Lifelong Affair (2 page)

All this was a terrible dream, one that she
couldn't believe until someone could tell her it was true, someone who really
knew. After all, the news item could have been wrong; maybe Glenna and Mark
hadn't been on that flight, maybe they should have been but something had prevented
them making it, maybe
  

The
telephone at her bedside began ringing, and she snatched up the receiver,
feeling her heart plummet at the sound of her mother's voice, a strangely
strong voice, her mother seeming filled with a determination that wasn't a normal
facet of her nature, their father the strong one.

'You've
heard, Morgan?' she asked briskly.

'Yes,'
her voice caught huskily. 'It was on the television just now.'

Her
mother sighed. 'I wonder if they realise how cruel they can be,' she said
waspishly, a small black-haired woman of fifty, filled with a restless energy
that put younger women to shame. 'Alex Hammond called us a short time ago, so
at least we didn't hear that way.

Alex
Hammond. A picture of a tall dark-haired man with a remote manner, autocratic
features; piercing grey eyes, aquiline nose, thinned lips, determined jaw, and
a lithe athletic body came to mind. Mark's brother, the elder by eight years at
thirty-eight, he ran the family business like a well-oiled cog, had little time
for the rest of the human race, having no wife and apparently no steady woman
in his life either. Morgan had met
him
only once, at the wedding two
years ago, and she hadn't liked him, not his arrogance or his haughtiness.

'I
would have telephoned you at the studio,' her mother continued, her voice
showing some sign of strain now. 'But I've been busy with—Your father
collapsed, Morgan,' her voice broke, still a little trembly as she continued.
'He answered the telephone to Mr Hammond, and he seemed all right at the time.
Then he just—he's had a heart attack!'

This was worse than a nightmare, the whole
world
was going
crazy! 'I—Is he
 

'He's
in hospital, but his condition has stabilised,' her mother hastily assured her.
'The doctors are sure he's going to be all right.'

Tm
coming hom
e
      
'

No!
Morgan, I told Alex Hammond we would be coming to you—that was before
your father collapsed, of course. He said he would get in touch again when he
knew anything more than that Glenna and Mark were on the plane.' The line went
silent for several minutes, as her mother fought for control. 'He was expecting
to know more later today.'

Alex Hammond would be
the type of man who demanded, not asked for, that information. And he had such
a presence of authority that he would get the answers too!

'I'd
rather come home. Mr Hammond will realise I'm there when he gets no answer
here.'

'I'm
not at home, Morgan,' her mother told her softly. 'I'm going to stay at the
hospital with your father tonight.'

'Are
you sure there's no danger? Morgan asked sharply, wondering if her mother was
telling her everything.

'The
doctors assure me there isn't,' she was hastily assured. 'But I'd rather be
with him tonight. Please stay in Los Angeles and wait for Mr Hammond to contact
you. I'd hate for us to miss his call.'

Her
mother was right, she knew she was, and yet she felt she should go to her
lather. But if Alex Hammond should telephone while she was in tran
sit . ..! 'I'll wait, Mom,' she said softly.
'And I'll call you at the hospital as soon as I know anything.' There was only
one hospital in the small California town her parents lived in. 'Give Dad my
love.'

'I
will, dear. And don't worry, things could still be all right with Glenna and
Mark.'

She
couldn't move after putting down the receiver. Her mother was being optimistic,
and they both knew it. Glenna was going to be dead, Mark too, and their poor
little baby that hadn't even begun to live. And no matter how light her mother
made of the heart attack she knew her father was gravely ill.

'I thought I heard the telephone
         
'

With
a strangled cry she turned and flung herself into Sam's waiting arms, a dam
seeming to burst as she sobbed it all out to him, finding comfort in his lean
strength as he led her back to the lounge, holding her close against his chest
as she sat close beside him on the corner unit.

'She
was so beautiful, Sam,' she choked, her tears

having
wet his shirt front. 'I can't believe she's dead— and in that way. No
wonder Dad took it so hard, she shuddered.

'I
know, honey. I know,' he soothed, smoothing back her hair with a gentle hand,
surprisingly so considering their size and strength. Tall and slender as she
was, Sam made her feel cherished and cared for, his manners were always without
fault, never too forward, but always friendly.

'You
never met Glenna, did you?' she mumbled into his shirt.

'I've
seen her in the movies. She was beautiful,' he acknowledged. 'Very like you.'

Again
they were talking in the past tense, and it was with a sense of deep pain that
she realised she would probably never see her sister again. Of a similar age,
the two of them had always been very close, had shared friends and clothes
during their teenage years, continuing to keep those same friends as the years
passed. Everyone was going to be heartbroken when they learnt the fiery-haired
Glenna was no longer with them.

'Everyone
loved her, Sam,' she continued huskily. 'She was so much fun, so—so full
of life!' Her voice broke over the last.

Everyone
had
loved Glenna—except
the Hammonds. Glenna and Mark had a private wing in the Hammond house, the
widowed Rita Hammond and her bachelor son occupying the other wing, while the
married daughter Janet lived several miles away with her husband and two
daughters. Rita Hammond and her daughter Janet had shown their disapproval of
Mark marrying an American actress from the first; the formidable Alex Hammond
had been indifferent. Mark was a charming rogue, very dark and handsome, but he
was no match for the rest of his family, resisting all Glenna's efforts to
persuade him to move to America, claiming that he had to stay in England to
work in the family firm, and also claiming it was unnecessary to have a house
of their own when the family house was so big.

