One Step at a Time
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Caroline Anderson
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Chapter 1
‘Mum? Phone—the hospital.’
Kate’s gangly, lovely daughter lowered the receiver, one hand covering the mouthpiece. ‘I expect they want you to go and earn lots of dosh—so maybe I get that hi-fi in my room?’
‘In your dreams,’ Kate chuckled, unravelling her legs from under her and wincing at the pins and needles. ‘I want some hearing left for my old age—tell them I’m coming. And go and have your shower now, please.’
Stephie removed her hand from the receiver and positively sparkled into it. ‘Hold on, please—Dr Heywood will be with you in a moment. Can I say what it’s concerning?’
Kate rolled her eyes and grabbed the receiver before her dear, delightful daughter could say anything else—like she hoped that the rates were good because there was this really cool hi-fi she’d seen...
‘Hello, Dr Heywood speaking,’ she said, her smile still in her voice. ‘What can I do for you?’ She turned to Stephie and covered the receiver. ‘Go and shower,’ she hissed.
‘Is that Mrs Katherine Heywood?’
The voice at the other end wasn’t the typical, efficient man-management voice of her usual contact at the hospital. Instead it was a little—what? Not hesitant, but careful, a little guarded. Gentle, almost. Immediately Kate’s blood chilled, but that was silly. Her daughter was here with her, and quite clearly safe. ‘Go and have your shower now,’ she mouthed, and then, as Stephie left the room, she said, ‘Yes, I’m Kate Heywood.’
‘Mrs Heywood, your husband asked me to call you.’
Immediately Kate relaxed. Obviously this was some poor secretary delegated by Dominic to pass on a message—and probably to get him off the hook for the weekend. ‘Ex-husband,’ she corrected automatically. ‘Don’t tell me—it’s an operation and it’s simply unavoidable.’
There was a palpable silence from the other end. ‘Um—you know, then?’
Kate laughed shortly. ‘Just guessing. It’s happened before. It’s rather a habit of his.’
‘A habit?’ Kate could almost hear the confusion. ‘Is he accident-prone?’
This time the confusion was Kate’s. ‘I’m sorry, could you explain that?’ she managed at last, her brow creased in a little furrow.
She heard the other woman draw a breath, then start again. This time there was no mistaking the gentle, news-breaking tone of voice. ‘Mrs Heywood—are you aware that your husband’s been involved in an accident?’
The icy dread crawled back over her. ‘Accident?’ she echoed. ‘What accident?’ She was aware of Stephie’s footsteps overhead, the sound of water running, and the pounding beat of her heart in her chest. Her grip on the receiver tightened reflexively. ‘Is he badly hurt?’
The girl at the other end soothed her professionally. ‘No, not really. He has leg injuries and a minor head injury—nothing life-threatening, but he’ll be in hospital for a week or two. I understand your daughter was to spend the weekend with him.’
Kate’s eyes slid to the photo of Stephie on the top of the piano. Lord, how would she tell her? ‘Yes, that’s right. Um—the weekend’s not a problem. How is he?’
Damn. Her voice was all wobbly and she could hardly hear for the pounding in her ears. She turned her back to the wall and slid down it, her legs suddenly like jelly. ‘Does he need anything? We’ll come and visit him.’
‘Well, in fact he asked me to call to tell you he’s fine and doesn’t want Stephanie to know, but he’d like to see you if you could pop in tomorrow. He wanted to ask you something. He’s having his leg pinned at eight—so after that? Say, two-thirty? He could probably do with some T-shirts or pyjama tops when you come in, if you can get them. And briefs or boxer shorts, not pyjama bottoms—he might have to be in traction.’
‘Traction? Pinned?’ Kate’s mind was reeling, and it showed in her voice. She consciously deepened it to take the anguished squeak out. ‘What’s he done?’
‘Broken his femur—his thigh bone.’
‘I know what a femur is; I’m a doctor. How?’
‘Car accident. I gather he was in collision with someone trying to overtake a lorry on a blind bend. He’s a bit—cross about it. He said something about the car being totalled. 1 understand it was rather old and precious.’
