Relative Strangers
By Shirley Heaton
Smashwords Edition 2011
First Published in Great Britain by Vanguard Press 2010
Copyright © Shirley Heaton 2011
The right of Shirley Heaton to be identified as author of this work asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved
No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the author.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims damages
ISBN
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Also by Shirley Heaton
Chance Encounter
A Lesson in Love
Love Will Find a Way
A Prescription for Love
A Break with the Past
Oceans Apart
Prologue – October 1988
The baby stirred, her tiny nose twitched and a slight whimper emerged from those cherub lips. Like a hungry chick, she rocked her head from side to side searching for food, desperate to suckle on her mother’s breast.
A flimsy shadow drifted across the child and a pair of shaking hands reached out, plucking the newborn from her cot and swaddling her. And as the faint sound of the baby’s cries echoed around the side-ward, the intruder tiptoed into the corridor, crooking her little finger towards those tiny, puckered lips and gently slipping her knuckle into the infant’s mouth. The baby sucked hard.
Afternoon visitors drifted into the ward and, although there were few people in the corridor, the walk seemed an endless stretch. The intruder quickened her pace but the child’s more urgent cries pierced the atmosphere and tore through the place blotting out the familiar sounds of conversation, crepe-soled shoes on polished tiles and creaking trolleys.
A white-coated woman leant over and peeked beneath the blanket. ‘Bless!’ she whispered and smiled.
Startled, the intruder edged back, her heart pounding so heavily she could barely gain composure. But, realising it was an innocent gesture, she returned a weak smile, gripped the baby closer and hurried down the hospital steps. Her stomach churned vigorously as she looked back over her shoulder. No one following! The car was parked right beside the steps, ready. She opened the passenger door, fastened the child securely in the baby seat, and quickly made her getaway.
Part I
The Union
2007
Chapter 1
The Present – 2007
The more she tried to brush away the words that flooded her mind the more they drifted back. Mama’s test results. Danielle’s stomach gave a ragged flip. If only Mama had consulted the doctor earlier. But she’d ignored the tiny lump. And then it happened. The mastectomy. Please, God, let her be in complete remission! If the chemotherapy had done its job Mama could be home today.
Danielle rationalised, locking her worries away. She took a deep breath, a surge of optimism enveloping her, lifting her spirits. With her mother back home, it would mean she could finally take up her university place in Edinburgh come September.
Downstairs Papa was preparing coffee. ‘Morning precious.’ He turned his twinkling eyes on her, leant over and gave her a peck on each cheek.
Danielle gave him a squeeze. ‘It’s the big day today!’
She felt his arm slip around her shoulder and he remained quiet for a moment. When she looked up she noticed his features had softened and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘I’m sure Mama will be fine.’ His look was eagerly expectant as he loosened his grip and turned back to the stove. ‘And don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.’ His voice was shaking now as he picked up the cafetiere and set it down on a coaster beside a plate of croissants.
Danielle stole a furtive glance. His brow had furrowed and the twinkle had disappeared from his eyes. But without becoming emotional herself, she could think of no words to console him. She poured two cups of coffee and gave him a look of warm understanding, knowing deep down he was trying to make light of the situation for her sake, to relieve her of any responsibility.
Marcel brightened up. ‘You must be looking forward to taking up your place in Edinburgh. And not before time.’ He dwelt on his words, admitting to himself that Danielle had been his crutch throughout Marie’s illness and, in truth, he didn’t relish the thought that soon his daughter would be leaving. But on the positive side, running the business in Lille close to their home in Perenchies meant he was flexible.
He gazed across at her. She was such a beauty, just like Marie with that shiny chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders, those lovely brown eyes full of life, full of joy, and those faint dimples flirting in her cheeks. A smile sprang to his lips. He must stay positive for her sake, otherwise she would insist on staying home for yet another year before going to university. And that was the last thing he wanted.
‘I could put in an application at Universite Pierre et Marie Curie in Paris.’
‘What is the point, cherie?’ Marcel was surprised at the suggestion. She must have read his mind.
‘If they accept me I’ll be closer at hand to help.’
He smiled good-naturedly and his gaze stayed level with hers. ‘With your grades!’ His statement was emphatic. He held out his hands and cocked his head proudly. ‘Of course they would accept you. But you had your mind set on Edinburgh. And Mama insists you go.’ He smiled. ‘You know what! Her word is final.’
It was after nine when Danielle entered the clinic, a tiny flutter rippling inside her stomach. What if the chemotherapy hasn’t worked? But she clamped down on that thought, completely dismissing it from her mind. All she was doing was torturing herself. She slapped a smile on her face but the tension refused to budge and her breathing quickened. Above all she wanted to remain strong for all of their sakes. And when she entered the ward Marie was sitting in an armchair, holding out her arms and smiling broadly. Bright-eyed, she nodded her head and confirmed the verdict. ‘Clear.’
Danielle closed her eyes for a few seconds allowing the tension to drain from her body and when she opened them she searched her mother’s face. ‘Are you sure?’ She took hold of her hands.
Marie nodded. ‘I’m positive.’
Danielle let out a huge sigh, drew Mama towards her and smacked a kiss on each cheek. ‘That’s wonderful.’ She held her mother at arm’s length and squeezed her hands. ‘Now, can I take you home?’
‘Not so fast, darling.’ Marie’s eyes sparkled and she started to laugh. ‘We must wait for Papa.’
‘He went into work early. I’ll pop outside and phone him, give him the good news.’ Danielle turned and headed towards the door. ‘He’ll be ready to come and collect you.’ Elated, she did a little skip down the corridor. She could hardly believe it. Mama had responded to the treatment.
As she rummaged in her bag for her mobile, the tension started to drain from her body and she began to relax. For the first time in ages, the knot inside her began to unravel. Mama was coming home, and Papa would make sure she wanted for nothing.
