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Stupid, she scolded herself crossly. The last thing she needed at the moment was to start fancying she was attracted to some total stranger, who had crossed her path by complete chance. And yet…he was very attractive, she conceded, slanting him a covert glance from beneath her lashes. Six feet plus of rangy, well-built male, the kind that no woman could ignore.
And his hands…They were beautiful, with long, sensitive fingers, and strong wrists. She found herself remembering the gentle way those hands had examined her, and a shimmer of heat ran through her…
No—it was all just reaction. The shock of Colin’s announcement, followed by the accident, had left her off balance. And he was so very different from Colin—Colin with his immaculately combed hair, his designer suits, his decaffeinated coffee. She couldn’t imagine this man drinking decaffeinated coffee. He wouldn’t need to fuss with such things, not with the healthy, active life he must lead. So very different…
It was pleasant, this feeling of being close to him, cocooned in the warmth of the car—like some comfortable dream from which she never wanted to wake up…
‘Here we are.’
She opened her eyes quickly to find that he had brought the car to a halt beside a wide porch, with a pair of battered plastic swing doors of the type used so much in hospitals. A sign above the entrance said ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY. A young nurse had come out to the car, bringing a wheelchair.
‘I don’t need a chair,’ Josey mumbled, feeling guilty for causing such a lot of fuss.
‘Better if you do,’ Tom insisted firmly, climbing out of the Land Rover and coming round to help her out.
And indeed she found that she did. During the short drive her body seemed to have stiffened; she could hardly move, and as he helped her gently to her feet her head swam sickeningly. She dropped heavily into the chair, and half closed her eyes again.
With part of her mind she was conscious of the nurse flirting with him somewhere above her head, but she was past caring. They wheeled her into a small reception area, and straight over to a narrow cubicle, curtained with some ancient flowered cotton.
‘Could you just pop up on the trolley?’ asked the nurse, gratingly bright.
She looked round for Tom, but he had gone—and he hadn’t even said goodbye. But then she heard his voice on the other side of the curtain. ‘Hello, Andy.’
‘Well, hello, Tom. What’s going on? You don’t have enough of your own kind of patients, so you’ve had to start poaching mine?’
Tom laughed; he had a nice laugh, Josey decided-low and sort of husky, from spending so much time out in the raw Norfolk air. ‘No—just some woman who ran her car into a ditch.’ His tone was casually dismissive. ‘I don’t think it’s too serious—fortunately she had her seatbelt on. I think you’ll find she’s broken a bone in her wrist, but apart from that she’s just generally a bit bruised and battered.’
‘Any sign of concussion?’
‘No, just shock.’
‘Fine. Well, I’d better take a look at her.’
The curtain was brushed briskly aside, and the doctor came in. ‘Well, now, what have you done to yourself?’ he asked pleasantly, bending over the trolley.
‘It’s…just my wrist,’ she managed to respond. She could just see Tom, through the half-open curtain, chatting to the nurse again. A stab of stupid jealousy shot through her. The girl was pretty, with a mass of sexily luxuriant ash-blonde hair, tucked up neatly beneath her white cap, and an expression of sweet feminine kindliness. It was a combination that most men would find devastating.
Was he married? Maybe not, after all—maybe the nurse was his girlfriend. In fact, she wouldn’t mind betting that every unattached female in the district under the age of sixty was after him. Forget it, she advised herself despondently. Maybe once, a few years ago, she could have stood a chance of competing, but not now—he wouldn’t even look twice.
Wearily she closed her eyes, hardly interested in what was happening to her as the doctor examined her. His touch was light, but not quite as gentle as Tom’s had been, and Josey found herself wishing that it were he who was examining her instead.
‘Well, I don’t think you’ve done yourself any serious injury, apart from your wrist,’ the doctor was saying. ‘I’ll send you down for an X-ray on that, and then we’d better see about putting it in plaster for you.’
She nodded apathetically. Tom had gone, and she just wished they would let her go to sleep. But first the nurse had a form to fill in, with all her personal details, and then a porter came—the irritatingly cheerful sort—and wheeled her through deserted corridors to the X-ray department. Then at last it was back to Casualty, where someone put a warm plastic splint on her wrist, and tied it up in a sling.
She was back in her cubicle, half-dozing in the wheelchair, when she heard Tom’s voice outside again. ‘I thought I’d just drop by on my way home and see how she is.’
‘She seems fine,’ the doctor responded, a note of constraint in his voice. ‘There’s no sign of concussion. The wrist is fractured, but it’s been set. Apart from a bit of shock, there are no other problems.’