The Jag. Kate stifled a snort. She could imagine Dominic would be a ‘bit cross’ about it. More than a bit. The old E-type was his pride and joy. If it had been ‘totalled’, as he’d colourfully described it, she could imagine the ward staff being given a really hard time! Dominic in a temper was a sight to behold—fortunately not a sight she now had to witness too often, thank God.
She jotted down the name and address of the hospital, the name of the ward and the consultant, and visiting times.
‘Tell him I’ll be in to see him tomorrow, and I won’t tell Stephie for now. Give him...’ She hesitated, and swallowed the sudden unexpected lump in her throat. ‘Give him my love,’ she finished softly, and returning the phone to its cradle with infinite care, she dropped her head back against the wall and let her breath out on a ragged sigh. He was hurt. Her hand pressed her chest, nursing the ache there. Thank God he’d had the sense not to worry Stephie. She finished her end-of-year exams tomorrow, and once Kate had seen him she would have to decide how to break the news. By then she would have a better idea of what she was preparing Stephie for, but she couldn’t tell the girl until Dominic agreed, because once she knew he’d been hurt wild horses wouldn’t keep her away from her father.
Kate sighed again and ran a shaking hand through her thick dark hair, destroying the sleek line of the bob. Of course Stephie would be desperate to see him. Her parents’ disastrous marriage had been over for years now, and Kate and Dominic had both worked hard at maintaining a good relationship with their only child. They both loved her, and Stephie in turn loved both of them. However, she was especially close to Dominic, in the way girls were often closer to their fathers, and she would be terribly upset to know that he was hurt.
Kate would have to keep it a secret until after Stephie’s last exams tomorrow—if she could manage to fool her usually extraordinarily perceptive child.
Overhead she heard the water stop, and after crawling to her feet she went into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine from the box in the fridge, draining it with shaking hands. Please, God, let her get some composure back.
Moments later Stephie bounded down the stairs and into the room like a gangly puppy, all high spirits and sparkling eyes.
‘Well? Do I get my hi-fi?’
Kate scraped up a smile. ‘Not quite yet. It was a message from your father to say he’s got an operation tomorrow and he’ll be a bit tied up at the weekend,’ she explained, without explaining anything at all, and Stephie stared at her for a moment.
‘The call was from the hospital,’ she said.
Kate could see puzzlement and doubt creeping into her daughter’s face, and flannelled like mad. ‘Yes—he’s there now. It’s an emergency, scheduled for operation early tomorrow, and he won’t be able to go far afterwards just in case.’ Just in case of what, she didn’t elaborate. ‘He sends his love—says he’ll make it up to you later,’ she added.
Stephie pulled a face, yanked open the fridge door and stared disgustedly at the contents.
‘There’s nothing in here!’ she grumbled. ‘Does that mean I’m not going to the clinic at all this weekend?’
‘I’m afraid not—and don’t you dare tell me the food’s better there!’ Kate warned, and her daughter grinned winningly.
‘OK, I won’t,’ she sang, and, snapping a yoghurt off the pack, she ripped off the foil and licked it, then dropped it on the table and sauntered over to the drawer.
‘In the bin,’ Kate nagged, thankful for the diversion of everyday bickering to distract both her and Stephie from the tension she was feeling.
The moment the yoghurt was finished she hustled Stephie off to bed, and followed her shortly afterwards. Sleep, though, was a long time coming. Her mind was tortured with the image of Dominic lying in a hospital bed, his leg up in traction, racked with pain.
Their marriage might have been over for years, but that didn’t mean that deep under the polite veneer and child-orientated communication there was no feeling left. She told herself that it was because he was the father of her child, and nothing to do with the dynamic, sensuous, cantankerous but funny man she had married, but she didn’t believe it. She would always have a place in her heart for him, and just now that place was hurting...
She swallowed the lump again, told herself that he was fine and probably giving the nursing staff hell, and finally drifted off into a restless, dream-filled sleep.
