‘OK, that’s all.’ Jake held up his hands. ‘No more questions. I just needed to know for practical reasons.’

‘Sorry.’ Of course he did; he would be heading back to Ashcombe now. ‘Anyway, thanks for everything.’ Julie moved towards the door, beginning to panic at the thought that she’d been away from Tiff for longer than five minutes.

‘No problem.’ Jake waited, looking as if he wanted to say something else. Then he shook his head and smiled briefly at Juliet, so clearly desperate to get back to the ward. ‘Off you go.’

‘You look shattered,’ said Juliet. ‘Shouldn’t you get some sleep?’

It was eight thirty in the morning, grey and overcast outside. Oliver, looking more crumpled than ever, rubbed his eyes.

‘Not before I’ve spoken to the consultant. He’s on his way in now.’ Straightening up on his chair he said, ‘Who’s that over there?’

Juliet twisted round. At the nurses’ station behind them a lanky youth in a porter’s uniform was leaning against the desk glancing over at them and whispering to one of the nurses.

‘His name’s Phil, he lives in Ashcombe.’ Aware that her heart should be plummeting but quite unable to summon up the energy to care, Juliet said, ‘He works part-time in the kitchen at the Fallen Angel. Looks like he’s recognised you.’

‘Here’s someone now,’ said Oliver as the swing doors crashed open and a middle-aged man with an unmistakable air of authority burst into the unit, trailing assorted minions in his wake. ‘Is that him?’

‘That’s him,’ Juliet nodded, her throat tightening with trepidation.

Oliver was already out of his chair. ‘About time too. Right, now we’ll find out what’s going on.

How d’you do, I’m Oliver Taylor-Trent.’ Oliver stuck out his hand as the consultant, followed by his entourage, reached them. ‘I’m the boy’s father. I want to know exactly where we stand here,’ he announced brusquely. ‘No holding back.’

Juliet, her fingers closing helplessly round Tiff’s immobile hand, prayed that Oliver wouldn’t start going on again about money. She also prayed that the consultant wouldn’t be as brusque as Oliver; she wasn’t at all sure she had the strength to hear what he might be about to say.

‘Pickled walnuts, would you credit it?’ Marcella shook her head in disbelief, mystified by her own weirdness. ‘I always thought those food cravings were made up, just to get pregnant women a bit of attention, but I swear to God I’m dreaming of pickled walnuts. The moment I wake up I have to have them. Nothing else will do. And when I’m not eating them I like to look at them, bobbing about in their jar like dear little shrivelled brains—’

‘Whoa,’ Estelle spluttered, waving her hands and struggling to swallow her mouthful of Marmite on toast. ‘Too much information.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Marcella carried on polishing the silver, spread out over the far end of the oak kitchen table like an upmarket boot sale. Peering over at Norris, noisily chomping away at his bowl of Pedigree Chum and Winalot, she said, ‘Hasn’t put this one off.’

‘Nothing could put Norris off his food.’ Kate, finishing her coffee, rose to her feet. ‘Anyway, I’d better be getting ready for work.’ Tilting her head to one side, she said, ‘Sounds like a car coming up the drive.’

‘That’ll be the delivery man,’ Marcella joked, ‘bringing me my next crate of pickled walnuts.’

Estelle felt her heart begin to race; it couldn’t be Will, could it? Had he been overcome by a sudden wild urge to see her again? Oh Lord, if it was him, would she be able to act normally in front of Marcella?

At the sound of the front door being opened, Marcella stopped polishing. All eyes were fixed on the kitchen door now. Estelle did her level best to look as utterly confounded as Kate and Marcella.

Only Norris, blithely ignoring the intruder, continued to crunch away at his Winalot.

Estelle couldn’t have been more astounded if it had been David Attenborough himself complete with beige safari jacket who had pushed open the kitchen door.

Not Will, but Oliver.

Oliver, mystifyingly looking every bit as dishevelled and ungroomed as Will habitually did.

‘ Oliver? What’s wrong?’ Guiltily, Estelle prayed he hadn’t somehow found out. ‘I don’t understand, you’re meant to be in Zurich.’

Oliver barely seemed to notice them. He shook his head. ‘I was in Zurich. I came back.’

‘I3-but why?’ Truly terrified now, Estelle gripped the edge of the table. ‘What’s happened? You didn’t even phone!’ Marcella sniffed the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Oh Norris, not again,’ sighed Kate.

‘No, not that kind of smell.’ Pregnancy had heightened Marcella’s olfactory senses; lifting her head like a meerkat, she sniffed again. ‘It’s like that disinfectanty smell you get in hospitals.’

