A Face To Die For (43 page)

Skiing for well over an hour, I filled my lungs with exhilarating mountain air; powdered snow whooshing up, exploding all around me; purging me of much of the anger and pain Gina had inflicted on me.

Not all of it was exactly her doing though. Some of the pain was of my own volition. I had no right to feel aggrieved at Gina. All this anger inside me was really because I felt guilty myself for having betrayed my precious Luigi? How
could
I judge anyone else, least of all Luigi? In the depths of my heart I knew Luigi had loved only me, and I him.

I had no wish to know why he'd been in Kate's room that night. I'd only Gina's word about that anyway. I would not accept that anything had gone on between Kate and him: it was all I could do. One thing had changed though, I now saw Kate much in the same way as Gina did; as a temptress.

I now believed she
had
been to blame for Luigi's death after all. She had tempted him into that car that fatal morning and for that I could not forgive her. I’d come off worse from it all too. Kate still had Oliver and soon she would him bear his child, the one thing I could never do. Hatred now welled up in me towards her.

*

Back in England, I decided to visit Kate in hospital. With only about three weeks to go, she was now permanently ensconced in Queen Charlotte’s to await the baby's birth. I wasn't sure if I could go through with it, but if nothing else, I wanted in some way to let her know that from things that had now come to light through talking with Luigi's family, I now felt she
had
been responsible for his death. Why shouldn’t her conscience battle with it for a bit longer, I thought bitterly? She may think it’s all forgotten but she's not entirely off the hook yet.

But, once again, fate took a bizarre hand in things...

As I arrived on her ward, the sister in charge informed me that I couldn't see her because she'd gone into early labour. Due to a few complications she was now being prepared for a caesarean section. Oliver had arrived earlier and was already in with her. No one else could see her for now.

'Then I'll call to see her and the baby tomorrow. Please give her these.' I handed her my bunch of mixed freesias. 'I hope everything's all right?'

'Oh yes, she's just extremely weak, that's all. Best to do a c-section in these cases,' she said, bustling off.

Pregnancy and childbirth were alien things to me. I knew so little about any of it, and with all my other mixed up feelings it was hurting me even more now that the birth of Kate’s child was imminent. All the way home in the taxi I battled with my emotions, mentally cursing Kate her ability to have a baby when I couldn't.

First thing next morning, I telephoned Oliver. There was no reply. I tried again later. It rang and rang. Eventually Oliver's voice answered. He sounded exhausted.

'Well then, tell me the news! Boy or girl?' I chivvied. 'How's Kate?'

There was an uneasy pause. I then heard several quivering sobs before Oliver's voice said softly. 'Kate's dead, Annabel. She’s dead…'

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

'Wh...at?' I finally mustered. 'My God! No!'

Who could have ever anticipated such a thing happening? I knew Kate was not particularly healthy, that she'd been anaemic as well as everything else during her pregnancy. However, the idea of her dying giving birth had never entered my head. I'd even cursed her to hell and back last evening, but not for this to happen!

As the tragic news began to sink in, I could barely think what to say to Oliver: words always seeming so futile when tragedy suddenly strikes in such a way. I could hear him sobbing uncontrollably at the other end. Although I was desperate to know what had gone wrong, I couldn't bring myself to ask. He was obviously in an inconsolable state that I felt incapable of expressing any true emotions to him; the telephone was far too impersonal for such things.

'Oliver,' I said, trying to catch a few seconds between sobs, ‘would you like me to come over? I can easily slip away and obviously you'll not be going into your office. Say if you'd prefer to be alone but it might do you good to talk about it to someone. Unless, of course, you already have someone with you?'

He cleared his throat, blew his nose and took a long deep breath. 'No, no, I'm alone. I only got back from the hospital a short while ago.' His voice quavered again. 'You know, it just won't sink in, what's happened, I mean, loads of women have Caesareans births, don't they?' He paused and I was about to speak, but he continued, 'Yes, I'd like that. Please come over. You're the one person I think I can talk to right now.'