The next day she dropped Stephie off at the bus stop as usual, then went to the GPs’ surgery where she was doing locum cover. They were reasonably understanding about her disappearing for the afternoon, especially considering they had to dovetail her surgery patients into two other doctors’ surgeries that evening, but it couldn’t be helped. It was her last day there anyway, fortunately.
She escaped gratefully at lunchtime, drove straight to the hospital and then paused to drag a comb through her hair and wash her face and hands in cool water before going onto the ward.
She found a staff nurse at the desk and introduced herself.
‘Oh, yes,’ the girl said with a smile. ‘Dr Heywood’s been expecting you. He’s a bit groggy still, from the anaesthetic, but you should be able to wake him. He’s here.’
She led Kate into a small four-bedded unit right opposite the nursing station. It was empty apart from him, and she was grateful that there was nobody to see her reaction.
The nurst left her with a smile, and for a moment Kate hesitated, her heart pounding, her professional detachment blown to smithereens by the force of her feelings for him. She hovered by the foot of the bed, taking in the sight of the bruised and battered man lying almost naked in front of her, his skin contrasting sharply with the bright white sheets. He was asleep, his body lax with the weight of drug-induced oblivion, and she gripped the end of the bed, studying him, her heart in her mouth.
He looked awful. Her knees dissolved under her, and, taking a steadying breath, she lowered herself into the chair beside his bed, her eyes automatically flicking over him and inventorying his injuries.
His face was bruised and swollen, his eyes blackened, and there was a bump in the middle of his beautifully straight aristocratic nose. His left eye was almost swollen shut, and there was a nasty, jagged scratch down his throat and over his collarbone.
His chest was bare, with pads and wires trailing to a heart monitor that bleeped quietly in the corner. She studied the trace for a moment, reassured that it looked normal, then looked back at his bruised and battered chest.
A large, curved, purple stain spread over the front of his ribcage, clearly visible through the light scatter of curls that was his only covering. A folded blanket lay across his hips, and she could see the swollen and discoloured area over the fracture site on his right thigh.
As she watched his right eye flickered open and he turned his head towards her. ‘Kate?’ he mumbled. His brow creased, and with a groan his eye flickered shut again.
Had he died? No. It still hurt too much. Then he must be dreaming her, pulling her out of thin air because he needed her so badly.
Damn, he could smell her, that faint, delicate fragrance that teased his senses and haunted his dreams.
Or this dream, at least. She was stroking him, her hand cool and soft, gentle against his bruised face. The fragrance wafted over him again and he turned towards it, inhaling deeply.
Too deeply. With a groan he lifted his hand to his bruised ribs and cradled the deep ache. Damn, he hurt. Not just the ribs, but everywhere.
Especially his leg. Hell’s teeth, that was grim. He needed pain relief. What was it the nurse had said?
His eye struggled open again, and blinked. His vision was filled by her—her wide, luminous grey eyes like the mist on a summer’s morning, her short, straight nose sprinkled with tiny freckles, her mouth soft and full, a little too wide but so kissable, so endlessly inviting...
He blinked again. She was all out of focus.
‘Dominic?’
Now she even sounded real. ‘Hi,’ he croaked, realising as he did so that he must look a real idiot to anyone passing. Fancy talking to a dream.
‘How are you?’ the dream asked, her voice soft, curling round him like the fading wisps of that misty morning.
‘I hurt,’ he mumbled. ‘Thirsty—bloody leg aches.’
‘Do you want a squirt from your pethidine pump?’ she asked.
He turned his head slightly. That was what the nurse had said. He nodded, and instantly regretted it as the drummers started up again inside his skull. His one useable eye slid shut and the groan rumbled in his chest, but then moments later he felt the pain ease slightly in his leg. Now, if the drummers would only knock off as well, maybe he could get on with his dream...
He prised his eye open again. ‘God, Kate, you’re beautiful,’ he mumbled. His lips felt thick and numb, like swollen rubber. He moved his hand and felt her cool, firm palm against his, the curl of her fingers wrapping over the back of his hand and squeezing gently.
