“Beth asked me to wait for you, in case you turned up. We need to go now. It’s less than ten minutes’ walk to the church.”
“I know where the church is.” Tartness flavoured her voice. Seemed he’d already judged her for her lateness.
His frown intensified. “So you can lead the way.” He moved to step out and close the door behind him.
Both her hands raised like stop signs. “Sorry. I’m not walking anywhere. If I thought I could manage to walk that much further, I would have gone straight there.” Her bravado deserted her, leaving her ready to cry. “Before you bawl me out for being late and ruining Beth’s plans, please let me in. I need to sit down, and I’m desperate for a drink of water.”
His gaze focussed on her instead of somewhere across the road, and his dark eyes widened as he looked her up and down. She’d be less than her usual pulled-together self, maybe even an outright mess. Right now, she didn’t much care.
He swung the door wide and stepped back so she could go in.
The front door opened straight into Beth’s small living room. Just a few tottering steps to slump gratefully onto the sofa. She loosed a long relieved sigh.
Matthew towered over her, and her shoulders tensed.
“You look flushed. How far did you walk? Beth checked the bus stop, but you weren’t there. She tried phoning, but you didn’t reply.”
She hesitated. Lying was out of the question, but she didn’t want to admit too much about her date, either. She’d made a foolish mistake and let her friends down. Having him rub it in with his critical attitude wouldn’t help.
“I went into central London to meet someone earlier and things were… um… not quite as I expected. Then I missed the bus here from the train station. I got one to the next village instead, thinking it wasn’t too far to walk. It’s a lot further than it looks on the map.”
He lifted her hand, lying limp on the chair arm, and felt her wrist for a pulse. Instantly, it accelerated.
His lips tightened.
“Heatstroke and mild dehydration,” he pronounced in exasperation, shaking his head. “You’re not well enough for the meeting with the vicar.” He pulled out his phone and punched in a text. “I’ve let James know we won’t be going and apologised on your behalf.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
His gaze narrowed on her in the disapproving way she hated. “I suppose you didn’t have any water with you?”
“I did, actually.” Pity she felt too tired and miserable to get any pleasure from scoring the tiny point.
“Obviously, not enough.”
“Obviously.” The effort involved in getting up and walking to the kitchen to get water now seemed almost impossible. “Please, would you get me a glass now. I’m very thirsty. The kitchen’s through that door.” She pointed.
Without a word, he turned and reached the door in two long strides.
“The ceiling’s lower in there,” she called. “Make sure you—”
A thunk and a muttered “Ouch,” came from the kitchen.
“—duck,” she trailed off.
He walked back, carrying a large glass of water in one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other. After handing her the water and watching her take a sip, he sat on a dining chair. Impossible to get any further away from her without leaving the room. “You were right. This house is built for munchkins.”
She took a bigger gulp and thanked God for clean fresh water as it slid down her parched throat.
His gaze as he scrutinised her grew a little more human. The tightness left his lips and eyes, replaced with a hint of concern. “Next time you go for a walk, take more water. Wear sunscreen, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t exactly plan to walk. But I left London later than I wanted to. Then I missed the bus. My phone’s battery has died, so I couldn’t ring anyone. I didn’t want to let Beth down. I know this meeting with the vicar means a lot to her. So I walked.”
His mouth curved in a wry smile. “Your loyalty does you credit.”
Instead of being sarcastic, he actually sounded as if he meant it. His softened attitude enticed her to explain.
“I only missed the bus by seconds. If I’d caught it, I would have been here on time. And if I could, I would have rung Beth. But none of the public phones at the train station were working, and the red phone box in the next village has been turned into a tiny library.” She smiled ruefully. “Great if you want to read, not so good if you want to make an emergency call. Walking straight here seemed better than wasting more time looking for a phone. Except I didn’t realise how far it was.”
Her glance dropped to her lovely orange shoes, now ruined, and she groaned.
Why hadn’t she been sensible and worn flats instead of the three-inch heels? They’d looked so cute with her navy linen pedal pushers, but weren’t designed for walking miles on country roads. Her feet hurt. She probably had blisters the size of grapes.