Amy tried to open her eyes but a shaft of blinding light pierced its way through the slit. Wincing slightly, she crammed them tight shut to block out the dazzle. Drastic or what! Her head was bouncing but she slid out of bed, fumbling her way towards the bathroom, hoping not to wake the sleeping Lucy. Then her mobile began to ring. Shit! She flinched. At bursting point, desperate for the loo, she ignored it. The mobile was bleeping when she came out. She peered at the time. Five to eleven. The message was from Mum. ‘Your envelope’s here. I’ll ring back in ten minutes.’ The envelope! The words trickled through Amy’s brain and her stomach did a back flip as she perched on the edge of the bed. The A-Level results! Vacantly she clapped her hand on her forehead, setting off the heavy drumbeat inside. Still in a daze, she lay back on the bed, trying to clarify the thoughts in that fuzzy mind of hers.
Aware it would be results week when they holidayed in Crete, it hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. Malia was the in-place. It was Daddy’s treat. Amy smirked. He’d always been a soft touch. If she couldn’t squeeze the money out of him, she could sweet-talk Mummy into forking out. No kidding! They were putty in her hands.
Lucy, still half asleep, peered out from under the duvet like a little mole emerging from the winter’s hibernation. ‘Who was that?’ she murmured.
Amy pulled a face and sat up. ‘It was Mum. My results are through,’ she offered woodenly.
Lucy’s forehead crumpled into a heavy frown. ‘Oh, God! I didn’t realise what day it was. Better ring home.’ She rolled over and struggled to drag herself out of bed. Slipping her silk robe around her shoulders, she padded across the room and plonked herself down heavily on the bed beside Amy. Stretching her arms in the air and yawning, she mumbled, ‘We overdid it on the wine, didn’t we?’ She wiped her hand across her forehead and looked to Amy. But her words fell into a vacuum.
Amy, anxious to hear her results, wasn’t really listening, and she jerked her head around, nodding absently. ‘Mm.’ She turned the phone over in her hand. ‘Do I ring Mum or do I wait for her to ring me? Ten minutes could be more like half an hour.’ She shook her shiny, blonde bob. ‘I know. Seeing I’m running out of credit, I’ll send her a text,’ she continued brightly. ‘It’s cheaper.’
Within minutes, Amy answered her mother’s call, and she sat listening to the ripping noise of the envelope being torn open. Fingers crossed for good luck. But luck shouldn’t come into it. If her hard work hadn’t paid off, she was fit for nothing but sweeping the streets. She smirked. As if! Her mind blanked for a moment and then she took a deep breath. ‘Ready, Mum,’ she confirmed, shuffling her bottom on the bed. ‘Get it over with.’
‘Here goes. Psychology and Biology As, English and General Studies Bs.’
‘Yes!’ Amy hollered, jumping up and forgetting about the bongo drum inside her head. ‘That’s awesome!’ She stuck her thumb in the air. But after an awkward silence, she asked, ‘Are you OK, Mum? You’re not saying much.’
‘I’m fine.’ Amy could hear her mother drawing in breath and releasing it. Wait for it! ‘It’s just that you’ll be leaving us soon,’ she continued in pathetic tones.
‘Oh, Mum, stop being pessimistic. It’s a couple of hours’ journey to uni, nothing more. So don’t go on!’ She smiled as she contemplated leaving Mum and Dad. They were so besotted with each other, there was no way they’d be lonely. She shook her head slowly, wishing they’d cut out that embarrassing business when her friends called at the house. They’d sit together on the sofa, Dad with his arm around Mum as though they were a couple of teenagers. What are they like for God’s sake? Why can’t they do it in private? They’ve been married umpteen years and they’re still lovey-dovey. It’s disgusting. And then the thought struck her. They still slept together. They don’t still do it, do they? She shook her head absently. Yuk, that’s sick at their age.
‘Are you still there, darling?’ Mum enquired, breaking into Amy’s thoughts.
Amy let out a sigh. ‘Yes, Mum. I just can’t get over it.’
‘How are you enjoying Crete?’ She paused. ‘You are taking care aren’t you?’
‘Mum! Don’t you trust me?’ Amy stifled a smirk, and Lucy rolled her eyes.
‘It’s not that, darling. It’s the boys I don’t trust.’ She laughed – a nervous laugh.
‘It’s great, Mum.’ Trying not to laugh herself, Amy slapped her hand over her mouth. Mum didn’t know the half! And then, cutting the discussion short, she added, ‘Thanks for ringing, Mum. See you next week. Love you!’ She clicked off the phone and jumped up and down. ‘Two As and two Bs. I’m on the Psychology course.’
‘That’s wicked. Now I need to find out if mine have come.’ Lucy took a deep breath and rustled through her bag for the mobile phone.
James left the staff room, pushed open the swing door and slipped behind a rail of jeans. Peering over the top, he blinked. The store detective, Jeff, was holding a shoplifter firmly by the arm. He was pretty slick was Jeff. He could spot a glint in the eye a hundred metres away. James smirked. He certainly liked to make a meal of it, lingering near the till and holding on to the culprit whose face was a beacon glow. It looked as though Jeff was giving him the third degree. Typical!
When Jeff pushed the guy into the back room, James came from behind the rail and wandered casually over to the till. ‘Not another shoplifter!’
‘I’m afraid so,’ the assistant manager replied vacantly, clipping a pair of combat trousers on to a hanger. ‘It’s laughable. They think they can get away with it.’ He grinned and passed the trousers over to James. ‘Here. Put these back.’
James replaced the trousers and looked at his watch. Eleven forty-five, and results day! The thought triggered a pang of doubt and his stomach did a nosedive. He needed straight As to get into law school. At the time of the exams he’d felt reasonably confident. But that confidence had seeped away after a couple of months.
He pulled his thoughts together as the manager walked past him. ‘Another sorted,’ he bragged brushing his hands together. ‘Left the back way with the constable. We can do without that sort of publicity front of store.’
His assistant, still busy pricing jackets, replied. ‘Don’t agree with you there, Andy. If customers see them being hauled out by the police, it could be a deterrent.’
Andy, convinced he was always right, hunched his shoulders. ‘Works both ways I suppose. But point taken, Darren.’ Turning to James he changed the subject. ‘I thought you were after an early lunch.’
‘I am, but it’s not twelve o’clock yet.’
Andy slapped him on the back. ‘Get yourself off, mate.’