An angel, he thought, except that he wasn’t dead. He studied the face, shifting in and out of focus, surrounded by those soft tendrils of dark hair that had escaped from the severe bob, refusing to be tamed. Maybe she was an angel. He shifted to get a better look, and pain shot through him again.
He resented it. It interfered with his dream. Perhaps he’d just shut his eyes and feel, instead.
The hand was stroking him now, the skin like silk. Her skin was, of course. He could remember it, even after all these years. Soft and silky and fragrant, and so warm. He could remember the feel of it under his hand, and the softness under the skin, the smooth curves, the womanly fullness—
He groaned again. Damn, he could feel her skin now, the dream was so vivid. Vivid and beautiful, and so real. The mind was a fascinating thing, he thought abstractedly. Here he was, dreaming about lying here dreaming about lying here—it was like a room with mirrors on each side, so that you could see your image getting further and further away—it was complicated. Too complicated...
‘How is he?’
Who was that? He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t seem to manage it. The drummers in his head had crawled out and sat on his eyelids, holding them shut.
His dream-Kate replied, ‘Drowsy—I think he’s in pain. I gave him a shot from the pethidine pump and he settled a little.’
He grunted disgustedly. The dream was getting boring, interrupted just as he was getting to the best bit. The hand tightened around his, the dream-voice soft, soothing, hushing him. Lord, she was so lovely in this dream. That skin was like velvet...
‘I love you,’ he mumbled, and the fingers tightened fractionally.
He felt another hand, cooler, firmer, businesslike, on his other wrist. The nurse. He’d better stop talking to his dream or he’d be moved to the psychiatric wing for observation.
A weak chuckle bubbled in his chest. What a damn fool. They’d have him pegged as a loony in no time.
‘Dr Heywood? Are you awake?’
Damn. He forced the eye open again, evicting the drummers, and the nurse’s face swam into view.
‘Hello there,’ she said with a smile. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Bloody,’ he said bluntly. ‘You woke me up—I was dreaming.’
The nurse’s face smiled. ‘Your wife’s here.’
He turned his head a fraction and waited for the drummers to start up again inside, but they seemed to have got lost, thank God. Kate’s face swam into view. Oh, hell. She really was here. What had he said out loud, and what in his dream?
‘I dreamt you were here,’ he told her, just in case it was anything incriminating.
She smiled, her eyes misty—damp? he thought incredulously. Never. Not his Kate.
She wasn’t, though, of course. Not his.
Not since he’d walked out.
‘How are you?’ she was asking.
‘Sore.’
‘You would be. Can I get you anything?’
He shook his head cautiously, then changed his mind.
‘Grapes,’ he murmured. ‘You could feed me grapes.’
‘In your dreams,’ she said with a stab at humour. His mouth twitched lopsidedly. ‘I’ve fantasised about it.’
She laughed, the sound harsh and brittle to his ears, quite at odds with the gentle murmur of his dream. ‘There’s damn all wrong with you, sunbeam,’ she told him, and eased her fingers away from his. Instantly he missed the contact, and his fingers closed convulsively on the sheet.
Damn, he hated needing her...
He remembered something else—something he really did need from her.
‘Kate?’
‘I’m still here.’
He didn’t know how to phrase it. Usually he was OK with diplomacy, but just now the ability to think clearly seemed to have escaped him, and with it his subtlety. ‘I need your help,’ he said abruptly.
‘Help?’ Lord, the colour that woman could put into one tiny word. Astonishment, disbelief—contempt?
He expanded a little, groping for the words. ‘Sally’s off.’
Her brows creased together in puzzlement. ‘Who’s Sally?’
Dominic struggled for his lost intelligence. ‘One of the doctors. There are three of us—she’s part-time, but her kids are sick with chicken pox. I’m going to need cover, just for a fortnight or so, until I’m up and about again.’
‘From me? In the clinic?’ She eyed him sceptically. It was a look he’d come to know—and not to love. ‘Why me?’
