The Angel Tree (12 page)

Although the guests spoke to her kindly enough, she could almost smell their surprise that Owen should have married after all this time. And, more to the point, taken such a young wife. She knew
that when the baby was born considerably less than nine months after the wedding, they’d all nod their heads knowingly.

‘All right, my dear?’ asked Owen, handing her a glass of champagne.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘Good. I’m just going to say a few words, thank people for coming, that sort of thing.’

‘Of course.’

Her husband stood up. The guests stopped talking and turned towards him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much for joining myself and my wife’ – Owen looked down fondly at Greta – ‘on this happy occasion. Some of you may have been
surprised when you received your invitation, but now that you’ve met Greta you’ll understand why I proposed. It’s taken almost six decades to get me down the aisle and I’d
just like to say how grateful I am to my new wife that she accepted my offer of marriage. I can’t tell you the amount of courage I had to pluck up before I asked her!’ he joked.
‘And, before I close, I’d just like to thank Morgan, my Labrador, for introducing us in the first place. There’s life in the old dog yet, you know!’

There was a round of applause as Mr Glenwilliam raised his glass for the toast.

‘To the bride and groom!’

‘The bride and groom!’

Greta took a sip of the champagne and smiled at Owen, her protector and saviour.

The guests left in the early evening and Greta and Owen sat drinking the remains of the champagne by the fire in the drawing room.

‘Well, Mrs Marchmont, how does it feel to be a married woman?’

‘Exhausting!’

‘Of course, my dear. The day must have been draining for you. Why don’t you pop on upstairs and I’ll have Mary bring you some supper in bed?’ Owen immediately saw the
surprise on Greta’s face. ‘My dear, in your present condition, I don’t think that it would be fair of me to expect you to . . . consummate our union. I suggest that we keep the
sleeping arrangements just as they are for the present. Once you are . . . unencumbered, well, we’ll think again.’

‘If that’s what you want, Owen,’ she replied sedately.

‘It is. Now, off you go.’

Greta stood up and walked over to him, bending down and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Goodnight. And thank you for such a lovely wedding day.’

‘I enjoyed it, too. Goodnight, Greta.’

When she’d left the room Owen poured himself a whisky and sat staring morosely into the fire. All he’d been able to think of earlier as he’d stood at the altar and slipped the
ring onto Greta’s finger was that it should have been Laura-Jane next to him, the two of them plighting their troths for eternity. Since she’d left Marchmont, he’d missed her
dreadfully. Not for the first time, he wondered if marrying Greta had been the right decision.

But what was done was done, and Owen promised himself he would never reveal to Greta the truth of his feelings. She would have everything she needed.

Except his heart.

As the last of the snow melted away and the first fresh scent of spring arrived with April, Greta watched her previously neat bump enlarge and spread. She became very
uncomfortable and found it difficult to sleep. She also noticed that her ankles were swelling and that she got out of breath very quickly. Seeing her discomfort, Owen insisted on calling Dr
Evans.

The doctor examined her gently, pressing her stomach and listening to it through an instrument that resembled an ear trumpet.

‘Is everything all right?’ Greta asked anxiously as he packed up his medical bag.

‘Oh yes, absolutely fine. But I hope you’re prepared for double trouble in a couple of months’ time. I believe you’re expecting twins, Mrs Marchmont. That’s why
you’ve been so uncomfortable. I think it would be best if you took it very easy from now on. And, for the moment, I’d suggest complete bed rest until we get the swelling in your ankles
under control. You are very slight, Mrs Marchmont, and two babies is a lot for your body to cope with. Stay in bed and rest. There’s no reason to expect any problems, as both babies’
heartbeats are strong and you’re in good health yourself. We might transfer you to the cottage hospital for the last few weeks, but we’ll see how you’re doing closer to the time.
I’ll go downstairs and tell the father the good news.’ Although he smiled at her kindly, she saw the hint of irony in his eyes. ‘I’ll pop in and see you again in the next
few days.’

‘Thank you, doctor.’ Greta lay back and let out a sigh of relief. If there’d ever been any doubt in her mind as to the wisdom of marrying Owen, it had just been banished.
Twins: two babies to feed, clothe and look after. God knows what would have become of the three of them if she’d been alone . . .

Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. Owen walked across the room, sat on the bed and took her hands in his.

