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‘Don’t waste your energy. Stay where you are, you’re working. I can fix myself something.’
‘I feel guilty about that too. And about not getting enough work done. I’d planned to get through so much this weekend. I’ve just phoned the ward to see how Mum’s doing and the nurse said she was comfortable and asking for some breakfast.’ She walked through to the kitchen, flicked the heat under a stovetop coffeepot. Then turned to him, biting her bottom lip.
‘Matteo, how am I going to manage to work while I’m here? I know this sounds really mean and very selfish, but I need to be in London. And I need to be here for my mum. I can’t do both. How do people juggle these things?’
His eyebrows rose. ‘It’s very important, this sexual harassment case?’
‘It is to the three women making it. And to the guy who could lose his job and reputation if it turns out he’s been falsely accused—although I doubt it. It’s a delicate issue and I need to be there.’
‘Work, work, work. You have to learn to put yourself first. Put family first.’ God forgive him for that. Because when it came to family he chose not to be there too. ‘Is there anyone else who could fill in?’
The coffee fizzed and spluttered and she decanted it into two cups. ‘I have a junior, but he’s still very inexperienced. Becca’s my assistant, but I don’t really know her strengths as yet and this is too important to get wrong. I’d wanted to go through it all with her, have her watch how I do things. Besides, work is me. I am work. And that sounds really sad. But at least it’s clear cut. There’s nothing confusing about getting up every morning and heading in to the office. No room for anything else, like extraneous distractions.’
No room for a life. And that was the way he liked it too, although he was starting to wonder just what he was missing. He trotted out the line he gave his overworked junior staff. ‘Life’s all about the stuff that’s not work, too. No wonder you end up so strung out. Ivy, there is so much more, you just have to give yourself a chance. Couldn’t you postpone the case?’ When she didn’t answer he touched her arm. ‘Ivy? Couldn’t they put it off? How long do you think you need to be here?’
She shrugged. ‘You’re the doctor. How long does she need?’
‘You’re the daughter. Same question.’ It was a challenge that seemed to hit home, but she didn’t show that she understood his inference. It wasn’t his place to tell her what was important in her life. Mio Dio, who was he to judge?
Her smile was genuine. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a giant insufferable pain in the backside?’
‘All the time.’
‘Does it make a difference?’
He fluttered his eyelashes at her. ‘What do you think?’
‘That you make me crazy.’ She threw her hands in the air in an exasperated gesture that was more Italian than English. He liked it. She made him laugh. She turned him on. Plain and simple.
None of this was simple, he was realising. ‘I think you were crazy long before you met me.’
‘You, Matteo, are everything I hate about men. You’re bossy and … well, bossy. And, well, let’s just say you annoy me. A lot.’
So funny, because she was very definitely not annoyed right now. She was hot and sweet and looking like she needed kissing again. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her to look at him. ‘Aha. But still you kissed me. And not just once.’
‘I was trying you out. Sizing you up.’ This close to that pouting mouth he was very tempted to do it again.
‘And what?’
‘And nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ She flapped a hand at his chest and it struck ever so lightly against his skin. He caught her wrist and she turned full into him, so close he caught her scent mingling with the smell of her shampoo. Saw the dark green of her eyes, the honeyed flecks, all golden and melting. God, she was breathtaking. He wanted to kiss her. To have her, right now, here on the kitchen table. Wanted to be inside her. He wanted her with a passion he’d never had for anyone, ever.
A little dalliance would be fun, but then what? At what cost to both of them? Neither wanted … anything from anyone else. They were two islands of independence with a large ocean of complication between them.
So he tried to make it playful, dropped her hand, gave her a smile. ‘Okay, so take me out for breakfast. And I want to see the Minster that everyone’s so keen on showing me.’
She stepped back and held her wrist—not in pain, no, he hadn’t hurt her—but she just held it close to her chest. Her voice was sultry and shaky, as if she’d just had the best sex of her life—or wanted to. ‘Yes. Good idea, let’s go outside. First, phone about Joey?’
Matteo looked down at his running gear. ‘No. First a shower. I need to get out of these things.’