‘Because it needs to be someone I can trust,’ he told her honestly, without stopping to analyse his words. Pointless anyway. He couldn’t analyse them—couldn’t even find them half the time. That was the pethidine...
She laughed. ‘Trust?’ she asked softly. ‘Or bully?’
He felt his mouth tighten—just enough so that the cut and bruised flesh screamed in protest before he remembered and relaxed.
‘Don’t play word games with me, Kate,’ he grated. ‘I feel like hell and I’m not enjoying it. If you can’t help me I’ll get someone else.’
She was quiet for a moment, then he felt the tentative touch of her hand on his. ‘Dominic, I don’t know anything about rehabilitation or pain clinics. I don’t know if I can do it,’ she said softly.
‘Of course you can. Another anaesthetist can be called in to do acupuncture or any minor surgical procedures like implants. All you need to do is provide a medical presence—nothing else. But someone ought to be living in, and Jeremy’s wife’s expecting any day now, so he can hardly leave her.’
He eyed her doubtful face. ‘Jeremy’s very good—he’ll look after you. It would give you a chance to spend some time with Stephie—maybe even have a bit of a holiday together. Your clinic duties would be very limited.’
He weighed her hesitation, then her hand tightened on his in a gentle squeeze. ‘OK,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll do it—just long enough to give you time to recover, But only if you don’t interfere.’
He felt his shoulders drop with relief, and some of the pain went out of his chest. Damn, he needed some of his own expertise here, he thought wryly.
‘I won’t interfere,’ he promised rashly.
Was that a sceptical laugh? Damn woman. ‘I’ll bring you some things,’ she was saying. ‘Has someone got a key for your place?’
His place? He groped in his mind, and then nodded cautiously. ‘At Reception. Mrs Harvey’ll sort you out. I expect all my keys are still with what’s left of that poor bloody car. Did you know they had to cut me out? It’s wrecked.’
She stood up to go but he reached for her, his fingers fastening on hers like a steel trap. ‘Kate? Don’t tell Stephie yet. I don’t want her worried. The clinic will be fine until Monday. Tell her then.’
‘I won’t worry her. I’ll have to tell her before I start work at the clinic, though. Perhaps I’ll bring her to see you tomorrow, when I come back. I expect by then you’ll be feeling more like seeing her.’
He felt the sweet brush of her lips against his battered cheek and then she was gone, leaving behind only a faint, lingering fragrance and the memory of her touch...
The doctor was waiting for Kate as she came out. They went into Sister’s office and he snapped some X-ray plates up on the light box. ‘His femur’s the main injury, of course. These are the pictures of it. As you can see, it was undisplaced—which has made managing it much easier than it might have been. He’ll be up and about again very quickly.’
Kate laughed. ‘For heaven’s sake don’t tell him that or he’ll be up tomorrow. Patience isn’t his strong suit—not with himself, anyway.’
The doctor smiled understanding, and Kate wondered if he’d already been exposed to Dominic’s ‘patience’.
‘He’s slightly concussed, his nose is cracked but not displaced and he’s got various contusions over the trunk and legs, but no further injuries apart from the femur. The operation to pin that this morning was very successful, as I said, and we’ve managed to stabilise the break entirely with a simple pin. He’ll be in for a couple of weeks, maybe three, and then home under supervision with gentle mobilisation and physiotherapy to get him slowly back on his feet. Give him a couple of months and he’ll be fine, all being well. He was very lucky.’
Kate regarded the young surgeon thoughtfully. Dominic might have been lucky, but anyone involved in his care for the next few months wouldn’t be! The only time she’d ever known him to be ill was when he’d had flu, and he’d been awful—grumpy, difficult, resentful, demanding, terminally frustrated by his inactivity and thoroughly awkward.
A real peach, in fact.
Thank God she wasn’t going to be involved this time! Instead she’d be holed up at the clinic, trying to justify his trust in her. Blind faith, he might have said. She had no idea what went on inside the walls of the hall beyond what she had gleaned from reviews in medical journals, and the information in those tended to be scant. Why he felt he could trust her to work there in his absence she couldn’t imagine. Still, he’d said her duties would be strictly limited. She hoped he was right.