Wearily Oliver rubbed his eyes. Still bemused by the unexpectedness of his arrival, Estelle said,

‘Hospitals? Is that why you’re back? Oliver, are you ill?’

The next moment, somehow, she just knew. Maybe it was the expression on Marcella’s face, maybe the look of resignation on Oliver’s. Whichever, Estelle found herself feeling suddenly weightless with shock, as if someone had just switched off the gravity in the room.

Kate, still worried, said, ‘Dad? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Tiff Price, isn’t it?’ Estelle heard the words coming from her mouth as if from a great distance. ‘That’s why you came back ... that’s where you’ve been. I don’t believe this,’ she blurted out. ‘Are you actually going to tell me he’s yours?’

Oliver didn’t reply.

White-faced with shock, Kate said, ‘Dad? Is it true?’ More silence.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Estelle was by this time breathing so fast her fingertips had begun to tingle.

‘Of course it’s true! If it wasn’t true, he’d say so, wouldn’t he? He’s Tiff Price’s father.’ Swinging round to Marcella she demanded, ‘Did you know about this? Does everyone in the village know except me?’

‘I’ve never heard a thing.’ Concerned, Marcella said, ‘Look, this is private. I should go.’

I’ve got a better idea.’ Galvanised into action, Estelle stalked over to the door. ‘Why don’t I go? Come on,’ she told Marcella, ‘you can help me pack.’

Kate looked aghast. ‘Mum! What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking perfect sense. Why should I stay here and be publicly humiliated?’ Estelle ran her hands frenziedly through her fair hair. ‘Your father has a mistress and a child, living right here in Ashcombe.

All these years he’s been having his cake and eating it, making a complete fool of me—’

‘I haven’t.’ Oliver spoke at last. ‘I haven’t been making a fool of you, because nobody else knew. And I haven’t been having my cake and eating it either. Juliet isn’t my mistress.’

‘Really? How extraordinary!’ bellowed Estelle. ‘What was it, artificial insemination?’

‘We had an affair once,’ Oliver said shortly. ‘Not any more.’

‘Oh, fantastic, that makes me feel so much better. How dare you? How could you do it?’ Estelle was still struggling to take in the news; the shock was on a par with hearing Oliver announce he wanted a sex change.

‘These things happen. We met when Juliet was living in London. And just to set the record straight,’ said Oliver, ‘she wasn’t the one at fault. I told her I was divorced.’

‘You bastard!’ Estelle’s voice trembled with rage; how could she have spent the last twenty-seven years married to a man who would do something like this?

‘You’re absolutely right. Call me all the names you want, I deserve them. But right now,’ Oliver said heavily, ‘my main concern is Tiff.’

He’d come straight from the hospital. Stubble-chinned and ashen-faced, he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. Remembering how she’d felt when the call had come through from America telling her about Kate’s car accident, Estelle experienced a pang of guilt.

Next to her, Marcella said quietly, ‘How is he?’

Oliver looked as if he was struggling to breathe normally.

‘Still alive. And that’s about as encouraging as it gets. If septicaemia sets in, they could be forced to amputate his arms and legs.’

Oh God, that poor little boy. A lump sprang into Estelle’s throat at the very thought.

‘I just came back to shower and change,’ Oliver went on.

‘Tell Juliet we’re all praying for him,’ said Marcella, her dark eyes luminous with compassion.

Rubbing his face, Oliver nodded across at her. ‘I will.’

Chapter 40

‘It’s not fair,’ Estelle raged. ‘It’s not fair, he’s acting as if I don’t have any right to be upset because Tiff’s ill. He’s making out that I’m being selfish, and I don’t want to be selfish, but I am upset, I’m bloody upset! All these years I’ve stayed married to him. I could have had an affair, you know, but I didn’t because I was loyal to my husband, and all the time I was being so loyal he was busy having sex with Juliet Price, telling her he was single, getting her pregnant—’

‘ Is this wise?’ Marcella said patiently, sitting on the end of the bed watching Estelle hurl nighties, skirts, shoes and assorted items of underwear into two cases.

‘I doubt it, but I’m bloody doing it anyway. How can I stay here?’ Viciously, Estelle flung in her hairdryer and a bottle of Chanel No. 19, not even caring if it smashed. ‘I’ll be the laughing stock of Ashcombe. Why should I let myself be humiliated?’

‘You wouldn’t be.’

‘Anyway, I’m going.’ Estelle said it quickly before Marcella could come up with some plausible reason why she should stay.