‘Thanks, Andy,’ he added, making his way to the staff room and returning minutes later wearing his jacket. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Andy looked him up and down. ‘I’ll give you credit, James. You’re always well turned out. I wish they were all like you.’ He shook his head and threw a look of contempt in Nigel’s direction. ‘It would help if he’d put a comb through his hair.’ His whisper was loud enough for Nigel to hear.
‘The bed-head look’s the fashion.’ James grinned and took in the state of Andy, hair slicked back and parted with precision. He was a bit of a geek in his ancient metal-rimmed specs. His spotty face did nothing to enhance his image, either.
As James turned to leave he gave Nigel a wicked grin. In response, Nigel pulled a silly face and ran his hands through his hair. Still smirking, James headed for the doors and looked back at Andy who still had that smug look on his face.
They were crowding around the huge notice board when James entered the hall. He smiled at the group of girls huddled in a corner. ‘Hi, James,’ they chorused and he waved. A couple of them blew him kisses. Edging his way forward to the front, he slid his finger down the list until he came to his name. He did a double take and then he re-focused, a smile ghosting across his face. There was no disputing it. Straight A’s.
After easing himself back through the mass of students, he crossed to the group of girls who had now been joined by some of the boys.
‘How’ve you done?’ one of them asked.
‘Not bad,’ he replied modestly, and smiled.
Several girls came towards him, overpowering him and giving him a group hug. But, grinning, he managed to extract himself as a leggy girl approached him, her long silky hair straightened to perfection. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. ‘Not bad? Who are you kidding?’ she quipped, now plonking a kiss on his lips. ‘I’ve seen your results. They’re wicked, James.’ She moved closer and hugged him. ‘Now let’s sort you out. You have your passport ready I take it.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ He tugged an imaginary forelock.
‘It’s not out of date is it?’
‘No need to worry, Kate. Everything’s under control. I’m ready. Clothes packed, the lot, thanks to Top Mum! She’s not chuffed about the trip – thinks I’m still a little kid.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘I keep on reminding her I’m eighteen end of August. But it doesn’t sink in.’
Kate stifled a laugh. ‘Tell me about it. I’m eighteen minus ten according to Dad. A week in Magaluf with the gang is too much for him to take. For God’s sake, it’s not a trip to Outer Mongolia! He seems to think we’ll be up to no good.’
‘Up to no good? What does he take us for?’ James lifted his hand and gave Kate a high-five. ‘If that’s what he calls it, we could give it a try!’
Danielle’s emotions ranged from excitement to apprehension. She had a constant nagging at the back of her mind, a pinprick of guilt at setting out for Edinburgh and leaving Mama. But Papa had said not to worry. He would look after her.
The flight was on time and once in Edinburgh, Danielle grabbed a taxi and headed for the university. The day was bright and remnants of the earlier mist were quickly dispersing as the sun peeped through a break in the clouds. And her spirits lifted when she approached the campus where the trees displayed beautiful russet shades, the fallen leaves in vivid bronze and flame carpeting the ground. The whole area was humming with students as she crossed a huge quadrangle.
Her accommodation was on the first floor of a purpose-built block where the corridor led to four student rooms, a lounge and a communal kitchen. Filled with excitement, she slipped her key in the lock and opened the door. The room was aglow with bright sunlight. She glanced around at the single bed and the desk and then checked out the shower room in the corner. It was small but adequate.
But then her concentration was broken by the sound of someone outside. She poked her head out into the corridor and spotted a fellow student locking the door to the room opposite. The student turned and Danielle took in the trendy blonde bob and the most vivid blue eyes she had ever seen.
‘Hi there,’ the student sang out.
Danielle was immediately impressed by her friendliness. ‘Hi. I take it you’re new too.’ Her face softened into a smile.
‘Yes. It’s my first day.’
Danielle’s face brightened and she pointed to her door. ‘I’m Danni, room thirty-one.’
‘Amy, thirty-four.’ She rubbed her hands together and continued to smile. ‘Fancy a drink? I’m meeting Rachel in the bar. She’s in thirty-three.’
‘I’d love to join you. Could you give me a couple of minutes?’ Danielle was delighted she’d made such a promising start. ‘I must ring Papa and let him know I’m here. You know what they’re like!’
Amy laughed. ‘Tell me about it!’ And then she gave a puzzled look. ‘Papa? I take it you’re not English.’
‘It doesn’t take much working out does it? Not with an accent like mine. I’m from Lille in France.’
‘But your English is brill!’ Her voice was filled with admiration. ‘I’ll hang around.’ She crossed the corridor and re-opened her door. ‘See you in ten.’
The union bar was throbbing with students, the music blaring out as they slipped their way through the bodies to the far side of the bar. ‘Rach meet Danni,’ Amy chirped, taking the arm of a fellow student. ‘Danni’s in thirty-one. She’s French.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Although to hear her accent you’d think she was one of us.’
Rachel turned and joined them. ‘French? Oo la la!’ She giggled.
Danielle lifted her hand and returned Rachel’s high-five.
‘I’m from Yorkshire.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I know it’s not as glamorous as being French.’ She grinned. ‘James is a Northerner too, but he hasn’t turned up yet.’ She glanced at her watch and avidly searched the bar area. ‘You’ll like him.’
‘Like him? That’s an understatement. She’s got the hots.’ Amy laughed and stabbed a finger in Rachel’s direction.
‘It’s nothing like that.’ Rachel began to protest but her face was touched with a pink flush, revealing the truth. ‘Although I must admit he is gorgeous.’
‘James and I are both from Manchester. Rach only met him at lunchtime, so she’s been quick off the mark.’ Amy slipped her hand on Rachel’s shoulder. ‘We’re both studying Psychology. But James – he’s the clever one - he’s reading law.’
‘Then I must meet this James, especially if he is a bit of a brainbox. I may need some help if I get stuck,’ Danielle joked.
Amy leant on the bar. ‘What are you having, Danni?’
‘White wine, please,’ Danielle replied. Then, straight-faced, she added, ‘Preferably French. Chenin Blanc if they have it.’
‘Who’s the connoisseur?’ Amy cracked, turning to Danielle. ‘It’ll be white wine full stop – house wine that is.’
Danielle chuckled. ‘Only joking! All I need is a drink, preferably cold.’