She thanked the doctor for her time and left the hospital, going straight to Stephie’s school to pick her up. She was waiting by the gate, swinging her bag disconsolately from one hand, her face miserable. Oh, Lord, Kate thought, a bad exam. Just what she needed, poor kid.
She pulled up beside her and reached across, pushing the door open and giving her daughter an encouraging smile. ‘Hi.’
Stephie threw her bag into the back, narrowly missing Kate’s head, and slumped into the seat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Kate schooled her features hastily. ‘Tell you what, darling?’
‘About Dad’s accident.’ Her voice was accusing, hurt and bewildered. ‘I rang the clinic at lunchtime to leave a message for him to ring me when he had time. Mrs Harvey told me.’
Kate let out a cautious breath, mentally damning the clinic manager. ‘I was going to tell you.’ ‘When? Next week?’
It was so close to the truth that Kate flinched. ‘Your father said—’
Stephie snorted. ‘Why didn’t you tell me last night?’ she asked bitterly. ‘You could have told me—I’m not a child any more. I thought something was wrong.’
Kate studied her hands, lying loosely on the steering wheel. Funny, they looked relaxed. How deceptive appearances could be. ‘I didn’t want to worry you till your exams were over. Anyway, I’ve seen him this afternoon and he’s OK.’
‘Can we go now? I want to see him.’
She hesitated. ‘He had an operation this morning to fix his leg. He’s probably not feeling too good.’
‘I want to go now. I want to see him,’ her daughter repeated stubbornly.
Kate looked at her watch. ‘We could go and pick up some things for him from the clinic, then go back for a little while—’
‘Well, come on, then,’ Stephie urged. ‘Let’s get to it.’
She got to it. They drove up the A12 and turned off, heading out into the open country past a little town, then another village, then in front of them was a gateway and a large sign that read, ‘Heywood Hall—Rehabilitation Centre and Pain Clinic. Fitness Club’. Dominic’s baby, she thought, and felt a sudden pang of doubt. Could she do it? She didn’t have the slightest idea of what would be expected of her, what sort of patients it treated or the methods used, except that it was highly successful and had swallowed Dominic body and soul for the past few years.
How lucky he was to have such a glorious setting for his dream, and to have inherited the gracious elegance of the enormous house that was not only his place of work but had been home to a branch of his family for generations. Not that she begrudged him it. He had worked enormously hard, she recognised, and if anybody deserved his success and his unexpected heritage it was Dominic.
And the end result was that he had a career to be proud of, and a sense of real achievement to take to bed at night.
Whereas she had a succession of locum jobs carefully fitted round the school holidays, and scarcely ever the chance to. follow a patient through to the end of a course of treatment. She didn’t envy him the house, but the job—oh, yes.
With a little pang of regret for what she had lost and might have had, Kate turned the car through the gateway by the pretty little lodge cottage and drove up the immaculate tarmacked drive sheltered by huge old trees. It wound up through rolling parkland, coming to an end at the lovely, gracious house that presided over the ancient trees and gazed out in regal splendour across the park to the little town on the hill beyond.
It hadn’t always looked like this. When Dominic had inherited it unexpectedly six years ago, it had been tired and run down, desperately neglected by several generations and in need of a massive capital injection. Unbelievably that capital injection had been found—some left to him, much more, she gathered, by sleight of hand and judicious asset-stripping—until Dominic had been in a position to put enough forward so that the bank had been convinced and lent the balance.
And now, she thought as she came to rest in the paved area beside the house, it was a thriving business with an international reputation and a huge amount of professional respect.
She was proud of him—but there was no place here for her. There hadn’t been any place for her with him, in any part of his life, for the past twelve years. Only through Stephie did they have any contact. Dominic hadn’t wanted her, and he hadn’t needed her.
Until now.
She sighed. Maybe not even now, if she fouled up.