'Good,' I said. 'I'll be over as soon...'

'I've a daughter, by the way. That's not sunk in yet either,' he said.

So much talk of Kate… of course we'd not spoken about the baby yet. Immediately, mention of the infant stabbed at my heart.

'A girl… oh, that's lovely, Oliver,' I said with gentle pleasure. I couldn't feel bitter about things any more. Not now that Kate, the source of my resentment, was dead. All I felt now was deep shock and compassion for Oliver, and that I wanted to offer him my help. 'OK, I'll be over in about an hour.'

'That's fine. Thanks.'

*

Cigarette smoke pervaded the flat as Oliver let me in. He was red-eyed, unshaven and looked haggard and distraught. I put my arm around him as we walked together into the kitchen. He slumped down sobbing at the table, in front of an empty glass and a huge ashtray containing several cigarette buts. Beside it was a load of used Kleenex tissues.

'Coffee? Shall I make some, or do you want something stronger?' I asked, standing beside him, my arm resting across his sagging, shuddering shoulders. Tears pricked my eyes. It was the nearest I'd come to crying since hearing of Kate's death and I still didn't know why or how she'd died.

He gulped. 'Coffee please, I've already had a couple of vodkas. Can't get drunk. I've to go to the hospital later to see the baby. Bloody great isn't it? I
should
be feeling so happy at her birth. Yet all I can feel instead is this aching sadness and desperation.' Tears again rolled in rivulets down his cheeks and nose. Mucous dripped from his nostrils. I passed him a fresh tissue from the box.

'I know, darling. But you mustn't feel too desperate.' The paper hanky was soon added to the pile already on the table. I collected them up and threw them away before switching on the kettle.

'Oh, Annabel! My mind's in such turmoil,' he blurted out between sniffs as I got two mugs ready. 'I mean, how the
hell
am I going to cope with a baby all on my own? I hardly had any contact with Luke when he was small, not until he was four anyway. I don't know the first thing about babies. It's a bloody nightmare!’ He kept running his hands repeatedly through his tousled hair. ‘What'll I do? How can I cope? The child will need a mother, for heaven's sake!’

'First things first, Oliver.' I handed him a black coffee.

Adding milk and sugar to mine, I sat down opposite him; stretching out my free hand to take his. He was inconsolable. I had to soothe him somehow.

'How is the baby by the way? Is she very tiny?'

Tears started to well in his eyes again as he looked at me. He took a huge gulp of his coffee. Dragging his hand away from mine, he rubbed the back of it across his eyes: he sniffed and gave me a weak smile.

'She's
terribly
small, only three and a half pounds, smaller than they expected apparently. Had to go into an incubator, but they think she'll be okay… poor little mite. She just lies there all connected up with tubes and wires to a monitor, struggling to survive. And now she'll have no mother to come home to.'

'She'll be fine darling,' I said, squeezing his hand. 'There are such things as nannies you know? How long will she have to stay there?'

He shrugged. 'Till everything's functioning properly, I suppose.’ He gave a quivering sigh. ‘Y’know, Kate only lived for a few hours afterwards,' he said, looking at me, his voice on the verge of a sob as he continued. 'They put her into Intensive Care because she'd haemorrhaged so badly during labour and the operation. I think it had been quite tricky for them, stopping the bleeding and getting her stabilised. The awful thing is, when I left to come home last night, she was okay. I saw her briefly, but she was still asleep. So I came away thinking the worst was over.'

He paused again, giving another quivering sigh, but he seemed a bit calmer now, more in control.

'Then about four-thirty the hospital rang to say she was haemorrhaging internally again and would I go straight there. But she was dead by the time I got there. She'd literally bled to death, Annabel! She was so weak they simply couldn't stem it in time. Oh God!' He sank his face into his hands again, heaving huge, gulping sobs. 'Bastard abortionist was to blame all those years back, I reckon. That was partly the reason for her difficult pregnancy too. Christ, I could murder whoever it was!'