‘We’ll pay for our own, shall we?’ Rachel suggested. ‘Let’s start as we mean to go on. I don’t know about you two but I’m skint.’
‘Skint?’ Danielle was puzzled.
‘She means hard up, broke, short of money,’ Amy explained.
Danielle laughed. ‘I see. Then I agree. I am skint too.’
‘By the way what’s your course?’
‘Medicine.’ Danielle’s reply was tentative. She hoped they wouldn’t think she was some sort of egghead.
‘Really,’ Amy retorted, her blue eyes brilliantly alive. ‘Then maybe between us we’ll be able to put everyone to rights – body and soul.’
It was the following evening before James appeared. Tall with thick dark hair, a strong broad forehead and rich brown eyes, he was blessed with stunning good looks. And it didn’t take him long to make an impression on Danielle.
After Amy had introduced them he leant forward and gave Danielle a peck on each cheek. ‘Hello, Danni,’ he pantomimed in dramatic tones, amusement lurking in his eyes and a cheeky grin on his face. He turned to the others and explained, ‘I’m doing it the French way.’
‘Any excuse!’ Amy bantered.
Taken aback by his charm and lively nature, Danielle tried to appear nonchalant, but she found it hard to concentrate. There was something in the gentleness of his touch that had a strong emotional effect on her. Her pulse began to throb, her temple to pound, reactions she’d never experienced before.
But then he made a deliberate ploy of looking her up and down, giving her the once-over. ‘So we’ve got a frog amongst us,’ he joked.
‘Do not call me that!’ Eyes sparkling, Danielle retaliated, her natural exuberance bursting forth. She slapped him sharply on the back of the hand and laughed.
James grabbed her hand and pulled it enough to throw her off balance so she had to grip his shoulder. He held on to it, his eyes wide with excitement. He pulled her towards him and slipped his hands around her waist. She fought for composure and tried to tug herself free but his grip tightened and, momentarily, she was caught in his gaze, now hot and sensual. And this left her with the most bizarre and disturbing feeling. And then he let go of her. It wasn’t surprising Rachel thought he was ‘gorgeous’!
Amy chipped in. ‘Come on you two. Stop star-gazing.’
Danielle shook herself, a rosy blush now spreading from her chin to her forehead. But she reprimanded herself. No way could she become involved. She wouldn’t allow it. After the way her parents had supported her, her first priority was to study hard.
But James wasn’t to be deterred. Whenever he was close she found it hard to stem those intense, powerful feelings that came over her. It wasn’t easy trying to fend off his attentions and she just couldn’t resist his invitational smile. That was why a few days later she weakened. They met at the bar where the band was making a valiant attempt at breaking the sound barrier, the beat pulsing so loudly she could barely hear James’ words.
‘Glad you could make it,’ he offered, taking her hand and guiding her towards a table in the corner. ‘What are you drinking?’
‘How about white wine?’ she replied, smiling and pitching her voice over the noise of the band. ‘And before you say anything, I’ve been weaned on it.’
James shook his head. ‘Not today, Danni! Let’s be wicked and have a double vodka and coke,’ he suggested. ‘Let’s celebrate the start of the new term and make it part of our induction.’
Danielle didn’t take much persuading. She tipped her head to one side and giggled. ‘Agreed.’ She nodded. ‘Why not?’
He grinned and as he headed for the bar Danielle glanced absently across the room at the students who were clutching bottles and dancing in front of the band. They were a happy lot. James returned, handed her a glass and looked at her quizzically. ‘Why did you choose Edinburgh? Aren’t there lots of unis in France offering medicine?’
A gentle smile creased her face. ‘I’d heard Edinburgh was a top place. I wanted to improve my English too. And I would like to travel after I qualify.’
Returning her smile, he regarded her with fascination. ‘Your English is fluent. I love your accent. Please don’t try for absolute perfection.’
She laughed, her eyes lighting up even more. ‘Why not?’
James leant forward, his smile brimming with sensual invitation as he whispered in her hair. ‘You have such a sexy voice. I could listen to you all night.’
Danielle shook her head, a glow of pleasure warming inside her, her heart giving a hard knock against her ribs. ‘Stop it. You will make me blush.’
One double vodka and coke turned out to be three or four, and by the time they were ready to leave, they were both tipsy. Then began the contest. And that’s when it happened.
‘Race you to the building over there.’ Danielle threw out the challenge, nudging James and setting off before her words had registered with him. But when she reached the lawn in front of the building she was laughing so much she was out of control. She slipped on the damp grass and fell flat on her face. James deliberately fell on top of her and rolled her over on to her back. Danielle could barely catch her breath for giggling.
‘Gotcha,’ he claimed as they faced each other – a fraction too close for safety – his eyes probing hers for an uncomfortably long moment. And she weakened enough to let her gaze skim over his mouth. Tempting!
The minute his deep, dark eyes met hers she knew what was going to happen. A surge of anticipation and desire made her feel alive in a way she’d never felt before. His face relaxed, his eyes softened and his lips came down on hers. A thrill snapped through her like a whip and she savoured the long, deep kiss.
James lifted his head and took in the sensual smile lurking behind her luminous eyes, and his mouth plunged blindly into the next kiss. When he pulled himself away he shook his head. ‘Sorry about that! It’s not my usual style, but I couldn’t help myself.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it.
She could feel his lips, firm and strong against her skin. That fluttering excitement began again. But she didn’t respond immediately. Hair tumbling about her face, she flicked it back over her shoulders. And, tearing her gaze away she pulled herself to her feet, brushed the backs of her jeans, and with a huge effort, tried to compose herself. She smiled and, to cover her embarrassment, quipped, ‘What is your usual style?’ her voice soft, almost musical.
‘Can’t divulge that,’ he breathed thickly as he slid an arm protectively around her. ‘I may have to use it on you some other time.’
She allowed her head to fall into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and closed her eyes. A perfect fit. But, pulling herself up sharp, she slipped from his grasp and, hoping to make light of it, wagged a finger. ‘Then behave yourself in future,’ she joked.