‘Wait here, I’ll get the key,’ she told Stephie, but she was talking to an empty seat. Her daughter was up and gone, long hair flying, slender legs flashing past the bonnet as she streaked over the path towards the house.
Kate followed her slowly, going through the huge, imposing entrance into the lovely, airy reception hall. It was cool and peaceful, the flowers fresh and sweet-smelling, and an elegant woman in a smartly tailored suit was hugging Stephie and greeting her with obvious affection.
As she released Stephie she looked up at Kate curiously.
‘Dr Heywood?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Kate glanced at the name tag on the woman’s lapel and shook her hand. ‘Hello, Mrs Harvey. I’ve come for the keys to Dominic’s house. He wants some things, and his car keys and house keys are at the garage with his car.’
Stephie was heading off towards the grounds. ‘I’ll see you at Dad’s in a minute, Mum. I just want to find the cats.’
She ran off, leaving Kate alone with the hesitating Mrs Harvey, who was clearly torn. ‘I ought to come with you, but I can’t leave Reception at the moment,’ she said worriedly. ‘I’m waiting for an important call about a locum. This accident really couldn’t have come at a worse time.’ Her brow creased and she gave the phone an anxious glance.
‘Why don’t you ring them and cancel it? Dominic’s asked me to do the locum cover,’ Kate informed the astonished woman. ‘I start on Monday.’
Mrs Harvey’s eyes widened. ‘You?’ she gasped. ‘Are you able to—I mean, can you do it? Do you know how?’
Kate smiled confidently, although the woman’s words echoed her own thoughts exactly.
‘Of course I can do it—at least the day-to-day things. He’s arranged an anaesthetist to do the specialised work.’ The key hovered in Mrs Harvey’s hand and Kate leant forwards and plucked it from her fingers.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Harvey. I won’t steal the silver,’ she said drily, and, turning on her heel, she went back out into the July sunshine and took a lungful of fresh air.
She felt unwanted and out of place. She probably was. Dominic’s ex-wife was hardly the ideal choice of locum! Well, tough. He had asked her, he had faith in her—it was his mistake.
And as Dominic didn’t admit to his mistakes it wouldn’t be a problem. He would have no choice but to back his decision to the hilt. Anyway, he’d promised not to interfere.
‘Stephanie,’ she called, and set out through the grounds for the two-storey redbrick house they called Garden Cottage.
It was lovely, the garden a mass of roses, and although much simpler than the gracious and elegant hall, it appealed more to Kate’s taste.
It was also, she knew, to Dominic’s taste, and she thought sadly that there, at least, they had always agreed. Both of them had a preference for the simple, humble things of life. Bar the car, Dominic was probably the least ostentatious person she knew.
Without waiting for Stephie she went through the ground floor and located his bedroom by trial and error. She knew it was downstairs because Stephie had told her about the French doors that opened directly into the garden, and how he slept with them open at night.
It was typical of Dominic. He loved scents and sounds and textures. She’d often thought that, should he ever go blind, he would probably be able to cope better than most, because his appreciation of his other senses was already so enhanced.
Touch, for instance...
She dragged her eyes from the huge old bed and scanned the room for a likely hiding place. ‘Where do you keep your pyjamas, Dominic?’ she murmured, and began opening drawers.
They were tidy—not obsessively so, just neat and practical—and totally devoid of pyjamas.
She shrugged and fished out some T-shirts instead, and some boxer shorts that she tried not to think about too much as she laid them on the bed. Wash things she found in the adjoining bathroom, and as the huge bath set into the floor made her blink she reminded herself that Dominic’s private life was just exactly that—and nothing to do with her any longer. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder if he entertained in it...
Stephie arrived in time to find her closing the case she’d found in the top of a cupboard.
‘I couldn’t find pyjamas,’ she told her daughter.
‘You won’t—he sleeps in the raw.’
Kate, ridiculously, felt a flush crawl over her skin. He had always worn pyjamas before—but they had been living with her parents. Had she ever known the real Dominic?
