so, her mother had sometimes fondly protested. But, oddly, right now she was actually glad to have someone else taking control and making her decisions for her.

Ruth's house was a few doors down from Guy's, and like his, the hallway and the sitting room beyond it, which she ushered Chrissie into, was furnished with a happy mingling of old and new. Unlike Guy's, though, every polished surface held an obviously precious collection of photographs and family memora-bilia. Chrissie tensed as she glanced at one and recognised Jenny and Jon Crighton standing side by side and laughing happily into the camera.

'My nephew, Jon, and his wife,' Ruth told Chrissie with a smile as she saw her looking at it.

'You're a Crighton?' Chrissie asked shakily.

'I was, but not any more,' Ruth answered. 'Do you know Jon and Jenny?'

Chrissie bit her lip. 'Sort of. Jon is acting for...for my mother in the estate of her late brother, Charles Platt,' she informed Ruth, defiantly lifting her head and looking her straight in the eye. 'I'm Chrissie Oldham,' she added with deliberate emphasis, 'and Charles Platt was my uncle. I appreciate that he didn't have a very good reputation locally and if you want me—'

Ruth didn't allow her to go any further.

'All
of us have relatives, family members, who by choice we'd prefer not to have in our lives,' she told Chrissie calmly, guessing what was coming and unconsciously echoing Jon's comment to Jenny. 'Every family has its black sheep,' she said. 'I can certainly think of a few within my own,' she added cheerfully.

But although her comment was deliberately casual, her discreet study of Chrissie's ashen face and tensely nervous fingers wasn't.

She was surely far more distressed than having Charlie Platt as an uncle would warrant. She didn't strike Ruth as a theatrically over-emotional type, but the bleakness Ruth could see in her eyes was beginning to worry her almost as much as her obvious physical vulnerability.

Quickly Ruth came to a decision.

'I'm going to make us both a cup of tea and then you can tell me all about it,' she informed Chrissie with kind firmness.

It had been a long time since anyone, never mind a stranger, had spoken to Chrissie with such determined authority. She was, after all, an adult woman and very much in charge of her own life, or rather she had been. The events of the past few weeks had shown her just how woefully inadequate she actually was when it came to dealing with emotional pain and trauma. She was still, for instance, actually dreaming that Guy had changed his mind; that he regretted the breakup, that he took back all his hurtful remarks and accusations. A dream indeed. But thinking about it was enough to bring a fresh glitter of tears to her eyes whilst Ruth had gone to make the tea.

'Right,' Ruth commanded ten minutes later, having poured them both a cup of fragrantly scented tea.

'Now, let's see. Where were we? Ah yes... You had just told me that Charles Platt was your uncle. He was a rather unsavoury character, I'm afraid,' she told Chrissie briskly. 'But I'm sure you already know that.

I'knew his mother and indeed his grandmother and your mother, too, although she left Haslewich some time ago, didn't she?'

'Yes,' Chrissie replied. 'She and my father are away travelling on business at the moment, which is why—'

'You are here on their behalf,' Ruth supplied for her.

'Partially,' Chrissie agreed cautiously.

She looked at Ruth and gave a small inner shrug.

What was the point in not telling her the truth? Her mother, she knew, would understand, and it would be a relief to get the whole thing off her chest and un-burden herself to someone. Painfully Chrissie started to speak.

'Oh dear,' Ruth sympathised when Chrissie eventually finished.

Ruth knew the desk Chrissie had referred to, of course. Her brother, Ben, was particularly attached to it because it had been one of the first pieces of furniture brought into their home by their father when he originally moved into Queensmead, but Ruth guessed that it wasn't so much the true ownership of a mere piece of wood, no matter how pretty, that was causing Chrissie so much distress.

'Have you tried to talk to Guy...explain?' she asked gently.

Chrissie shook her head. 'What's the point? He's already made his own judgement and anyway... They always say you should never put too much trust in passionately intense emotions, don't they, especially when...?' Chrissie took a sip of her tea and abruptly went pale. 'I'm sorry,' she gasped. 'I don't know what's wrong with me. It must be all the stress but I just keep feeling so sick. It can't be anything I've eaten because the mere thought of food makes me feel so horribly ill. I don't understand it. I'm normally so healthy.'

Ruth studied her thoughtfully. She had her own opinion of what could and could not make an otherwise patently healthy young woman unable to tolerate the thought of food and experience unfamiliar nausea.

She had, after all, gone through the same experience herself, and as if that wasn't enough, the charity she had helped set up and still ran to provide emotional and practical support and care for single pregnant women had taught her to recognise perhaps earlier than most the tell-tale signs that suggested a woman might be pregnant.

'I don't want to interfere,' she began carefully,

'but...'

Ruth believed in plain speaking and being truthful and so she said quite simply, 'I may be way off course, but has it occurred to you that you might be pregnant?'

'No!' Chrissie gasped but even as she made the denial she knew that Ruth could well be right.

Was it really less than a couple of hours ago that she had been telling herself that she had faced the worst that life could possibly throw at her? Now, after listening to Ruth, she knew that she had been wrong.

There could be worse. There way worse. Pregnant and with Guy's baby. How
could
this have happened to her?

Did she really need to ask herself that? After the passion and intensity with which she and Guy had made love, the wonder would have been in her not conceiving.

