Morgan's Child. Anne Mather

nodded, concentrating on pouring milk into the jug to add to the tray, and Morgan’s father took up the strain. ‘I wonder if the fact that we’re just a few months from the millennium is significant?’ he said. ‘I know they’re calling it the Millennium Coup, but the rebels had been fighting for quite a long time.’

      Fliss looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Well...’ James Riker looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible they’ve had some help from the West. The oil reserves in Nyanda are quite considerable, you know. And Ungave was beginning to get a little greedy, I think.’

      Fliss stared at him. ‘You mean—this could have happened sooner? The West could have helped the rebels all along?’

      ‘Well, perhaps.’ He looked a little uncomfortable now. ‘But so long as Ungave didn’t—didn‘t—’

      ‘Make any waves!’ Fliss caught her breath disbelievingly. ‘The Millennium Coup! What a joke!’

      ‘Felicity—’

      ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ Fliss picked up the tray now, and carried it into the other room. She schooled her features. ‘Come and have some tea. I believe I’ve got some biscuits in the cupboard.’

      ‘Felicity.’ Obviously Morgan’s father wasn’t happy with her reaction, and she stood silently while he commanded his thoughts. ‘No one knew that Morgan was alive, or—or of course the government would have made representations to get him out. We must view what has happened as—as a bonus. Now, sit down, my dear. You still look very shaken to me.’

      ‘We all are,’ said his wife, using a tissue to blow her nose, and then, sitting down on the sofa, she patted the seat beside her. ‘Come and sit down, Felicity. We’ve got wonderful plans to make. You must both have a proper holiday when Morgan gets back.’

      A holiday!

      Fliss hung back, hoping Morgan’s father would take the seat beside his wife, but he didn’t and she was obliged to do so. The trouble was, she didn’t seem able to share their excitement, and she thought what a selfish cow she was. It should have been the happiest day of her life, but it had been too long in coming.

      ‘Anyway, thank goodness we were able to reach Reverend Bland last evening,’ said James into the vacuum, seating himself in the armchair opposite. He smiled at Fliss. ‘I remembered you’d mentioned his name, saying what a good friend he was. I felt sure he was the ideal person to help you. With your aunt being away I assumed you wouldn’t mind.’

      ‘Oh—no.’

      Fliss swallowed, realising there was no way she could reveal how close a friend Graham had become. She glanced down at her hands, wondering if they had noticed she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring on the right finger. Would she ever wear Graham’s engagement ring again?

      Thankfully, the Rikers kept the conversation going while they drank the tea and ate several of the chocolate biscuits Fliss had found. Celia confessed she’d not been able to eat any breakfast, though she wouldn’t let Fliss make her anything else, and they chattered on about what they were going to do when their son came home.

      It was so easy for them, thought Fliss half enviously. But did they really expect her and Morgan to take up where they’d left off almost four years ago? If she’d known he was alive, she could have looked forward to this day. As it was, she felt as if Morgan was part of her past.

      ‘So—’ Celia patted Fliss’s hand. ‘What was it you were going to ring us about? With all the excitement, it went completely out of my head.’

      Fliss blanked. ‘I beg your—?’

      ‘Last night,’ her mother-in-law prompted. ‘When you first answered the phone, you said you’d been going to ring us. I just wondered what it was you were going to ring us about. Did you give any thought to spending Easter at Tudor Cross?’

      ‘Oh—’ Fliss’s mouth dried. She’d forgotten all about the invitation Celia had issued at New Year. It was just after Graham had popped the question, and Fliss had been too anxious about their reaction to give an answer then. ‘I—’ A lie seemed the only alternative now. ‘I can’t remember, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Oh, well, never mind.’ Celia had too much else on her mind to worry about what her daughter-in-law had been ringing about. ‘And in the circumstances no doubt we’ll be having a celebration when Morgan comes home. You must come and stay with us when he gets back.’

      ‘Well—’

      Once again, Fliss was nonplussed. She felt as if events were moving far too fast for her to handle. They hadn’t even heard from Morgan yet, and already Celia was wanting to organise their lives. How could she make any plans? She didn’t know how she’d feel when she saw him again.

      ‘Give them time, Cee.’ To her relief, Morgan’s father chose to intervene. ‘We’ve all had a shock, and I think Felicity needs some breathing space. I know you mean well, but you’re rushing things. We don’t even know how fit Morgan’s going to be when he gets home.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      MORGAN stood at the window of the quarters that had been provided for him at RAF Craythorpe, watching the rain streaming down the panes. It didn’t seem to have stopped raining since he’d stepped off the plane from Lagos the day before, and although he’d dreamed about the kind of gentle rain they got in England the reality was no longer so appealing.

      How long were they going to keep him here?

      Suppressing his panic, he acknowledged that he was only fooling himself by pretending the weather was responsible for the way he was feeling. He was just using it as an excuse to bolster his confidence. Blaming the rain for the fears and apprehensions that wouldn’t go away.

      Lifting one balled fist, he pressed it hard against the glass, trying not to give in to the urge to smash his fist right through the pane. He would have liked that, he thought; liked to have shattered the glass and felt the sharp pain of the broken shards digging into his fresh. God knew, he badly wanted to smash something, and only the certain knowledge that his doctors—keepers—would put it down to his uncertain mental state kept him from creating an ugly scene.

      But, dammit, they couldn’t keep him here indefinitely. All right, he’d been suffering from malnutrition when they released him. but there was nothing wrong with his mind, no matter what they thought He needed familiar things; familiar people. He just wished he didn’t have the feeling that they didn’t exist any more.

      He took a steadying breath.

      The trouble was that although he knew he was free he didn’t feel free. In fact, what he really felt was a shattering sense of disorientation. He’d anticipated that his wife and family would have assumed he was dead, but he hadn’t realised how that might affect him now. For so long he’d been forced to blank his mind of any thoughts of loved ones or face the purest kind of mental torture there was.

      He sighed. It was hard to remember how he’d felt that morning when his car had been ambushed on the way to the airport. Then, he’d been planning what he was going to do when he got home; looking forward to seeing his wife. He’d missed her so much, and since their marriage they’d spent so little time together. He couldn’t wait to get back and tell her how he felt.

      The men who’d shot out the tyres of the car and then shot its driver had seemed totally ruthless. It was only later that he’d discovered that because the man had worked for Ungave he was considered expendable. Besides, Mdola didn’t take any prisoners. He had no pity for any of Ungave’s men who were of no use to him.

      Morgan supposed his strongest emotion at that time had been terror, but the fact that he’d survived the attack had sustained him throughout the long trek through the jungle that had followed. It wasn’t until they’d reached the rebels’ stronghold, in the mountains that bisected the northern half of the