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‘Is it really so grim?’
She sighed and put the blanket down. ‘No. Now I’m sounding like a spoilt brat, and I don’t mean to. It’s just that I know that in company with X million other working women I’ll have to clean the flat and do the washing and wrestle with Tim’s homework and repair his uniform, and it would be nice if, just now and again, it could be different…’
Andrew frowned at her. ‘When did you last get away?’
She blinked. ‘Me? Heavens, I don’t remember. Tim went to his father in July for a week, and I had that fortnight off to be with him in August, but I haven’t been away for years.’ She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘I don’t think I’d know how to relax now if I had the chance.’
Andrew stood up slowly and took his jacket off the back of the chair, shrugging into it thoughtfully.
‘What are you doing this weekend?’
She looked up at him, all six foot three of warm brown eyes and gentle smile, and wondered if he’d gone suddenly deaf.
‘Cleaning the flat, doing the washing ——’
‘What else? Anything you can’t just drop?’
She tipped her head on one side and her brows twitched together in a little frown. ‘No — not that I can think of. Why?’
He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘How do you fancy being pampered?’
She felt her jaw drop slightly. ‘What?’
‘I wondered if you’d like to come out to the cottage for the weekend.’
It was totally unexpected, and Jennifer floundered. Oh, sure, they’d had the odd drink together after work, but the weekend? ‘Um — I don’t think — I mean, Tim ——’
Andrew flushed slightly. ‘I don’t want you to misconstrue my invitation. I just thought you and Tim might benefit from a weekend in the country, but if you’d rather not please say so. I don’t want to embarrass you.’
She looked away, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course he wasn’t suggesting a weekend of unbridled sex. Heavens, the very idea! If there was one thing Andrew Barrett wasn’t, it was a ladies’ man. He was also painfully honest, with himself and everybody else. If he had meant to seduce her, he would have made it perfectly clear. As it was, he had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t. And anyway, they would have Tim as a chaperon. Not quite sure if the flicker of something she felt was disappointment or relief, she looked back at him.
He was packing up the things on his desk, tidying everything neatly away.
‘Andrew?’
He glanced up.
‘I — that would be lovely, but I really do have to the washing ——’
‘Bring it with you. What time would you like me to pick you up?’
She blinked. ‘Bring it?’
‘Bring it. What time? Seven?
She shook her head dazedly. ‘Seven?’ She glanced at her watch. Quarter to six. She would just have time to collect Tim and pack a bag. ‘Yes, that would be fine — thanks. Are you sure — ?’
‘Quite sure.’ His smile was warmly reassuring and she relaxed.
‘We’ll be ready.’
The four-wheel-drive off-roader suited him, Jennifer decided. Big, rugged and capable, devoid of frills but immensely practical.
He loaded their few things and the bag of washing into the back, buckled Tim in safely and held the door for her with quiet courtesy while she climbed up into the front passenger seat. It was quite a step and she was glad she had opted for jeans and not a skirt, although she was sure Andrew wouldn’t even have noticed. She had let her hair down and brushed it out, but the layers looked a little ragged unless she finger-dried it upside down, and there hadn’t been time between collecting Tim from the childminder and Andrew arriving to pick them up. She found time, though, for a quick swipe of lipstick, more for her self-respect than any attempt at glamour. After all, it wasn’t going to be that sort of weekend.
One thing was certain, they were going to eat, if the carrier bags in the back were any indication. He had obviously been shopping since she last saw him, and she had a twinge of guilt that they were causing him a lot of bother — it went with the twinge about ducking out of the housework, and she chewed her lip.
He must have read her mind, because he threw her a teasing grin. ‘Just lie back and relax,’ he instructed firmly. ‘No fretting about the housework. It’ll still be there when you go back.’
She laughed without humour. ‘Isn’t it always?’
‘Without fail — like the weeds. They grow regardless of whether I’ve got time to pull them up.’ He turned and winked at Tim over his shoulder. ‘OK back there?’
Tim nodded.
‘Good. Do you like cats?’
‘Oh, yes — I think so.’
‘Pets aren’t allowed in our flats, so he doesn’t get to see all that many animals,’ Jennifer explained.
