Nothing more.
12
Nadia sat on the edge of her bed. The sun had only just come up; it was early. She had a day off today, prearranged, thinking she’d be relaxing in a beautiful hotel with her colleagues, congratulating themselves on the amount they’d managed to raise for the air ambulance charity last night. But instead she was stewing, she was worried, she was all over the place.
Her sister Monica, the sister she’d never told anyone about, was here in England.
And so was Archie.
And more confusingly, Monica was here looking for her, after all this time.
None of it made sense right now.
And to have this all blow up in her face here, in Dorset, in her safe place where nobody knew hardly anything about her background, made it so much worse.
She padded across the bedroom carpet, navigated her way past her overnight bag with things untidily scattered around it from last night as she’d tried to find her washbag and toothbrush when she arrived home.
She’d considered staying at the country house after Archie and his son left, once they’d talked, but she’d made the snap decision to leave when she saw the minibus pull up outside nice and early for pickup. She saw it as her escape, a way to run away from the drama and the inevitable questions from everyone else about who the mystery man was, never mind what Hudson had to be thinking after Archie showed up. She’d run across the gravel parking area to the minibus, taking the driver by surprise given he was here more than an hour before the party would come to its close. He confirmed there was a spare seat for the journey back to Whistlestop River and so Nadia had run back into the beautiful venue, gone upstairs, got her things together and run back outside under the cover of darkness to hide on the minibus, away from prying eyes. The driver had been happy for her to stay onboard; perhaps he’d picked up on her distress and felt sorry for her. Others on the minibus had been in fine spirits when they finally left over an hour later but Nadia gave the odd smile and then settled with her head against the window, watching the streetlamps flash on by, passing cars, the blackness of the unknown outside. They could’ve been anywhere; the only scenery she recognised was as the bus slowed and pulled into Whistlestop River and began the rounds of dropping people at their doors.
She ran her fingers through her hair as she went into her bathroom. It had been tightly ringleted last night but those ringlets had loosened overnight, and given up by now. She switched the water on in the shower. It always took a couple of minutes to come through hot rather than tepid and she held her hand beneath the jets until it obliged. It was almost robotic the way she climbed in and stood letting the water soak through her hair, down her face, over her skin.
As she lathered up her shampoo, she thought about Hudson: the way they’d got closer last night, how every touch from himsent a zing right through her. She remembered the admission that he had split up with his wife, the hope she’d felt that this might be the start of something between them. And then she remembered the look on his face when she told him she had to talk to Archie. It was obvious there was a history there with this man who’d shown up at the fundraiser but she hadn’t had any choice but to deal with it straight away. And it was all too much to explain to Hudson at a party where she’d been taken by surprise. Hudson didn’t even know she’d been pregnant before, twice, never mind that this stranger to him had been the father of her first baby nor that he was now married to her sister, the sister she’d never confessed to having. Nadia had walked away from Monica, the only close family she had, two decades ago and hadn’t looked back.
The memory of talking to Archie bashed at the corners of her conscience as she lathered up her shower gel.
When Nadia had asked Hudson for some time with Archie last night, she’d needed it but she hadn’t wanted it. What she’d wanted was to tell Archie to go away, to leave her to her own life, but when she looked into the eyes of the little boy with the same pale complexion and warm brown eyes as her sister Monica, she’d barely been able to speak. There was no doubt about it, the little boy was her nephew, and she’d never even known he existed. Prior to Archie showing up, she’d told herself over the years that perhaps her sister and Archie’s relationship had fizzled out, but with this little boy standing right in front of her now, the wedding band on Archie’s ring finger, it seemed they were in it for keeps.
‘Daddy, I’m bored,’ the child beside Archie had moaned as they stood outside the marquee.
Archie set down the rucksack from his back and pulled out an iPad. ‘I don’t usually let him have much time on this but it’ll giveus a chance to talk,’ he explained to Nadia as if he had to answer to her in some way. Perhaps he did, but not for that.
‘I’m working. Showing up here is?—’
‘I know it’s sudden, but please.’ He spoke in a lower voice so his son wouldn’t hear. ‘I really didn’t have any other choice but to do this.’
‘There’s always a choice.’ Her heart thumped double time. ‘Why are you here? And how did you know who I worked for, where I’d be tonight?’
‘Excuse me…’ A woman behind Nadia bumped into her and apologised. ‘The ground is a little uneven.’
Nadia acted as though this was a completely ordinary encounter and hadn’t almost knocked her off her feet with shock. ‘Careful, it’s worse out here; you don’t want to fall in your heels and twist your ankle.’
‘At least I know there are plenty of medics,’ the woman chortled before she and her friend headed across the grass and around the house, presumably to the car park.
‘I really need to talk to you,’ Archie prompted as Nadia’s smile slowly faded away again.
Nadia briefly looked behind her into the marquee, expecting to see Hudson hovering somewhere. But he wasn’t. All she could make out was a sea of people enjoying themselves, coming together on what was supposed to be an evening of celebration.
‘Please, Nadia. Do you really think I’d show up if this wasn’t important?’
He had a hint of a Swiss accent but, like her and Monica, he was raised by British parents who had lived in an area with expats, he’d attended an international school much like the girls, and so you’d never really be able to pick where he was from.
‘Where’s Monica? Is she with you?’
His gaze flitted to his son, who was preoccupied with the iPad already even though they were standing around.
‘Can we talk properly?’ he urged. ‘There’s a bench, over there at the edge of the lawn.’
Nadia said nothing, but her feet took her in the direction he’d indicated across the grass just about visible in the moonlight and with the lights streaming from inside the marquee.
