Ishbel's Party Read online

  Ishbel's Party - Stacy Absalon

  After her horrific experiences in Beirut, it was imperative for Bethan to have a period of convalescence, but it was a cruel coincidence that took her so close to Merrifields, the scene of her humiliation so many years ago. But Bethan's employer was kind and her duties light, so she had much to be thankful for — until Fraser Laurie re-entered her life, and all the old wounds were opened again.

  Printed in Great Britain

  Another book you will enjoy by STACY ABSALOM

  DARK NIGHT DAWNING

  Abigail Paston had not wanted to attend a party with her old friend Serge Markovitch. And she definitely would not have, if she had known her ex-fiancé was going to be there. For she was scared of him—and what he might do to her ...

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual

  known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First published in Great Britain 1986 by Mills & Boon Limited

  © Stacy Absalom 1986

  Australian copyright 1986

  Philippine copyright 1986

  This edition 1986

  ISBN 0 263 75428 6

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE face in the mirror still seemed that of a stranger and gave Bethan Steele a mild shock every time she caught a glimpse of herself. Not that the hospital ward was over-endowed with mirrors, but here in the bathroom where she was now allowed to bath unaided, she wiped the misting of steam away and studied her new image.

  The tan acquired by years of working in hot climates had faded during the weeks in the London hospital, but apart from her unfamiliar paleness, from the front her body looked much as it always had done. The breaks in her arm and collar-bone had mended without a trace and her figure was slender and boyish; small, high, tip-tilted breasts, flat stomach, not an ounce of spare flesh on the slight curves of her hips. It was only when she twisted round she could see the disfigurement of her back. The burns had healed well and the plastic surgeon had done a splendid job, but as yet, the scars he had assured her would fade in time were still livid.

  was her hair that had effected the greatest transformation in her appearance. Carroty when she was a child, it had matured to a reddish gold, and because for the last six years she had lived and worked where hairdressing facilities were unknown, she had worn it long, coiled at the back of her head for coolness. But her injuries had necessitated the shaving of her head and though the new growth was hiding the scars on her scalp, it was difficult to accustom herself to the sight of the short, coppery halo of curls framing her small, pointed-chinned face, a face that somehow seemed all eyes. It made her look nearer eighteen than her actual

  twenty-eight years, she thought wryly, which might have been something to be pleased about if she had cared about her appearance. But she had always had more important things to worry about than that. Even now worry lurked in the depths of her huge, greenish eyes, and though it was trivial compared to the heartbreaking problems that usually occupied her energies in her job as a nurse working for an international relief agency, she couldn't deny the worry was there.

  It was a new experience for Bethan to be concerned for herself. Ever since she had qualified as a nurse she had devoted herself to children in need, offering her services to the relief agency and going wherever they sent her, to whatever inhospitable part of the world where the tide of war and famine had tossed up a flotsam of unwanted and helpless humanity. She had been in no position to protest about being brought to England for medical care after she had been caught in the blast of an exploding shell in a Beirut street, but she had always assumed that once she had recovered from her injuries she would be sent back there, or to some other distressed part of the world where she could be of some use. But only two days ago Dr Fielding had disabused her of that assumption.

  Dr Fielding was a director of the relief agency and Bethan had contacted him as soon as she had been told her discharge from hospital was imminent. She had expected a note from him giving her a date and time when she should call to see him, but he had surprised her by coming to the hospital to see her, borrowing the Sister's office to talk to her privately.

  After exchanging greetings he said sympathetically, 'I must say you don't look too bad considering what you've been through, Bethan. It was rotten luck after coming unscathed through the siege of Beirut to get caught up in the fighting again.'

  A haunted expression flickered across Bethan's face

  as the ugly memory she had disciplined herself to blot out was brought forcibly back. 'At least I'm still alive,' she said in a low voice.

  Dr Fielding's grey head nodded in agreement. 'You're referring to your companion who wasn't so lucky. I'm sorry, my dear. It was particularly tragic in the circumstances.'

  And particularly unfair, Bethan found herself thinking. If one of them had to die, why couldn't it have been herself? An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth ... Why had it had to be Betty-Lou who had led a blameless existence and who had everything to live for? But it was no good brooding on the injustice of fate.

  She thrust the black thoughts from her and said briskly, `Do you want me back in Beirut or is it to be somewhere else this time?'

  'I want you in any of half a dozen places, Bethan.' He leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze assessing her shrewdly. 'But I know I'm going to have to wait.'

  Bethan frowned. 'I'm sorry, I don't understand. The hospital will be discharging me any day now.'

  `So I'm told. But my dear girl, you can't seriously believe you can go straight back to the conditions you usually work under—after the injuries you received?'

