Millionaire Dad: Wife Needed

It had seemed like every minute, every moment, had been stretched out to maximum tension and it was etched on her memory. The feeling of complete helplessness. The guilt. The regret. The panic. And the mind-numbing fear. A whole hotchpotch of feelings she hadn’t even begun to unpack yet. All there. All reaching out towards her like fog in a nightmare.

But this was different, she reminded herself. The circumstances were completely different. She forced her breathing to slow and tried to focus on the questions she was being asked.

Nick looked over his shoulder. ‘Tell them to take the left hand fork at the top of the lane. It’s a confusing junction. They could lose five minutes or more if they take the wrong turn.’

Lydia gave a nod of acknowledgement and reached into her jacket pocket for the piece of paper on which she’d written the directions to the cottage. Wendy had been very thorough.

She watched Nick disappear into one of the bedrooms and return with a pillow and satin eiderdown. He used the pillow as a cushion and wrapped the elderly woman gently in the apricot-coloured eiderdown.

‘Yes, the last cottage on the right.’ The voice on the other end was precise and calming. ‘About half a mile out of the village. Yes. Thank you.’ Lydia finished the call and clicked her mobile shut.

‘Well?’ Nick turned to look at her.

‘An ambulance is on its way.’

‘Is there anything I need to do while I wait?’

Lydia shook her head. ‘You’ve already done it. She said not to move her and to wrap her in something warm as she might be in shock.’

He smiled grimly and settled himself back down on the floor, taking Wendy’s hand between his own. ‘It won’t be long now.’

Lydia watched the shadow pass across the elderly woman’s face as she struggled to speak. She seemed so confused. Frightened. So unlike anything she’d been expecting to find in such a formidable woman—and yet would anyone be otherwise?

Her knowledge of strokes was woefully scanty, but she knew the consequences of them could be devastating. It didn’t seem right. A woman of Wendy’s courage couldn’t be struck down like this. It wasn’t fair.

But life wasn’t fair, was it? It wasn’t fair that her parents had died when they were so young. Or that her sister Izzy had miscarried her baby. Life had a way of kicking up all kinds of unpleasant surprises. She ought to know that by now.

Lydia put her phone back in her handbag, taking more care than usual to fasten the stud. ‘Do you want me to put together an overnight bag? Or s-something…?’ Her voice faltered as he looked up, his expression conveying exactly what he thought of her suggestion.

‘I’ll do it later,’ Nick said curtly, ‘and take it when I go to the hospital.’

What was his problem? He looked as though she’d told him she’d ransack the entire room instead of offering to gather together a few toiletries and a nightdress. Her eyes shifted to Wendy’s hugely swollen ankle, visible beneath the eiderdown. ‘I’ll get some ice.’

‘Sorry?’

‘For her ankle. Whether it’s broken or just sprained, ice will help it.’

He followed the line of her gaze. ‘Right.’

Lydia turned and started down the stairs before she thought to ask, ‘Does she have a freezer?’

‘In the old scullery. She keeps a chest freezer out there.’

Lydia continued down the stairs. As she reached the bottom she jumped as a warm furry shape twisted round her legs. ‘Hello,’ she said softly. The cat mewed loudly and pushed that little bit closer. Lydia stooped and ran her hand across the sleek black fur.

Stepping to one side, Lydia carried on to the kitchen. Two concrete steps led down to the old scullery, the ancient copper wash tub in one corner. The freezer stood, large and white, on the far wall. Spots of rust discoloured the surface and the lid seemed to have slightly bowed.

There was so much about Wendy Bennington’s house that made her feel unutterably sad. It was as though the elderly woman did no more than camp here. She’d certainly made no effort to make the place feel comfortable…or even like a home.

The freezer was in desperate need of being defrosted and Lydia struggled to lift the lid. She chipped off huge chunks of ice and lifted out the top basket.

Inside there were countless boxes of pre-prepared meals for one, half-opened packets of stir-fry and frozen vegetables. Surely more than enough to feed a single person for several months? Lydia lifted out a small packet of peas and headed back upstairs.

Nick turned as soon as she got there. ‘Have you found something? Her ankle seems to be bothering her now.’

‘You’ll need to wrap this in a towel. It’s very cold.’

But even as she spoke he’d pulled out a pillow from its pillowcase and tucked the frozen packet inside. She watched as he carefully held it up against the swelling and heard Wendy’s small moan of pain.

‘Is there anything else I can do? I’d like to help.’

Nick glanced up. ‘If you want to be useful you could take your car down to the village and point the ambulance in the right direction.’

‘I’m sure there’s no need for that. I found my way here without a problem.’

‘But it’s a single track road and if they miss the junction there’s nowhere to turn for a couple of miles.’

Lydia frowned, uncertain what to do. What he was saying about the junction was true—but it was more than that. He so clearly wanted her to leave.

She heard the elderly woman mumble incomprehensibly and wondered whether he wished her to go because he knew how much Wendy would hate being seen this way. If the situation was reversed, if she were the woman lying on the floor, she would prefer there were no strangers to see it.

And there was no doubt that Wendy trusted Nick implicitly, not once had she glanced across in Lydia’s direction. Her eyes searched out his as though they would be her salvation.

It felt intensely private. His strong hand calmly held Wendy’s frail agitated one in his. Lydia didn’t think she’d ever seen a man so gentle or so eminently capable of managing a situation alone.

‘I’ll wait in the village.’

Nick scarcely noticed she’d spoken; his mind and energy were focused entirely on Wendy Bennington.

As it should be, she reminded herself. Of course, he should be totally concerned about the sick woman.

Lydia reached inside an inner pocket of her handbag and pulled out a business card. ‘Would you call me? I’d like to know how Ms Bennington is doing.’

He turned, his expression unreadable. If he wasn’t a poker player, he ought to be. She couldn’t tell whether he thought it reasonable that she wanted to know what happened to Wendy or whether he thought it an intrusion.

‘Please?’

His face didn’t change, but after a short pause he reached out and took her card. ‘Make sure you leave the front door open,’ he said, tucking it in the back pocket of his jeans.

Lydia supposed she had to take that as an agreement that he would call her. Whether he would remember to actually do it or not was a different matter.

Quietly she walked down the stairs and into the oppressively gloomy kitchen. Her briefcase was still by the rusting boiler where she’d left it. Lydia bent and picked it up, before taking a last opportunity to glance about her.

Sad. It was a truly sad place.

Slowly she walked along the hall and carefully put the front door on the latch. It was strange that Nick Regan let Wendy Bennington live in such a way. He so obviously loved her. It was in the way he’d brushed her hair off her forehead and held her hand.

So who was he? Why was he so concerned about Wendy Bennington? It surely went beyond being a mere friend, but his name hadn’t appeared in her research. As far as she’d been able to ascertain, Wendy had no family at all. Not even a nephew. An only child of only children.