But somehow it wasn’t easy for her to forget what had happened. The pull had been so inexorable that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from responding to his kisses. That night, as she lay in her bed, she drifted into a dreamy state. His image was still as vivid as if he was standing right in front of her and, re-living that gentle kiss, ripples of emotion passed through her and a great surge of love filled her soul. It confirmed to her that, beyond all doubt, there was an immense pull between them. She was forced to admit to herself that she wanted him. But she tried to shake free the memory as she suddenly realised her only defence was to keep her distance.
Chapter 2
The Present – 2007
It was one evening in December after the students’ Christmas meal in the refectory when the pains started. At first, Danielle was convinced she’d eaten something to upset her stomach. But the pain persisted and, after a sleepless night, she decided to have a word with Matron.
As she left the room Amy was in the corridor locking her door. ‘You’re looking a bit under the weather, Danni. Are you all right?’
Danielle clutched the small of her back and grimaced. ‘I feel dreadful. I thought it was something I’d eaten at the Christmas lunch. I have the most horrendous pains.
‘It’s not the dreaded lurgy is it?’ Amy asked light-heartedly.
Danielle shook her head, her eyes shadowed with worry. ‘It is nothing like that. I have had it before, but not as bad as this.’
Amy intervened. ‘You ought to see Matron.’
‘That is exactly what I’ve decided to do,’ Danielle concluded.
Matron listened to her symptoms and gave her a brief check-up. ‘From what you describe, this is no tummy bug,’ she declared. ‘I’d like you to see Dr Jennings.’
‘Could it be gallstones or something like that, Matron?’
Matron laughed. ‘The trouble with you medics is you’re inclined to make your own diagnoses. You could be right, but I’m not prepared to speculate. Let’s see what the doctor has to say.’ She picked up the phone and dialled. But judging by her reactions, it was obvious the receptionist was giving off negative vibes. Danielle felt she’d pass out if she wasn’t given something to ease the pain, and soon. She flopped into an easy chair opposite the desk and closed her eyes.
‘My patient is in severe pain,’ Matron stressed. ‘I understand what you’re saying, Maureen, but I must insist she’s seen this morning.’ Impatiently drumming her fingers on the desk, she waited. And then she smiled and replaced the telephone. ‘Eleven o’clock, Danielle, and do be prompt. It’s a busy morning for the doctor.’
Danielle sighed with relief. ‘I will go early and wait.’
‘Let me know the outcome,’ Matron concluded as Danielle turned to leave.
By the time eleven o’clock came around, the pain was becoming almost unbearable. And it was fortunate things were running on time.
Dr Jennings ushered her into his room. ‘I can see you’re in pain. Do sit down my dear and tell me about it.’
Danielle explained her problem and, after a rigorous examination, he gave his diagnosis. ‘I’m going to send you to hospital for tests. I don’t think it is gallstones but I’m pretty sure you’re right in suggesting it’s renal. Could be a kidney infection or kidney stones, but I’d prefer the consultant to check things out.’
Danielle frowned. ‘Is it serious?’ Her voice was filled with anxiety.
The doctor smiled warmly. ‘I’m hoping not, Danielle. All the signs tell me one of your kidneys is playing up. We’ll know better once they start the tests.’
Danielle protested. ‘But I am flying back to Lille next week for the Christmas holidays.’
‘Don’t worry. They’ll probably have you sorted by then.’
But consultant, Dr Waxman, insisted Danielle be admitted. ‘We need several tests including a biopsy. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the sooner we can make a full diagnosis and decide what’s best for you.’
Danielle’s anxiety grew. ‘But why a biopsy?’
Dr Waxman cleared his throat. ‘The kidney is swollen. I have my suspicions there’s some sort of tumour in there.’
Danielle’s heart sank in her chest, but she tried to maintain a tight control of her emotions. ‘A tumour?’ She shook her head. ‘Not malignant, I hope,’ she added softly.
‘I doubt it, but let’s not speculate.’
But Danielle couldn’t help but dwell on his words. It was scary. A tumour he’d told her, and that’s exactly how things had started for Mama. Surely history wasn’t about to repeat itself.
Now she knew there was no way she’d be out of hospital in time to fly back to Lille. But she didn’t want to alarm her father. He would become anxious and, goodness knows, he had enough to worry about. During the last couple of weeks it seemed her mother wasn’t pulling round as the doctors had hoped.
Danielle faked a lively tone when she rang and told him she wouldn’t be home for Christmas. ‘I am a bit off colour, Papa - a bug doing the rounds. But I do not want to pass anything on to Mama. I have lots of work to catch up on and some of the students are staying here over Christmas. I have decided to join them. I will try to get back home before the new term starts.’ She knew she was being optimistic, especially after the number of lectures she’d already missed. She quickly changed the subject. ‘How is Mama?’
‘Holding her own. She was looking forward to seeing you – we both were. But I understand your reasoning. It is a wise decision. Take care, my precious.’
The tests dragged on until eventually Dr Waxman made his full diagnosis. ‘The medication has eased the pain I know but the kidney is diseased.’ He hesitated. ‘I know it sounds drastic but I’d like to consult my colleague Mr Dexter. I think our best bet is to remove the kidney.’ He paused once more and held up his hand. ‘And before you say anything, the body can function quite efficiently on one kidney. But I’m sure you know that already.’
Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. ‘I take it the biopsy results are back. Is it malignant?’ she asked.
‘As far as we can tell, no it isn’t. But the tumour is quite large, and you’d be better off getting rid of it to avoid anything sinister in the future.’ He opened the case notes once more. ‘Mr Dexter will be here this afternoon. I realise this is a shock, but how do you feel about losing the kidney?’
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘It seems I have no alternative. But I would like to talk it through with my father before I make the final decision.’
‘Of course, my dear. Is he able to travel to Scotland?’
‘It will be tricky because my mother is not well. But he will find a way.’ She turned her face away, finding it hard to control her emotions. It was on Papa’s shoulders once again. She would have done anything to save him from further anxiety. But she must fill him in on Dr Waxman’s findings. She couldn’t continue to string him along. He needed to know the truth.
Dr Waxman’s diagnosis was confirmed by surgeon, Mr Dexter, who recommended excision of the kidney as soon as possible. ‘But I’m sure you’re aware there are one or two preparations we need to make beforehand.’
