Their Very Special Marriage (22 page)

‘I'll come straight up after surgery finishes,' she said. ‘Which ward are you on?'

‘Stroke unit,' he said.

‘OK. I'll see you then.'

Two quick calls after surgery reassured her that Robin and Sophie were fine at their friends' houses, then she drove to the hospital and walked up to the stroke unit.

Isabel and Oliver were sitting at either side of Stuart's bed. Nigel was conspicuous by his absence. Rachel noted that Stuart was asleep. She tapped lightly on the door and walked in.

‘How is he?' she asked.

‘As well as can be expected,' Isabel said. ‘He's had a stroke.'

Rachel muffled her irritation. She had issues with Isabel that needed tackling, but now was definitely not the time for a confrontation with her mother-in-law. ‘Oliver rang me earlier about the tests,' she said. ‘Are they planning to give him any clot-busting drugs?'

‘I did ask, but there isn't a trial here,' Oliver said.

Rachel nodded and sat down next to Isabel. ‘Have you had anything to eat since this morning, Isabel?' she asked gently.

‘How can I eat when my husband's lying here like this?' Isabel asked, seemingly affronted.

‘You need to look after yourself, too,' Rachel said quietly. ‘If you don't eat or rest you'll be ill, and Stuart needs you to be strong. Why don't you and Oliver go to the cafeteria?' She forestalled Isabel's protest by adding, ‘I know you want to stay with him—of course you do, it's only natural—but he's asleep right now, and you do need a break. I'll stay with him. If anything happens, I'll come straight down and fetch you,' she promised.

‘She's right,' Oliver agreed. ‘And I need a comfort break.'

Only a Bedingfield would say that, Rachel thought. Anyone else would have said, ‘I need the loo.'

‘Back in a minute,' Oliver muttered, and left the room.

‘Is Nigel coming this evening?' Rachel asked.

Isabel shook her head. ‘He's on holiday.'

Rachel clearly wasn't quick enough to mask her thoughts, because Isabel bridled. ‘It's not his fault.'

‘No.' Just typical Nigel, not to leave a contact number. And even if they did manage to track him down, Rachel doubted that he'd offer to cut his holiday short and come home to support his mother.

‘Don't you make judgements,' Isabel said.

‘I'm sorry.' Rachel sighed. ‘Look, I know I'm not the daughter-in-law you wanted, but right now I'm the only one you've got. We've had our differences, but in my family you're there when someone in your family needs you, regardless of what's happened over the years.'

Isabel still had her chin lifted high and her face turned away from Rachel. Rachel bit her lip. What would it take to reach Isabel? She'd spent fourteen years trying and failing. ‘What I'm saying is, I'm here. And I'll do anything I can to help. If you'd like to stay with us while Stuart's here, I can soon freshen up the spare room for you.' Even though
she knew that would mean Oliver would feel too awkward to make love, take comfort in her arms and reforge the bonds between them. ‘And I can run you up here and fetch you again any time.'

This time Isabel turned to her, and Rachel was shocked to see that the older woman actually had tears in her eyes.

‘Thank you,' she whispered.

Oliver appeared in the doorway. ‘Do you want us to bring you anything back?' he asked Rachel.

She shook her head. Although she hadn't eaten, she wasn't hungry. ‘I'm fine. See you in a bit.'

When they'd gone, she glanced over Stuart's charts—which showed that he was holding his own—and then settled down into the chair beside the sleeping man. ‘It's such a mess, Stuart. None of this was ever meant to happen,' she said softly. ‘Just when Oliver and I were starting to sort things out between us... But it's not your fault. You couldn't help it.' She sighed. ‘All I know is that the next couple of days are going to be critical. For you and me both.'

* * *

‘Where'm I?' Stuart mumbled a little while later.

‘Stuart, it's Rachel.' She took his hand. ‘You're here in hospital. Isabel and Oliver have gone to get something to eat. Do you want me to get them?'

‘No. 'S all right.' Stuart's hand tightened on hers. ‘Rachel. Need to tell you.'

‘Shh, it's OK,' she soothed.

‘Need to tell you,' he mumbled. ‘Made a mistake. About you. Silly. You're right for Oliver.'