‘A shower. Okay. Shower … water … over your body …’ Her gaze scanned his face slowly from his eyes to his mouth, where it lingered. The memories of those kisses hovered in the silence. Heat rose within him. Need curled through the kitchen, thick and heavy and tangible.
He took a step back. ‘I’ll go now.’
‘Yes. Do.’
This thing was getting more intense, like a flame that had suddenly erupted into life and was consuming everything in its path, blazing a trail between them. He needed to get away from her before he did something stupid. Like kiss her again. If he didn’t douse himself in cold water he wouldn’t be able to function around her.
‘Wait!’ She walked towards him, the cardigan slipping from her shoulders and falling to the floor. Without a word she walked up the stairs and he followed her, hungry to see what she was doing. Was she going to …? Did she want …? A shower? With him? Was this the beginning?
His heart began a strange thumping against his ribcage and for the first time in his life he felt less than sure of his next move.
She stopped short at a door, turned to look at him and gave him a smile, eyebrows cocked. Then she dragged the door open, reached in and pulled out … ‘Towels, Matteo. I forgot to give them to you last night.’
Mio Dio. He’d thought he was going to have a heart attack. And now she was so close to him he wanted to touch her. To run his fingers through her hair. To feel that soft skin against his. He was hot and hard for her. Every part of him strained for her.
Holding the towels at hip level, he cursed the flimsy running shorts. ‘Thanks. I’ll go. Now …’
‘Just so you know, the shower’s a bit temperamental. Turn the cold water on first then adjust the hot to suit you. That is …’ Glancing towards his nether regions, she gave him a wry but cheeky smile that was so not the buttoned-up Ivy he knew—but was a whole lot more of the Ivy he wanted to get to know. ‘If you want hot at all.’
The cardiac care ward was locked. Ivy pressed the intercom button and waited. And waited some more. Inside she could see a blur of people running along the corridor. Running. To the blare of a siren. Crap. Her hand hit her mouth as her heart developed a fast, jerky rhythm. ‘What’s happening? What is it?’
She knew what it was.
Matteo’s hand slipped into hers. ‘It’s an emergency. Crash call, I imagine. It’s okay, Ivy. They’re all experts.’
‘Do you think …?’ It’s my mum? She couldn’t get the words out. Pain crushed her chest as she held her breath.
‘Try not to think at all.’ With a gentle smile that shone through his eyes he cradled her head against his chest and she inhaled his now familiar scent, which steadied her nerves. He was solid and strong and she felt safe with him. Apart from the fact that there was an emergency in there. And she was out here. That pain intensified. ‘Put your arms around me,’ he said softly.
‘No.’ She didn’t know whether she’d be able to let go. Whether holding on tight was giving him the wrong message. So, digging deep inside herself, she steadied her reactions. She’d managed this far in her life without needing anyone else. She could manage some more.
He shook his head and took her hand. ‘Don’t think about it, just do it. Hold on.’
‘Oh.’ Her defences worn down, her grip on her mum’s bag lessened. The bag dropped to the floor. Ivy did as she was told, wriggling her arms round his waist, feeling the breadth of him, his warmth. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I know.’ He didn’t give her any pithy pep talks about how fine she would be, how everything would be okay, he just held her. And for that she was grateful. She just took strength from him. Leaning against him, she felt the regular beat of his heart, the unrushed intake of breath. The safety net that she knew would be willing to hold her up if she needed it.
And she wondered what it would be like to be part of something. To be a half of a whole. If that could even happen. All that you complete me stuff wasn’t real, was it? It was something her mum had been looking for her whole life, and had never found. All those wasted years of chasing a ghost.
No, maybe it wasn’t real. But it felt damned nice to be held like this in her worst moments. She’d never had that—not from anyone. Someone to be with her and focus just on her. Someone who seemed to know what she needed without her having to tell them, without her having to strive for their attention.
Eventually the alarm stopped. The rushing slowed and after a few minutes a smiling doctor came to the door. ‘Oh, were you waiting? So sorry. Come on in.’
