Sylvia Garland's Broken Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

expressionand finally she said the one thing which must surely make Jeremy feel sorry for her, “Oh, isn’t it such a shame that your father isn’t here to hear the news? He would have been so thrilled.”
    To which Jeremy responded, turning deftly onto the forecourt of an immense hotel, “It’s a great shame. He would have made such a wonderful grandfather.”
    Did Sylvia hear a reproach? She busied herself gathering her belongings and decided, if it was a reproach, that
she
would not hear it. How could Jeremy possibly know what sort of a grandmother she would make? Goodness, a grandmother; she had not really thought about that before.
    She hobbled into the hotel lobby behind Jeremy, feeling suddenly indescribably old. Her feet and ankles were still swollen from the flight and her shoes hurt. While Jeremy dealt with the details of her booking, she sat down in a deep leather armchair, her head reeling. It was all too much, frankly; first, she had without any warning become a widow and now, equally suddenly, she had been told she was going to become a grandmother. She felt she was losing all sense of who she actually was. She was sitting in an anonymous hotel whose name she didn’t even know in a city where she had no wish to be and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the lobby, instead of the English spring which she had happily anticipated, it seemed to be the bleak midwinter.
    “Are you ok?” Jeremy asked, stooping over her.
    She must have closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m fine,” she replied resolutely, “just tired.”
    She struggled to get to her feet out of the enveloping depths of the armchair and Jeremy had to offer her a hand and help haul her up.
    They did not speak in the lift because they had to share it with a tremendously fat Middle Eastern-looking man in a white towelling bathrobe. He filled the lift with the potent reek of chlorine and Sylvia drew a little passing comfort from this sign that somewhere in the hotel there was a swimming pool – and maybe a sauna too – warmth and another element into which she could escape. All her life, she had used swimming as an escape from all sorts of things.
    Jeremy unlocked the door to her room and instructed her how everything worked – the curtains, the television, the minibar – as if she had become completely incapable. Then he said rather awkwardly, “Ok, well I’d better be getting back. I don’t want Smi to have to do all the washing up. Now you have a good rest, won’t you. I’ll give you a ring in the morning and we’ll take things from there.”
    Only then, as he was on the point of leaving, did it occur to Sylvia to ask, “How far along is she Jeremy? When is the baby due?”
    And, pink and pleased in spite of himself, Jeremy answered proudly, “Nearly ten weeks. The baby’s due in October.”
    Sylvia started. “Ten weeks?” she repeated. “But that’s exactly when –” her voice broke off.
    Jeremy looked uncomfortable. “I know. Dad. The timing was really weird. Quite hard on Smi actually. We found out the day after the funeral.”
    Sylvia dabbed at her eyes with a handy hotel tissue. “Well it’s marvellous news anyway,” she mumbled, “Marvellous. I’m so pleased for both of you. Please make sure to tell Smita I said so.” She was frankly sobbing now and she knew she was due another wooden embrace from her son and another staccato little pat on the back. When it came, she responded by squeezing his other hand energetically. Then she pulled herself together and said bravely, “Now run along Jeremy. Smita needs you.”
    The hotel room was silent and still. It was on the cold side too but Jeremy hadn’t shown her how to turn up the heating. Bed was the place to be. Why in Dubai it would be nearly bedtime. She would feel a lot better tucked up in bed; she would shut her eyes and shut out London. Sleep would do her the world of good.
    It was in Hong Kong that Sylvia had first discovered the secret pleasures of the