‘The good doctor has told me the news, my dear. Now, you’re to take care of yourself and rest. I’ll tell Mary to bring all your meals to your room.’

‘I’m sorry, Owen.’ Greta looked away as tears came to her eyes.

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘It’s just that you’ve been so kind. And I’m sure you didn’t expect two young babies under your roof.’

‘Come now. You did me the greatest kindness by marrying me. Twins, eh? They’ll liven the old place up! And now we have double the chance of having a boy.’ He kissed her on the
cheek. ‘I have to go out to Abergavenny, but would you like me to come and read to you later?’

‘Yes, if you have time. And also, Owen, would it be possible to get me some knitting patterns and some wool on your way? I want to try and knit some clothes for the babies. Mary said
she’d help me.’

‘What a lovely idea. That will keep you occupied at least.’

When Owen had left Greta thought about what he had said. It wasn’t the first time he’d hinted how happy he’d be if the child was a boy. She supposed it was what all men
wanted.

‘Please, God,’ she whispered, ‘let me have a son.’

Greta went into labour in the middle of the night a month before her due date. Dr Evans was called, and the local midwife, Megan. The doctor was eager to get her into hospital,
but when he arrived he saw she was in no state to be moved.

Five hours later, Greta gave birth to a tiny girl weighing just over five pounds. Twenty minutes after that, a boy of four pounds and seven ounces arrived. An exhausted Greta cuddled her baby
girl and watched as Dr Evans slapped her son’s tiny bottom.

‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered, and eventually the little thing gave a cough and a squeal. Dr Evans cleaned up the baby, wrapped him tightly in a blanket and handed him to
Greta.

‘There you go, Mrs Marchmont. Two beautiful babies.’

Greta felt the tears running down her cheeks as she stared at the perfectly formed human beings she had brought into the world. She was overcome with a feeling of tenderness so powerful it took
her breath away.

‘Are they all right?’ she asked anxiously.

‘They’re both fine, Mrs Marchmont, but after you’ve had a cuddle I’m going to take them both away and check them over. The boy is very small and will need extra care.
I’m going to suggest to your husband that he employs a nursemaid for the next few weeks to help you. You must get some rest now. Megan will stay with you and tidy you up.’

Reluctantly, Greta handed first her boy and then her girl to Dr Evans. ‘Don’t keep them too long, will you?’ she said, then lay back on the pillows and gritted her teeth as the
midwife began to stitch her up.

Later, as she was drifting off to sleep, she felt a rough sensation against her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Owen smiling down at her.

‘Oh, my big, brave girl. How clever you are. We have a beautiful son.’

‘And a daughter.’

‘Of course.’

‘Might we call the boy Jonathan – Jonny, for short – after me, and my father?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course. And what about the girl?’

‘I thought I’d leave you to choose.’

‘Francesca Rose,’ she said softly. ‘Cheska, for short.’

‘Whatever you like, my dear.’

‘How are the babies?’

‘Fine. They’re both fast asleep in the nursery.’

‘Can I see them?’

‘Not now. You must get some rest. Doctor’s orders.’

‘All right, but soon, please.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Owen kissed her forehead and left the room.

Greta didn’t see her son for the next forty-eight hours. Too weak to get out of bed, she begged the nursemaid Owen had employed to bring Jonny to her, but she refused,
bringing only Cheska.

‘He’s sick, isn’t he?’ she asked fretfully.

‘No. He just has a slight fever and the doctor doesn’t want him moved.’

‘But I’m his mother. I must see him! He needs me!’ Greta fell back onto her pillows with a cry of frustration.

‘All in good time, Mrs Marchmont,’ said the nurse brusquely.

Later that evening Greta managed to sit upright and haul herself out of bed. She staggered along the corridor to the nursery, where she found Owen holding her whimpering son in his arms, cooing
quietly to him. Cheska was sleeping peacefully in her crib.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ A frown crossed Owen’s brow.

‘I wanted to see my son. Is he all right? The nurse wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m not even allowed to give him his bottle.’ Greta reached for the baby, but Owen cradled
him protectively.

‘No, Greta. You’re too weak. You might drop him. He’s had a slight temperature, but the doctor says that has passed. My dear, why don’t you go back to bed? You need to
rest.’

