The Guilty Wife. Sally Wentworth
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If the driver of the car hadn’t managed to swerve again it would have been she lying squashed like a pancake instead of the wheel.
The driver must have heard her horrified gasp; he turned away from the policeman he’d been talking to and came quickly over. ‘I know it’s a mess, but please don’t worry. I’ll replace it.’
Lucie raised stricken eyes to his. ‘Oh, no. It’s—it’s not that.’
‘Come along, miss. Let’s get you to Casualty,’ one of the paramedics urged.
‘Which hospital?’ the man asked him.
Lucie didn’t hear the answer. She was helped into the ambulance and was glad to go, to get away from that awful scene.
It was a couple of hours later, when she’d had her arm set and was propped up in a hospital bed, that a policeman came to ask her about the accident.
When she’d described what had happened he nodded and said, ‘That’s the same story we’ve heard from the other witnesses. Mr Wallace clearly wasn’t at fault.’
‘Who?’
‘The driver of the Jaguar. The car involved,’ he explained.
‘Oh, I didn’t know his name. No, it definitely wasn’t his fault. In fact it was his quick reaction that probably saved both the boy and myself.’ A thought came to her and she said, ‘Did he miss the dog as well?’
The policeman smiled as he closed his notebook. ‘Yes, he even managed to miss the dog.’ Getting to his feet, he said, ‘Mr Wallace is still here, waiting to hear how you are. We told him you would be here overnight, but he’s insisting on coming to see for himself. Is that all right?’
Lucie nodded, and as soon as he was out of sight used her right hand to try and fluff up her hair, but it had been brushed, pulled severely back and tied with an elastic band by the nurse who had washed off the dirt she’d gathered as she’d rolled across the grass verge. Her face was scratched too, and Lucie strongly suspected she had a black eye. The hospital nightdress, washed so many times that it had faded to an almost non-existent blue, didn’t help either—not when your eyes were the palest hazel and needed richness of colour to enhance them. She sighed, definitely not feeling at her best.
The policeman had pulled back the screens around the bed so Lucie was able to see the car driver as he came into the ward and looked round for her. He was dark-haired and looked to be about thirty, and he was very tall; she hadn’t noticed that before, when he’d been kneeling down beside her. He was wearing a dark suit, the knees grass-stained, but even so you could see that it was very well made. And he held himself erect, like a soldier, which gave him a distinct air of authority. The Jaguar was right for him, Lucie realised; both were big, well-bred, and looked expensive. A lesser car wouldn’t have suited him at all.
He saw her and walked quickly down the ward. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Fine.’ She smiled at him. ‘It was kind of you to wait so long.’
‘Nonsense,’ he said brusquely. ‘I was very worried about you. I’m most dreadfully sorry that you’ve been hurt.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault!’ Lucie protested. ‘It was an accident; I told the police that. They’re not going to charge you or anything, are they?’
‘No—but thanks for your support.’ He smiled, the grin transforming his face, taking the frowning anxiety away and making him somehow look younger and more carefree, and definitely more approachable. Holding out his hand, he said, ‘I know your name but I haven’t told you mine. It’s Seton Wallace.’
Lucie put her hand in his and let him shake it; his skin was smooth and his grip strong. ‘What a strange way to meet.’
‘Yes.’ He grinned again. ‘You could say we had quite an impact on each other.’
Lucie’s eyes lit with appreciative laughter but she gave a mock groan. ‘That was terrible.’
‘Sorry. Put it down to relief from tension.’
Because she liked his smile so much, because she was beginning to like him, Lucie said, ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from your family.’
Shaking his head, Seton answered, ‘No, I’m down here visiting my parents, and I’ve already rung to tell them what happened. But how about your family? Are you sure there isn’t anyone you’d like me to contact for you?’
‘No, I live alone.’
‘Not even a boyfriend?’
There was a note in his voice that wasn’t just polite enquiry. Lucie gave him a quick glance, her interest suddenly heightened. ‘No. No one close.’
He nodded, his eyes smiling a little, but then a nurse pushing a trolley came up to them and he said, ‘I’d better go. But will you let me have your address? To send your bicycle to when it’s repaired,’ he added, when Lucie raised her eyebrows.
‘You don’t have to see to that. After all, it wasn’t—’
‘I want to,’ he interrupted firmly.
‘All right. Thank you.’ She gave him her address and he noted it down in a fat Filofax.
He left then and Lucie settled back against the pillows. She felt bruised all over—probably was—but also felt strangely on a high. It must be the aftermath of shock, she thought, the joy of being still alive. Or perhaps it was just the memory of a lean, goodlooking face bending over her, of the width of a masculine shoulder and the strength of the arm that had held her. She might not ever see Seton again, of course; he might just send the repaired bicycle. But somehow she knew that he would bring it himself.
Her eyes drooping with sudden fatigue, Lucie fell asleep trying to work out how long it would take for the bike to be repaired.
But she saw him much sooner than she had expected. The next morning, after Lucie had dressed with the help of a nurse, reluctantly having to put on the torn and dirty clothes from the day before, she went down to the reception and asked for the number of a taxi company. But then a voice behind her said, ‘Will I do instead?’
She recognised Seton’s voice at once and was already smiling when she turned to face him. ‘Hello.’
‘Hi. You look better this morning.’
Lucie laughed. ‘In that case I must have looked really ghastly yesterday. I saw myself in the mirror just now and nearly died.’
‘In that case,’ he said, mimicking her, ‘you must look really fantastic normally.’ It was a nice compliment and he looked as if he meant it. Seton put his hand under her elbow. ‘The car’s outside.’
He looked after her carefully, as if she were a fragile doll instead of a girl of five feet five, who weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds and worked out regularly. Lucie, who wasn’t used to such tender treatment, found that she rather liked it.
She had trouble fastening the seat belt and he leaned across to do it for her. The scent of his aftershave was subtle, evocative. He was wearing casual clothes today, jeans and a sweatshirt, but the air of strong self-confidence was still there; he hadn’t lost it with the suit. He drove quite slowly, careful not to jolt her around, and took a route that avoided the park, although that would have been the more direct way. It was so that she wouldn’t be upset at seeing the scene of their accident, Lucie realised, and felt a lump in her throat at his thoughtfulness.
He pulled up in the road outside her flat. It was only a two-storey house converted into a flat on each floor. Nothing special. But, to Lucie, getting it had been the achievement of a great ambition, a longed-for dream.
Seton helped her out of the car and obviously expected to go up with her. Inside, he gave a small sound of pleasure as he looked around, which pleased Lucie as she’d expended a lot of loving care on the decor and furnishings.
‘The kitchen is in the back.’