Camellia (45 page)

'Answer me!' Her heart thumped painfully, beads of perspiration breaking out on her brow.

Wriggling round the small gap, she screamed before she could control herself.

He lay crumpled on the floor, mouth and eyes open, one hand still clutching a bottle of pills, the contents strewn on the floor around him. His maroon smoking jacket contrasted vividly with his white face and hair.

Mel pricked up her ears at the sound of footsteps in the hospital corridor. She jumped out of her seat in the waiting room and opened the door.

It was Sister Collins, one of the intensive care nurses.

'Is there any news?' Mel had asked this question countless times during the night.

By day hospitals were formidable enough, but at night there was a hushed empty eerieness. The faint sounds of bleeping machines, muffled voices and footsteps all had a hurried urgency, less noticeable by day.

'He's comfortable,' Sister Collins said wiping a handkerchief across her brow. In the dim light of the corridor her big, plain face had a greenish tinge as if she was exhausted and drained. 'It's quite normal for a stroke victim to stay in a coma for forty-eight hours, my dear. Now why don't you go on home and get some rest? Someone will telephone if there's any change.'

'I can't,' Mel said, tears starting up in her eyes again. 'Not until Mr Osbourne's son gets here.'

Mel's priorities in those crucial first minutes after finding Magnus unconscious on his bathroom floor had been to call the ambulance and accompany him to the Royal United hospital. She had left it to Sally and Antoine to contact Mrs Downes, Nick, Sophie and Stephen. In several telephone conversations with Sally since then she'd learned that Mrs Downes had come back to Oaklands to take over. A message had been left at Nick's digs in Birmingham and Stephen intended to drive down from Yorkshire in the morning, but so far there had been no answer at Sophie's home. Stephen had said he would get a message to her.

'If only I'd gone up to his room earlier,' Mel sobbed. She was distraught, terrified that Magnus might die, and that she was responsible for his stroke.

'Now listen to me, Miss Corbett,' Sister Collins said firmly, putting one arm round her shoulder. 'Men of Mr Osbourne's age are susceptible to strokes. If you'd been right by his side when it happened, it wouldn't have made much difference. But he's a strong man and I believe he will pull through. Now off you go and get some rest.'

The door at the far end of the passage opened and Nick appeared.

'Oh, Nick.' Mel ran to him. 'Thank goodness you've got here. I've been frantic.'

'How is he?' He caught her hands and pressed them, his blue eyes wide with anxiety, his face and brown leather jacket splattered with rain. 'I didn't get the message until I got back to my digs in the early hours. I came as fast as I could. What's happening?'

Sister Collins took over, explaining everything that had been done for his father. She repeated the reassurance she had just given Mel and said that Nick would be allowed into intensive care for a moment or two to see Magnus within the hour.

'Sister's right, you should go home, Mel.' Nick ran his fingers distractedly through his hair. He was very dishevelled – he needed a shave and he smelled strongly of cigarettes, as if he'd been chain smoking on the drive. 'I'm really grateful for all you've done, but I'm here now to take over. Take my car.' He handed her his keys.

'But!'

'Go,' he barked impatiently, then seeing the distress in her face, his expression softened. 'Look, Mel, you need some sleep and you're of far more use back at Oaklands than here. I'll phone if there's any change and I'll call a cab if I need to get back.'

When Mel got back to Oaklands she was too tense to sleep. Trees creaked in the strong wind, rain gurgled noisily in a gutter and from her bed she could hear a guest snoring further along the corridor. But these sounds didn't disturb her; they were reassurance she wasn't entirely alone. It was the terrible sense of guilt which prevented her from dropping off.

How could she face his children or the other staff if he died?

The thought tormented her for four hours.

At half past eight, unable to lie there any longer, she went down to the kitchen.

'You shouldn't have got up,' Mrs Downes said reprovingly. 'We can manage without you.'

'I couldn't sleep. Is there any news?' She poured herself some coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.

Antoine's face was as cleanly shaved and shiny as always. He stood calmly frying eggs and bacon as if it was any other day. Not even the possibility of Magnus dying prevented Mrs Downes from polishing each knife and fork as she laid trays for the guests who wanted breakfast in bed.