  Pure cowardice at the thought of the uneasy peace in Beirut that could still bring the city under fire and leave it at the Mercy of warring factions, brought a tremor to the hands clasped loosely in her lap before she could bring it under control. 'That's nonsense. I'm perfectly fit now, but if it makes you any happier, I'll have a couple of weeks' holiday before I take up a new assignment.'

  She saw his sceptical eyes were on her hands which still betrayed a tremor and she clasped them tighter. But then to her amazement he said, 'All right, Bethan, that's all for now. You can go.'

  She stared at him blankly. 'Go?'

  He nodded towards the door in brusque dismissal.

  She stood up. But Dr Fielding… ' His head was

  bent over a folder on the desk in front of him and he

  didn't look up. In acute bewilderment she walked

  slowly to the door but as her hand reached for the knob

  a loud crash behind her had her instinctively cringing

  against the panels, her arms protectively over her head.

  Firm hands on her shaking shoulders pulled her upright and thrust her back into her chair. `I'm sorry, my dear, that was a dirty trick to play on you, but if a glass hitting a tiled floor can provoke such an extreme reaction from you, even you will have to admit you're not as fit as you claim to be.'

  Bethan watched mutely as he bent t
o clear up the shattered pieces of the tumbler he had deliberately thrown on the floor, bitterly ashamed of the shivers of shock that were making her whole body shake but powerless to stop them.

  He dropped the pieces in the waste bin and straightened. 'How long is it you've been working for the agency? Six years?' And when Bethan nodded he went on, 'Six years of privation, six years of working under impossible conditions, often on barely subsistence rations and sometimes in great physical danger, witnessing the most harrowing sights imaginable, sights that would make a strong man quail. Six years without a break

  'I've 'had my leaves,' Bethan shakily protested.

  'Which were invariably spent in whichever country you happened to be living in. When did you last spend a leave in England?'

  Bethan tried to shrug her shoulders, but they were still shaking too much to make it look convincing. 'Eighteen months, perhaps. Before I went to Beirut.'

  Hugo Fielding was more familiar with Bethan's record than she was aware and he knew her last break in England had been three years ago, and then had only been a mere three weeks. He looked at the fine-boned young woman in front of him and wondered, not for

  the first time, at the incredible dedication and sense of purpose that had led her into the work she was doing, that was prompting her back to it now, when most young women would have considered they'd done their bit after such long service and such a close brush with death. He wondered too how she could have reached her late twenties without some man sweeping her off her feet and giving her a family of her own to dedicate her life to. The slender figure and narrow hands and feet, the entirely deceptive fragility put him in mind of a highly bred racehorse, and her heart-shaped face with the huge greenish eyes was infinitely appealing, touching the male protective instinct. If he'd been twenty years younger and not well married ...

  'And how much longer do you think you can go on without cracking up?' he demanded, his concern making his voice rougher than it should have been. 'Even if you hadn't gone through the traumatic experience of being caught in a bomb blast, I'd say it was time you took a long break. As it is you've barely recovered yet from your injuries and your nerves are shot to pieces. It's not something a fortnight's holiday is going to cure. You need at least three months' convalescence, Bethan, preferably six. And then I'd be happier if you took a less taxing job back here in

  Bethan stared at him feeling a different kind of shock. 'You're telling me the agency no longer wants to employ me?' Her mouth felt dry and she only got the question out with difficulty. This was something that hadn't occurred to her, that she would no longer be considered fit to work.

  'It isn't a matter of us wanting you or not.' Dr Fielding found the stunned gaze of those large eyes disquieting. 'It's you I'm thinking of, my dear. You've been pouring yourself out for other people far too long. It's time you made some sort of a life of your own.'

  'But it is my life. For the last ten years I've never

  wanted to do anything else.' There was a note of desperation in her argument that the doctor was quick to notice. She sat forward on the edge of her chair as she went on fiercely, 'And what about the children I've been caring for? You talk about the hazards and privations I've been working under; they have no alternative but to face those same hazards every day of their lives. Is someone going to suggest they come to Britain for a break? And do you really think I could live with myself if I took a safe, comfortable job here, knowing all over the world children are dying for the lack of a little skilled care?'

  'I do know you have a very acute social conscience.' The doctor was studying his hands but brought his head up quickly to fix her with his penetrating gaze. 'I've often wondered why.'

  His soft voice hit her like a blow and she flinched visibly, the sense of guilt that was always on the periphery of her consciousness suddenly weighing unbearably heavy. The little girl would have been eighteen now, blooming into womanhood, perhaps falling in love; the same age she herself had been when she had criminally and irresponsibly taken that young life.

  'Bethan, you can't cure the ills of this benighted world single-handed,' Dr Fielding said at last when it became obvious she wasn't going to break her silence. 'You've done more than enough for suffering humanity in the last six years.'

