Follow Thy Desire Page 20

  The words quickened to incoherency as she spoke, and James’s hands on her shoulders tightened steadyingly. ‘Calm down,’ he advised gently. ‘One question at a time. Morgan wasn’t in hospital because he didn’t want to be in hospital. He hasn’t been operated upon because he never intended to have the operation. So far as knowing about it is concerned, then I guess the time runs into months rather than weeks.’

  Helen shook her head disbelievingly. ‘But—but why?’

  James sighed. ‘You think I did not ask him that? Of course I did. His answer was always the same—he could not bear the thought of becoming any less of a man, of running the risk that is always involved, that of losing his faculties. He did not want to become a vegetable, and as such, Andrea’s responsibility for the rest of her life.’

  Helen quivered. ‘Andrea doesn’t know either.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So that’s why he wanted Andrea to go to England. Why he wanted to persuade her to leave.’

  ‘That’s right. His intention was that she should be far away before the crisis point came. Unfortunately, he seems to have misjudged the time left to him.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Helen blinked rapidly, her breathing no more than a shallow gulping of air. ‘Oh, God!’ She glanced round at Morgan’s still form. ‘But—but surely they’ll operate anyway.’

  ‘He expected it to be too late for that. Or perhaps he hoped to die on the operating table.’

  ‘No!’ Helen tore herself away from James to stare mutely at the man she loved, the man she had hoped to marry. She drew in a tortured breath. ‘Was that why—why—’

  ‘—why he refused to marry you?’ asked James. ‘Oh, yes,’ as she looked at him, ‘I knew all about that. And of course, you are right. He dared not run the risk of you finding out.’

  ‘But—but he did ask me,’ she exclaimed, twisting her hands together now. ‘This morning, on the beach. He—he said—he said you had told him he should.’

  James’s eyes glistened. ‘Oh, the fool!’ he muttered, emotively. ‘The blind fool! Why in the name of Allah did he not tell you the truth? As soon as he knew he cared about you—and he did—why did he not take Marsden’s advice and admit himself to the hospital where he works?’

  ‘Marsden?’ Helen had heard the name before.

  ‘Yes—the brain surgeon he saw while he was in England. A most accomplished man. His diagnosis was that with immediate surgery there was every possibility of him recovering completely.’

  Helen remembered the day Morgan had spent in London, the day before she had met him in the town and taken him to the flat…

  ‘And—and this man, Marsden, said that?’ she stammered now, tripping over her words in her haste to find a grain of hope. ‘Then—then couldn’t he have the operation now? Is it possible for Marsden to be flown out here to operate?’

  ‘I think not.’ James shook his head, and her spirits plummeted. ‘Osweba is just a small country. Our hospital facilities are improving all the time, but I doubt we could offer the kind of equipment Marsden would demand to work with.’

  Helen clenched and unclenched her fingers. ‘Then couldn’t we take Morgan to London?’ she appealed. ‘It’s not too late. He’s still alive. Why couldn’t that be done?’

  James frowned. ‘It could be done, of course, although I do not know whether Marsden will agree to take the risk when it is over a month—’

  ‘Risk? What risk?’ Helen was impatient. ‘Morgan’s going to die if he doesn’t have the operation, isn’t he? Would you rather he died without trying to save him?’

  James’s face darkened. ‘You know I love Morgan—’

  ‘Then help him!’

  ‘His instructions were to avoid surgery for as long as possible—’

  ‘To hell with his instructions!’ Helen was almost beside herself. ‘I’m his fiancée. I love him. And I don’t care if he’s only half a man, so long as he survives!’

  James hesitated. ‘If you were his wife…’ he ventured softly, ‘no one would argue with you.’

  ‘His wife!’ Helen stared at him. ‘But—but how—we don’t have a licence.’

  ‘I am a minister of the Government,’ he declared proudly. ‘I can arrange for a licence to be issued. The marriage would be valid only here in Osweba, but a licence is a licence, and by the time the British authorities have investigated its validity, Morgan will already have had the operation.’

  ‘Oh, James!’ Helen could have hugged him. ‘Could we? Could we?’

  * * *

  The Osweban air force jet, used by its Prime Minister on official occasions, brought them to London. James had certainly exerted his authority to the full, and the ambulance that was awaiting them at the airport cut all formalities to the minimum. Helen, still bemused by the ring on her finger, had paid little attention to the ceremony of it all. She only wanted to get to the hospital and meet Howard Marsden, who had responded without hesitation to Oneba’s cable.

  The hardest task she had performed was breaking the news to Morgan’s father. He, too, had been summoned to meet them in London, and in the quiet of her hotel room, Helen explained the circumstances leading up to her almost morganatic marriage to his son. Andrea had been with her, a strangely adult Andrea, who had shared her anguish and her grief, and who no longer behaved as if her own happiness was the most important thing. She had been shocked to the core to learn what her father had been keeping from her, and although neither James nor Helen had discussed Morgan’s reasons with her, she had guessed his motives for herself.

