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‘We’ve got the army already,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Ah, Tom, well done. Help yourself to a drink.’
He pulled the ring on a can of beer and propped his hips against the worktop beside Helen, but Ross didn’t let him linger.
‘Go and enjoy yourselves,’ they were told. ‘Here, give that to Helen to carry and take this lot down to the barbecue on your way—oh, and could you tell Lizzi I could do with a hand with the salad?’
They found his wife sitting on the grass with her sleepy daughter on her lap, talking to Bron Henderson and Clare Barrington, both obviously pregnant.
Helen introduced them to Tom and gave Lizzi Ross’s message, then Tom escaped to put the food down and talk to Oliver while Helen chatted to Bron and Clare.
‘Lizzi looks tired,’ Helen said thoughtfully, watching her as she made her way slowly up the steps.
‘She is—this pregnancy’s making her feel very sick and I think Sarah’s giving them the run-around at night,’ Bron commented with a wry laugh. ‘Dear God, do I know the feeling! Jamie’s being a holy terror at the moment, and heaven knows what it’ll be like when this one comes along. Still, Liwy will be at school in September so it won’t be so bad then.’
Helen grinned at Clare. ‘Just think, you’ve got all this to look forward to!’
Clare chuckled. ‘Yes, there are times when I think even sailing the Atlantic again couldn’t be as bad as motherhood! Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
She looked across the pool to where Michael was standing talking to Oliver and Tom, and the loving expression on her face brought a lump to Helen’s throat. How wonderful it must be to feel like that for someone and know it was returned, she thought wistfully, and found her eyes drawn to Tom.
He was laughing with the others, but at that moment he turned his head and caught her eye, and her heart turned over.
‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’
Helen turned back to Clare. ‘Hmm?’
‘Tom—he’s gorgeous—if you like dark-haired men, which of course I don’t!’
The girls all laughed, and Helen found her eyes drawn back to Tom again. Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was something else, some deeper quality that drew her against her better judgement.
She had found herself overpoweringly aware of him all week, almost to the point of being unable to concentrate on her job on occasions, and yet he had given her no hint that he returned her interest.
She sighed softly and turned back to the others, determined to ignore Tom and get him out of her system.
‘Sold the cottage yet?’ Bron was asking, but Clare shook her head.
‘No—we haven’t really had time to think about it. Michael only started at Ipswich last weekend, and we’ve been too busy sorting things out to worry about putting it on the market. I suppose I’d better do that next week.’
Helen’s interest was immediately caught. ‘Look, I’ve got an idea. Tom’s looking for a place, and I know he wants something old. Why don’t you ask him if he’d like to see it?’
Clare looked across at him. ‘Do you think he’d be interested?’
Helen shrugged. ‘Might be. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.’ Clare waved them over, and the three men strolled across.
‘What’s with the royal summons? Drinks run out or something?’ Michael asked as they approached.
‘No, no—Tom! Helen says you’re looking for a house, and we’ve got a cottage to sell. It’s only tiny, so it wouldn’t be any use if you’ve got a wife and six children tucked away somewhere, but it is quite lovely, miles from anywhere and beautifully done up —’
‘This is the soft sell, you notice,’ Michael interrupted, and Clare blushed and giggled.
‘Well, you know what I mean. It is lovely, Michael. I shall miss it.’
‘No, you won’t. My grandfather won’t give you time to miss it, and once the bump comes along you certainly won’t have time to mope. Anyway, Tom, as she says, the cottage isn’t big, but you’re more than welcome to have a look if you want.’
Tom nodded. ‘Please. It sounds wonderful, and size isn’t a problem, I’m on my own. When can I look at it?’
Clare and Michael exchanged glances. ‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘Fine. Can you give me directions?’
Helen saw Clare glance at her, then back to Tom. ‘Why don’t you get Helen to come with you? She knows the way, and it’s a bit tricky to find the first time.’
‘Helen?’
She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘Fine. No problem.’
‘Ten o’clock at the cottage?’