She turned to Stephie. ‘Do you suppose there are any grapes in the clinic kitchen?’ she asked impulsively.
‘Grapes? Yeah, sure. I’ll get some. Are you done here?’
Kate nodded. ‘Yes. I’ll lock up and meet you at the car.’
She returned the key to the doubting Mrs Harvey, and then strolled over the grass towards her car. As she did so a harassed young man in a white coat approached her.
‘Excuse me—are you Mrs Heywood?’
She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Yes—yes, I am.’
He stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Jeremy Leggatt. I’m one of the doctors attached to the clinic.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Jeremy. I’m Kate.’
The worry in his eyes moderated a touch at her friendly greeting. Not completely, though. He said, ‘I gather your husband’s asked you to cover for him for a while?’
She didn’t bother to correct him, by putting in the ‘ex’.
‘Yes, he has,’ she told him. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’
He laughed. ‘Problem? No way—unless you said no?’
She smiled. ‘I didn’t.’ Jeremy gave an exaggerated sigh and she chuckled. ‘Did you think I might?’
‘I had no idea, but we’re so short-staffed that if you had said no I’m afraid he would have discharged himself and limped back, broken leg and all.’
Kate didn’t doubt it for a moment.
‘Don’t worry,’ she soothed, ‘I start on Monday. I think he thought it would be tidier if it was me rather than a total stranger.’
‘Keep it in the family, you mean?’
Kate smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘How does he feel about it? I mean, I know you’re—um—’ The young doctor floundered to an embarrassed halt.
‘Divorced? Yes, we are. However, we’re also both perfectly civilised and professional people, and apparently Dominic would rather it was me than anybody else. After all, he can throw his weight around with me and I won’t walk off. Nobody else would stay for a moment.’
The doctor looked even more embarrassed.
Kate grinned. ‘Look, let’s be honest. Dominic can’t delegate, and he can’t abide having decisions made for him. He’s also the absolute pits when he’s ill. Trust me, nobody else would stay the course.’
Jeremy looked hugely relieved. ‘If you’re sure,’ he told her.
‘I’m sure.’
‘It’s probably best if it is you, of course, because it means Stephie can be here as usual for the holidays and there won’t be a stranger in the cottage.’
‘Cottage?’ A cold feeling struck her, running through her throat like fingers of dread.
‘Yes—Dominic’s cottage. You’ll have to stay there—there isn’t any other accommodation. All the rest is full.’
Kate closed her eyes for a second. Dominic’s cottage, filled with scent from his garden and stamped indelibly with his personality...
Could she do it?
‘Kate? Are you all right?’
She opened her eyes. ‘I’m fine. I was just considering options.’
Jeremy smiled weakly. There aren’t any.’
Kate, reluctantly, had come to the same conclusion.
Stephie ran up then, brandishing a huge bunch of grapes in a plastic bag.
‘Hi, Jeremy,’ she said cheerfully.
The young doctor turned to her with a grin. ‘Hello, trouble. Going to see your father?’
She nodded. ‘Yes—if I can ever get Mum to take me.’
Kate shared a smile with Jeremy. ‘I’ll see you later—will tomorrow morning do? I could do with packing for us.’
‘Sure—and thanks.’
Stephie shot a look after him as he walked off, and then fell into step beside her mother.
‘Pack?’ she said.
‘Sally Roberts has had to go home because her children are ill. With your father out of action as well they’re too short-staffed. I’m going to cover.’
Stephie stopped in her tracks. ‘You?’ she said incredulously. ‘Dad will have a fit!’
Kate shook her head. ‘He asked me.’
‘What?’
The shock in her daughter’s voice said it all. That Dominic should not only invite her over the threshold but actually delegate authority to her was so out of character that Kate was still stunned. Poor Stephie was naturally pole-axed.
‘Maybe it was the bump on the head,’ Kate said drily.
Steph shot her a look. ‘Very likely.’
‘Still, look on the bright side,’ her mother said. ‘You get to come here for the holidays after all.’
And so, she thought, do I. And I wonder how it’s going to work...?
