chubby child and moved a chest of drawers to make sure the child couldn't get out.
Then she went to cope with what she thought was a miscarriage in the lavatory.
But in the middle of the blood, the screams and the definite smell of rum all around the place, Helen heard a small cry.
The baby was alive.
Yvonne remembered nothing of it all. She had been so drunk that the day passed in a terrible blur.
They told her she had lost the child, that she had flushed it down the lavatory.
The ambulance men had been tender and gentle as they lifted her on to the stretcher, they had looked around the place and even down the lavatory bowl in confusion.
'They told us she was near to her time, she couldn't have got rid of a full-term foetus, surely.'
But Helen, the cool-eyed girl who said she was a voluntary welfare worker at the mother and child centre, and that she lived with the Sisters in St Martin's, assured them that she had not been able to get in to the flat and had heard continuous flushing of the chain and then found the place covered in blood.
The small round three-year-old seemed to back her up, saying that her mother had been long time wee wee and that Helen had been long time at the door.
Nessa, ashen-faced and trying not to let herself believe that this would never have happened if she had sent anyone else but Helen, agreed that Helen had been gone ages and ages and could get no reply. Helen had made a call to Nessa saying that there were problems but that she knew she would get in if she could persuade the child to open the door. She had called from a nearby shop where she had stopped to buy a bottle of milk for herself because she felt faint thinking of what might be inside.
That night, with Yvonne in her hospital bed, with Yvonne's three-year-old lodged temporarily in a local orphanage until the care order could be signed, Helen told Brigid she felt restless and she would like to go out for a walk.
'You are restless tonight,' Brigid said absently. 'You've been out to the garden a half a dozen times.'
'I wanted to make sure it was all right,' Helen said.
Carefully she picked up the little bundle, the boy who would inherit the Palazzo millions, and took him in her arms. She had him wrapped carefully in a towel and in one of her own nighties. She had a soft blue rug, which used to lie folded on the back of her chair, wrapped well around him.
She slipped out the back gate of St Martin's and walked until her legs were tired. Then in a shop where nobody would recognize her and mention to one of the sisters that they had seen one of the Community carrying a baby, she found a phone and telephoned Renata.
'I have it,' she said triumphantly down the phone.
'Who is this, you have what?'
'Renata, it's Sister Helen from St Martin's, I have your baby.'
'No, no, it's not possible.'
'Yes, but I must give him to you now, tonight, now this minute.'
'It's a little boy, you got us a little boy?'
'Yes. He's very very young, he's only one day old.'
Renata's voice was a screech. 'But no, one day, he will die, I cannot know what to do for a child of one day...'
'I don't know either, but I bought him a bottle of milk, he seems to be taking it off my finger,' Helen said simply.
'Where are you?"
Tm in London of course, about two miles from the convent. Renata, have you any money?'
'What kind of money?' She sounded worried.
'Enough to pay for a taxi.'
'Yes, yes.'
'So will I come to your flat. And give him to you. No one must know.'
'Yes, I don't know, perhaps I should wait till... I don't know what to do."
'I went to great trouble to get him for you.' Helen sounded tired.
'Oh I know, Sister, I'm so foolish, it's just that it's so quick and he is so very little.'
| Tm sure you'll learn, you can always ring someone and ask them. Will I get a taxi now, it might cost pounds?'
'Yes, come now.'
'And Frank's not there is he?'
'Frank, how did you know my husband is Frank?'
'You told me,' Helen said, biting her lip.
'I
Then she went to cope with what she thought was a miscarriage in the lavatory.
But in the middle of the blood, the screams and the definite smell of rum all around the place, Helen heard a small cry.
The baby was alive.
Yvonne remembered nothing of it all. She had been so drunk that the day passed in a terrible blur.
They told her she had lost the child, that she had flushed it down the lavatory.
The ambulance men had been tender and gentle as they lifted her on to the stretcher, they had looked around the place and even down the lavatory bowl in confusion.
'They told us she was near to her time, she couldn't have got rid of a full-term foetus, surely.'
But Helen, the cool-eyed girl who said she was a voluntary welfare worker at the mother and child centre, and that she lived with the Sisters in St Martin's, assured them that she had not been able to get in to the flat and had heard continuous flushing of the chain and then found the place covered in blood.
The small round three-year-old seemed to back her up, saying that her mother had been long time wee wee and that Helen had been long time at the door.
Nessa, ashen-faced and trying not to let herself believe that this would never have happened if she had sent anyone else but Helen, agreed that Helen had been gone ages and ages and could get no reply. Helen had made a call to Nessa saying that there were problems but that she knew she would get in if she could persuade the child to open the door. She had called from a nearby shop where she had stopped to buy a bottle of milk for herself because she felt faint thinking of what might be inside.
That night, with Yvonne in her hospital bed, with Yvonne's three-year-old lodged temporarily in a local orphanage until the care order could be signed, Helen told Brigid she felt restless and she would like to go out for a walk.
'You are restless tonight,' Brigid said absently. 'You've been out to the garden a half a dozen times.'
'I wanted to make sure it was all right,' Helen said.
Carefully she picked up the little bundle, the boy who would inherit the Palazzo millions, and took him in her arms. She had him wrapped carefully in a towel and in one of her own nighties. She had a soft blue rug, which used to lie folded on the back of her chair, wrapped well around him.
She slipped out the back gate of St Martin's and walked until her legs were tired. Then in a shop where nobody would recognize her and mention to one of the sisters that they had seen one of the Community carrying a baby, she found a phone and telephoned Renata.
'I have it,' she said triumphantly down the phone.
'Who is this, you have what?'
'Renata, it's Sister Helen from St Martin's, I have your baby.'
'No, no, it's not possible.'
'Yes, but I must give him to you now, tonight, now this minute.'
'It's a little boy, you got us a little boy?'
'Yes. He's very very young, he's only one day old.'
Renata's voice was a screech. 'But no, one day, he will die, I cannot know what to do for a child of one day...'
'I don't know either, but I bought him a bottle of milk, he seems to be taking it off my finger,' Helen said simply.
'Where are you?"
Tm in London of course, about two miles from the convent. Renata, have you any money?'
'What kind of money?' She sounded worried.
'Enough to pay for a taxi.'
'Yes, yes.'
'So will I come to your flat. And give him to you. No one must know.'
'Yes, I don't know, perhaps I should wait till... I don't know what to do."
'I went to great trouble to get him for you.' Helen sounded tired.
'Oh I know, Sister, I'm so foolish, it's just that it's so quick and he is so very little.'
| Tm sure you'll learn, you can always ring someone and ask them. Will I get a taxi now, it might cost pounds?'
'Yes, come now.'
'And Frank's not there is he?'
'Frank, how did you know my husband is Frank?'
'You told me,' Helen said, biting her lip.
'I
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