They all agreed, and then the conversation moved on, leaving Helen free to absorb Tom’s admission that he was on his own. That didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in her, of course, but it did mean he was free to pursue her if he wanted to. She would just have to wait and see if he did want to.
Lizzi joined them, followed by a trail of tiny children, with Ross bringing up the rear.
‘It’s like the National Childbirth Trust round here. Hoo-hoo-haaaah,’ he huffed, and they all chuckled.
Tom looked quizzically at Helen.
‘Breathing exercises for labour,’ she told him, and he nodded blankly.
Ross chuckled. ‘Not quite in your league, is it?’ he said. ‘Go and help yourselves to food—there’s a stack of cooked bits and pieces, rolls, salad, et cetera. Eat plenty, for God’s sake. There’s always masses left over.’
Tom pulled Helen to her feet and they wandered over to the groaning table beside the barbecue.
‘Oh, terrific—I’m starving!’ Tom confessed, and after they piled their plates up he led Helen away down the garden to a little orchard at the end. Then he lowered himself to the grass under the trees and patted the ground. ‘Sit down and tell me all about the Barringtons’ cottage.’
She settled herself beside him, taking a bite of her burger to distract herself from the sight of his hair-roughened thigh only inches from her knees. ‘Well, it’s called Rose Cottage, and it’s got roses climbing up it and a thatched roof and little latticed windows, and it’s absolutely enchanting. If I could afford to, I’d buy it, but I just don’t earn enough.’
‘Not fair, is it?’ Tom said quietly. ‘You work hard enough, God knows. It’s lovely to see you relaxing; you’ve been rushing about all week. Every time I’ve seen you you’ve been either bent over a patient or buried under a mountain of paperwork.’
She sighed. ‘Well, it’s been a bit hectic. You’ve been busy too.’
‘Mmm. Still, I’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for all the help.’
She turned her head slightly and looked at him. ‘You’re welcome.’
His eyes locked with hers, and for an endless moment they stared at each other, then he turned away and bit into his roll, and she found she could breathe again.
They ate in silence for a while, then Helen put her plate down and lay back on the sweetly scented grass.
‘Oh, heaven. I think I’ve eaten too much.’
‘Rubbish. That’s why you’re so skinny. Do you want the rest of this burger?’
She shook her head, and watched, fascinated, as Tom picked it up and bit into it. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she found the sight of his Adam’s apple rising and falling absolutely riveting.
She made herself look away. Let him make the first move, she thought, and closed her eyes.
Seconds later his breath whispered against her cheek.
‘You’ve caught the sun,’ he said softly, and his finger trailed down her nose.
‘Freckles,’ she said unnecessarily, and he counted them.
‘Fifteen.’
‘Are you sure? There were twelve this morning.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Is that a fact? I told you you’d caught the sun.’
She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into his, just bare inches from her face. Her lips parted involuntarily on his name, and for an endless moment she thought he was going to kiss her.
Then he rolled away and stood up. ‘I’m going for a dip—coming?’
‘You shouldn’t swim so soon after eating,’ she told him mechanically.
‘Tough,’ he replied, and there was an edge of hardness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.
She watched him walk away, his long legs eating up the grass in great strides, and wondered what she’d done wrong.
He fell in love with the Barringtons’ cottage on the spot, and Helen strolled round the pretty garden while they agreed a price and decided on a completion date. He had apparently sold his house in Oxford to a cash buyer, and was able to go ahead as quickly as Clare and Michael were willing to.
Helen was very pleased for them all. Tom was so clearly thrilled with the cottage, and on the way home afterwards he positively bubbled with enthusiasm. It was the most animated she had ever seen him, and Helen was secretly delighted. He looked so sad for much of the time, and to see him like this, brimming over with excitement and plans, was a real joy.
It was also infectious, and she found herself laughing as she hadn’t laughed in ages.
And then suddenly, without warning, his mood changed again.
Afterwards she found it difficult to put her finger on exactly what had happened. They were talking about when he was to move in, and he said he’d have to buy furniture. Then she asked how come he’d owned a house and didn’t have any furniture, and that was when he went funny.