‘No? What a shame. I’ve got two cats — I used to have just one but a week ago this other cat turned up and just adopted us. Bit of a problem, really; it seems she’s going to have kittens, and I don’t know if Blu-Tack is going to like it.’
‘Blu-Tack?’
‘Mmm. The other cat. He’s a Russian Blue — beautiful pedigree cat, but he’s only got three legs. He lost the other one in an accident and the owners didn’t want him any more. He’s lived with me for two years, two bachelors together, and now we’ve been invaded.’ He laughed briefly. ‘It’s a little odd.’
She felt suddenly uncomfortable, unsure if he was referring to them or just the pregnant cat. Well, too bad, she thought. He had invited them, and Tim was so excited by the thought of going away for the weekend with her that there was no way she was going to spoil it by being petty. She would just have to make sure they didn’t get in Andrew’s way.
It was nearly half-past seven by the time they arrived, and the last rays of the September sun were gilding the cottage, sparkling on the latticed windows and setting fire to the riot of flowers that flanked the soft pink walls.
‘Oh, Andrew, it’s lovely!’ she exclaimed, enchanted.
He gave a dry chuckle. ‘You’re definitely seeing at its best. In the winter without the roses and the perennials it can look a bit bare, and it’s sometimes a bit draughty inside if the wind gets up. Still, I like it. Here, Tim, take the key and go and open the door for your mother, there’s a good chap.’
He opened the back of the car and picked up four shopping bags, and ushered Jennifer into the cottage. ‘Go and sit down — make yourself at home. I’ll bring the shopping in then make some tea.’
‘I could make the tea ——’
‘No. Sit down.’
‘But ——’
‘No buts. Pampered, you said, and pampered it’s going to be. Sit.’
Overruled, she gave him a tiny smile and surrendered. ‘Yes, sir.’
She followed the wave of his arm and went through into a cosy little sitting-room, heavily beamed and furnished with affection. There was nothing even remotely designerish about it, from the elderly chair covers to the faded velvet curtains and the worn rug in front of the old inglenook fireplace, but it was unbelievably homely.
There was a chair that was obviously his, pulled up near the fire with a remote-control unit on an old oak table beside it. A large grey cat with unblinking emerald-green eyes stared at her from its depths, then tucked his nose in his paws again and went back to sleep. Blu-Tack, obviously.
She chose the chair on the other side of the fireplace and sat down, almost vanishing into its welcome embrace.
Bliss. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her tired feet up under her bottom and fell instantly asleep.
He was quite surprised at how right she looked, sitting curled up in the other chair with her head resting on one hand like that. Her wrist was bent, so he carefully eased her arm down and replaced it with a cushion.
It didn’t disturb her. Her grey eyes fluttered open for a second, she made a funny little noise and snuggled further down, and then was still again.
Andrew scooped Blu-Tack off the chair opposite and settled himself into it, the cat on his lap, and touched the remote control. Soft music flooded the room, and he rested his head back and relaxed, content to watch her sleep.
There was something strangely intimate about it that touched him, deep inside. It surprised him, just as her Tightness here had surprised him.
He hadn’t meant to issue the invitation. It was quite out of character, but perhaps it was time to break out a little. Oh, true, he’d taken her out for the occasional drink, but he’d never kissed her goodnight — unless you counted a peck on her sweetly scented cheek. He supposed it was in part a reluctance to disturb the balance of their working relationship, a relationship that had meant a great deal to him in the six months since he had taken up his consultancy.
The children’s outpatients sister was one of the most important people on the team, and he had come to rely very heavily on her. Apart from her background knowledge of many of the patients, her gentle efficiency and firm kindness had to be seen to be believed. She would be a wonderful mother — was a wonderful mother, he corrected himself, thinking of the serious, intelligent but delightful child asleep upstairs.
While Jennifer dozed, he had cooked Tim a prawn omelette with salad and a microwaved jacket potato — Tim’s choice. Another surprise. Andrew had been quite prepared to do fish fingers and beans and chips, but the child had looked doubtful — not rude enough to decline, but definitely not enthusiastic. Andrew had asked him to choose, given him a list of possibilities and that was what he’d selected.
