Morgan's Secret Son. SARA WOODЧитать онлайн книгу.
If only Sam had known!’
A film of tears washed over her eyes at the implication that her father would have contacted her sooner.
‘Mom wasn’t much of a mother, but she was better than my foster-parents. All this time I thought I had no living relative in the whole world! W-when my f-father wrote—’ She broke off, a lump filling her throat.
‘I don’t need to hear this,’ Morgan rasped.
‘You do!’ she cried passionately, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘I want you to know what this means to me! I discovered that my father was alive! It was the most wonderful present I could ever have been given. He was in England, walking, breathing, sleeping… I couldn’t think straight. I went around the apartment in a daze, bursting into song…’
Unable to stop herself, she flung her arms in the air in an impassioned gesture as she relived those first joyful hours. His eyes flickered with a strange, glittering light and she faltered, bringing her arms down quickly, lest he think she was mad. But he had to know the intensity of her feelings!
‘Morgan,’ she explained fervently, ‘you had to be there to see me! I danced, I hugged myself breathless, ate a whole tub of ice cream…! Oh,’ she cried, husky with the memory, ‘I was so happy I felt delirious. I grinned at everyone I met. New York reeled! For days I walked on air—and then every so often I’d burst into tears. I felt so far away from him, you see.’
There was a long silence. Morgan seemed to be finding it difficult to speak. Once again, tension spun a thick blanket between them, crushing the air from her lungs. Jodie clasped her hands anxiously, scanning his face. Her heart turned over. Something was wrong!
Numbed by Morgan’s look of pity, she waited, a prey to her imagination. Her father was dead, she thought immediately, her eyes rounding in horror!
‘Look…you mustn’t get your hopes up. You can’t see him now, or in the foreseeable future.’
She blinked, trying to puzzle this out. ‘Why?’ she asked, her face pale.
The breath caught sharply in her throat. Something akin to anguish had slashed across his well-deep eyes before vanishing again. But it was obvious to Jodie that he was profoundly disturbed about something. She noticed that he’d clenched his jaw hard and balled his hands into fists till the bone shone white through the skin over his knuckles.
Her pulses went into overdrive as fear skittered through her. Her cup clattered to the saucer, freed unwittingly from her jittery fingers. Tea spilled across the blue check tablecloth but neither of them gave the stain more than a cursory glance.
‘My father…? He’s not…not…?’ she whispered desperately, and choked on the terrible lump which blocked her throat.
‘No!’ Morgan cried quickly, interpreting her distress. ‘He’s not dead! I didn’t mean that!’
In a surprising, reassuring gesture, his hand reached out to hers and held it tightly when she let out a small groan of relief.
‘What, then?’ she breathed.
‘He’s unwell—in hospital,’ Morgan replied, sounding strained. ‘He’s been ill for some time—’
Jodie trembled. ‘Was…was he ill when he wrote to me?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘He sounded idyllically happy—’
‘He was—but his health was poor even then. That’s partly why he contacted you. And now…’ His jaw tightened. ‘I have to tell you that he’s taken a severe turn for the worse—’
‘What do you mean?’ She stared, aghast, her eyes wide and horrified. ‘How much…worse is he?’ she croaked. Breaking free, she leapt to her feet in agitation. ‘Tell me the truth. I must know!’ she demanded hysterically.
His mouth became grim. ‘You need to sit down—’
‘Answer me! I want to know!’ she wailed, ignoring his suggestion.
‘Very well. The stark truth. He has pneumonia,’ Morgan said quietly. ‘He’s fighting for his life.’
It was his pained whisper which drained all her body of its strength. The stark gravity of his expression told her—far more than his words—that her father’s condition was perhaps more serious than he was letting on.
Stunned by this unexpected development, she swayed as the room whirled around her and a roaring in her ears drowned out anything else he might have said.
With a feeble moan she grabbed weakly at something, anything, found the chair and collapsed into it, her mind in turmoil.
‘No! No!’ she moaned.
Hot, stinging tears welled from her eyes and poured unchecked down her face. Distraught, shocked beyond belief, she hugged her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, weeping without restraint.
So near and yet so far.
She could have been here months ago! But Chas had told her he couldn’t release her from work to go to England. And then there’d been the failure in the mail service—or, worse, Morgan had blocked her letters! And Chas had persuaded her that her father hadn’t replied because he’d had second thoughts…
She groaned. All this time she could have been comforting her father, getting to know him, fussing over him… And now he might be close to death.
‘Oh, God! My poor father! I—I didn’t expect any…anything l-like this!’ she mumbled raggedly through her sobs.
The soft folds of a handkerchief touched her hand. She snatched it and pressed the linen against her tear-stained face. He could have caused this situation. She scrubbed her eyes hard and looked at him accusingly.
‘I have to ask you this—did…did you hide m-my letters?’ she asked bluntly.
‘No!’ he answered, obviously shocked by the suggestion. ‘I couldn’t have. I only came to live here a few weeks ago!’
She took a huge, shuddering breath. Her letters had gone astray, then. No wonder Morgan had been so hostile. He’d known that her sick father had written to her, knew how vital it was that she should reply. When no answer had come, Morgan and her father must have hated her for being callous and unfeeling.
She groaned with frustration. But she did care! More than she’d known, more than she could have ever believed! To get so close to being reunited—and then to have that longed-for moment cruelly snatched away—was a worse blow than anything she’d ever known.
This had been her chance to love and be loved unconditionally. To know the purest, most lasting love between a parent and a child.
Her poor father. Dangerously ill…she thought numbly. Her leaden arms dropped and came to rest on the table. She bent her head, too shattered to hold it up any more, and her burning wet cheek found comfort in the soft fabric of her jacket sleeve. Her sobs racked her body till her ribs ached and her throat felt raw.
Dimly, somewhere in the background, she registered an odd crackle, as if someone was brushing a hand across a microphone.
‘Excuse me. I have to go!’ Morgan muttered.
His chair scraped hastily back and she heard his brisk footsteps crossing the tiled floor rapidly, as though her tears irritated him and he couldn’t wait to get out of the room.
Miserably she lifted her head a fraction, suddenly wanting the company of someone, anyone.
‘Don’t!’ she sobbed. But his blurred image was already disappearing through the door.
Her lip trembled uncontrollably. He wasn’t giving her the benefit of the doubt. He believed she was a liar and blamed her for upsetting a seriously ill man.
He knew Sam. Cared about him. But she was part of Sam too! She was upset and alone and in a strange country. He knew how she felt about seeing her father!
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