‘So what’s wrong?’
She heard the doctor sigh. ‘I really can’t justify keeping her in, Tom—not on medical grounds. You know the situation we’re in for beds—I’ve got a threatened miscarriage in cubicle three, and I’ve already had to send a coronary over to the Norwich.’
‘You’re going to discharge her?’ He sounded surprised.
‘I don’t really have much choice. At the most, I suppose I could stretch a point and keep her here until the morning. But all she needs is a couple of days’ rest, with someone to keep an eye on her, and she’ll be perfectly all right. Did she mention to you where she was planning to stay? Does she have friends or relatives up here?’
Josey heard Tom laugh drily. ‘She was old Miss Calder’s niece—remember that old stone cottage out by Breck’s Coppice?’
‘She wasn’t planning to stay there?’ The doctor sounded incredulous. ‘But it’s been empty for years—it must be practically falling down!’
‘Oh, the structure’s basically quite sound, but it’ll need a lot doing to it to make it habitable. Though she looks as if she’s got the money,’ he added, a sardonic inflexion in his voice. ‘Anyone who can afford to write off a Porsche can’t be short of a bob or two.’
There was a distinct note of contempt in his voice, and Josey felt herself wishing she could crawl into a corner. Of course those who eavesdropped never heard good of themselves, she reflected bitterly, but what else could she do but listen?
‘But in the meantime, that doesn’t solve my problem of what to do with her, does it?’ the doctor pointed out grimly. ‘Of course, I could ring her husband and get him to come and fetch her.’
‘No!’ The sharp protest broke involuntarily from Josey’s lips, and she tried to stand up.
The curtain was drawn back, and the doctor hurried in, frowning as he saw her struggling to her feet. ‘Now, now! You shouldn’t be trying to get up on your own,’ he chided, pushing her back with a gentle pressure that Josey didn’t have the strength to resist.
‘There’s…no need to ring my husband,’ she insisted weakly. ‘I’ll find myself a hotel or something.’
Tom had come in behind the doctor, and he laughed mockingly at her words. ‘Where do you think you are, South Kensington?’ he enquired drily. ‘We don’t have too many hotels around here, and those there are will be full for the tourist season.’
‘Besides, I wouldn’t be very happy just to let you go to a hotel,’ the doctor put in seriously. ‘Don’t you have anyone up here you could go to for a few days? A relative, or a friend?’
‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘It’s years since I’ve been up here. It…it was just an impulse that I came, really.’
The doctor sighed. ‘Well, where are you going to go…?’ He hesitated, glancing round at Tom. ‘I don’t suppose…?’
Tom looked faintly alarmed. ‘What…?’
‘It would only be for a day or two,’ the doctor assured him persuasively. ‘She won’t need any special care—just lots of rest. By Monday she should be as right as rain.’
Josey gasped in shock as she realised what the doctor was suggesting. ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly…!’
‘It would really be an enormous help, Tom,’ the doctor persisted. ‘Besides, if I knew it was you keeping an eye on her, I’d know she was all right.’
Tom hesitated, then smiled wryly. ‘OK,’ he conceded with no great deal of enthusiasm. ‘It looks as if that’s the only option.’
The doctor looked relieved. ‘I’ll give you a prescription for some diazepam for her—the pharmacy will be able to make it up for you tomorrow. Where have you parked your car? Nurse, get the porter to bring a chair, will you?’
He bustled away without waiting for an answer, leaving Josey looking up at Tom in some embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘I’ve put you to so much inconvenience already.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ But his unsmiling expression did nothing to reassure her.
‘I’ll find a hotel as…as soon as I can.’
‘I said it’s no trouble,’ he reiterated a little impatiently. ‘Just don’t expect the Ritz.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c0214b16-6805-5fec-bfbc-cf376dd205a7)
JOSEY lay in the big bed with her eyes open, trying to make herself believe that all this was actually real. Bright sunlight streamed through yellow chintz curtains, falling on the faded home-made patchwork that covered her bed and warming the mellow oak of the old-fashioned furniture.
Yesterday morning, and most other mornings for years past, she had woken in a stylish Italian bed, in a room with smart white walls and a pale beech floor, where she could just glimpse the south column of Tower Bridge if she leaned slightly to her left. Colin would be in the shower, and she would pad out of bed and into their glossy space-age kitchen, to pour him a glass of orange juice from a carton in the refrigerator.