'I'm afraid I've given you a shock,' Ruth said gently, adding, 'I do know what it's like. I've been there myself.' She smiled as she saw Chrissie's dis-believing look. 'It was a long time ago, of course, and in a completely different climate. I felt I had to give my baby up for adoption.'

'Oh no, how awful,' Chrissie protested, unwittingly betraying to Ruth that already, even though
she
didn't know, Chrissie was going to be a fiercely protective and caring mother.

'Well, yes, it was, but I was lucky. Life gave me a second chance and my daughter...our daughter, is now very much a part of my and Grant's life,' she acknowledged. 'I know all this must be a shock for you, but you
are
going to have to tell Guy, you know.'

'No.' Chrissie's response was emphatic. 'It's nothing to do with him...and besides, he wouldn't want to know anyway.'

Ruth's eyebrows rose. 'Are you sure about that?'

she queried. 'I
know
Guy, have known him ever since he was a little boy, and I think you'll find that he'll take his responsibilities towards his child
very
seriously.'

'But the baby wasn't planned. It was an
accident,'

Chrissie started to tell her. 'I don't need his help...or his sense of responsibility. I can manage on my own.

This is
my
baby.'

Ruth listened sympathetically. How well she recognised
that
stubborn female pride and how well she recognised, too, all the heartache that went with it, not just for Chrissie, but for her child, as well, but wisely she only advised Chrissie, saying, 'We have a very good medical centre here in town with a doctor who specialises in gynaecological matters. It might be wise to make an appointment.'

'Yes, thank you, I will,' Chrissie affirmed stiffly, accepting the slip of paper Ruth handed her once she had written the doctor's name and address down on it.

Half an hour later, having given in to Ruth's persuasion to eat some dry toast and have a fresh cup of tea, she stepped a little shakily through Ruth's front door and out into the street, having thanked her not just for her hospitality but for her kindness, as well.

Pregnant with Guy's baby. She might not want to believe it, but instinctively she knew that it was true.

Now
what was she going to do? What was she going to tell her parents who, although broad-minded and very loving, were bound to be a little disconcerted to discover that they were soon to be grandparents.

Wearily Chrissie closed her eyes, reminding herself that other women with far less supportive parents and fewer earning skills than her somehow managed and so would she.

Guy had had an extremely frustrating day. Lord Astlegh's bailiff had apparently caught one of the catering staff for the fair wandering through a part of the house that was quite definitely off limits. She in turn had claimed that she had simply lost her way and had waxed highly indignant over the bailiffs treatment of her.

'Making out like I was some kind of thief,' she had complained to Guy. 'Just who does he think he is?'

With the fair officially opening in the morning, this kind of complication was the last thing Guy needed, especially when—

He braked hard as he suddenly saw Chrissie emerging from a side street into the road he was driving along. Her head was down and she looked tired and defeated. He had an overwhelming urge to get out of the car and rush over to her to take her in his arms.

These few weeks when he had avoided seeing her had been the longest of his life. God,
why
had he had to see that damned desk?

If he hadn't...
Yes,
he had been angry...hurt in many ways, that she had omitted telling him that Charlie was her uncle, but as she had so promptly reminded him,
he
had kept things about his own life from her, as well. Now that he had calmed down, he could appreciate, as Jenny had pointed out to him, that Chrissie had not told him that she was related to Charlie simply because she had been reluctant to create any kind of barrier between them.

'Give Chrissie another chance, Guy,' Jenny had advised him several weeks before. Her words now echoed in his mind.

Head down, Chrissie turned the comer without having seen him. The lights changed. Guy drove through them and then on impulse indicated left to follow Chrissie. He stopped the car, ignoring the yellow line he was parked on, and loped down the street after her.

As she heard the sound of someone running behind her, Chrissie instinctively came to a halt and turned round, her expression betraying her shock as she realised who it was.

'Guy,' she breathed, unable to stop herself from reacting to his presence.

'Chrissie, are you all right?' Guy asked, frowning as he saw how pale and fragile she was looking.

'Of course I'm all right,' she snapped, starting to turn away from him, suddenly mindful of the pitfalls of her situation, but as she moved away, Guy reached out towards her, accidentally jolting her arm so that she dropped the piece of paper Ruth had given her that she still was holding in her hand.

Immediately she bent down to retrieve it, but Guy moved faster, picking it up and frowning as he recognised the name and address of one of their local doctors.

'If you're not ill, then what are you doing with Dr Jardine's name and address?' he questioned her tersely. 'You certainly don't
look
well.'

'I said I'm perfectly all right,' Chrissie lied through gritted teeth, 'and if you would just give me that back...'

Dr Jardine. Guy's frown deepened. He knew she was one of the doctors at the local practice, and although she was not his own doctor, for some reason the name was starting to ring a bell. Dr Jardine...

He was just about to hand the slip of paper back to Chrissie when he suddenly realised just why the name was so familiar. Dr Jardine was the doctor one of his sisters had seen when she was first having trouble conceiving. Dr Jardine was the practice's gynaecological specialist.
Gynaecological
specialist...
Why
did Chrissie need to see a gynaecologist? What was wrong? She looked so pale, so drawn, so hunted and haunted almost, heartachingly proud at the same time, her hand crossed defensively across her body as though in protection of...