‘My father will be here tomorrow. Maybe by the time he arrives, you will have done all your checks. The way I see it, once I’ve told him and we’ve talked it through, I’d like to get on with it.’
Marcel Dubois listened intently to his daughter’s words and his face assumed an expression of gravity. He let out a deep sigh. ‘You should have told me, cherie.’
Danielle gently interrupted him. ‘I thought it might be something Dr Waxman could clear up quickly and I didn’t want to involve you especially with Mama being ill.’
Marcel hunched his shoulders and held out his hands. ‘But you are important to me too. I have told Mama nothing about your illness, especially now she’s back in hospital.’ His face creased with concern. ‘It is true I am deceiving her, but I do not want to worry her.’
Danielle nodded and pulled herself up in the bed. ‘I agree, Papa. But she’ll need to know eventually.’
‘Of course, but how could I explain when I’m not sure of the exact problem myself.’ He sat down on the chair next to the bed, leaned forward and slid his arm protectively around her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘Now, treasure. Tell me all about it.’
Danielle opened her mouth to speak but, before she could explain, there was a light tap on the door and she looked up. It was Mr Dexter. He smiled and offered his hand to Marcel. ‘You must be Danielle’s father?’
Marcel stood up, nodded and shook the outstretched hand.
The surgeon perched on the edge of the bed. ‘How much has your daughter told you, Mr Dubois?’
Marcel ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. ‘A brief explanation, nothing more.’ He smiled. ‘I’m hoping you can enlighten me.’
Danielle listened as Dexter outlined the problem. ‘I can assure you it’s the best way forward.’
Marcel wiped his hand across his brow. ‘What can I say? It is very upsetting. But I agree. The operation must go ahead.’
Danielle turned to Mr Dexter. ‘And now that Papa has agreed with me, I hope I’m pencilled in on your list.’
Dexter began to shake his head. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as straightforward as we thought, my dear,’ he announced. ‘We have a problem, one your father may be able to help us with.’ He turned to face Danielle and continued. ‘You have a rare blood type. I’m surprised you didn’t know about it.’
Danielle frowned. ‘But I’ve never been admitted to hospital before, nor had cause to have my blood checked.’
‘I see.’ Dexter nodded. ‘It may be that you react well during the operation but, before we go ahead, I must be sure we obtain as close a blood match as possible. You may not need it, but I can’t take any chances.’ He paused and turned to the nurse. ‘Get Dr Fry to come down would you, nurse? Tell him we’re discussing Danielle Dubois. He’ll need to bring the lab analysis with him.’ As she left the ward, he turned his attention to Marcel. ‘I’ve asked Dr Fry, the consultant haematologist, to come along. I think it might be better if he explained the situation.’
Marcel looked squarely into Dexter’s face. ‘What do you mean when you say I may be able to help?’
Dexter held up his hand. ‘Bear with me, Mr Dubois. Dr Fry will explain what is meant by a rare blood type, and then we’ll go on from there.’
Within minutes an elderly white-coated figure appeared, his gaze settling on Danielle. He smiled brightly. ‘I take it we’re checking out this young lady’s details?’
Dexter nodded. ‘That’s right, Robert. Danielle is a first-year medical student. Mr Dubois here is her father.’
Dr Fry smiled warmly in Danielle’s direction, offered his hand to Marcel and then he sat down. ‘Let me explain…’
Marcel intervened, the words rushing out. ‘Are you saying my daughter’s blood is so rare it might be difficult to match?’
‘Let Dr Fry explain.’ Dexter nodded towards his colleague. ‘It is quite complex.’ Danielle sensed the controlled impatience in the surgeon’s voice.
Dr Fry took over. ‘Let me explain what is meant by a rare blood type.’ He folded his arms. ‘Everyone has an ABO blood group. Most transfusions can be performed if the groups of the donor and the patient are compatible.’
Marcel nodded.
‘But there’s more to it than that,’ he explained. ‘It’s the extra components, the antigens that make it rare.’ He turned to Danielle. ‘Let me try to clarify things for your father.’ He moved his chair to face Marcel. ‘Blood is inherited in the same way as eyes and hair colour. Everyone inherits two ‘blood type’ genes, one from the mother and one from the father. The combination of these two gives you your blood group. OK so far?’
‘I see,’ Marcel replied. ‘Danielle’s blood is made up of her parents’ groupings.’
‘That’s right. But to complicate matters there are more than six hundred extra components we call antigens identifying the proteins found on an individual’s red blood cells. There are some antigens that most people possess, but that others lack.’
Marcel mulled it over and a gleam of understanding lit his eyes. ‘You mean they’re missing from the blood?’
‘Correct, that’s the first possibility. The most common ones are missing. But there are also rare antigens that only a small percentage of the population possesses, that’s the second possibility.’ He hesitated. ‘Now whether someone’s blood lacks common antigens, or possesses the uncommon ones, the blood is categorised as being of a rare type.’ He looked to Danielle and smiled.
Marcel stepped in quickly. ‘But which one fits my daughter’s blood type?’
Dr Fry pointed to the sheet. ‘Danielle’s blood cells possess rare antigens. It’s imperative we obtain a close match of her blood before the operation can go ahead.’
Marcel shook his head. ‘I understand, but what happens if rare blood cannot be found quickly? Surely it is possible to go ahead and transfuse, provided the group is the right one?’
Dr Fry nodded. ‘On some occasions, yes it is. Sometimes this is the only option. But the medical complications can be very serious, even fatal,’ he turned to Danielle. ‘I’m sure you understand. A transfusion with some incompatibility in the blood can cause grave harm to a person who is already weakened. Your blood type is rhesus B negative and an exact match including the antigens is highly recommended. The next step is to find that match.’
Danielle sat up in bed more urgently now. ‘How long is it likely to take?’
Dr Fry gave a heavy sigh. ‘That’s something I can’t tell you. But we’re already on to it.’ He hesitated. ‘There was a time when rare blood was frozen and stored. But that doesn’t happen any more. In normal circumstances, the first step would be to take the patient’s own blood and store it until it is required. It can be stored up to thirty-five days.’ He turned to Marcel. ‘But in Danielle’s case we’ve discovered she’s anaemic and, therefore, this is not possible. However these days, within the National Blood Service, records are kept of donors with rare blood types and these donors are called upon in times of emergency.’
