THEIR MIRACLE
CHILD

By Gill Sanderson

CHAPTER ONE

Now Alanna Ward knew that this was a mistake.

She had put off the day she intended to arrive and had then been unable to sleep the night before. She had stayed the night at a friendly bed and breakfast hotel in a village some distance from Benthwaite. Then she had told the landlady that as she wanted to set off early, she wouldn’t need any breakfast.

And she had set off early – very early. In fact, even though it was summer, it was still dark as she slipped out of the door. The landlady had left her a packet of sandwiches, which was kind.

Alanna was used to early morning walking. In some of the places she had lived, it was the coolest time of the day and she had always loved the dawn. But now the dawn didn’t bring her any great joy. She was making a mistake.

She could have waited and taken the bus. Instead, she’d decided to walk the ten miles to her destination, following a path over the Lakeland fells that she remembered so well. She was in no hurry to arrive. She was not even sure what she was going to do when she arrived. Or, for that matter, why she was doing it.

Still, it was a wonderful walk. It was early summer, the air was fresh with the smell of dew-damp grass and there seemed to be a clarity in the air that had not been there in the city. Right, she was enjoying herself. She was moving, on her way to something new. This had been her life for so long.

On her back was the rucksack that held much of what she owned. Certainly all that she needed. She had wandered, swapping continents with little more than the contents of that rucksack. And she guessed that, perhaps after a couple of bitter-sweet days in Benthwaite, she’d be wandering again. If she was moving, then she was content.

She intended to enjoy the walk. But then she topped a steep incline and found herself slightly out of breath. She knew what she was doing. She was pushing herself harder than was necessary. Trying to avoid thinking. Trying to avoid remembering. But she couldn’t help it.

This was the country she had grown up in, the route one she had followed so many times. Usually with her childhood sweetheart, Finn Cavendish. She smiled sadly to herself. She had never loved anyone as she had loved Finn then.

Both sets of their parents were dead, and they had been brought up by single elderly relations, who had done what they could but hadn’t really known how to cope with young people. It hadn’t been their relations’ fault; Finn’s uncle, her aunt. Both had tried to show love, but had not succeeded too well. Now both were dead.

Alanna and Finn had been thrown together. After months of caution they had relaxed their guard little by little and then had learned to delight in each other. It had seemed like something that would last for ever. It hadn’t. She had been ecstatic when she had married him. And yet, two years later, they had parted. The gulf between them had grown too great. She didn’t exactly hate him, but she hated what he had done to her. And perhaps what she had done to him.

So now, four years after parting, perhaps it was time to get things sorted out. She had never bothered to get divorced – vaguely she wondered if Finn had divorced her. Could he do it without her knowing? She wasn’t sure. If so, it wasn’t entirely his fault. When she left, she had deliberately cut off all contacts, never writing to old friends, never leaving a forwarding address as she’d flitted from nursing job to nursing job: across Africa; South America; even Australia and New Zealand.

She reached the highest point of the walk, a narrow defile between two peaks. There was a shudder of remembrance as she sat on a rock, unslung her rucksack and pulled the damp shirt away from her back. She wiped her face with the red and white spotted bandana tied round her neck. She had been moving faster than she’d realised.

Below her, two miles away, was Benthwaite. From up here it looked like a fairy tale little town. There was its river running into a lake, green fields surrounding the grey stone buildings. And, in the distance, the ever-present brooding grey fells. She had been born there. Had grown up there, been happy there. She had attended its little primary school, sung in the choir of St Mary’s church. She could see its spire. It was odd, though. In spite of her love for the place, she had always known that she had to wander. The cause of her problems?

She drank from her water bottle, reached for her packet of sandwiches. Memories were flooding back and with them came the certainty that this was a mistake. Why, once, in this very spot, behind that rock, Finn and I nearly … there was a blush on her sun-bronzed cheeks. He had stopped them going too far, not her. He was older, had had to be wiser. But it had seemed so right to them. They’d never spoken of it then but they’d both known that, in time …

So what was she doing here now? All right, she had a few days to spare. She was in England for three months. She’d had a job offer in Peru, which sounded good. Quite often she had worked for a charity called SAMS – South American Medical Services – which had established a series of clinics all over the continent and was always looking for – cheap – medical staff. When she’d returned to England the head of SAMS had asked her to come and talk to him.

Gabriel Buchanan, sometimes known to his staff as the Angel Gabriel because of his golden hair. And because he was always certain that he was right. He was an odd mixture of hard work, charm and ruthlessness. He got things done.

‘This is the job you’ve been looking for,’ he had told her. ‘This is promotion. A complete new complex, high in the mountains. I want you to be matron of the medical wing. The job is settled, there’ll be plenty of funds, a bit of luxury even. Alanna, I know and you know that you’re the right person for this job.’