As I watched him my own grief suddenly overcame me as tears streamed down my cheeks. Grasping each other’s hands we both cried for Kate. Despite my recent bad feelings towards her I could never have wished this to happen. I was weeping for Oliver too, wishing I could take away some of his pain. But I knew, having gone through the same agony over Luigi’s death, it was something he had to endure in order to come out of it on the other side ... and just as I had done, he
would
get through somehow, in his own way.

*

Later, after several coffees and more cigarettes, Oliver assured me he was feeling better and that I should go.

'I'm all right now, Annabel. Thanks, you've been an angel, and I've been such a pathetic, drivelling idiot. Must pull myself together now and get off to the hospital to see my baby daughter. I couldn't take in much last night. I should go and look at her again at least, although I’m not able to hold her.’

'Have you thought about a name yet?'

'Yes, Kate always wanted Emma, if it was a girl. So I guess I'll call her that, or should I choose Kate now? What do you think?'

'No, Emma's sweet, and I really think you should still call her that, if that's what Kate wanted. It's up to you; it’s not my decision.

'Yeah, you're right. We'll stick to Emma, and Kate can be her second name. Emma Kate.' He gave me a wavering smile.

'Good, that's one positive step ahead at least. Are you sure you wouldn't like me to come to the hospital with you?'

'No, I'll be okay. I think I need to be by myself for a bit now. Get my thoughts together, and decide how to sort my life out. Oh hell, I'd forgotten; what about the funeral!'

'Forget that for today. You get yourself off to the hospital to see your daughter first. Then later, why don't you give me a ring and, if you like, we'll sort out all the funeral arrangements together. I'll help however I can,' I whispered.

He kissed my cheek. 'Thanks. I might take you up on that. Let's see how I go, eh?'

As he looked at me through blotchy, swollen eyes, I knew he was going to need my help more than he possibly realised.

*

I went along with Oliver two days later to see baby Emma.

'She is a very little mite; even for a three week prem,' the sister of the baby unit quietly remarked as we were welcomed in.

Through the special viewing window I could just see her beneath the incubator dome, a shock of spiky dark hair, a tiny, ruddy face with a frail, skinny little body in an oversized nappy. All over her, attached by pads, were tubes and wires and the gentle blip of the monitor - about the only sign of life from the minute, sleeping scrap.

Unprepared for this, I was overwhelmed. This was surely not how a new baby should look? Odd feelings and unknown emotions tugged at my heartstrings. My throat tightened and my eyes filled with tears.

CHAPTER 32

Oliver insisted Kate's funeral should be as quiet as possible, involving only the closest of friends and family.

Jean, her mother - a sad looking woman who had clearly once been quite a beauty - arrived from France with her current husband Paul, a middle aged artist of minor repute. She looked to be in very poor health after years of apparent alcohol addiction. But I felt it was all the more touching that the woman had made the effort to attend in such a frail condition, bearing in mind how little contact I knew there’d been between mother and daughter.

Shock over Kate's death resounded throughout the fashion business but Oliver's wish to be left in peace to come to terms with his grief was respected by everyone. He was having great difficulty in facing people. I was nevertheless one of the few friends to whom he turned to discuss his emotions. And so, at his urgent request, I called round for coffee a few days after the funeral.

'I feel totally desolate, Annabel...so drained of all feeling,' he confided, looking ashen and sunken-eyed. 'In fact I don't seem to have any true emotions left for anyone or anything any more; not even for the baby. What's wrong with me?' His sad eyes searched mine.

'Well, from my own experience, and particularly bearing in mind your circumstances, I would say it's quite understandable,' I said, as I poured hot water onto the coffee granules and added cream. The puny scrap of an infant I'd seen in the incubator six days earlier hadn't exactly instilled any maternal feelings in me either. But I couldn't tell him that. 'Once the baby is fit enough to come out of the incubator, and especially when you can hold and cuddle her, I'm sure it will make a difference.'