An air of calm pervaded the place. It was as if the running hadn’t happened. Or as if the doctor took everything in his stride. Like Matteo. So Ivy tried to stop herself from running too. ‘If something bad had happened they’d have stopped me from coming in, right? Surely? They’d take me to one side?’
Matteo nodded. ‘Of course. You think too much, like you expect something bad to happen.’
‘Well, I just want to be prepared if it does.’ Her mum was standing, in an old faded hospital nightie and dressing gown, at the side of her bed, smiling and chatting to a man about her age. Ivy almost ran to her in relief. ‘Hey, Mum. Thank God. You look a lot better today, up and about even.’
Her mum’s face brightened as she gave a hesitant smile. ‘Oh, yes, well, you always look better when they get rid of some of the tubes. This is Richard. He’s visiting my neighbour in bed eight. Funnily enough, he lives on West Mews, just round the corner from us.’
From you. Ivy didn’t live there any more. It wasn’t home. Hadn’t ever been, really. And what now? Her mum chatting someone up already—she really was getting back to normal. ‘Hi, Richard. Mum, what was going on before? That alarm? All those doctors rushing around? That wasn’t … that wasn’t for you?’
‘Oh, that. It was someone in the first bay. Poor chap. I’ll be happy when they move me off here.’
So will I.
‘Hello, Mrs Leigh.’ Matteo stepped forward and Ivy realised she was still holding his hand and that her mum was looking at her strangely.
Her mum’s eyebrows rose. ‘Montgomery. Actually, it’s Dr Montgomery. But that’s okay, you can call me Angela. Everyone does. Has Ivy shown you around the town?’
‘Yes. And he was impressed with the Minster, but it’s not as beautiful as Siena Duomo, apparently. As if. It’s a darned sight older. Or at least the foundations are.’ Ivy felt the smile in her voice. She just couldn’t help it. Cathedral wars, really? Seemed they had to differ on most things, or rather they both had opinions they liked to air. But it was a good challenge. Kept her on her toes. ‘The man’s a philistine.’
‘I said it was impressive. It is,’ he clarified. ‘I liked it, truly. It just doesn’t have the romance of the Duomo’s structure.’
Angela gave him an interested smile, her lips twitching. ‘You’re right, there. I did love all that marble.’ Then she turned back to Ivy. ‘Did you bring my things? I need to freshen up.’
‘Sure.’ Ivy proffered the bag while taking in the plethora of tubes attached to her mum. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Okay. Yes.’ Angela’s eyes flitted between Ivy and Matteo, and Ivy sensed a mother-daughter talk or something was brewing. Which would be novel. ‘Actually, that would be great.’
As her mum hobbled off towards the bathroom, IV stand in tow, Matteo squeezed Ivy’s hand and she realised she didn’t want to let it go. It was nice to have someone on her side. Which was a whole crock of crazy considering that a couple of weeks ago they’d been at loggerheads. But he gave her a gentle push. ‘Off you go. Start now.’
‘Start what?’
‘Fixing things.’
‘What if she doesn’t want to?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Would you ever want to look back and regret that you didn’t give it a go? Just be honest.’
‘She might not want to hear it.’
‘How else can you work things through, without honesty?’
‘Okay. I s’pose.’ He was right. He was often right, goddamn him. Not always … but enough to annoy her just a little bit more. She hid her smile.
As she followed her mum towards the ladies’ bathroom she felt his gaze on her back, realising that for the first time in years she hadn’t been conscious of her limp—that she was rarely self-conscious when she was with him.
Sensing him still watching her, she injected her gait with a jaunty swing of her bottom. It felt good. Mischievous, and out of character. Or maybe she had a part of her that she’d repressed? Maybe there was a part of her psyche that did want the trappings, the sex, the man? A part that she’d chosen to deny?
Wow. That was an eye-opening thought. But not one she was going to pay any more attention to. She hadn’t come this far in her life to give it all up for a life of compromise and dependency.