‘We don’t have chips and things like that at home,’ Tim had told him guilelessly. Only when I go out for the weekend with Dad. I don’t like them much.’
Interesting. Andrew had filed it for future reference. Likewise the business of the bath.
‘Do you usually have a bath before you go to bed?’ he’d asked.
‘Mum always makes me. Dad doesn’t.’
‘I think you’d better have one, then,’ Andrew had said, and put that in the file, too.
After Andrew tucked him into bed in the little room overlooking the orchard, he had left him reading for a little while and gone downstairs to prepare a meal for himself and Jennifer. When he’d gone back up half an hour later, Tim was asleep, his book still in his hand.
Andrew had looked at it and was surprised at how advanced it was, well beyond Tim’s seven years. He stroked the soft brown hair back off his little brow, tucked the quilt in round his slight shoulders and then turned down the light, leaving a soft glow in case he woke. Then he had gone down to Jennifer.
As he watched her sleep, a curious contentment stole over him, together with a touch of regret because he knew that when they went back the house would seem empty. For now, however, it was just exactly right, and he would enjoy the moment and let tomorrow take care of itself.
Jennifer woke to soft lights and the haunting sound of a flute — and pins and needles in her right foot.
She straightened up and blinked. ‘Oh — you shouldn’t have let me sleep,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘You were tired.’
‘But Tim ——’
‘Tim’s in bed. He’s had supper and a bath, and he’s out for the count.’
She dropped her head back against the chair. ‘Oh. Thank you. You shouldn’t have done all that.’
‘I’m pampering you, remember?’
His smile was kindly teasing. She returned it, then winced as the circulation came back into her foot.
‘Pins and needles?’ he guessed, and she nodded, wriggling it. He turned the cat off his knee and crouched in front of her, taking her foot in his large, warm hands and massaging it gently.
‘Ow,’ she mumbled.
‘Hell, isn’t it? How’s that?’
She felt suddenly uncomfortable with this big man kneeling at her feet.
‘Better, thank you,’ she told him and almost snatched it out of his hands, further embarrassed by the growl from her stomach.
‘Hungry?’ he asked with a smile.
‘Apparently.’ She laughed a little awkwardly.
‘Supper’s ready when you are. There’s a cloakroom at the bottom of the stairs if you want to freshen up.’
She looked dreadful, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were flushed and crumpled from the cushion and she looked — wanton was the nearest she could come up with, and it unsettled her.
She splashed her face with cold water and went back into the big farmhouse-style kitchen, where Andrew was just setting the huge old refectory table.
‘OK?’
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. ‘Can I do anything?’
‘Eat,’ he said with a grin.
It was no hardship. The meal was wonderful, a seafood concoction with mushrooms and a delicious creamy sauce under the lightest, fluffiest mashed potato she had ever tasted. It was served with fresh sprouting broccoli and glazed carrots, both homegrown, he told her.
‘Where did you learn to cook like that?’ she asked him, replete, as she sat at the table under orders not to move and watched him clear up.
He laughed. ‘Self-defence. I can’t stand canteen food and I can’t afford a housekeeper. Anyway, I enjoy it. Coffee?’
‘Mmm. Can I —— ?’
‘No. Go and sit down, I’ll be with you in a tick.’
‘Actually, I think I’ll go up and check on Tim, if you really don’t need my help.’
‘Top of the stairs, turn left and follow your nose. He’s in the little bedroom at the end.’
‘OK.’ She ran lightly up the stairs, noticing as she went the higgledy-piggledy collection of pictures on the walls, etchings and pen and ink drawings and little watercolours, the occasional photograph, an oil on wood. There was no theme, except perhaps the straightforward one of personal choice, pictures collected for no better reason than that he liked them. And what better reason was there?
She found Tim, his cheek cradled on his hand, fast asleep in a wonderful old captain’s bed, the forerunner by some hundred years of the modern chipboard equivalent. His lashes dark against his pale cheeks, he looked terribly vulnerable and very small. He also looked as if he belonged in this room, with its distinctly Boys’ Own flavour.
She brushed a kiss on his cheek, whispered ‘Goodnight,’ and tiptoed out.
‘OK?’
