‘I’m not in love!’ Meg denied vehemently. ‘Weren’t you listening to a word I just said?’
‘Like “gorgeous” and “wow” and “heartbreaker”, for instance? And “sexy almost-grin”, even?’
‘Well, it is, and he is a heartbreaker—just not my heart. No way, but that doesn’t make me blind. I just think he’s a sexy-looking guy. Very sexy, but unfortunately he knows it. And, infuriatingly, he can be nice when he’s not being a womanising bastard. You should have seen him with one of the little kids—he was wonderful. I wonder which branch of medicine he was in and why he gave up?’
Fliss shrugged. ‘Dunno. Tom doesn’t know either. I’m surprised you didn’t ask him, though. It’s not like you to hold back, you’re usually straight in there.’
Meg shook her head, for once not responding to Fliss’s mild teasing. It was true, she was pretty direct usually, but…
‘I did ask, sort of—well, gave him a chance to talk,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘He didn’t take it. There was just something about him, though—something untouchable. He didn’t say anything, but once or twice I caught him looking at little Adam and there was something in his eyes. I did mention that I knew he’d trained with Tom, sort of casually, but he just said “it was a long time ago” in a really hands-off kind of way, and I couldn’t pursue it after that, but…’
‘Oh, hell, he’s in for it. You’re lethal when you’re curious.’
She shook her head. Oddly, she didn’t feel curious, more…concerned. ‘I think something happened,’ she said slowly. ‘Something momentous that made him give up.’
‘There’s usually a trigger for a lifestyle change,’ Fliss pointed out pragmatically. ‘I shouldn’t read too much into it. Loads of doctors give up, they just can’t hack it after a while. I expect Tom can get it out of him. They used to be really close friends, I gather, but they drifted apart. I don’t think Jane liked him very much.’
‘Perhaps he couldn’t stop looking at her chest either?’ Meg suggested, but Fliss shook her head.
‘Tom doesn’t know what happened, but something did, and reading between the lines I think it’s more likely it was Jane at fault. Right, I need to get this lot rounded up and into bed. Want to bath Charlotte? She’s inside with her grandparents, because she’s been crawling around on the grass all day and her little legs are a bit pink.’
‘Grass rash?’
‘Probably. A nice lavender-oil bath should settle it down, and I know how you love getting splashed.’
And cuddling her little god-daughter, Meg thought, but she kept it to herself. She wasn’t really broody, but if Fliss got the slightest hint of it she’d be matchmaking like crazy, and Fliss with the bit between her teeth was a terrifying prospect. Still, at least this Ben Maguire thing would keep her occupied for a week, and there was no way even Fliss would try and matchmake that combination, surely! Not after what she’d said about him.
She got to her feet. ‘You’re just trying to get a free nanny for the evening,’ she said drily.
‘Rumbled,’ Fliss said with a laugh, and Meg helped her coax Michael and Abby out of the tree house Tom had built for them in the branches overhead.
‘I’ll read you a bedtime story if you come now,’ she wheedled, and Michael promptly outsmarted her.
‘Three chapters,’ he said, and she sighed.
‘Two,’ she compromised, and they came down and ran inside, giggling and shrieking and still full of it, the dog bounding at their heels.
‘I don’t know where they get their energy,’ Fliss said, shaking her head. ‘And I don’t know why you’re reading to them, they’re quite capable of reading to themselves. They’re six now, nearly seven.’
‘Because bedtime stories are lovely,’ Meg said. ‘And anyway, I know you do it, too.’
Fliss chuckled. ‘Yes, and I’m deeply grateful to you for taking it over, but—two chapters? Sucker,’ she sang, and Meg laughed.
‘Very likely, but I read fast.’
‘Just so long as you aren’t up there for hours, because I’ve told Tom to bring Ben back here for supper—’
‘What?’ Meg wailed, horrified. ‘I look a total mess! I’m dressed for bathing the kids and chilling out, and you tell me now the sexiest man I’ve ever met is coming for supper? I hate you!’
Fliss laughed. ‘No, you don’t, you love me really. And you look fine. Anyway, I thought you weren’t interested?’
