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'No,' Ethan responded curtly. 'You take Emma.' Hannah wondered how much longer she could take the constant slights before something cracked. Pretending to be part of a happy family was killing her by slow, painful inches. 'Come along, darling. We can't keep Grandma Faith waiting—it's her big day.'
The car was waiting outside the hotel foyer. The doorman ushered them solicitously towards it. A sudden gust of wind lifted her hat and Hannah let go of Emma's hand to catch hold of it.
It all happened so quickly, she never did know what caught the child's eye on the opposite side of the busy road. One minute she was standing beside Hannah, the next Hannah saw the heels of her shiny new shoes and a fluttering pink hem.
With a cry of warning Hannah ran out after her, hardly noticing the sound of horns in her ears. She felt as if her feet were made of lead as she desperately tried to propel herself forward. Panting, she picked the child up from behind as she simultaneously became aware of the fact that she couldn't move fast enough to avoid the metal monster bearing down on them. It was instinct rather than conscious thought that made her throw the child clear just before everything went black.
Those ten minutes before the ambulance arrived were the longest and most nightmarish Ethan could ever remember. The hotel manager had proved to be a pillar of strength and calm. Ethan had been able to leave the children safely in his hands, knowing that his mother would come the instant she got his message.
Why wouldn't anyone tell him anything? They'd shut him out of the emergency room. He ripped the white rose from his buttonhole with an expression of disgust and ground it into the floor with his heel. Nobody came near the tall figure conspicuously dressed in the morning suit; he presented a daunting picture.
Standing in the glass revolving door with Tom in his arms when it had happened, he'd seen everything. From a position of complete helplessness he'd watched it all. He'd seen the car hit Hannah and heard the sickening thud as her limp, apparently lifeless body struck the metal before sliding to the floor. The image was scorched in his brain.
'Mr Kemp? Would you like to come this way?'
The white-coated figure led Ethan to a small, impersonal office.
'Well?' Ethan didn't bother hiding his impatience. He was wound up tighter than a spring and it showed. His knuckles cracked as he flexed his long fingers.
The doctor didn't take offence at the aggressive tone; he'd seen and heard it all before. All the same, whilst quite a few of his customers might have liked to rip him limb from limb as the bearer of bad tidings, most of them didn't look capable of it. This one did.
'Your wife has been remarkably lucky. There's a hairline fracture of the temporal bone.' He touched his finger to the side of his head to indicate the position. "That should heal with no ill effects. She is badly concussed but she did regain consciousness for a short time. I was honest with her when she asked me.'
'Asked you what?' Ethan had slumped into a straight-backed chair. The tension had drained from his body so abruptly, he felt as weak as a baby. She was going to live. Whether he had prayer, luck, or modern medicine to thank didn't matter to him—she was alive. Things were going to be different, he swore to himself.
'About the baby.'
'Let me get this straight,' Ethan said in a strained voice. 'My wife is pregnant?'
'Was pregnant.'
Ethan's head dropped forward onto his chest. 'Oh, my God!' he said softly. He caught his head between his hands and rocked forward, his elbows clamped together.
'You didn't know? I'm sorry. It was very early, and there's no reason you can't have a healthy baby in the future.'
'Can I see her?' His complexion was tinged with an unhealthy pallor as he raised his head.
Numbed by having been overexposed to too much pain and suffering, the young doctor found his compassion unexpectedly stirred by the bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes of the man opposite him.
'Of course, but it might be quite a while before she wakes.'
The total amnesia only lasted for a few terrifying seconds. 'Mr Kemp?' she whispered in relief as the man seated beside her bed lifted his head. For some reason the man flinched as if she'd struck him.
'So you're back with us, Mrs Kemp?' The nurse hid her surprise at the formal greeting between husband and wife behind a professional smile.
Hannah remembered everything then—it was like walking into a solid wall. 'Ethan.'
'You're awake, Hannah.' Stating the obvious gave him a breathing space. It had been impossible to miss the grief of knowledge that had rushed into her eyes, only to be supplanted by a vague, distant expression.
'My head hurts,' she said dully.
'You fractured your skull.'
'I didn't mean to let go of her hand.'