After all these years Stuart was finally telling her that he approved of her? Or was it that the stroke had scrambled some of his circuits and he was mixing her up with Caroline Prentiss?

‘Great kids. Good mum. Ro—Ro—' He looked at her,
wide-eyed, clearly unable to remember the children's names.

‘Robin and Sophie,' she said softly.

‘Looks like you. The little one.' He looked anxious. ‘Where's Oliver?'

Clearly the stroke had affected his short-term memory—she'd already told him that. ‘In the cafeteria, with Isabel.'

‘And the kids?'

She smiled. ‘Robin's staying with his best friend, and Sophie's staying with hers. But I can bring them to see you tomorrow, if you like.'

He shook his head. ‘Might scare them. Don't want to frighten them. Drip, tubes. Not nice for littlies.'

‘You're probably right. But I know Madam will insist on making you a get-well-soon card. It'll be pink and purple.'

He smiled. ‘'S nice.' He took a shuddering breath. ‘My chart?'

‘Don't tell me you're going to live up to the stereotype and be a dreadful patient?' Rachel asked.

‘You seen it?'

‘Yes,' she admitted. ‘And it looks OK.'

‘Truth?'

‘Truth,' she said. ‘I wouldn't lie to you, Stuart.'

He smiled. ‘You're tough. Need to be. Hard to be doctor and a parent.'

Was he trying to tell her that he thought Oliver was a workaholic, too?

‘Harder now,' he added.

‘We muddle through,' she said lightly. She and Oliver had stumbled into a quagmire, but she knew now that they'd find their way out again.

‘Know you love Oliver.'

‘Yes, I love Oliver. I've loved him for a very, very long time.' She willed the tears to stay back. ‘Now, you're sup
posed to be resting. Isabel'll skin me if she thinks I've tired you out.'

‘Tired.' He smiled wryly. ‘Stroke.' Then he frowned, as if searching for the right word.

‘You're right, tiredness is a common symptom afterwards,' Rachel supplied. ‘And so is forgetting words. I know how annoying it must be, but it'll get easier, I promise.'

‘Feel stupid.'

She smiled. ‘You're very far from being that. You've probably forgotten more about medicine than I'll ever know.'

He drifted back to sleep again, still holding her hand. A few minutes later, Oliver and Isabel returned to the room.

‘How is he?' Isabel asked.

‘He woke briefly—I told him where you were and he was fine about it,' Rachel said, gently disengaging her hand from Stuart's and giving up her seat to her mother-in-law. ‘Do you want me to pick you up later and bring you back to ours?'

‘Thank you, but I've already arranged to stay here tonight,' Isabel said.

Rachel sighed inwardly. So much for thinking she'd had a minor breakthrough earlier. Isabel was as cool and distant as she'd always been. ‘Fair enough. But if you change your mind, you're more than welcome.'

‘You'd better get back to the children,' she said.

‘Right. Oliver, are you staying here with your mother?'

‘No, I'll come back with you,' he said. ‘I need to arrange locum cover for tomorrow.'

‘I'll see you tomorrow, Isabel,' she said.

‘I'll ring if there are any changes,' Isabel said, and settled back in her chair next to Stuart.

* * *

Oliver and Rachel walked slowly back to the car.

‘I hope you're not blaming yourself,' Rachel said softly.

‘Me?'

She refused to let him deflect the question. ‘Are you?'

He sighed. ‘If I'd taken the call...'

‘He'd already had the stroke by then. It wouldn't have changed anything.' She squeezed his hand. ‘You know, your dad thinks you work too hard.'

‘My father said that?' Oliver shook his head, as if trying to clear it. ‘All these years I've tried so hard to live up to his reputation. And now he doesn't even want me to.'

‘That's not how he put it. He said it's harder now to do your job and be a parent, not like it was in his day. So if you're worrying that he's going to react badly to the changes you want to make, don't. He'll be fine about it.' She swallowed. ‘He told me the kids were great. That he approved of me.'

‘Rach, to know you is to love you.'

‘Your mother doesn't.' She sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't land this on you. Not now.'