  Meeting her grandfather for the first time was an emotional experience for her, but overshadowed as it was by her father’s illness, there had been no time for shyness or recriminations. They were all one in their sorrow, and Helen did not know what she would have done without Mr Fox’s quiet strength.

  James had accompanied them to London, but although he had had to return almost immediately because of government commitments, he was in touch constantly, and had offered encouragement every inch of the way.

  ‘Mrs Fox?’

  A young nurse was standing by the bed offering her a cup of tea which she took gratefully. She had lost count of the cups of hot sweet tea she had swallowed since she first came here, but their warmth was always welcome. She had never taken sugar in tea before; she had not cared for sugar in any hot drink. But these days, it had become the only sustenance she could stomach.

  The nurse lingered as she sipped the tea, and Helen glanced absently at her watch, noticing with sudden dismay that it was almost six. She must have slept for over five hours. Five hours! The remembrance of the previous day’s events came rushing back at her, and she turned anxious eyes up to the nurse’s face. Morgan had had his operation the day before, but at midnight Mr Marsden had insisted she must get some sleep or she would crack up, too. She had not wanted to leave Morgan’s bedside, but he was still unconscious, and she had been offered this bed in an adjoining room so that she could be there as soon as he wakened.

  The nurse took the cup from her unresisting fingers, as if she had been waiting for just this purpose, and as Helen’s nerves stretched to breaking point, she said gently:

  ‘Your husband is conscious, Mrs Fox. Would you like to see him?’

  ‘Conscious!’ Helen felt a choking lump in her throat. ‘He’s conscious?’ She trembled. ‘The operation was a success?’

  ‘Yes.’ The nurse smiled. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  The hot sweet tea welled into her throat and she had to force it back, as she pressed a hand to her breast. Morgan was conscious! He had survived the operation. Whatever happened now, he was not going to die, and she thanked God for that release. But how would he react when he discovered what she had done?

  The legs she lowered to the floor felt unreliably shaky, and she put a nervous hand to her hair; as if her appearance was of any importance!

  ‘Are you all right?’ The nurse was looking at her with some concern, but Helen managed to nod
her head, wondering if her pants suit looked as creased as it felt. It was a silly anxiety, but somehow it was so important that Morgan should not be disappointed in her.

  ‘Come along, then.’

  The nurse led the way out of the tiny side ward and along the stark corridor to Morgan’s room. Even at this hour of the morning, the lights were burning brilliantly, and the bustling heart of the hospital was already beginning to throb. It might be dark outside, but inside a new day had begun, and Helen prayed that it might be the same for her and Morgan.

  The lights in Morgan’s room were muted, just a lamp beside the bed that highlighted the hollows of his pale cheeks and drew attention to the swathe of bandages about his head. But his eyes were open, those curious tawny eyes that could take all the strength from Helen’s body and leave her weak with emotion.

  There was a nurse seated at the foot of the bed, but she rose at Helen’s entrance, and the nurse who had accompanied Helen said quietly: ‘You may stay five minutes. No longer,’ and both nurses went out together, leaving them alone.

  Helen moved clumsily towards the bed. She didn’t know how conscious Morgan really was, whether he would remember what had happened, whether indeed he would recognise her. It astounded her when he lifted one brown arm from where it was lying on the green coverlet, and extended it weakly towards her.

  ‘Oh, Morgan…’ It was enough to send her rushing forward to grasp his hand, dropping down on her knees beside him, pressing her cheek against the cool skin of his knuckles. ‘Oh, darling,’ she choked. ‘How are you? How do you feel?’

  ‘Helen,’ was all he said, but there was a wealth of satisfaction in the word, and he drew his fingers from hers to touch her hair, her face, the parted softness of her lips.

  ‘You’re going to be all right,’ she breathed unsteadily. ‘Do you know that? The operation was a complete success.’

  Morgan closed his eyes in assertion, and then opened them again as she drew nearer, tentatively stretching her fingers to touch his cheek. The action drew attention to the gold band on her third finger, and she would have withdrawn her fingers again if his eyes had not lighted upon it.

  ‘The ring?’ she murmured with trepidation, in answer to his unspoken question. ‘I—you gave it to me. It—it’s our wedding ring.’

  A frown drew his brows together, and anxiety flooded her being. ‘You—you asked me to marry you, remember?’ she stammered. ‘We—we were married five days ago, in Charlottesville.’

  ‘Married?’ he said huskily, and she nodded, wondering what she would do if he despised her for taking advantage of the situation. ‘Married!’ He licked his dry lips, and then his expression grew disbelieving. ‘You married me? Knowing…knowing…’

  ‘Of course,’ she whispered unevenly. ‘Did you think I’d let a thing like that stop me?’

  ‘Oh, Helen!’ For a moment he just looked at her, and if she had ever had any doubts about whether or not he loved her, they were all dispelled in that disturbing moment. ‘My wife,’ he breathed, with evident satisfaction, and closed his eyes again.

  Helen was alarmed, but the nurse coming back into the room at that moment just drew her to her feet with a finger against her lips.