But Mel knew how it was for them. They were every bit as frightened and anxious as she was. Keeping their usual high standards was a matter of pride, and a way of dealing with the fear.

'Nick telephoned a short while ago,' Mrs Downes said, her lower lip quivering from suppressing tears. 'There's no change I'm afraid, but he's coming back in a minute for a shower and to have some breakfast.'

Magnus had been a dear friend to Joan Downes for some fifteen years. She knew that if he should die she'd feel the blow as keenly as if it was one of her own family. But when Mel walked into the kitchen her stricken face reminded Joan that at the end of the day she had her husband, children and grandchildren to go home to. Mel had no one else: she lived and breathed Oaklands. Magnus and the hotel were her life.

Mel looked like a waif again, just as she had when she first arrived at Oaklands. She'd gone through the motions of looking ready for work, put on a dark-blue dress with a lace collar, but her face was white and her eyes were full of pain.

'Nick must be feeling positive otherwise he wouldn't be coming back here.' Mrs Downes tried to smile as she put a couple of carnations in each of the vases on the trays. She wished she could wipe out that haunted look from the girl's eyes. 'And Magnus is a tough old nut, we all know that.'

The sound of tyres on the gravel drive prevented Mrs Downes from giving her a comforting hug. Mel had jumped up. 'It's Nick,' she said.

'Well, that's a relief.' Mrs Downes took two cooked breakfasts from Antoine, covered them with warming lids and lifted the heavy tray. 'I'll just nip up to the Blue Room with this lot. I'll be back to hear any news.'

Mrs Downes returned to the kitchen before Nick came down. On the face of it he seemed calm and collected, as if he'd just got up. He dropped a kiss on Mrs Downes's cheek, greeted Antoine with his usual impudent 'Bonjour Antoine.' Only the grey tinge to his skin and his red-rimmed eyes proved he wasn't as controlled as he pretended.

'Well, how is he?' Mrs Downes asked impatiently. 'Has he come round at all?'

'It doesn't look too good.' Nick's voice trembled. 'Even if he survives this stroke, it's pretty certain to leave him an invalid.'

Nick had told Mel how Mrs Downes became a mother figure to him when his own died. But as she saw the pair of them reach out instinctively for one another, she felt their love for one another. Mrs Downes was so short and tubby, Nick had to bend right over to lay his head on her shoulder, but that didn't prevent the older woman patting his back with her work-reddened hands as if he was just a small boy.

'There, there, Nick,' she murmured comfortingly. 'You know your dad's a fighter. I've seen lots of people survive strokes and I'm sure he will too. Now sit down and I'll get you some breakfast.'

Mel moved over to the sink to wash some dishes. She sensed Nick looking at her but she couldn't turn to meet his gaze.

'It must've been a terrible shock to find him like that, Mel?' His voice had a tender edge.

'The worst kind.' She turned slowly, dropping her eyes as she saw the concern for her in his. She had seen him in so many different roles: the aggressive male arguing at the bar, the charmer with the old lady guests, the debonair actor. But today there was something new in his face. He looked vulnerable, almost childlike, and it plucked at her heart strings painfully. 'I felt so impotent. I didn't know what to do.'

'I can imagine,' he nodded sympathetically. 'I thought Dad was indestructible. Seeing him lying in bed with all those tubes and wires stuck into him gave me the willies.'

Mrs Downes put another tray on the table and swiftly laid it for breakfast. 'I suggest you take this up to your Dad's office.' She looked at Nick sternly as if daring him to argue. 'And Mel can go with you.'

'I can't do that, there's too much to do,' Mel blurted out. The last thing she wanted was to be cloistered with Nick before she'd had time to sort things out in her head.

'There isn't. I've already rung my sister to get her in to help.' Mrs Downes gave her a motherly pat on the bottom. 'Aside from it not being nice to leave Nick to brood on his own, there's all the jobs that Magnus normally does waiting up there in his office. You two can do them together.'

Mel knew she was beaten. However much she would prefer the peace of changing beds and cleaning bathrooms, to being with Nick, she knew it would appear unnatural to say so.

'I keep seeing Magnus lying there in the bathroom,' she said weakly, as if that was a reasonable explanation. 'Supposing I hadn't gone up? He might have been there all night!'

