‘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.’
‘I’m coming home—–’
‘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 father. But if Alex Hammond should telephone while she was in transit …! ‘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 understandingly, 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 fight 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.
It 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?’