‘I still don’t need to look like a bag lady,’ she said in exasperation, ready to kill her friend for the second time in a few short days. ‘Dear God, you owe me, Fliss Ryman—big time.’
‘Whittaker—and get over it. Who knows? I could be doing you a favour.’
Somehow Meg didn’t think so, and she had a horrible sinking feeling that she and Ben weren’t, after all, going to be safe from Fliss’s matchmaking.
She thought of the expression in his eyes when he’d asked her about being topless, and she felt heat scorch her cheeks.
And, of course, Fliss saw.
‘Thought so,’ she said, and Meg could have smacked her.
‘It’s hot,’ she said, but Fliss just smiled knowingly, and Meg gave up.
‘OK, guys, thanks a lot. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early. Meg’s shift starts at seven, so six sharp should do it. Don’t be late.’
The team grumbled off towards the van that was parked on the fringe of the car park, and Pete turned to Ben with a look in his eye that boded trouble.
‘That goes double for you, Maguire,’ the producer warned, and Ben rolled his eyes.
‘When am I ever late?’ he asked, and Pete snorted.
‘Never—but you give us all fits and there’s always a first time. Just be here early, hmm? Five to instead of five past would be good. And for pity’s sake ditch the poverty image. You’re getting scruffier by the minute. Heaven knows, we pay you enough, it’s not as if you can’t afford clothes.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve packed my party frock,’ Ben retorted, letting sarcasm get the better of him for once. But he was getting tired of Pete’s little digs. OK, so he was a bit of a loose cannon off set, but he was always on time, he dressed appropriately for the camera, he ticked all the right boxes. There was no need for Pete’s attitude, and he was frankly sick of it.
Pete opened his mouth, took another look at Ben’s face and shut it. ‘Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.’ He lifted a hand in farewell as he strolled off, and slowly, reluctantly, Ben turned to Tom, knowing what was coming and with his arguments all ready.
‘So what are your plans for the evening?’ Tom asked, right on cue. ‘In fact, whatever they are, cancel them. I’ve got instructions and if I don’t take you home my life won’t be worth living.’
Ben shook his head. ‘I need to sort out a few things with the team for the morning and then get an early night,’ he said, deeply reluctant to spend an evening in Jane’s company, but Tom just raised a sceptical eyebrow.
‘Early night? This is me you’re talking to. I know you can get by on three hours’ sleep, I’ve seen you do it—been there while you did. And the arrangements for the morning are all set up, so that won’t wash. What the hell is it? A hot date?’
He might have known Tom wouldn’t take it lying down. He sighed inwardly. ‘No hot date.’
‘Your wife, then.’
‘Not married,’ he said economically, definitely not getting into that one.
‘So you’ve got no damned excuse at all, have you? And if you don’t come I’ll be in deep doo-doo. Felicity won’t forgive me,’ he said, and despite himself Ben’s curiosity was piqued.
‘Felicity?’ his mouth said before he could stop it, and that was it, a chink in the armour, and Tom was right in there.
‘My wife. You’ll like her.’
‘What happened to Jane?’
Damn, he hadn’t meant to ask, hadn’t meant to allow Tom to draw him into this sort of personal conversation, but at least it diverted attention the other
way, away from him, and that had to be good.
‘She walked out about four or five years ago—left me with four kids and went off to Germany with her lover.’
‘Ouch.’ Ben winced, but Tom was smiling.
‘Best thing she could have done for all of us, although it didn’t feel like that at the time. Felicity’s wonderful—but she’s a formidable woman when she’s crossed, and she’s expecting you, so if you’ve got any kindness left in you, you’ll spare me!’
Damn. He really, really didn’t want to do this, but Tom had been a good friend, and without being appallingly rude there was no way out. As if he sensed his impending capitulation, Tom clamped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. ‘Good man. Where’s your car? You can follow me.’
And just like that, he was cut off at the pass. With a sigh of resignation, he got into his car and followed Tom. They drove out of town for a few minutes, and then he turned in between old red-brick gateposts and round a sweeping gravel drive and pulled up outside the front of a house.