‘No! I want to hold Jonny.’ Greta reached towards her husband and almost wrenched the baby out of Owen’s grip. She stared down at her child. She had forgotten just how small he
was and noticed that his tiny cheeks were slightly flushed. ‘I’m taking him back to bed with me,’ she said firmly.

‘Now, Mrs Marchmont, don’t be silly. The baby is being well cared for and you must build up your strength.’ The nurse bustled into the room behind her.

‘But I—’ Suddenly, all the fight went out of Greta. She let the nurse take Jonny from her and return him to his cot, while Owen led her back to her bedroom as though he were
escorting a naughty child. Once in bed, Greta began sobbing uncontrollably.

‘I’ll get the nurse to come to you, my dear,’ Owen said, obviously embarrassed by her emotional state, then abruptly left the bedroom.

‘There, there, Mrs Marchmont. All new mothers feel like this. Here.’ The nurse handed Greta a pill and a cup of water. ‘It’ll calm you down and help you sleep.’

But sleep didn’t come. Greta lay there, staring into the dark, remembering the fiercely protective look in Owen’s eyes when she’d asked to hold her son.

Not for the first time, she wondered whether that was what he’d hoped for when he had married her. An heir to Marchmont.

And now she’d given him what he’d wanted.

Over the next few days Greta regained her strength and her equilibrium. She began to take an active part in the care of her babies – brooking no refusal from the nurse
– and watched happily as they both grew stronger by the day. Her life became one long round of feeding, changing and grabbing sleep when she could. Mary and the nurse were there to help, but
she wanted to do as much as possible herself.

No longer were her thoughts focused on her own needs. At every cry and whimper she was beside her babies, calming, nurturing and protecting them. Greta realised she had never been happier. Her
life had taken on a wonderful new meaning simply because she was needed; she was an irreplaceable guardian for these two tiny humans. Rather than resenting the challenge, she revelled in it, and
the twins blossomed under her tender care.

Owen appeared like clockwork in the nursery at two o’clock every afternoon. He’d barely glance at Cheska but would pick up Jonny and spirit him off for an hour or two. Greta would
sometimes find the boy balanced on Owen’s knee in the library or glance outside and see her husband pushing the big, heavy perambulator across the gravel, Morgan padding along at his
master’s side.

‘He hardly notices you, does he, darling?’ Greta kissed her daughter’s downy blonde hair. ‘Well, never mind. Mummy loves you. She loves you very much.’

As the months passed, Greta began to think more about the strange relationship she had with her husband. In the mornings, she was caught up with the twins, while Owen was either out on the
estate or in town on business. He spent at least a couple of hours each afternoon with Jonny while she was with Cheska in the nursery, so, during the day, husband and wife saw each other very
little. In the evenings they would still eat together at the long, polished table in the dining room, but Greta noticed that their conversation was becoming more stilted. The only subject they
really had in common was their children. Owen’s eyes would light up as he told an anecdote about Jonny pulling Morgan’s tail or squealing in delight as he was tickled, but then there
would be long silences. Greta usually retired to her room straight after supper, exhausted after her day and grateful for the fact that Owen had so far not suggested changing their sleeping
arrangements.

Sometimes, in the small hours when she was in the nursery watching over Jonny, who seemed to regularly catch colds or have a mild fever, Greta would brood on the odd state of her marriage. She
felt she knew Owen no better than the day they had first met. He was still kind and considerate, but she felt more like an indulged niece than a wife. She’d even begun to wonder whether
she’d effectively married the father she’d lost and missed so terribly when she was younger.

Often, she’d dream of being in a pair of young, strong arms, but on waking she’d decide that the lack of them was a small sacrifice to make. Her babies had a father, they all had a
roof over their heads and would never want for anything material for the rest of their lives. Her own private yearnings were not a priority.

A year passed, and then another. Greta delighted in watching Jonny and Cheska say their first words and take their first steps. The twins were very close, communicating in
their own, often indecipherable, language and content to play together for hours. Their special game was Hansel and Gretel, in which they would pretend to be the brother and sister from their
favourite fairy story and imagine that a clearing in Marchmont’s woods held the witch’s fabled gingerbread house. They would run back to Greta, screaming with a mixture of fear and
excitement when they reached the end of the tale, Jonny holding Cheska’s hand tightly in his own.