Well, it had sounded good. As ever, Gabriel had sold it to her as if there could be no doubt in her mind.

‘But I don’t want to settle down yet, Gabriel.’

‘You do, though you won’t admit it to yourself. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve been running long enough, now’s the time to put down roots. Among people who need you and will come to love you.’

She smiled at the memory of his enthusiasm. Gabriel could be forceful – but she was not easily pushed. Probably she would go to this new complex. Perhaps this time she would not move on, as she always had done before. Perhaps somewhere there was a place that would content her, quell her constant urge to see what was over the horizon.

Anyway, she had told Gabriel she would let him know. Forget the future, live for a while in the present.

She finished the last of her water and sandwiches, leaned back against the rock and looked round her. More memories came crowding back. She had seen mountains on three continents, most of which would dwarf England’s Lake District. But these mountains still had a hypnotic power, a beauty that meant that she could be happy here. Couldn’t she?

She had wandered, as if looking for something, but never had really found it. Because she didn’t know what she was looking for. Just for a moment she recalled her favourite childhood film, The Wizard of Oz, though the wicked witch of the north had frightened her. She remembered Dorothy’s famous line – ‘East, west – home’s best.’ Well she was home now. But it didn’t seem best.

She was being stupid!

She stood, heaved the heavy rucksack onto her back. She was here to settle things. She would see Finn. Time should have healed all pain as well as letting love drift away. But for a moment she stood, undecided. She could still turn back, walk away, disappear again. As she had done before. But then she looked round the well-loved scene and decided not to. What was that word? Closure? She wanted closure. She wanted things settled. She started the two-mile trek down to Benthwaite. Perhaps this could all be over by the next day and she could take the bus out – to wherever.

The village – little town really – didn’t seem to have changed. It was strange, seeing it after so many years. There was a tightness in her throat as she approached and once again she wondered if she ought to turn round, leave this place for ever. Any business she had with Finn she could presumably manage by post. She had intended to book into another bed and breakfast, wander around and make a few enquiries during the day and then go to see Finn tomorrow morning. Why was it necessary to see him?

She turned a corner and there was St Mary’s church. An attractive building, built in the local grey stone, she had always liked it. Casually, she glanced at the nearest lichen-covered gravestone. Edward Makins, 1871-1959. Eighty eight, not a bad lifespan.

For a moment she thought of another scene, high in the desolate Yorkshire moors with the rain rattling against their anoraks. She and Finn had poured the ashes out of a tiny urn into the rushing waters of a stream. Then they had looked at each other, but neither had been able to find anything to say. There had been nothing to say to each other. Perhaps it had all started then, perhaps that had been the beginning of their end. She didn’t know. She felt the tears well, but wouldn’t let them go. She had to be in control.

She turned, swiftly walked away. She had come here to see Finn. She wanted to be cool, detached … not unfriendly, but certainly not intimate. And this place was having an effect on her.

She walked onwards. Now she was passing the cottage hospital – Rosewood, it was called. Here she had done her first little bit of voluntary work, here she had decided to be a nurse. Eventually.

It was a handsome building, a converted old hall with a couple of more modern wings built on behind. There was a front lawn, and gardens, carefully kept. And a line of trees along the road edge to shield the noise of passing traffic. She slowed, stayed half behind a tree and looked.

A Land Rover drew up outside the building, a man climbed out, walked round to the other side of the car. She recognised him at once – there was no mistaking that walk, the contrast between the leanness of the body and the broadness of the shoulders. Finn – Finn Cavendish.

Well, she had come here to see him. But it was still a shock to have him there in person. She realised that he had become a distant memory but now he was a real person again. She slipped further behind the shade of a tree. He mustn’t see her.

He came back from the other side of the car – and he was holding the hand of a little girl. Finn picked her up, whirled her round and the little girl was obviously delighted. Then, very clearly, Alanna heard her speak.

‘Daddy, Daddy, are we going riding tonight?’

Alanna reeled with the shock. Daddy? For some reason she had never considered that he might have remarried. And now he had a little girl – about three or four? Not far off the age that their daughter would have been … not far off the age that … and then she heard his voice. It had been half-forgotten, but there was that deep husky tone that had always thrilled her.

‘Yes. We’ll go riding, Eleanor. I’ve phoned Jane, she’ll be waiting for us and she’ll have a saddle on Daisy.’ And then they were gone together through the front door.

Alanna slumped against the wall. Eleanor. He had called the girl Eleanor. They had talked for hours about naming their child; it had been a happy distraction for them both. She remembered lying against him, one hand holding his hand, the other on the swell of her belly, feeling the kicking inside. Finally they had decided to pick one of three names. Anna, or Louise, or Helen. Couldn’t he have called this child something different from Eleanor? So close to one of the names they had picked together for their … dead … child.