But yesterday had gone—irrevocably. Her marriage—or rather the empty shell of it that she had been clinging to as if it were some kind of security blanket for so long—was over, and she had to face the world on her own. And this world was very different from any she would have expected to find herself in.
She didn’t remember much about getting here from the hospital. The doctor had injected her with some kind of pain-killer, and she had wanted to do nothing but sleep. She vaguely recalled a low, rambling building of weathered brick and flint, and the perfume of roses on the night air. And a cosy, old-fashioned kitchen, with a slightly uneven quarry-tiled floor, and a wicker dog-basket with a well-chewed red blanket beside a large inglenook fireplace.
These images came back to her like snap-shots in her mind. She could remember too, with a feeling that made her mouth a little dry, how she had stumbled woozily, and Tom had picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her up a flight of steep, narrow stairs, and brought her into this room, with its low, oak-beamed ceiling and big comfortable bed.
And she had been so clumsy with her wrist splinted and tied up in a sling that she had had considerable trouble getting out of her clothes and into her nightdress, and he had had to come and help her. But the unceremonious way he had dealt with the task had told her quite unmistakably that any modesty on her part would have been quite wasted—she held absolutely no allure for him whatsoever.
What she didn’t remember, though it was the one thing she had been trying to look for, was anything that suggested the presence of a wife or children in the house. She had only the impression of an exclusively male atmosphere—the shelf above the fireplace was merely a convenient place to put anything that didn’t have an immediate home, none of the roses from the garden had found their way indoors, and the curtains were purely functional and slightly in need of a wash.
With a wry smile she acknowledged to herself that such interest in the details of his domestic arrangements was really rather silly. But maybe she just needed a shred of romantic fantasy, to cushion the shock of the abrupt ending of her marriage. And maybe she was looking to him for just the smallest reassurance that she might still have some attraction for a man because it was so long since Colin had shown the least interest in her.
With a sigh she eased herself gingerly up on the pillows. If it was flattery she was seeking, she was wasting her time with Tom Quinn. Maybe he reserved all his warmth for the animals he cared for—he seemed to have little to spare for the human species, or at least for the female half of it.
But then what did she expect? Maybe five or six years ago she might have been able to make some impression, but she was going to have to take herself seriously in hand if she was ever going to expect any man to be attracted to her again. If it wasn’t already too late; she was getting dangerously close to her sell-by date.
Goodness, she felt stiff. Every inch of her body ached, her head was sore, and her wrist was both throbbing and numb at the same time. And she was dying for a cigarette. Forming the thought brought the familiar craving, and she knew that somehow she was going to have to get out of bed to reach the packet, which was on the dressing-table on the far side of the room.
Tears of self-pity rose to her eyes. It was an exhausting effort even to move, and the dressing-table seemed a hundred miles away. But that raw need wouldn’t let her have any peace. Tossing aside the quilted bedcover with an exclamation of impatience, she swung herself round and put her feet on the floor.
Dark pain swam before her eyes, and she had to wait a moment for it to clear. Then gritting her teeth she tried to stand up. She had managed about three steps when the door opened, and Tom appeared on the threshold, a breakfast tray in his hands.
‘What the devil are you doing getting out of bed on your own?’ he demanded brusquely.
‘I…I was trying to get my cigarettes,’ she explained, giving up and sinking back on to the bed.
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I thought…you’d probably be busy or something,’ she mumbled. Suddenly she was all too acutely aware of the way the dipping neckline of her silk nightdress revealed the gaunt hollows of her shoulders, while the pale ivory colour did absolutely nothing for her washed-out complexion. She crawled back under the bedclothes, drawing them up over her. ‘I’m sorry.’
A flicker of impatience crossed his face. ‘You don’t have to keep apologising,’ he grated, setting the tray down on a low pine chest beside the bed. He moved across and picked up the cigarettes, tossing them on to the bed with undisguised contempt. ‘Eat your breakfast,’ he advised tersely. ‘It’ll do you more good than those things.’
‘I…I don’t know if I can eat very much,’ she stumbled, eyeing the laden tray without appetite. ‘I don’t usually have breakfast.’
‘No.’ The wry twist of his mouth conveyed what he didn’t actually say—that she was too thin. He stood looking down at her in critical appraisal as she lit her cigarette, drawing on it deeply in relief. ‘How many of those do you smoke a day?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Oh…only about twenty or so.’ She shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I know they’re no good for me, and I’ve tried giving them up, but I just can’t.’
‘You could if you wanted to.’
