Morgan's Child

Her head was throbbing quite badly and whoever was attacking her door wasn’t improving it. If only they would stop banging quite so loudly, she might find the wherewithal to think.

‘Fliss!’ The letterbox rattled and someone shouted her name through the opening. ‘Fliss, can’t you answer me? Where are you? Are you all right?’

It was Graham, she realised as the pause in the knocking allowed her brain to function again. Graham was at her door, and she couldn’t understand why he sounded so worried. She distinctly remembered him telling her that he was giving a bible class this evening. He should have been at the vicarage, not hammering on her door.

She shook her head, and then wished she hadn’t when the room spun dizzily about her. Obviously, she had fainted, she thought incredulously. But how had Graham known that she needed his help?

She struggled up onto her elbows. She’d always believed she wasn’t the type to suffer sudden losses of consciousness. She’d thought she was made of stronger stuff and it was disconcerting to discover she’d been wrong. Why, even when she’d heard the news that Morgan had been murdered by the rebels—

Morgan!

The searing recollection of what she was doing on the floor hit her with lightning force. For a second, she was half afraid she was going to lose consciousness again, but Graham chose that moment to renew his assault on the door. Oh, God, Morgan, she thought sickly; Morgan’s alive. And, struggling groggily to her feet, she saw the phone receiver dangling from its cord.

‘Fliss!’ The letterbox rattled again. ‘Oh, Fliss, darling, can’t yon open the door? Can you hear me, Fliss? Oh, dear, I’m going to have to break a window. I’ve got to see that you’re all right.’

Graham!

Rubbing a dazed hand across her damp forehead, Fliss managed to regain her balance. I‘m—here. I’m all right,’ she called in a thin, wavery voice. Replacing the receiver and using the furniture for support, she started across the room. ‘Just give me a minute. I can’t seem to find the key.’

‘It’s on the floor,’ said Graham, bending to speak through the letterbox again. ‘Thank God you’re all right. I’ve been so worried. I managed to push your key out, but you’ve dropped the dead bolt so I couldn’t use my key.’

Fliss allowed her tongue to moisten lips that were as dry as parchment and bent to gather up the key. Of course, she thought, making sense of what he was saying, as this cottage still belonged to the church, it was feasible that Graham should have a key. The fact that she had had dead bolts fitted along with the existing locks had been an added security precaution on her part. She was used to living in London, where excessive personal protection was the norm.

It took a few moments for her trembling fingers to fit the key into its hole and deal with the other locks, but at last she got the door open. And, as if his patience had been stretched to breaking point, the Reverend Graham Bland—her fiancé—burst into the room, grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her into his arms.

‘Fliss!’

His voice was thick with emotion, and she wondered why her phone being off the hook should have caused him such concern. How long had she been unconscious, for heaven’s sake? He was behaving as if he knew something was wrong.

‘Should—shouldn’t you be at bible class?’ she ventured at last, when he drew back far enough to stare into her pale face. His expression gave her an anxious feeling. Did she look as numb as she felt?

‘At bible class?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘My dear, I came as quickly as I could. When the Rikers phoned me, I was—shattered. Finishing the bible lesson was the least of my concerns.’

‘The Rikers phoned you?’ Fliss felt a momentary twinge of the dizziness that had overwhelmed her before. ‘So—so you know what they—what they were ringing me about?’

‘Well, yes.’ Graham cupped her face in his large hands now, and smoothed her cold cheeks with tender fingers. ‘Oh, my dear, I can imagine what a shock this has been for you. The Rikers were frantic when you went off the phone.’

Fliss nodded, but although she was trying hard to behave rationally she couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Hearing that the Rikers had told Graham the same thing they had told her made it more official somehow. Her fears—her doubts that maybe she had been hallucinating—were all swept away by Graham’s assertion. He wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t so. By some miracle, Morgan was alive. In a few days—weeks?—he’d be coming home.

CHAPTER TWO (#u7329a598-970b-5be6-bed1-6507f808119d)

HOME...

Fliss shivered, staring up into Graham’s kind, familiar features with a growing sense of panic. This wasn’t Morgan’s home, she realised numbly. It never had been. The home she’d shared with Morgan had had to be sold when she couldn’t afford to go on paying the mortgage.

Besides, she remembered dully, she hadn’t wanted to go on living in the house she’d shared with her husband when he was alive. There’d been too many ghosts; too many memories. When Aunt Sophie had told her about the teaching job that was going at the village school, she’d practically jumped at the chance to get away from London. Whittersley was her home now. She had eventually succeeded in putting the past to rest.

Because of Graham...

She blinked. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said now, unable to deal with such disturbing details at the moment. ‘Why would the Rikers contact you? Why not Aunt Sophie? Or the police?’