‘It was all borrowed,’ he said shortly, ‘and anyway, it’s time for a change.’
And after that he hardly said a word all the way back, and dropped her off outside her flat without even a smile. She was bitterly disappointed, because they had been getting on so well and she’d hoped he would suggest they go somewhere for lunch together—instead of which he had driven off with a stony face and left her alone again.
She let herself into her flat and made a sandwich, then sat by the window looking out into the concrete back yard, relieved only by a sorry-looking lilac that struggled for existence in a crack in the paving.
It was such a contrast to Rose Cottage and Ross’s house that she indulged in a moment of self-pity before changing into tatty old jeans and a T-shirt and picking up the keys of her sensible, middle-of-the-road little car.
‘God, I’m so bored!’ she said savagely as she banged the door of the car. ‘Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!’
She headed out into the country and found herself in a little village with a winding stream that gurgled under an old brick bridge. Parking the car in a lay-by, she locked it and set off on a hike along the stream.
It was a gorgeous day—a day to share, she thought crossly, and felt suddenly very lonely and sad.
‘There was no guarantee he felt anything for you,’ she told herself firmly as she walked. ‘He’s just as entitled to be as picky as you are—and he’s obviously decided not to pick you. God knows he gave you enough warning—he was hardly all over you. And yesterday—he could have kissed you so easily, but he didn’t. And still you expect miracles!’
‘Pardon?’
She looked up, startled, to find a woman with a dog regarding her strangely. ‘Are you all right, dear?’
She blushed and laughed. ‘Sorry—yes, I’m fine. I was just telling myself off.’
‘On a lovely day like this? What a shame.’ The woman smiled, and Helen smiled back, suddenly happier.
‘Yes, you’re right. It’s much too nice a day to be cross.’
They parted company, the woman and her dog going on the way Helen had come, Helen following the track beside the stream.
She was right, it was a beautiful day, and being cross and ungracious was just a waste of it. She would put Tom out of her mind, and forget him.
Easier said than done, she acknowledged the following morning.
How he had managed it in so short a time she didn’t know, but Tom Russell had winkled his way into her heart in a big way, and it would take more than a little determination to get him out again.
He was quiet and withdrawn when she saw him, but they were so busy that she hardly had time to chat anyway.
Judy Fulcher, the patient with the burst appendix and peritonitis, was making slow but steady progress, althought she was still unable to take anything by mouth. As a result oral care was a very important part of her nursing, and Helen took the opportunity, to sponge off her caked lips and tongue and clean her teeth as a training exercise for Carol, one of the student nurses who had started with her that day.
Judy’s gratitude was touching, and Helen wished she had time to do it better and more often.
However she didn’t, and she was busy with the pre-ops who were due to go up to Tom in Theatre that afternoon.
Trailing her students, she prepared the patients for Theatre, including passing a Ryle’s tube into one man who found the whole experience intolerable and panicked himself into a frenzy.
‘Look, Mr Blackstone,’ she explained for the second time, ‘it really doesn’t hurt. All you have to do is relax as much as possible, take little sips of water and swallow gently, and I’ll just slip the tube down your throat bit by bit. It’s really not that bad.’
He snorted and put his hand over his face. ‘I’m not having no bloody tube poked down my throat!’ he mumbled.
‘Please let me try,’ she coaxed. After a few more minutes he lowered his hand, and, taking the lubricated tube, she lifted it towards his nose.
‘No,’ he moaned, and covered his face again.
Tom arrived just as she was soothing the man down for the third time, and with his help she managed to calm him sufficiently to try again.
This time she actually succeeded, much to her relief, and afterwards, when the tube was taped in place and the man’s stomach had been aspirated and he was settled, Tom drew Helen aside.
‘You were wonderful with him,’ he said gently, and the sun came out for her again.
Foolish heart, she chided herself, and tugged off her gloves. Her smile was coolly impersonal.
‘He’s just a big baby. What can I do for you?’