A gorgeous house—mellow red brick, early Victorian, he guessed, but it could have been older, and it was in immaculate order. Immaculate, that was, except for the abundant evidence of family life—a small pink bicycle abandoned on the gravel sweep, a forgotten dog toy, a white flag on a stick that looked like the remains of a war game protruding from the side of a tree house.
And through the wide front door, with a child-sized jumper dangling from the end of the banisters and a carelessly flung shoe peeping out from behind the big grandfather clock, he could hear giggling and running footsteps.
Bedtime, he thought, his throat closing.
Oh, God, I can’t do this.
But Tom was there, urging him forward, an arm around his shoulders shepherding him through the welcoming door into the warmth and chaos of his family.
He led him down the broad hall and into the kitchen, a huge and yet homely space, the hub of the house, and there was Tom’s mother, greeting him like a long-lost son, kissing his cheek, hugging him, telling him she was proud of his success. If only she knew.
But he managed to smile, to hug her back, to tell her she looked wonderful, and then Tom’s father was there, shaking his hand, offering him a drink, and Tom was introducing him to Catherine, a leggy fourteen-year-old who was turning into an astonishingly beautiful young woman.
He shook her hand, trying to banish the frown that was threatening to take over his face. ‘It’s good to see you again, Catherine.’
‘Aren’t you going to say, “My, haven’t you grown”?’ she said, tipping her head on one side, and he felt the frown retreat, to be replaced by a grin.
‘Well, I could, but since I haven’t seen you for several years, I would think it’s pretty obvious,’ he said. ‘The last time I saw you, you were probably three or four, and your brother—Andrew, is it?—was tiny.’
‘He’s bigger, too,’ Catherine said with pithy humour, and Ben chuckled, feeling the pressure ease as she went on, ‘He’s around somewhere—he’ll have his nose in a book. He’s going to be a genius.’
The dry irony of her tone made him laugh again, and she smiled back. ‘So,’ she said frankly, ‘what’s it like to be famous?’
‘Tedious,’ he said without hesitation. ‘I can’t go shopping for clothes without people recognising me, and there’s a woman in my hotel who’s already—’ He broke off, unsure quite how to phrase it to this young girl, but she had it down pat.
‘Cracking on to you?’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Sad. You’re just a person. Dad said he was cleverer than you at uni.’
‘He was,’ Ben agreed with a grin, ‘but I was better at the clinical stuff.’
‘So why did you give up?’
For a moment, he was speechless, and the room fell totally silent, hanging on his response.
‘It wasn’t what I wanted to do any more,’ he said finally, acknowledging at least part of the truth, if not the whys and wherefores. No doubt he’d have to explain them now, he thought, but then Catherine innocently rescued him with more of her open and ingenuous chatter.
‘So you moved on? I’ll buy that. It seems impossible when they ask me what I want to do—I’ve got to make career choices already, and I can’t. I mean, it’s my whole life, you know? There are so many things to do, and lots of people make career changes these days. Look at Fliss. She’s a nurse, but she’s been a property developer, too, and she’s fantastic at it, and now she’s a mum, and she’s doing that for England. Fliss says change is good, it keeps your mind fit. She’s cool.’
And everyone seemed to breathe again, or was Ben just imagining it?
‘I’m looking forward to meeting this legend,’ he said, turning to Tom and meeting that questioning and thoughtful gaze head on. ‘I take it she’s putting the younger ones to bed?’
‘Yes. They’ll be down in a minute—Ah, here you go. Darling, meet Ben. Ben, my wife, Felicity.’
The pride and love in his voice was reflected in his eyes, and Ben felt the ache of loss. Not now, he told himself, and before he could get his armour straight again, he was enveloped in a warm, soft hug that smelt of baby oil and lavender.
You lucky, lucky man, he thought, and then, as he stepped back out of her embrace, he caught sight of Meg behind her, in the open doorway, with the sun streaming through behind her and backlighting her like an angel. She had a baby in her arms, and she was walking towards him with a wary expression that made him think she wasn’t any keener to be here than he was.
‘Hello again,’ she said, and as she approached he was again engulfed in the same soft cloud of lavender and baby oil. Except that this time it hit him like a truck.
Since when had baby oil been so sexy? And lavender? Good grief. Old ladies smelt of lavender! And she was covered in baby powder, her hair escaping from the clip at the back and slithering down her neck, and he wanted to tunnel his fingers into it and anchor her head and kiss her senseless.