‘We agreed we'd talk. Always,' Oliver reminded her. ‘My mother's a difficult woman. But she's going to have to make a lot of adjustments now. She saw you holding my father's hand and talking to him—as a real person, not as someone who had to be humoured or pitied. Maybe she doesn't think she measures up to you, that she can't do the things that you can.'

‘That's crazy.'

‘Rach, people love you. I've heard them talk about you in the village. They think of you as
theirs
—whereas my mother's always been set apart. And the way you are with the kids...she was never like that with me. I don't think she knew how.' He shrugged. ‘Maybe that's why I resented you being like that with them—because no one had ever been like that with me.'

‘Oliver.' She held him tight. ‘When we get home, when I've put the kids to bed—'

‘When
I've
read their bedtime stories,' Oliver cut in.

‘When they're asleep, I'll show you exactly how I feel about you. I love you, body and heart and soul. And nothing's ever going to change that.'

‘Me, too,' Oliver whispered.

‘We're going to get through this.'

‘It's going to make us stronger,' Oliver said.

‘And somehow I'll square things with your mother. I'll—Hell, I'll even learn the right accent, if it makes her happy.'

‘No. Just be yourself,' Oliver said. ‘My love, my wife.'

‘Always,' she promised.

EPILOGUE

Fourteen months later

O
LIVER
and Rachel stood on the balcony overlooking the Seine, his arms wrapped round her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. ‘Ten years. Doesn't seem like it, does it?'

‘No.' She leaned back against him.

‘I can still remember how you looked when you walked down the aisle towards me,' Oliver said. ‘The most beautiful woman in the world.'

‘I was convinced I'd trip over the hem of my dress and fall flat on my face. I was terrified.'

‘You didn't look it. Just serene. And very, very beautiful.'

She smiled. ‘Flattery will get you anywhere.'

‘I hope so.' He rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘Come with me, Dr Bedingfield,' he whispered.

She allowed him to waltz her back into their suite. The honeymoon suite—a surprise from Oliver to celebrate their tenth anniversary. Paris, as he'd planned for their first anniversary—except they'd never got round to it and had put it off. And, to her even greater surprise, he'd arranged for his parents to look after the children for the weekend.

Isabel had thawed a great deal over the last fourteen months. Probably at Stuart's prompting, Rachel thought. Since his recovery from the stroke, Stuart had become a lot closer to both Rachel and Oliver. And right at this moment Robin had probably found a quiet corner in his grandparents' house and had his nose in a book, whereas Sophie was likely to be bossing her grandfather into telling her another Princess Mouse story. And Caroline—who'd become good
friends with Rachel over the last year or so—was taking over for the day tomorrow to give Isabel a break and keep her sweet towards the children.

‘Ten years. According to my mother, traditionally it's the tin anniversary,' Oliver said conversationally. ‘So...' He took a neatly wrapped package from the drawer next to his side of the bed. ‘Happy anniversary, love.'

She opened the parcel, and burst out laughing as she saw the can of pineapple. The first pudding she'd ever made for Oliver had been a pineapple upside-down cake, and if she didn't have time to make a pudding for dinner, she usually opened a tin of pineapple and served it with ice cream. ‘Thank you.' She grinned. ‘I wasn't expecting a present. You've already given me what I wanted most.' Time. A
lot
of time since he'd installed a practice manager and signed up the out-of-hours service. And Oliver was no longer missing out on all the children's milestones. He'd even taken over the bedtime story routine with Sophie.

‘Well, it's traditional to give your wife an anniversary present. But I looked up the anniversary lists on the Internet. The modern list doesn't say it's tin.'

‘No, it says it's diamond jewellery.'

‘How do you...? Oh.' He grinned. ‘You did the same.'

‘Mmm-hmm. Great minds think alike.' She walked over to her bedside cabinet and extracted a small box. ‘Happy anniversary.'

He opened the box. ‘Wow. Cornish tin,' he said, looking more closely at the cufflinks. ‘Thanks.'

‘It met the traditional and the modern criteria,' she pointed out.

The tiny diamonds in the centre of the cufflinks gleamed in the light.

‘And all I got you was a silly present. A tin of pineapple,' Oliver said ruefully.

‘I don't need presents. I've got you.'

He kissed her. ‘For always.'