  ‘He’s sleeping,’ she said softly, ‘that’s all.’ She smiled. ‘Whatever it was you said to him, he seems very content, doesn’t he?’

  Helen knew what she meant. There was still the faintest trace of a smile on Morgan’s lips.

  * * *

  Eight weeks later, Helen came down the steps of the beach house at Selina carrying two tall glasses of iced lager. As she had spent several weeks wearing nothing but a bikini, and sometimes not even that, her skin was tanned a honey-brown, and the inches she had lost during those ghastly days in England, waiting for the results of Morgan’s operation, had all been replaced. She looked fit and well, and extremely happy, and she was.

  Further down the beach, Morgan was stretched out in the shade of a beach umbrella. Since they had returned to Africa, he too had recovered completely, and the lines of strain which had marked his illness had all been ironed away. His hair, too, was slowly growing again, but Helen teased him unmercifully about its baby softness. Yet, like the rest of him, it was getting stronger every day, and soon she wouldn’t be able to torment him on that score.

  Dropping down beside him on the rug, she saw his eyes flicker open with evident reluctance. ‘Lager,’ she announced, holding out the glass, and lazily he propped himself up to take it.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost twelve,’ she replied, sipping from her glass and then putting it aside. ‘We have to leave at six. Do you feel up to it?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and then, seeing her anxious face, he put his own glass aside and reached for her. ‘Having dinner with James reminds me only too well that our time here is limited,’ he told her softly, unfastening the bra of her swimsuit and tossing it carelessly aside. ‘Mmm, I love you, but why do you wear that thing? Why do you wear anything?’

  Helen responded to his kiss with helpless urgency, her limbs melting beneath the sensual onslaught of his touch. No matter how many times they made love, they still couldn’t get enough of one another, and Morgan’s wish of making love in the open air had been fulfilled a score of times.

  But now she pushed against his chest until he supported himself on his hands over her, and said huskily: ‘Do you really feel all right?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ he agreed with a mocking smile.

  ‘Then—’

  ‘I know. I have to make the effort. Particularly tonight as my father and Marcia are here, not to mention Andrea.’ He nodded. ‘It will be good to see them all again, but I’m glad you didn’t want to live in England.’

  Morgan had recuperated at the Foxes’ home in York. Despite the irregular circumstances of her marriage to his son, Mr Fox had insisted that Helen stayed there, too, and over Christmas she had even made her peace with Barry. Perhaps the fact that he had a new girl-friend had made the difference, or perhaps it was the seriousness of Morgan’s illness. Whatever had prompted his change of heart, Helen had been glad of it.

  Her own parents had looked on her marriage to Morgan as inevitable. Her mother had even gone so far as to say that she had known it would happen all along, and it had been simpler not to disabuse her.

  For Andrea, there had been time to get to know her grandparents and her father’s brother and sister. Contrary to Morgan’s expectations, Susan got along quite well with her young niece, and in no time at all she was teaching her to dance, and suggesting she shopped around for more sophisticated spectacles.

  ‘You can get such dreamy specs these days,’ she exclaimed, sounding as if she wished she wore glasses, too, and Andrea’s confidence, boosted by Helen, gained in strength.

  It had been Helen’s suggestion that she and Morgan should get married again in the church where she and Barry had planned to take their vows, and on a cold January day, wearing the wedding gown she had once hoped never to see again, Helen had become Morgan’s wife for the second time.

  Their honeymoon had been spent here, at the beach house; four weeks of doing nothing except sunbathe and swim—and make love.

  But now it was getting near the time when Morgan would have to begin to take up the threads of his career again. Not at Nrubi, however. James had been a tower of strength, and through his efforts a substitute had been installed at Hawk’s Drift, and Morgan was to spend the next couple of years doing the job he had never expected to achieve—that of researching into tropical diseases. James had put the facilities of his not-inconsiderable laboratory at Morgan’s disposal, and a grant from the government was enabling Morgan to work in Charlottesville. Already a house was being prepared for them, and as a final gesture of his gratitude that Morgan should have chosen to come back to Osweba, James had flown his parents and Andrea out for a holiday. It had been Helen’s decision that they should come back to Africa. Morgan had given her the choice. It would not have been difficult for hi
m to find a post in England, but she knew his heart would not be in it. For better or for worse, Africa was in his blood, and somehow she thought it was in hers, too.

  Andrea, however, would not be staying. She had voted to return to England with her grandparents and complete her education. She would come out to Charlottesville for holidays, and a long talk with her father and stepmother had assured them that she did not resent their happiness. And Helen knew that the bonds that had been forged between them during Morgan’s illness would not easily be broken.

  Morgan was nuzzling her neck now, his tongue making tantalising forays along her shoulder, and she gave herself up to the ecstatic pleasure of his lovemaking. There was plenty of time for talking…the rest of their lives, in fact.

  ISBN-13: 9781460347768

  FOLLOW THY DESIRE

  © 1978 Anne Mather

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