Anne Mather - Morgan's Child

‘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.’

‘And what if they haven’t?’ Fliss had protested. ‘What if they attack Kantanga? What if there’s a coup?’

Morgan’s mouth had tilted in a lazy grin. ‘What a lot of “what ifs”, my darling,’ he’d teased her lightly. And then he’d said, gathering her closer, ‘Just think of the homecoming we’ll have when I get back.’

But he hadn’t come back. Not then...

‘What is it?’

Graham had come back and was looking at her with anxious eyes. Had he considered what this would do to their relationship? she wondered. He’d given her his love and so much more. She’d known a feeling of security with him she’d never known with Morgan. Whatever happened, she didn’t want to let him down.

‘I—just can’t believe this has really happened,’ she said, not altogether untruthfully. But how could she tell him of the fears she had now? She looked up at him wistfully, remembering how happy she had been when he’d put his ring on her finger. ‘I feel as if it’s some weird dream; that any minute I’m going to wake up.’

‘But you know it’s not a dream,’ said Graham gently, taking the hand she held out to him. ‘My darling, this is going to take some getting used to for—for all of us.’ He bent and kissed her knuckles. ‘Morgan’s your husband. However much I love you, I mustn’t forget that. I have to accept that he has the—prior claim to your affections now.’

‘No!’ Fliss gazed up at him with troubled eyes. Whatever happened, she thought, she didn’t want to lose Graham’s love. ‘I love you,’ she said fiercely. ‘I can barely remember Morgan.’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘You have to believe me. I couldn’t bear it if you deserted me now.’

‘Fliss—’

‘It’s true.’ She was adamant, getting up from the sofa to gaze searchingly into his face. ‘We’d only been married for a few months when Morgan—when he was reported missing. We hadn’t known one another as long as I’ve known you.’

Graham heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, Fliss.’ He ran a finger round the inside of his dog collar as if it suddenly felt too tight. ‘That’s not the point, my dear. You know how much I want us to be together. But we can’t ignore the facts, no matter how great the temptation may be.’

Fliss stared at him, pulling the braid in which she always wore her hair for school over one shoulder and combing her fingers through its tuft. ‘Oh, Graham,’ she said in an anguished voice, ‘what am I going to do?’

‘You’re going to have that cup of tea,’ declared Graham practically, marching back into the kitchen. ‘And then I’ll speak to your in-laws.’ he called over his shoulder. ‘It’s time we told them that you’re all right.’

Fliss could hear the kettle boiling now, and presently she heard the rattle of the teapot lid as Graham poured the water into the pot. His large hands moved so clumsily among the china cups and saucers, and she walked to the doorway to watch him setting two of each on the tray.

Fliss’s eyes filled with affection. Although he hadn’t spent a lot of time at the cottage, he was quite familiar with domestic tasks. He had a housekeeper at the vicarage, but Mrs Arnold was quite elderly, and he was not averse to helping out on occasions.

But there was no denying that he dwarfed his surroundings. Everything about Graham was large, from his size ten shoes to his six feet something in height. He was too heavy, of course, and Fliss had declared that after they were married he would have to go on a diet. But until then Mrs Arnold’s fare of suet pastry and steamed puddings would continue to do his health no good.

‘There.’

He picked up the tray and followed her into the living room again, but before he could pour the tea someone knocked at the door. Fliss tensed, but it was only Mrs Arnold, who’d come to find the vicar. Old Mr Crabtree was very poorly, she said, and his son had called to ask if Reverend Bland could come at once.

‘Damn!’ Graham seldom swore, but he was obviously frustrated at that moment. ‘Will you be all right, Fliss?’ he asked anxiously, after sending Mrs Arnold on her way. ‘I’ll try to get back later, but I’m afraid it may be too late to make that call.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Fliss assured him firmly, accompanying him to the door and helping him on with his coat. ‘It’s probably better if I make it anyway. I don’t want them thinking I’m in a state of collapse.’

‘Even if you are,’ remarked Graham drily, buttoning his overcoat. ‘Now, are you sure you’ll be all right on your own? I can always ask Mrs Arnold to come back and keep you company.’

’I’m fine,’ she insisted, ushering him out of the door and then closing it again with rather more urgency than tact. But the last thing she needed was Mrs Arnold gossiping about what had happened. And, despite what she’d said, she doubted she’d ever feel all right again.

The Rikers arrived the next morning.

Fliss was drinking her umpteenth cup of coffee when she heard the car outside, and she wondered if it was the caffeine that was responsible for the rawness of her nerves. She should be thinking about Morgan, dammit, stuck in some hospital in Kantanga, without anyone he cared about around him. Instead of which, she was feeling sorry for herself. What kind of a wife had she turned out to be?

Graham had rung at half-past seven that morning. He’d apologised for not getting back to her the night before and hoped she’d managed to get some sleep. Fliss assured him she had, though in actual fact she hadn’t. She’d gone to bed, but she’d stared at the ceiling for most of the night.

And it had turned out that he was ringing not just to enquire about her health but also to assure her that he didn’t expect her to attend the church’s coffee morning. It went without saying, he said, that on this occasion they would have to do without her famous scones. It was only as he spoke that Fliss realised how remote from ordinary events the whole situation was. Until then, that element of unreality had prevailed.