It was the beginning of the summer season; things were getting busier at Rosewood Cottage Hospital. Inside the crèche, Eleanor was still holding Finn’s hand and managing to jump up and down. He knew what she was pretending to be.

‘I’m a bouncy horse, I’m a bouncy horse. Daddy, we’re going to Jane’s tonight so I can ride on Daisy? She said we can go any time.’

Finn sighed. It wasn’t what he really wanted. It was not a good idea. He had thought that he might visit Jane a little less often. But he couldn’t resist his daughter.

‘We’ll go and you can ride on Daisy,’ he said. ‘Jane will be pleased to see us both.’

In fact, he knew that although Jane was obviously pleased to see Eleanor, it was him that she really wanted to see. In a dozen subtle ways she had made it obvious that she’d like to know him better. And it was obvious that they were well suited. They liked each other. She was divorced, he was … well, he didn’t know what he was. Certainly alone. But he had to make it obvious to her that he wasn’t interested in any long-term relationship. And he knew she wouldn’t settle for less. He wasn’t interested in marriage. He’d been there, done that. And bore the scars. Tonight he’d have to find some gentle way of telling her that they had no future but friendship. He felt sorry – but that was the way it was.

He let go of Eleanor’s hand at the door of the crèche, handed over her lunchbox and kissed her. Then he watched her run, with a scream of joy, to join her friends and Lucy, who ran the nursery. She was a happy little girl. And he loved her more than he could say.

Finn leaned against a white-painted fence, watching his daughter solemnly riding a Shetland pony around the edge of the paddock. This was the first time she had ridden on her own without Jane, the riding school owner, holding Daisy’s bridle. Eleanor obviously felt the importance of the occasion.

‘She’s coming on,’ said Jane. ‘She loves it but she’s not too confident. That’s good. You know, if she keeps this up, she’ll want a pony of her own in time.’

‘If she wants a pony, and when you think she’s mature enough to look after one, then she shall have one. Keep it here?’

‘It’s the best stable for miles,’ Jane said cheerfully.

‘Why be modest when you’ve got nothing to be modest about?’ Finn turned to Jane and winked as she laughed.

She is a very attractive woman, he thought. Perhaps a couple of years older than him. Her face was vivacious rather than beautiful; people paid more attention to her when she spoke than when she remained silent. Tight riding breeches and a white shirt showed that riding was good exercise; she had the lithe body of a much younger woman. A man who had Jane as a partner would be very lucky …

Finn felt half-content. The early evening sun was warm on his back and he’d had a good day at the hospital. He lived in a beautiful part of the world and his daughter was happy. What more could a man want? Well, he supposed there were some things. And there were some things he had to do that rather saddened him.

Jane put her hand on his arm, a small gesture of affection. ‘I love seeing young people on horses,’ she said. ‘They seem to … to understand each other.’

‘I know what you mean.’

As they stood side by side in easy companionship, he wondered again why he couldn’t think of marrying her. There was so much going for them. Then he realised. Once he had been in love. Really, truly in love. It had ended in pain. But still he could remember that almost breathless feeling of wanting to do nothing but be with his lover. Be with Alanna. And he couldn’t feel that magic with Jane now.

‘I had a letter from my ex-husband this morning,’ Jane said, perhaps too casually. ‘He’s moving to New Zealand and doesn’t think he’ll come back. So he’s out of my life for ever.’

‘It’s good to make a clean break,’ Finn said after some reflection. ‘I’ve never told you, but I’m still married. I haven’t seen my wife for over four years, haven’t heard from her either. But I still feel married.’

‘I see,’ Jane said, and smiled at him sadly.

He realised that she had got his message.

That night, when Eleanor was fast asleep after her bath and the necessary story, he went into his storeroom and took out an old photograph album. Then he poured himself a small whisky and sat to leaf through the pictures. There weren’t many. Alanna had always been in too much of a hurry to stand around and wait for photographs to be taken. Even the pictures taken outside the registry office where they had been married were hurried. And there was one picture that summed up all there was to be known about Alanna. She was standing on a mountaintop, hands on her hips, long hair ruffled by the wind. The smile on her face showed it all. She was confident. She could take the world by storm.

He wondered if she had.

They had been opposites – perhaps that had been part of the attraction when they’d been younger. She had been the wild one. He had been the conventional one, hard-working, career fixated.

He was different now. He had changed, had discovered there was much more to life than work. Here in Benthwaite he was more than the local doctor – he was one of the community. He knew the names and histories of most of his patients. People stopped him in the streets, asked when would be a good time to come to see him. They also often asked for an instant diagnosis –, well – that was the down side. He had joined in the church quiz team. He was a member of a local climbing club, even a member of the mountain rescue team. His life was happily full. He was a contented man – almost.

He stared at the picture of Alanna, wondered where she was. What was he going to tell Eleanor about her? He winced. It would be dreadful.