She slanted him a resentful look from beneath her lashes. It was easy enough for him to say that—he’d probably never smoked. He didn’t look the sort of man who had ever suffered from a lack of will-power. ‘Yes, well…I’ll give them up some time,’ she promised vaguely. ‘But not just at the moment—they say you shouldn’t try to give up when you’re under stress.’
‘That’s the best time to do it,’ he persisted with ruthless insistence. ‘If you can cope without them now, you’ll be able to cope without them any time.’
Those stupid tears were stinging the backs of her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled thickly, and then, remembering that he had told her not to keep saying she was sorry, she apologised for that too. ‘I’m sorry.’
He laughed drily. ‘Eat your breakfast,’ he repeated, and went out, closing the door behind him.
Josey leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes. How had she ever let herself sink into such a mess, that she couldn’t start the day without a cigarette? It was no wonder that Tom treated her with such disdain.
Wearily she turned to the breakfast tray he had brought her. There was far more food than she could ever manage, even if she had been feeling more like her usual self. With a groan she realised that she wouldn’t be able to manage half of it—and Tom was going to be even more annoyed with her.
He had every right to be, of course—she had been nothing but a nuisance to him since she had all but smashed up his car last night. It would be better if she just took herself off to a hotel somewhere, out of his way. Holding that thought resolutely in her mind, she rolled herself painfully out of bed.
There was a small sink in the corner of the room, and she dragged herself over to it and had a sketchy wash, and then with some considerable difficulty got dressed. She had just finished, and was struggling one-handed to re-fasten her suitcase when Tom came back into the room.
‘What do you think you’re doing now?’ he demanded. ‘I told you not to try getting out of bed on your own—and you haven’t even touched your breakfast.’
‘I know—I’m sorry.’ Damn—he had told her not to keep saying that. ‘You’ve been very kind to me, and I’m very grateful, but I can’t trespass on your hospitality any longer. If I could just use your telephone, I’ll ring for a taxi, and find a hotel somewhere.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he rapped, his patience strained. ‘You’re as weak as a kitten. Get back into bed.’
‘No—I’m leaving,’ she insisted, though already just the effort of getting dressed and packing her bag had left her feeling exhausted. ‘I’m just a nuisance—you don’t want me here…’ Oh, damn—why did her voice have to waver so pathetically? She tried to pick up her suitcase, but it was loaded with bricks, and she slumped to her knees, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.
‘Get back into bed,’ he repeated, the sudden gentleness in his voice so unexpected that it made her sob harder. ‘You’re in no fit state to go anywhere today.’ His strong arms came around her, helping her to her feet, and he led her over to the bed, sitting down beside her, still holding her comfortingly close. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel so unwelcome.’ The taut note in his voice made her wonder just how rare it was for him to apologise. ‘I suppose I’m more used to four-legged patients than two-legged ones.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, her mind half-drugged by the evocative male muskiness of his skin. ‘I must be in your way. You’ve got work to do, and I’m taking up your time, running around after me, making my breakfast…’
‘Vi made your breakfast,’ he corrected her drily. ‘She couldn’t bring it up herself—she’s got a touch of arthritis, and can’t manage the stairs.’
‘Oh…’ She managed to stifle her tears, helped by a strong dose of curiosity. It didn’t seem very likely that this Vi was his wife, if she was old enough to suffer from arthritis. ‘Who’s Vi?’ she asked, trying to sound as if she had no more than a casual interest.
‘My housekeeper.’
‘Oh.’ She flickered him a cautious glance from beneath her lashes. ‘You’re…not married then?’
‘No.’
‘So…who was Maggie?’
‘Maggie?’ He looked faintly puzzled. ‘Oh, you mean Maggie Hunter? She’s the wife of a farmer over by Saltham Marsh. I was on my way to look at one of their cows when we—er—ran into each other.’
‘Oh…’ She could feel a faint blush of pink colouring her cheeks. Had she revealed a bit too much by asking such a pointed question?
He reached out and took the bowl of cereal from the tray, putting it into her hands. ‘Come on—just try and eat some of this,’ he coaxed. ‘You’ll feel a lot better with some good food inside you.’
She doubted it, but she made the effort just to please him—and rather to her surprise she was able to eat most of the contents of the bowl.
‘That’s better,’ he approved. ‘Don’t worry about the rest—maybe you’ll be able to eat a little more later.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now that you’re dressed, you might as well come downstairs and rest on the settee. I have to go out, but at least it’ll be a bit more interesting for you than being stuck up here with nothing to do.’
‘Thank you.’ She managed to smile, though it was rather a weak effort. ‘You’ve been very kind.’