Graham sighed, drawing her close again before urging her towards the sofa and ensuring that she sat down before he went on. ‘I imagine because you’d told them about us,’ he declared reasonably, lowering his bulk beside her. ‘And your aunt’s away, remember? Which is just as well. They wouldn’t have wanted to disturb her with such upsetting news at her age.’

Upsetting!

Fliss looked down at her hands enclosed within one of Graham’s hands in her lap and felt a different kind of guilt. She should have told the Rikers about her and Graham getting engaged when she’d had the chance, she acknowledged tensely. But she’d never dreamed that something like this might happen, hadn’t imagined there might be a time limit on telling them she’d fallen in love with someone else.

It would have been so much easier now if they had been forewarned of her intentions. Easier for Graham, too, she conceded, guessing he might suspect she had put off telling her in-laws about him because she still had doubts. She didn’t honestly know why she had avoided telling them about her engagement. She’d known it would never be easy. The Rikers could never replace their son, whereas she—she could marry again.

And Graham could never take Morgan’s place in her affections, she appended swiftly. He wouldn’t want to. That kind of love happened only once in a lifetime, and perhaps that was why she’d kept her news to herself. How could she explain what Graham meant to her? It was something she’d known they’d never understand.

She took a deep breath, once again avoiding a difficult situation. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘They were so certain it was Morgan’s remains they’d found. Or at least—’ she shuddered ‘—they believed it was the car Morgan was travelling in. Why did they tell us he was dead if there was any doubt?’

‘It was virtually a war zone, Fliss,’ Graham reminded her. ‘I don’t suppose it was possible to make any absolute identification at that time. There were human remains among the ashes, and didn’t you tell me they’d found your husband’s watch?’

‘What was left of it,’ murmured Fliss, feeling sick. ‘But they should have told us he might still be alive if they weren’t sure.’

‘But they didn’t,’ said Graham gently. ‘And be thankful that the news is good. Would you rather they were writing to tell you that they’d made a mistake and he was dead? How would that make you feel?’

Fliss blew out a breath. She honestly didn’t know how she felt. For so long she’d considered herself a widow. She’d just come to terms with that, and now she was expected to accept that it had all been a terrible mistake. And what had James meant, she wondered, when he’d said Morgan had been living with the rebels for the past four years? Surely there must have been some way he could have contacted her; let her know he was alive and not dead.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said now, wishing she didn’t feel so confused. She glanced about her somewhat dazedly. ‘What time is it? Have I been unconscious long?’

‘Not long,’ said Graham reassuringly, lifting his hand to touch a tender spot on the side of her head. ‘I think you must have knocked yourself out on the comer of the sofa. That was why I had such a hard time bringing you round.’

Fliss caught her breath. ‘I suppose I ought to ring Morgan’s mother and father; let them know I’m all right.’

‘No, I will,’ said Graham firmly, squeezing her hands for a moment before releasing her. ‘They felt they had to call me because your phone was off the hook.’

‘I see.’

Fliss moved her head in a cautious nod, and Graham got to his feet. ‘I must say,’ he added, ‘I’m surprised they sprang the news on you so recklessly. Had you had no warning? Haven’t the authorities been in touch with you?’

‘Well...’ Fliss turned her head towards the small pile of envelopes she could just see residing on the end of the kitchen counter. ‘There might be a letter,’ she confessed, ‘but I haven’t looked at the mail. All I usually get are bills, and I’m afraid I thought they could wait.’

‘Never mind.’ Graham bent to give her a swift hug before moving away. ‘So long as you’re all right, that’s all I care about. Now—I’m going to make you a cup of tea and then I’ll make that call.’

Fliss forced herself to relax against the cushions, giving herself up to the comforting protection Graham always offered. What would she do without him? She’d come to depend on him so much. He was so big and gentle—and capable. Yes, that was it; she’d always felt so safe in his arms.

But no longer.

With a start, the remembrance of what the Rikers’ phone call was going to mean caused her to stiffen. Oh, God, she thought, here they were discussing how she’d heard the news without really considering the consequences of it. Morgan was alive. Until that moment, she hadn’t really absorbed the concept of what that really meant in terms of the future. Her husband wasn’t dead. However unbelievable that sounded, it was true.

She remembered suddenly how angry she’d been when Morgan had first told her he was going to Nyanda.

‘You can’t,’ she’d declared hotly, when he’d told her about the call he’d had from Paul Giles. ‘For God’s sake, Morgan, there’s a war going on in Nyanda, and it’s not as if you work for the company any more.’

‘But I did,’ he’d reminded her mildly. ‘And I’m only going out there to dismantle a few old missiles. I shan’t be involved in the fighting. According to Paul, the rebels have all been confined to the northern half of the country.’