Eclipse. Lynne Pemberton

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СКАЧАТЬ Serena Frazer-West checked the clock in her new Range Rover. It was almost ten p.m. She had been held up for the last hour. A quick calculation made her realize that at this rate she’d be lucky to reach Redby Hall, the Frazer-West Wiltshire estate, by midnight. She began to wish she’d rung to let the staff know of her sudden decision to leave London for a spot of country peace; still, at least it meant no one would be expecting her and fretting about her non-arrival.

      A serious collision, between a minibus and an oil tanker, had resulted in the bigger vehicle overturning and spilling most of its contents on to the icy road. The consequent mayhem was further exacerbated by freezing fog, so that traffic was now at a standstill, apart from police vehicles and several ambulances.

      Suddenly the traffic began to move, albeit slowly; a mass of steel creeping forward, with the artificial eyes of car headlights burrowing through the swirling fog. As the sign for Junction Thirteen loomed into view, Serena indicated left and followed several other cars on to the slip road. Pulling into the nearest lay-by, she consulted a map and decided that it would be simpler to take the road across country towards Swindon, then rejoin the motorway for the remainder of her journey to Castle Coombe.

      This plan would have been fine if she had not taken a wrong turn at the village of Lenchwick Cross, becoming hopelessly lost on the Lambourn Downs in a maze of twisting lanes and tiny villages that all looked exactly the same. To make things worse, it was very dark – with only the occasional yellow light from a semi-curtained cottage window to remind her she was not totally alone in the world.

      Her spirits lifted as she entered the small village of Letcombe Bassett and spotted a dim light behind the grimy windows of the Plough Inn. Parking at the rear of the pub, she was relieved to hear muted voices and laughter as she walked towards the bar.

      The door was locked.

      She knocked several times; then, stepping to one side, she peered through the dusty window to see three faces staring back at her. One man was leaning across the bar top and appeared to be the publican.

      ‘I’m lost,’ Serena mouthed plaintively.

      No one spoke or moved, they just continued to stare.

      She shivered, deciding that it might be better to get back into the car and drive to the next village. She was about to turn away when the landlord moved from behind the bar and walked towards the door. He opened it a couple of inches, so that she could just about see a long nose and one dark eye.

      ‘There was a bad crash on the M4. I’m trying to get to Castle Coombe.’ Her words tumbled out.

      He opened the door a few more inches. ‘Yer a long ways off course, miss,’ he said, his beady eyes probing every detail of her body before eventually resting on her huge stomach, heavy with advanced pregnancy.

      Serena felt uncomfortable; she shuddered, pulling her coat closer to her body. ‘If you could just point me in the right direction I would be very …’

      Her voice trailed off as she became acutely aware of a wetness between her legs; a slight trickle at first, but followed seconds later by a gush of warm secretion, streaming downwards and forming a small puddle on the stone step.

      ‘Oh my God, no! My waters have broken.’

      The man stared at her as she cradled her distended belly with both hands. Then the pain came.

      The first contraction felt much stronger than she’d ever imagined. She clutched the side of the wall, her hand slipping on the frosty stone, panting until the pain gradually subsided.

      ‘You’ve got to help me, I’m in labour. Where’s the nearest hospital?’

      Her desperate appeal finally stirred the landlord into action. ‘Come in miss.’

      He moved to one side and she shuffled gingerly into the bar. Through a thin film of smoke, she could now see the faces of the two other men. One of them, Tom Bayley, was beside her in a single, long stride.

      ‘Sit yerself down here, miss.’ He was a big man and held her as she slid down into the nearest chair. He smelt of tobacco and manure, not a particularly comforting mixture.

      ‘Here, tell her to drink this Tom, it’ll help.’ The landlord had poured a large brandy.

      She swallowed it gratefully, just before a further rush of warm discharge trickled down the inside of her thigh, followed by another contraction slicing across her lower back; this one even more intense than the last. Holding on to Tom Bayley’s hand, she squeezed so tightly he winced.

      He watched the colour slowly drain from her face, leaving it ashen; and he still thought that she was the prettiest girl ever seen in the Plough, or roundabout for that matter.

      ‘You’re going to be fine. I’ll take you to Mrs Neil, she’ll see to you.’

      ‘Who’s she?’ Serena panicked. ‘I don’t want to go to any Mrs Neil, I must get to a hospital. You don’t understand!’

      Hearing the hysteria creep into her own voice, she told herself to keep calm as no good would come from getting in a state. ‘My babies are four weeks premature. I need special medical care.’

      ‘The nearest hospital is more than twenty-five miles from here. With this fog we might not make it at all.’

      The publican had spoken with authority and both other men nodded in agreement. They continued nodding as he went on.

      ‘Old Radley’s wife had her baby on the way to the hospital only last week; happened in a lay-by. Almost lost the little mite.’ He pointed to the big man. ‘I think Tom here’s right. We’d best get you to Mrs Neil. You’ll be fine with her, she’s by far the best midwife in the county. All the mothers swear by her. They won’t go near a hospital if they can have Mrs Neil.’

      If Serena had been able to find the strength she would have screamed. As it was she had to conserve her energy for the next contraction that was about to begin. She realized with growing fear that the contractions were coming every few minutes.

      ‘OK, take me to this Mrs Neil. Anything’s better than a damned lay-by.’

      ‘Good girl,’ said big Tom, promptly lifting her effortlessly into his arms and carrying her out of the pub.

      ‘I’ll call Mrs Neil and tell her you’re on yer way,’ the publican shouted after them.

      Tom settled Serena gently into the passenger seat of her own car, took the ignition keys from her, and then adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate his long legs.

      ‘It’s not far,’ he reassured her, as the car purred into life. ‘No more than about half a mile down the road. Can you hang on?’

      ‘I don’t have much choice,’ she mumbled, relieved when the Range Rover pulled smoothly away.

      The road to Mrs Neil’s was a treacherous, unmade lane, and Tom had to swerve suddenly to avoid a pothole. Careering off the road he bumped along for few moments, the overhanging branches of a huge sycamore tree slashing the windscreen and obscuring his view.

      ‘Sorry ’bout that,’ he apologized in his thick Gloucestershire brogue.

      Serena thought the pothole would have been СКАЧАТЬ