As if to remind her of that, her mum’s bag handle dug into her palm. Ivy tried to ignore those feelings of regret and … well, fear. Fear of feeling things. Of hurting. Of being let down. Of rejection all over again. She’d spent a good deal of her life closing herself off to people. But if Matteo was right, she needed to stop being scared. At least where her mum was concerned.
Let her in.
Let her in.
Let her in.
And she wanted to. She did. She wanted a chance.
‘How do I look?’ Angela was looking in the mirror and patting her hair, which was matted and flattened at the back. In truth, she looked tired and washed out and old. Blue-red bruises bloomed on her papery skin and her eyes were clouded.
‘Like I said, you look great, all things considered, and getting better every day. You’ve just had a life-saving operation, you’re not meant to look like something out of a magazine.’ Lifting her mum’s arm, threading the IV bag up through her nightgown sleeve and then hanging the fluid bag on the stand, Ivy gave her a smile. ‘I was so worried about you.’
‘Don’t be. I’m fine. Listen, Ivy, I need to talk to you.’
Ivy spoke to her mum’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Mum, you’re healing, you have to take it easy.’
‘There’s something I need to say.’
‘Save it for another time.’ Matteo’s big honest kick could wait until her mum was feeling better. ‘This isn’t the time or the place. You’re not well.’
‘But I need to talk about this.’ Angela nodded, still breathless, still pale, but clearly trying to act normal. Whatever that was. ‘I know I haven’t been easy to live with, Ivy. Things have been hard over the years. Depression has clouded so much, it was so disabling at times. But this scare has made me take stock of things. I want to put things right.’
‘Depression?’ Ivy had considered that over the years, but her mum had always seemed so content with a man and so unhappy without one that Ivy had thought her mum’s moods had been linked entirely with her relationship status at the time. Guilt shook through her again, but sadness too. ‘I didn’t realise. I should have, but I didn’t.’
‘You were too busy just being a girl, Ivy. I didn’t want to bother you with my problems. But I suspect you lived them anyway?’
Her childhood had been no fairy-tale. She hadn’t exactly been shielded from the dramas, especially when her step-family had been ripped away from her. She’d lost her normal, and had been plunged into her mum’s darkest moments, borne the brunt of her insecurities.
Even though this conversation was the last thing Ivy wanted, she nodded. If Angela felt up to saying this—and she really did seem to want to talk—then Ivy needed to let her say it.
Angela looked genuinely sorry. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t very good at all that. I know you got caught in the cross-fire and I leaned on you a lot at times. But I was grateful to have you.’
It never felt like it.
Hurt surged through her. This truth gig wasn’t pleasant. In fact, it was downright painful. Ivy didn’t want to relive everything that had happened, she just wanted things to be different going forward. Why drag over the old pain? Why not just try to fix things from now? ‘I’m sure you did your best.’
‘I don’t know … Now that I look back, I can see so many mistakes.’ Holding onto the sink rim, Angela looked down at her thin hands, then back at Ivy. ‘I don’t know if we can make things better. Just a little? I don’t know …’
‘Me neither.’ Was it too late for them? Ivy didn’t know. What she did know was that she didn’t want her mother to die—that had to mean something. Stepping forward, she stroked a hand on Angela’s shoulder. ‘We could try.’ Whatever that meant. There was no blueprint for the next steps they were going to take. Did her mum really mean it? Or would she revert to her old ways once she’d regained some strength?
It was a risk Ivy was willing to take. She pushed away the dark cloud hovering at the back of her mind. Things would be better now. Surely?
Her mum’s smile was a little wobbly. ‘Yes, I think we should try, Ivy. I’d like to. I’m so glad you’re here to stay for a while, we can do some nice mother-daughter things together.’
But, despite wanting to fix everything, Ivy’s heart lurched. And, yes, she knew it was terribly self-absorbed to be thinking of herself, but if she stayed too long in York and lost her job then everything she’d worked for would be gone. She’d have no security.
And no seeing Matteo.
That thought bothered her more than she’d thought it would. Over the last couple of days he’d become more than a colleague. Despite his annoying ways. Despite every barrier she’d put up.
But, on the other hand, how could she leave her mum?
Would this time to heal be any different from the rest?
