‘Are you OK, baby?’
‘More than OK, thanks. That was a sigh of relief. It’s so good to be escaping.’
‘Good. I want you to relax and enjoy the ride.’
After about an hour, they pulled into an airfield. Gracie looked at Leo quizzically.
‘Not sure if I’m up for a flying lesson after two glasses of champagne.’
He laughed and pointed to a small jet. ‘That’s my plane over there.’
A private jet! Gracie was speechless.
‘You and I, my lovely, are having an overnight stay with a difference.’
‘We’re staying on the plane?’
‘Of course not.’ Leo smiled at her innocence. ‘Come on. Sam will bring your bag. He’ll stick around to drive us at the other end, too.’
Gracie pinched herself. Before their trip to St. Lucia, she had only ever flown economy before. Here she could walk around or lie down, and eat and drink whatever she liked. It was simply amazing. The interior was so plush, the seats so comfortable. It was like being in a well-appointed hotel.
‘We must be going somewhere in the UK, because I haven’t got my passport.’
‘That, doll, is where you are wrong. Check the front pocket of your handbag.’
Gracie couldn’t believe it. ‘How did you…?’
‘I asked Noms to sneak it in there.’
‘The sneaky…’ Gracie couldn’t believe that her sister had known about this all along. ‘You’re good, Leo Grant, very good.’
‘Ain’t I just, honey? I was going to come out with another cheesy line from a film then, but I thought you’d bust me so I held it in.’
‘What the hell, say it anyway. But if one day you come out with something original I may faint.’
‘I can’t be responsible for your actions once I’ve said it, though.’
Gracie laughed. ‘You’re funny. Go on – what is it?’
Leo cleared his throat. ‘No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.’
Gracie bit the inside of her lip. Her favourite scene fromGone with the Wind. She looked across the seat to Leo. The thought of being kissed by him made her toes curl. This was it, she would be brave; she would kiss him hard on the lips. She got up out of her seat only to be halted by the pilot telling them to fasten their seat belts: they were making their descent into Barcelona.
‘Barcelona!’ Gracie screeched. ‘Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to come here. I’ve got a Miscarriage Matters meeting tomorrow at five, though.’
‘Chill, baby girl, we’ll be home by lunchtime.’
‘I can’t believe you,’ Gracie laughed. ‘And I’m so, so glad that I can’t.’
SIXTY-FOUR
The beeps of the intensive care machine matched the rhythm of Scott Princeton’s heartbeat. Scarily slow. He’d been sitting for six hours, holding and stroking Cynthia’s hands, willing her to come round, to open her eyes and bark at him, like she usually did.
He’d been told that her riding hat hadn’t been done up tightly enough, so that when the horse threw her at a jump, it had flown off. She had hit her head on a tree trunk. Surgeons had removed a blood clot from her brain. The twenty-four-hour wait until they could assess the success of the surgery seemed endless.
Emma and Josh had gone to get him a drink and a sandwich as he refused to leave his wife’s side.
His red-eyed daughter put a packeted sandwich down gently next to him and stirred some sugar into his coffee. He took in her beautiful, young innocent face: the product of his relationship with the feisty, moral, driven, forthright woman who was lying here motionless, fighting for her life.