Marcel gave an awkward smile. ‘Then surely there is your solution.’
‘It could be. As I said, we’re already on to that.’
The muscles in Marcel’s face relaxed and the anxiety seemed to seep away. ‘So it should not be long before you find the blood?’
Dexter stood up. ‘Let’s hope not. Meanwhile Danielle must continue her bed rest until a match is found. She’s being given medication to ease the pain until then.’
Dr Fry pushed his chair back. ‘In addition to the donor service, it’s our policy to test family members and try to find a match there. That could be the closest source.’ He smiled. ‘And this is where you come in, Mr Dubois.’
Danielle became uneasy. She turned to face Marcel. ‘That could pose major problems, Papa.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Dr Fry advanced. ‘We would hope to be successful with our initial steps. Perhaps we could start with you.’ He directed his comment to Marcel.
Danielle closed her eyes. ‘You need to explain, Papa.’ What her father was about to reveal was something she always refused to acknowledge, and certainly something he would normally be reluctant to divulge.
There was a long pause. Marcel looked at Danielle with evident dismay, and then he swallowed hard. ‘Danielle is not my biological daughter. We gave her my surname when her mother came to live with me. Danielle was just a baby then.’
Dr Fry took a deep breath and sighed. ‘I see. It’s obviously difficult for you to accept, and I do sympathise.’ He drew his lips into a thin line. ‘We’ve not made a very good start, but don’t worry. Our next step is to check your wife’s blood type.’
Marcel placed his hands over his face and his head drooped momentarily. ‘That will not be possible,’ he replied in a half-whisper. He lifted his head now and stared almost vacantly. ‘Marie is not well. She is in hospital following a mastectomy.’
Dr Fry shook his head. ‘You certainly have your hands full. I’m so sorry. But I agree, in view of the circumstances, it would be difficult in the case of your wife.’ He became pensive. ‘I hate to mention this but if you’re not the biological father, we shall need to know who is.’
Marcel let out a heavy sigh. ‘It’s something Marie and I have never discussed. When Marie and her husband divorced, he never contacted her again, not even to gain access to Danielle. I found that rather strange, although Marie has never made an issue of it.’
‘I know it’s going to be painful bringing everything out into the open, but it is a matter of urgency you must understand.’ The consultant’s voice was tender.
Marcel cleared his throat. ‘I realise that. Once I am back in Lille I’ll explain our predicament to Marie, and I’ll ask her about Danielle’s father.’ He hesitated. ‘I find it so frustrating I cannot be the one to support Danielle. I love her dearly. I have been Papa to her since she was two years old.’
‘There is no reason why you can’t donate,’ Dr Fry replied. ‘Even though you’re not Danielle’s biological father, your blood may still match. It’s not outside the realms of possibility.’
Danielle lay in bed with her eyes closed. ‘Dr Fry is right. There may be a match.’ She took Marcel’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Always remember you might not be my biological father but you are my real father. No one will ever replace you. I do not care who this guy is. He was nothing but a facilitator.’
As a young child, Danielle recalled asking her mother why her father had left when she was just a baby. Didn’t he want to be with me? And always the same reply. ‘We weren’t getting along, darling. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want you. And you have Papa. He’s your real father, and he loves you as much as I do. Would you want to swap Papa for someone you don’t even know?’
Danielle had to be satisfied with Mama’s explanation. But occasionally as she grew older, thoughts of her biological father had fleetingly crossed her mind. What was his job? Was he a high flier? Did she look like him? And now, more importantly, did she have his blood type?
Marcel seemed to relax after Danielle’s reassurances. He smiled and turned to the two consultants. ‘You are right. There’s no point getting upset about it when I could so easily donate my blood, if not for Danielle, for someone else in need.’
‘I wish more people would respond in that way, Mr Dubois. I’ll get Sister to sort it,’ Dr Fry offered.
‘That’s fine.’ Marcel smiled. ‘But back to Marie. Originally I had decided not to tell her about Danielle’s illness, not until after the operation, but now she’ll need to know if I am to ask her about her ex.’
Danielle turned her attention to Dr Fry. ‘Surely there is no rush, not for a couple of days or so,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve managed fine so far. Why not give Papa time to find the right moment to explain things to Mama?’
Dr Fry nodded. ‘Point taken, my dear. But we don’t want to hang around unnecessarily.’
‘And the tumour’s not getting any smaller,’ Dexter stressed. ‘You’ve said you want to get on with it, and so do I.’
Marcel shrugged his ample shoulders. ‘I will see Marie first thing tomorrow morning and explain,’ he promised.
Dr Fry continued. ‘Meanwhile, we’ll keep on checking at this end. Failing a close match, we’ll carry out intensive screening. As a last resort, if no match is found locally, we’ll contact other centres and check their registries.’ He paused and his voice took on a note of optimism. ‘On the positive side, it is possible to obtain the rarest of blood from anywhere in the world. But obviously this takes time.’
Marcel left the hospital and rushed back to the hotel. How he hated having to go through all this. But it had to be done. At all costs the blood must be made available.
His insides became agitated. He could hear the heavy throbbing in his head at the thought of someone else staking a claim on Danielle, a faceless man who would probably expect to meet her after all these years of neglect. Marcel wrung his hands together and frowned heavily. Danielle had always been his little girl and, although they weren’t blood relatives, he felt she belonged to him. A flash of jealousy zipped through him. But he knew he must put his emotions aside. It was now a matter of urgency.
Part II
The Crisis
2008
Chapter 3
The Present – 2008
Marcel noticed Marie was sleeping as he was about to enter the ward. Sister approached and took his arm. ‘I’m afraid she’s had another setback, Mr Dubois. I’d prefer it if you didn’t wake her. She needs the rest.’
He turned to face Sister, a bewildered expression in his eyes. ‘But I thought she was gaining strength when I left the clinic on Friday.’
