‘But I must first tell you...’ began the doctor.
‘No buts,’ said Robert, ‘because I want you to be the first to know that I’ve decided to ask the board of Preston’s to finance the new maternity wing that you have always hoped would be completed before you retire.’
‘But...’ repeated Dr Greenwood.
‘I thought we agreed on no buts. After all, the plans have been drawn up for years,’ he said, looking down at his son, ‘so I can’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t start on the building programme right away.’ He turned to face the hospital’s senior obstetrician. ‘Unless of course you...?’
Dr Greenwood remained silent.
When Miss Nichol saw Dr Greenwood coming out of Mrs Davenport’s private room, her heart sank. He was carrying the little boy in his arms and walking back towards the elevator that would take him to the special care nursery. As they passed each other in the corridor their eyes met, and although he didn’t speak, she was in no doubt that he was aware of what she must have done.
Miss Nichol accepted that if she was going to make a run for it, it had to be now. Once she had taken the child back to the nursery, she’d lain awake in the corner of Mrs Davenport’s room for the rest of the night, wondering if she would be found out. She had tried not to stir when Dr Greenwood had looked in. She had no idea what time it was because she didn’t dare glance down at her watch. She had quite expected him to call her out of the room and tell her he knew the truth, but he had left just as silently as he had come, so she was none the wiser.
Heather Nichol went on walking towards the private room, while her eyes remained firmly fixed on the fire escape exit at the far end of the corridor. Once she had passed Mrs Davenport’s door she tried not to quicken her pace. She had only a couple of yards to go when she heard a voice she immediately recognized say, ‘Miss Nichol?’ She froze on the spot, still staring towards the fire escape, as she considered her options. She swung round to face Mr Davenport. ‘I think we need to have a private word,’ he said.
Mr Davenport stepped into an alcove on the other side of the corridor, assuming she would follow. Miss Nichol thought her legs would give way long before she collapsed into the chair opposite him. She couldn’t tell from the expression on his face if he also realized she was the guilty party. But then with Mr Davenport you never could. It wasn’t in his nature to give anything away, and that was something he found difficult to change, even when it came to his private life. Miss Nichol couldn’t look him in the eye, so she stared over his left shoulder and watched Dr Greenwood as the elevator doors closed.
‘I suspect you know what I’m about to ask you,’ he said.
‘Yes, I do,’ Miss Nichol admitted, wondering if anyone would ever employ her again, and even if she might end up in prison.
When Dr Greenwood reappeared ten minutes later, Miss Nichol knew exactly what was going to happen to her and where she would end up.
‘When you’ve thought about it Miss Nichol, perhaps you could give me a call at my office, and if your answer is yes, then I’ll need to have a word with my lawyers.’
‘I’ve already thought about it,’ said Miss Nichol. This time she did look Mr Davenport directly in the eye. ‘The answer is yes,’ she told him, ‘I’d be delighted to continue working for the family as nanny.’
4
Susan held Nat in her arms unable to hide her distress. She was tired of friends and relations telling her to thank God that one of them had survived. Didn’t they understand that Peter was dead, and she had lost a son? Michael hoped that his wife would begin to recover from the loss once she’d left hospital and returned home. But it wasn’t to be. Susan still talked endlessly of her other son, and kept a photograph of the two boys by her bedside.
Miss Nichol studied the photograph when it was published in the Hartford Courant. She was relieved to find that although both boys had inherited their father’s square jaw, Andrew had curly fair hair, while Nat’s was straight and already turning dark. But it was Josiah Preston who saved the day, by frequently remarking that his grandson had inherited his nose and pronounced forehead in the great tradition of the Prestons. Miss Nichol constantly repeated these observations to fawning relatives and sycophantic employees, prefaced with the words, ‘Mr Preston often remarks...’
Within two weeks of returning home, Ruth had been reappointed as Chairman of the Hospital Trust, and immediately set about honouring her husband’s pledge to build a new maternity wing for St Patrick’s.
Miss Nichol meanwhile took on any job, however menial, that allowed Ruth to resume her outside activities while she took charge of Andrew. She became the boy’s nanny, mentor, guardian and governess. But not a day went by without her dreading that the truth might eventually come out.
Miss Nichol’s first real anxiety arose when Mrs Cartwright phoned to say that she was holding a birthday party for her son, and as Andrew had been born on the same day, would she like him to be included.
‘How kind of you to ask,’ Miss Nichol replied, without missing a beat, ‘but Andrew is having his own birthday party, and I’m only sorry that Nat won’t be able to join us.’
‘Well, please pass on my best wishes to Mrs Davenport, and tell her how much we appreciate being invited to the opening of the new maternity wing next month.’ An invitation Miss Nichol could not cancel. When Susan put the phone down, her only thought was how did Miss Nichol know her son’s name.
Within moments of Mrs Davenport arriving home that evening, Miss Nichol suggested that she should organize a party for Andrew’s first birthday. Ruth thought it was a splendid idea, and was only too happy to leave all the arrangements, including the guest list, in nanny’s hands. Organizing a birthday party where you can control who should or should not be invited is one thing, but trying to make sure that her employer and Mrs Cartwright did not meet up at the opening of the Preston Maternity Wing was quite another.
In fact, it was Dr Greenwood who introduced the two women while giving his guided tour of the new facility. He couldn’t believe that no one would notice that the two little boys looked so alike. Miss Nichol turned away when he glanced in her direction. She quickly placed a bonnet over Andrew’s head which made him look more like a girl, and before Ruth could comment, said, ‘It’s turning quite cold and I wouldn’t want Andrew to catch a chill.’
‘Will you be staying in Hartford once you’ve retired, Dr Greenwood?’ Mrs Cartwright asked.
‘No, my wife and I plan to retire to our family home in Ohio,’ the doctor replied, ‘but I’m sure we’ll return to Hartford from time to time.’
Miss Nichol would have let out a sigh of relief had the doctor not stared pointedly at her. However, with Dr Greenwood out of the way, Miss Nichol felt a little more confident that her secret would not be discovered.
Whenever Andrew was invited to join in any activity, become a member of any group, participate in any sport or just sign up for the summer pageant, Miss Nichol’s first priority was to ensure that her charge didn’t come into contact with any member of the Cartwright family. This she managed to achieve with considerable success throughout the child’s formative years, without arousing the suspicions of either Mr or Mrs Davenport.
It was two letters that arrived in the morning mail that persuaded Miss Nichol that she need no longer be apprehensive. The first was addressed to Andrew’s father and confirmed that the boy had been admitted to Hotchkiss, Connecticut’s oldest private school. The second, postmarked Ohio, was opened by Ruth.
‘How sad,’ she remarked as she turned the handwritten page. ‘He was such a fine man.’