She held the baby out. ‘Meet my god-daughter Charlotte,’ she said with a smile for the baby, and put her in his arms. He tucked her onto his hip automatically and stared down into her serious little face. Damn, if Meg didn’t stop shoving kids into his arms he was going to—
Then Charlotte gurgled, her eyes lighting up as she reached out a chubby little hand to grab his nose, and he ducked out of the way and caught her fist in his and laughed.
‘Hello, toothy,’ he said, and she giggled, showing her three little front teeth even more clearly. ‘You’re gorgeous, aren’t you?’ he murmured, and she beamed at him as if he was the cleverest person in the world, and he felt another twist deep inside.
‘Ben, where shall I put your drink?’ David Whittaker was asking, and he seized the escape route with relief.
‘I’ll take it. Here, Meg, have her back. She’s yawning.’
He handed her back, catching a provocative glimpse of cleavage in the low V of Meg’s T-shirt as the baby grabbed it. Heat slammed through him again and, almost dropping the baby in his haste, he stepped back, wrapping one hand round the proffered drink and ramming his other hand into his pocket, out of mischief. He turned back to Tom and Fliss and groped for pleasantries.
‘This is a lovely place you’ve got here.’
Fliss laughed. ‘It wasn’t. It was a nightmare this time last year. We did it up.’
‘We? You did it up,’ Tom corrected, and turned to Ben. ‘She project-managed it like a military operation. The poor builders were run ragged.’
‘Ah, this property developer’s hat I’ve been hearing about?’ Ben said, latching on to a neutral topic like a drowning man with a straw. And the conversation moved on, away from children and his career and the past and all the endless questions which that topic could throw up, and into the much safer territory of the house’s restoration.
They drifted out to the garden, sitting on the terrace in the warmth of the early July evening. Andrew joined them, book in hand, and chucked in the odd remark from time to time, and gradually B
en relaxed.
This wasn’t so hard. They were lovely people, and if they would just accept him and leave the past alone, maybe it would be all right. And it was, for a while.
They ate simply. Salad, bread rolls warm from the oven, spicy chicken and thick juicy steaks seared on the barbeque. Under cover of the conversation Ben watched Meg. She interacted easily with the others, laughing and frowning in concentration and waving a dismissive hand to brush aside something she didn’t agree with. He thought again, The camera will love her. She’s a natural.
And then she turned and he caught the full force of that natural and beautiful smile, and his breath jammed in his throat.
Dear God, she was beautiful. Beautiful and warm and sexy, and he wanted her, as he hadn’t wanted a woman in ages. Years. For ever, maybe. Their eyes locked, and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and his throat closed.
‘So, this woman who’s cracking on to you—as my daughter so delicately put it—is she going to be a nuisance?’ Tom asked conversationally, and Ben dragged his eyes from Meg’s and looked at Tom.
‘Woman?’
‘In the hotel.’
‘Oh, her. She’s a pain, but I’ll cope. I’ll change hotels if necessary.’
‘Why don’t you come here?’ Fliss said, automatically swapping the baby from one breast to the other without a trace of self-consciousness. ‘We’ve got room—tons of room. The house was designed with a staff flat which we’ve kept because Tom was going to have an au pair, and it’s going begging since I rather made her job redundant. You may as well have it. It’s close to the hospital, and you’ll have privacy if you want it, and you can come and go when you like. You won’t disturb us, because it’s got its own entrance as well as the link to the house. And no women cracking on to you, I promise!’
He opened his mouth to refuse, but Fliss shook her head. ‘Think about it. The offer’s open. More food, anyone?’
CHAPTER THREE
BEN did think about it. Not then, but later, when he’d said his goodbyes and escaped from the gently suffocating warmth of their company and driven away into the dark and lonely night, back to the anonymous, hushed politeness of the hotel. He let himself into a room like all the hotel rooms he’d ever stayed in, perfectly well equipped and furnished, clean and fresh, with all the little bottles and potions set out in the bathroom and the tea- and coffee-making facilities on the tray by the television.
Holding Out For a Hero Page 3