‘Believe me, she appeared to be. But she had a relapse. Doctor’s been to see her. The tests weren’t quite as accurate as he’d hoped.’ She shook her head. ‘You see, certain cells in the body are capable of mimicking other cells, and this can often be confusing, even to the experts. But you know Marie better than I do,’ she added, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. ‘She’s a battler, and I’m sure she’ll pull through.’ She hesitated and laid a hand on Marcel’s shoulder. ‘I must say, you look all in.’
Marcel wiped his brow, his nerves stretched tight now. ‘I feel it.’ Unsure as to what his next move would be he paused, and for a few moments he simply stood there. But, pulling his thoughts together, he cleared his throat. ‘I’d like a word, Sister, in private.’
She gave an understanding smile and beckoned him to follow her. ‘Of course. That’s why I’m here. Come along down to the bay.’ She pointed to a chair. ‘Do sit down. Cup of tea? You look as though you could use one.’
‘I would be grateful, Sister, thank you.’ Marcel took the chair and within minutes she returned with the tea and sat down opposite, clasping her hands around the mug.
‘I can see you’re worried about your wife, but there’s little more I can tell you.’
‘But it’s not only Marie. Our daughter is in hospital too.’ It was painful to think about, but Marcel knew he must explain Danielle’s condition to her.
‘I see,’ Sister shook her head. ‘That’s most unfortunate. Everything comes at once, doesn’t it?’ She patted his hand. ‘But don’t worry too much about your daughter. It’s not uncommon for patients to live perfectly happily with one kidney.’ She took a sip of her tea.
‘My biggest problem is telling Marie about Danielle.’ The words rushed out and anxiety tightened his mouth. ‘She’s already vulnerable. I don’t want her to worry. I don’t want her condition to worsen.’
Sister’s face softened into a smile. ‘You’re right, but let’s take this a step at a time.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Let’s try to solve things without mentioning anything to Marie just yet. It would be a pity for her to become involved at this stage. I’d prefer not to unsettle her. She can always be told later, even after Danielle’s operation.’
Marcel gave a sombre nod in agreement, knowing his real worry was the cloud over his family, a cloud that refused to disappear. ‘It would be a relief. But that leads me to the problem of finding Marie’s ex-husband. I desperately need to get in touch with him.’ He explained about the rare blood type, sighing deeply and, with some embarrassment, continuing. ‘It pains me to say this but, apart from Marie, he’s Danielle’s closest relative. How can I do that without consulting Marie?’
‘Doesn’t Danielle share his name?’
‘She had Marie’s name when she came to France. But then we gave her mine.’
‘Is Lambert her husband’s name? Could we make a start there?’
It wasn’t easy touching on things that happened in the past before he’d even met Marie. ‘Yes Lambert is her maiden name. She reverted when they split.’
‘How about checking Danielle’s birth certificate or Marie’s decree absolute? You could copy the father’s details, and go on from there.’
Marcel ran his hand through his hair. ‘That’s not as easy as it sounds. Marie keeps her private documents in a locked box. I’ve never seen inside it. I’ve always trusted her. I’ve never had the need to pry. She was divorced when we met.’ He hesitated and frowned. ‘And I would have to ask her for the key which again means confronting her with the problem.’
‘Let’s try to remain optimistic and think this through carefully.’ Sister folded her arms and, contemplating, bit her lip. She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe the key is with her personal belongings. We sent everything back with you when we admitted her. Why not go through them? It’s possible the key will be there.’
Marcel nodded. ‘That would be a start.’ He gave a weak smile and stood up to leave now feeling a little more positive about finding the key. ‘Thank you for listening, Sister.’
‘It’s easier to share these things.’ Sister patted his hand once more. ‘I suggest you go home and start your search. Perhaps you could come back this evening. Your wife might feel a little brighter by then.’
Outside the air was clean and fresh, the afternoon warm and breezy. He tried to clear his mind of all the negative thoughts and concentrate on the positives. Marie would certainly have agreed with what he was about to do. With a newfound confidence, he determined that somehow he would gain access to the box.
Immediately he arrived at the house he went upstairs into the bedroom and began searching for the handbag he’d brought back from hospital the previous week. Was it a brown leather one? He’d been so on edge when he’d taken Marie back into hospital, he couldn’t quite remember the colour, or where he’d put it. It wasn’t in the wardrobe, but eventually he found it crammed into one of the dressing table drawers. He unzipped it at the top and rummaged inside. Unfortunately there was nothing in there other than the house keys and those for her car.
Having examined the metal box that was kept at the bottom of the wardrobe, he knew the key would be small. Perhaps she’d put it in one of her drawers, maybe underneath her underwear? But after a thorough search, nothing turned up. He sighed heavily. What next?
Needing a break and time to think things through, he dragged himself wearily downstairs, poured himself a glass of claret and stretched out on one of the sofas. He had to de-stress himself somehow before he resumed his search.
Ten minutes later he was back up there checking the shelves inside the wardrobe. There were maybe a dozen handbags stacked on two of the shelves, and he decided to look inside each one. But again nothing doing.
Changing tactics and, as a last resort, he felt inside the pockets of all the garments in the wardrobe. And this time he got lucky. The small key was in the pocket of Marie’s chinchilla coat, one she hadn’t worn since the publicity about animal rights.
Tentatively he turned the key in the lock of the metal box and despite his earlier thoughts, he felt guilty. He shouldn’t be doing this. It was a private box containing items belonging to Marie’s past, things that didn’t really concern him. But needs must!
As he carefully flicked through the documents he came across a passport and various letters and papers, but nothing he was looking for. He checked the passport. It was in the names of Alicia Marie and Danielle Jeanne Lambert. That was certainly her maiden name. He didn’t bother to read the rest of the documents. He wasn’t there to pry. His aim was to find either the decree or Danielle’s birth certificate. But they were missing. That was strange. He would have considered both documents to be of importance. If they weren’t in the box, where were they?
He was about to replace the documents when right at the bottom of the box he spotted an envelope. With a sense of expectancy mixed with apprehension he took it out and opened it. Inside was a wedding photograph showing Marie with her ex-husband on their wedding day. Marcel’s stomach churned. A chill ran down his spine as he gazed at the two faces. They had once been happy and in love. What had happened for them to drift apart? Marie had never discussed her marriage, and he had never broached the subject. All he knew was that she was divorced,