  Bethan knew there were children living now who would have died but for her nursing care. But it wasn't enough. No matter how many young lives she had a small hand in saving from sickness and starvation, it would never pay off her debt, never be adequate reparation for the life she had taken that night ten years ago.

  'But what will I do if the agency sacks me?' She wasn't aware she had spoken aloud until the doctor said with a touch of impatience, 'There's no question of us

  sacking you. Bethan. Heaven knows we need nurses of your calibre. But there's no way we're going to send you on another assignment yet.' His voice hardened at the stricken look on her face. 'Surely I don't have to point out to you of all people just how much of a liability you'd be to the rest of the team while you're still in this weakened and shocked state.'

  Her head bowed. 'I'm sorry,' she said huskily. 'You're right, of course. I'm afraid I was being selfish and only looking at it from my own point of view.'

  'Selfish! I only wish you would be selfish. In fact I heartily recommend that you do think about yourself for once.' Dr Fielding relaxed back in his chair, returning to his usual affability now he had won his point. 'Give yourself a long break, Bethan. At least six months' convalescence, and then if you're still of the same mind and want to stay with the agency, come and see me again.'

  It was something in Bethan's lost look as she rose and thanked him politely for sparing his time that prompted him to add, 'Maybe you should give me the address of where you'll be staying.' It occurred to him that as Bethan had spent so little time in Britain these last six years she might not be very close to her family, and that a word to them that a little spoiling wouldn't come amiss might be appropriate.

  The big green eyes were blank. 'I'm sorry but I've no idea where it will be.'

  'You've no family to take care of you?' he asked sharply.

  Even as she shook her head she was thinking of her mother, still living, she supposed, somewhere in America. But even if Bethan had known where to find her, she knew she could expect no care from that quarter. To her mother she had never been anything other than a nuisance, an unwanted responsibility, and when Bethan was only thirteen her mother had happily abrogated that responsibility, leaving her daughter in

  l

  the care of her adoptive stepfather while she went off to America with her lover. And since then Bethan had neither seen nor heard from her.

  Her stepfather . . . Bethan closed her eyes momentarily because that could still hurt even after ten years. She had loved Charles Latimer very much, finding with him the only secure home she could ever remember, an affection her starved young heart had craved, even if his son Mark, her stepbrother, had often done his best to spoil their relationship. She had been over the moon with happiness when Charles had legally adopted her and given her the right to bear his name, Latimer, instead of her own father's name of Steele, a father she didn't remember. But she had brought disgrace to her stepfather's name. She couldn't blame him for disowning her after what she had done, but even so far distant in time the feeling of pain and loss was still sharp.

  'No, I have no family,' she said dully.

  'Friends?' Dr Fielding looked hopeful.

  Again Bethan shook her head, smiling faintly this time. 'A few acquaintances I might look up, but no one close enough to impose myself on for six months! Don't worry, Dr Fielding, I'll ask the almoner here if she can help me find some inexpensive digs. I should have enough money to keep myself for a month or so. After that'll' have to find myself light work of some kind.'

  The director of the relief agency swore so extensively that Bethan's eyes widened. 'I'm sorry,' he apologised for his colourful burst of language, 'but that isn't the kind of convalescence I had in min
d for you. What you need is complete relaxation and freedom from worry, with plenty of gentle exercise in clean, fresh air.'

  Bethan had to admit it sounded like paradise, but she smiled at him wryly. 'A large proportion of the world's population need that but have even less chance of getting it than I do,' she reminded him.

  'You will,' the doctor vowed, and Bethan was startled by his vehemence. 'I've no idea how, but you will. Just

  leave it to me, Bethan. I'll think of something and I'll be in touch.'

  That had been two days ago. Bethan turned from the bathroom mirror and began to dress, pulling on the cotton skirt and shirt she wore now she was allowed out of bed during the day. Not that she had really expected Dr Fielding to come up with anything. With the best will in the world he couldn't work miracles. She couldn't possibly afford the fees any private convalescent home he might know of would demand, and he would hardly go around asking any of his friends to take her in, even if she'd been willing to accept the charity of strangers.

  Anyway, the almoner had given her the name and address of a small private hotel she could move into when the hospital discharged her tomorrow. It solved her most immediate accommodation problem, even though it left her future for the next six months highly problematical. The hotel charges for room and board, comparatively modest as they were, would run through her savings before the first month was up. As Dr Fielding had said, her life this last six years had often been hard and hazardous, but at least she had always known she had a bed to sleep in, food—though sometimes unpalatable and not very plentiful—to eat and congenial company to share her burdens. It made her feel Frighteningly vulnerable to know she was on her own, that for the next six months she had to feed and house herself on pathetically small resources and at the same time build up her strength to resume her work.