'Well, he wasn't,' Nick said firmly. He took the plate of bacon and eggs from Antoine and put it on the tray. 'You heard Downie, you've got to help me. And later when I've gone back to the hospital, you'd better go back to bed. You look terrible.'

When they got upstairs, Mel found it was surprisingly comforting being with Nick. He took control in much the same way as his father always had and he didn't seem to wish to talk anymore than she did. He sat at Magnus's desk and went through the staff rota, telephoning some of the part-timers to arrange increased hours so Mel would be kept free to handle the jobs Magnus normally did, then moved on to place orders for wine and spirits.

Outside the rain had finally stopped. Weak sunshine was peeping through and the sounds of staff going about their business was soothingly normal. Mel sat at the other desk, opening the mail, separating bills from requests for hotel brochures and booking confirmations. She was just putting a sheet of headed notepaper into the typewriter to reply to some of the inquiries when Nick finally spoke.

'I think I'd rather see him die now, than end up gaga in a wheelchair.'

Mel's head jerked up in shock.

'Oh God, that sounded so callous,' he said, holding his head in his hands. 'I didn't mean it quite like it sounded.'

Mel looked at his stricken face and felt a tightening round her heart. 'I know what you mean,' she said softly. 'I just hope that if he is going to die I get a chance to speak to him one more time.'

Nick nodded in understanding. 'There's so much I need to say to him.' He shook his head sadly, his eyes glittering with tears. 'You know, stuff about Mum. How he felt when I went off the rails and things. What do you want to talk to him about?'

Mel felt herself blushing. 'Oh, you know! About how grateful I am to him.'

'He knows that already.'

Nick was looking at her very intently. He could be just as perceptive as his father. The palms of her hands were suddenly clammy with sweat.

'You want to talk to him about me. Don't you?'

'Why should I want to talk about you?' Sarcasm seemed the appropriate way out, mingled with some truth. 'If you must know, yesterday afternoon I told him I wanted to leave Oaklands. I'd like him to know that I wouldn't leave until he was better.'

'You can't leave!' Nick's eyes flew wide open in astonishment. 'You belong here and with me.'

'Nick, it's you saying those sort of things to me that makes me want to leave,' she said quickly. 'I've told you dozens of times that I'm not interested in you in that way. I can't bear it.' It wasn't necessary to look at him, she knew those blue eyes would be dark with hurt, his mouth drooping, unable to understand the rebuff.

'Don't you know I love you?'

His words stabbed at her like a knife through the heart.

'I said I loved you,' he repeated.

She was thrown into confusion, staring at him in horror.

'I know you must've been badly hurt by someone,' he said, getting up from his desk and moving towards her. 'Maybe you are afraid of it happening again. But I know you feel the same as me, Mel. I can see it, feel it. It might not seem to be the right time to tell you, but I need you.'

He took another step towards her, arms outstretched. She shrank back into her chair, but his hands came down on her shoulders, holding her captive and his head bent to kiss her.

'No.' She pushed at his chest, but still his lips were coming towards hers.

Something snapped in her brain. The truth was the only way to stop this insanity. She couldn't find feeble excuses any longer.

'Don't Nick. I think I'm your sister!'

Her words stopped him dead. His lips were only inches from hers when he froze.

For a second their eyes locked, then slowly he straightened up, tossing back the lock of hair which had fallen across his eyes.

'What sort of sick joke is that?' he said in a whisper.

'Nick, it isn't a joke.' She got up from her chair and moved behind it for security. 'I would never have told you if you hadn't pushed me. But it was the only way I could stop you.'

The colour drained from his face so rapidly that for a moment she thought he was going to faint. He moved back fumbling for the edge of the desk to support himself.

'You can't be my sister!' His deep voice was strangled, his Adam's apple leaping up and down in his throat.

'I might be,' she whispered. 'Oh God, Nick! I didn't intend it to come out like this.'

'But how?' His lip twisted into a sneer. 'Are you suggesting my parents gave you away at birth?'

'Can we sit down and talk about this properly?' she pleaded with him. 'I can't explain when you look at me like that!'

This was how her whole life had been: pockets of brief, false happiness, paid for heavily with pain. Anger was replacing sorrow in his eyes; his broad shoulders were stiff with hostility.