‘And you don’t think they were upset by what they had witnessed? Irina was in tears when I helped her into bed. She was in shock, poor girl.’
‘It’s been a shock for us all,’ Alastair said tactfully, and wishing that he could feel more sympathetic towards Valentina’s stepdaughter. But all he could think of was how devastated Simon and Sorrel would have been if Blake hadn’t been around to save Rachel’s life. He let go of Valentina. ‘I’m going to try ringing Simon again,’ he said, ‘they must have seen a doctor by now.’
*
In the back of the car, her mother by her side, Rachel wanted desperately to close her eyes and sleep. But each time her eyelids drooped and she felt herself slip into that dreamy state of oblivion, she was jerked violently awake by the terrifying sensation of not being able to breathe, of sinking deeper and deeper into a cold blackness.
Every time it happened, unbidden tears sprang to her eyes and she relived those last terrifying moments, the ones she could remember, when she was in the water. She had never known fear like it, the paralysing sense of utter helplessness. Of fighting for every breath and realising it was a losing battle. That no matter how hard she tried to stay afloat, her body felt weighted with concrete and her lungs ready to burst. And then, almost as if it was a mercy, she had no strength left and she gave in and let the water swallow her up, just as Orla must have done. Just as the girl with the lantern who had been searching for her parents must have done.
That was when she had thought she wasn’t alone – Orla was there! And she was holding Rachel tight and dragging her down deeper, to the darkest depths of the broad. It was like being a child again, hand in hand with Orla, off on another adventure,pirate hats on, cutlasses swishing at their sides. She no longer felt cold, and the fear had passed. She was happy to be led, to be led by Orla as if flying through the air, her hair streaming behind her, her body suddenly as light and insubstantial as an early morning mist hovering over the river.
Now, after speaking to the doctor who had examined her, Rachel accepted that Orla’s presence must have been nothing but a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen to her brain. A trick designed to distract her from dying. She also knew now that the arms holding her so firmly had been those of Jenna pulling her to safety from the water.
Once again her eyes filled with tears at the thought of her friend risking her own life to rescue her. She turned to look out of the car window. How would she ever thank Jenna? And Blake too. Apparently he had been the one to give herCPR, the only one to know just what to do.
She felt totally undeserving of their efforts. She had been drunk, showing off in front of Nikolai, hoping to impress him, to prove that she was worthy of his attention. She shuddered with shame at her behaviour and then coughed, setting off a series of painful stabbing sensations deep inside her lungs. She put a hand to her aching and bruised chest, where Blake must have pressed down hard as he fought to save her life.
‘Are you all right?’ asked her mother, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘Are you cold? Simon, turn up the heating.’
‘There’s no need, Dad,’ Rachel said, her throat tight, ‘I’m warm enough.’ She met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. Never before had she seen her father so torn apart with worry; it upset her to know that she had put him through such needless pain. She knew Mum was just as upset, but she was always so much better at hiding her emotions. Rachel was more like Dad in that respect; they both wore their hearts on their sleeves.
‘We’ll soon be back,’ Mum said beside her. ‘And after you’ve had something to eat, we’ll help you to bed and you can sleep.’
It wasn’t often her mother showed this softer side of her nature and it touched Rachel. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. ‘Willyou sit with me for a while when I’m in bed, like you used to when I was little?’
If her mother was surprised at the request, she didn’t show it. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And maybe your father might like to as well.’
Rachel’s gaze once more caught her father’s in the mirror. He smiled back at her. ‘I’ll do whatever makes you feel better,’ he said.
She drifted off to sleep. When next she opened her eyes, she saw they were driving through the village of Linston, the road lined either side with the familiar sight of cottages, their gardens bright with summer flowers.
As they turned into the driveway for Linston End, she heard her mother say, ‘Simon, please let’s not make a bad situation any worse than it already is.’
Chapter Forty-Two
The last person in the world Sorrel had wanted to encounter was Valentina, but after leaving Simon upstairs with Rachel and Jenna, she had come down to make them a drink, only to see Valentina sitting at the table outside on the terrace, calmly reading a magazine while absently spooning yoghurt into her mouth. The sight of her relaxing in the late morning sunlight without a care in the world was too much for Sorrel. She stepped onto the terrace. ‘I’m glad somebody round here is enjoying themselves,’ she said. ‘And how kind of you to enquire how Rachel is,’ she added.
Valentina looked up from the magazine in front of her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were still upstairs. How is your daughter?’
‘As if you care!’
Without giving Valentina the chance to reply Sorrel went back inside the kitchen. She filled the kettle and plugged it in, conscious that she was in danger of resembling a hissing cat fighting over a chicken carcass. She had asked Simon to keep his temper in check, but once more she didn’t seem able to take her own advice.
Hatred for the woman Alastair professed to love now burned within her. She hated Valentina with a loathing matched only by her scorn for Alastair. How could he have turned into such a pathetically weak man who was now so blinded he couldn’t see what was going on? And to think she had loved him. What a fool she’d been. All those wasted years. All those years of wanting something she couldn’t have.
‘I can see that you’re upset, and that is why you are behaving so irrationally.’
Sorrel jumped out of her skin at the sound of Valentina’s voice. It was crazy, but such was her guilt, she felt scared that the woman might have actually eavesdropped on her innermost thoughts. ‘Why on earth did you sneak up on me like that?’ she demanded.
‘I did not sneak up on you. You simply failed to hear my approach.’
Ignoring the remark, and fighting the urge to claw Valentina’s face off, Sorrel opened the cupboard above the kettle and took out four mugs. Instinctively she wanted to tidy the shelves and put everything back in order, just as she’d done a few days ago, before Alastair had practically banned her from doing anything useful in the kitchen. She slammed the cupboard door shut and yanked open the cutlery drawer. Again she had to stop herself from tidying the muddle, knives, forks and serving spoons any old how. Teaspoon in hand, she slammed the drawer shut with sufficient force to rattle the contents. Next she opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk, poured some into a small jug, then returned the carton to the fridge. All the while keeping her back resolutely turned to Valentina.
‘Perhaps it would be better for us not to speak now,’ Valentina said, ‘not when your emotions are running so high.’
The woman’s cool condescension riled Sorrel beyond all reason. She whipped round to face Valentina. ‘I can think of no better time to tell you exactly what I have to say. Because of your stepchildren my daughter very nearly died, and yet you behave as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened.’ She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the garden. ‘There you were, reading your magazine and eating your yoghurt, not a thought for anybody else and the ordeal we’ve been through.’
‘You would rather I did not eat any breakfast? Would that make you, or Rachel, feel better?’