Living
with her in-laws wouldn't suit Morgan, and she knew that it hadn't suited
Glenna, although in the beginning she had been too much in love to object to
anything Mark decided. Her one stubborn bid for freedom, that of having her
baby born in the States, seemed to have caused their deaths.

Morgan
pulled herself together with effort; she was not one to allow emotional trauma
to take her to the hysterical stage. 'You should be getting back, Sam,' she
told him in a firm voice. 'I shall be all right now, and you do have that scene
to finish.'

'Jerry
told me to stay with you.'

'But
I don't need "being with"! She sounded brittle, highly strung,
knowing she needed to be alone for a while to come to terms with her loss. She
deeply appreciated Sam's gentle care, but no amount of talking was going to help
her through the next few hours as she waited for Alex Hammond's call. 'Really,
Sam,' she insisted as he made to protest. 'I need time to—accept.'

'Time
alone,' he nodded under standingly, having lost his young wife in an automobile
accident four years ago when they had only been married a year. He stood up,
tall and assuring. 'If you need me, any time day or night, just call, hmm?' He
framed her face tenderly with his large capable hands.

She
appreciated his lack of argument, knowing she didn't have the strength to right
him if he insisted on staying. 'Thank you,' she blinked back the tears. 'Until
I get this call from Alex Hammond my hands are tied. I can't go to England
where the crash happened, and I can't go to Dad either.'

Sam
bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. 'I'm sure he won't be long.'

But
the evening passed, and then the night-time hours, and still Alex Hammond
hadn't called her. Morgan paced the room most of the night, the time dragging
slowly, until finally in desperation she telephoned the Hammonds' house
herself. She wasn't proud, and if they wouldn't come to her then she would go
to them.

If
took some time to convince Symonds, the Hammond butler, that she really was
Glenna's sister and not a reporter trying to get a story. It seemed the Hammond
telephone hadn't stopped ringing since the news broke.

'Mrs
Hammond has been sedated and is in her bedroom,' she was informed in a haughty
voice, and for a moment it took her back that the Mrs Hammond he was talking
about was Rita and not Glenna. 'Mrs Fairchild,' he spoke of Mark's married
sister, 'is at home with her own family.'

'And
Mr Hammond?' she asked breathlessly, not giving a damn where Rita and Janet
were, not having taken to either of them at the wedding. Mother and daughter
were too much alike, both narrow-minded and condescending, believing all
actresses to be promiscuous sirens.

'Mr
Hammond isn't at home,' she was told.

Not
there?' she frowned.

'No,
miss,' the man sounded affronted that she should dare to question his
statement, 'he left the house several hours ago.'

'To
go where?' she demanded impatiently.

'I
wouldn't know, Miss McKay.' Symonds sounded surprised by such a question. 'Mr
Hammond doesn't inform me of his movements.'

'Then
in the circumstances he damn well should!' Morgan slammed the receiver down,
too angry to question more.

Damn
the man! Where could Alex Hammond have disappeared to, and apparently without
telling anyone where he was going? No doubt Rita Hammond knew of her son's
whereabouts, but it seemed she was taking the joint deaths as badly as Morgan's
rather had. From what she had been able to tell, Mark was the favourite son, a
late edition to the family who had been cossetted by all around him. Rita
Hammond would have felt his death severely.

But
all this didn't change the fact that Alex Hammond had promised to call, that
she had held off calling the hospital about her father in case she missed that
call, and now he had disappeared. She had been relying on his authority to find
out what was happening, having called the airline herself only to be told
things were too confused and panicked at the moment for any information to be
given out by them. It was their way of saying they didn't know what was
happening either!

But
that didn't help her now, and after calling the hospital to check that both her
mother and father were sleeping comfortably she rang the airport to book a
flight out to England, only to be told the first available seat was late
morning. She took it, knowing she was doing no good sitting here.

Dawn
saw her seated at the breakfast bar in her galley-kitchen, drinking the remains
of her third pot of coffee, the heavy look in her eyes evidence that she hadn't
slept at all, her almost fixed gaze on the wall telephone telling its own
story. Alex Hammond still hadn't called

Her
mother telephoned a short time later to assure her that her father was doing
well, that he seemed a lot better. She seemed as perplexed as Morgan over Alex
Hammond's silence.

Her
suitcase was packed, her creased denims changed in favour of a tailored dress,
her hair flowing freely about her shoulders, and she couldn't stand to

sit
here in her apartment another minute longer waiting for a call that obviously
wasn't going to come, so she telephoned for a cab to take her to the airport.

When
the doorbell rang a few minutes later she expected it to be the driver, but she
opened the door to a barrage of questions and flashing intrusive lights.

'How
do you feel about your sister's death, Morgan?'

'Will
the funeral be here or in England?' asked another reporter.

'Will
Glenna and her husband be buried together, Morgan?' persisted another.

Morgan
had blanched at the sea of faces outside her apartment door; microphones and
cameras were pushed into her face, a couple of them for television.

She
had remained undisturbed by reporters all night, as her address was known to
few but her closest friends, although it now seemed someone had released the
wolves at her heels.

'Were
you close to your sister, Morgan? a beautiful, chic female asked at her
continued numbed silence, and this avid curiosity about her grief sickened her.

'We
hear your father collapsed when told of the crash—can you confirm this,
Miss McKay?' one determined reporter pounced.

Morgan
swallowed hard, unable to comprehend this hounding over such a private grief.
What sort of people were they, to ask her such questions!

'Did you
---
'

'That
will be enough!' rasped an authoritative voice, startling the members of the
media into stunned silence.

A
man was pushing his way through the crowd to Morgan's side, although he didn't
need to push for long, for people stepped aside as they recognised a force
stronger than themselves.