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She remembered, with a feeling of sickness, Nigel’s mouth mauling hers, his hands groping at her, and stifled a shudder.
She said quietly, ‘Yes, he did—in every way.’ She put the photographs back in the envelope and laid them down on the desk. ‘There—there isn’t a great deal more to be said, is there?’
She didn’t wait for his answer, but went swiftly out of the room, closing the door behind her. She let herself out of the house, and began to walk aimlessly down the drive, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
She had been set up by Nigel—that went without saying. The kiss had been staged deliberately for the benefit of the photographer—one of his Fleet Street cronies, no doubt—who’d been hidden among the evergreens on the far side of the lawn. The film wouldn’t have taken long to develop, and the resulting prints would have caught the last post without difficulty—to reach Malory, by some hideous coincidence, on that one morning of all mornings, and poison the memory of their night together.
She forced down the little moan which rose in her throat. And it provided a cogent explanation for his renewed relationship with Clare. If she had a lover, after all, there was no reason why he shouldn’t take a mistress. She could understand the cynical logic which had inspired his decision. Could even forgive it—except that her forgiveness was not required.
She shivered, wrapping her arms round her body.
But what did he want? He’d spoken of the baby being his responsibility, but he couldn’t expect her to go on living with him in some terrible atmosphere of bitterness and distrust.
Her throat closed convulsively. When she could face him again, she would tell him she wanted a legal separation. And she would make it clear at the same time that she wanted no financial support from him, then or in the future. There were thousands of single parents managing to get along somehow, and she would be one of them, she thought fiercely.
There was a warning bark, and Harvey joined her, panting cheerfully. With a sinking heart, Amanda realised she hadn’t closed the front door properly.
‘You bad lad.’ She tried to catch at his collar. ‘Go back. You know you’re not allowed out without your lead.’
But whatever Harvey knew, he had scented freedom, and was not to be baulked of it. He set off towards the gates, which were also ajar, with Amanda in frantic pursuit, his barks becoming hysterical when he realised there was a cat crouching on the opposite verge.
As he gained the road, Amanda made a grab for him, her feet sliding on the damp surface. ‘Harv, you horror…’
She heard the sound of the van coming too fast round the corner, the blare of its horn, and caught a glimpse of the driver’s horrified face as he swerved to avoid them.
With all her strength, she pushed Harvey back towards the gate, and his startled yelp was the last thing she heard as the van’s front wing struck her a glancing blow, and the world turned in a slow, sickening arc, and became darkness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘How do you feel, Mrs Templeton?’ The quiet voice pierced the aching fog which seemed to surround her.
She mumbled, ‘I hurt.’
‘I’m not surprised.‘ She opened her eyes to see a bearded man in a white coat looking down at her. ’You took a very nasty tumble. You’ve got a considerable number of cuts, bruises and abrasions, and a possible mild concussion. That’s why we thought it might be better to look after you here for a day or two—with your condition to take into account.‘
Her lips trembled. ‘I’ve—lost the baby, haven’t I?’
‘Good lord, no’ he said cheerfully. ‘Miscarriages aren’t inevitable after accidents, you know. You’re a strong, healthy girl, and that baby’s firmly ensconced.’
Amanda closed her eyes again. Unbidden, the thought came to her, It might have been better if... and she stopped there, rejecting it savagely.
She said, ‘Where am I?’
He mentioned the private wing of a famous London teaching hospital. ‘You were transferred from the casualty department of your own cottage hospital,’ he added.
‘Have I been unconscious?’
He laughed. ‘Well, not all the time. But if you’ll promise to stay awake for a few minutes longer, I’ll fetch your husband. He’s been very patient, but I think your Sleeping Beauty act has started to get to him.’
Amanda parted her lips to protest, but the doctor was already moving briskly to the door. When he returned, Malory was with him.
He was very pale, the lines of strain marked on his face. He bent and kissed her on the forehead.
‘How are you?’ He looked gravely down at her.