“I won’t be horrified if you take your shoes off.” He smiled properly, that wonderful sweet smile he smiled far less often than he should. The smile lit up his face and transformed him into a man she’d like, if she didn’t know better.
But she’d seen more than enough of Dr Bluebeard. She did know better.
She shook her head. “Better not. If I do, I won’t get them back on again. May I borrow your phone, to call Mum and check on Daisy?”
“Of course.” He handed her the phone.
She intended to keep the call short, all too aware that Matthew could hear every word. She hadn’t banked on the phone being on speaker and Mum’s voice filling the room. The birds chirping in the hedge outside weren’t nearly loud enough to drown her out.
“Anita, hi, sweetheart! Daisy and I had a lovely time playing in the garden. I called the hospital, and Jen is doing so well they might let her have visitors next week. Isn’t that wonderful? Where are you?”
“At Beth’s. That’s great news about Jen.” She breathed a prayer of thanks.
“So how did your date go?”
Anita slumped in the sofa and glanced at Matthew. He’d turned to face the window, but he’d still hear every word.
So much for keeping quiet about her date.
Beth would ask anyway once she came home, so he’d find out sooner or later. It was just going to be sooner.
“The nice afternoon bike ride in Hyde Park wasn’t quite what I anticipated. Turned out, he wanted to ride between as many bike hire stations as he could. Apparently, there are seven hundred and fifty of them, but I lost count after the first fifty or so. I left him to it, but was running later than I wanted and missed the bus here. I walked from the next village and got blisters.”
“Oh, poor darling. Another to add to your list of dreadful dates! I wish you’d stay off that Internet site.” Sympathy rang in Mum’s voice. “Would you like me to come collect you from Beth’s if your feet are sore? Dad’s here to look after Daisy.”
“It’s too far for you to come all the way out here.” Anita didn’t protest too strongly. Mum picking her up would be bliss.
“It’s fine. I can start now or make it later if you want.”
“I’d like nothing better than to get home, have a bath, and tuck myself up in bed. But I should wait till Beth gets back from her meeting with the vicar. I was supposed to go too. And she’s made dinner for us.”
“No problem. I’ll come later, after we’ve eaten and Daisy is down for the night.”
“Thanks, Mum. You’re the best. Love you.” She blew a kiss down the phone then ended the call.
Matthew turned away from the window. His eyebrow quirked.
“I know you’re longing to ask me about the date, but don’t. Just don’t.” As she leaned forward to hand the phone back to him, a sharp pain shot through one foot. Her sole suddenly felt wet. She grimaced. “Ugh. I think a blister broke.”
“Let’s make a deal.” He replaced the phone in his pocket. “You let me look at your feet, and I won’t laugh w
hen you talk about the date.”
Dancing eyes contradicted his serious expression. So the man did have a sense of humour.
She stared at him, wondering where the catch was. Apart from him seeing her battered manky feet, of course. But she’d given up trying to impress him on day one.
“Okay. My feet are really hurting and having a doctor look at them is probably a good idea. They were already sore from the bike riding, even before I started to walk. If I can’t get my shoes back on, I’ll phone Mum again and ask her to bring my slippers when she collects me. But if you do laugh, you’ll be sorry.” She flickered him a wink, not really meaning that.
It would do her good to laugh at the date, too.
But her feet were no laughing matter.
Slowly and carefully, she eased one shoe off and gasped. No wonder it hurt. The foot was red, swollen, and she did have blisters the size of grapes. Plus, the shoe’s upper edge had carved grazes into her soft skin.
She glanced up at Matthew, whose impassive face gave nothing away. “That’s the better foot. The other one is where I felt a blister pop.”
“They’ll need bathing. Cool water will take down the swelling and reduce the infection risk. Where can I find a bowl and a towel?”
“In her laundry room. Out through the kitchen, the door on the left. And—”
“Make sure to duck,” he finished for her as he headed for the door.
She slipped the other shoe off. More than one blister had broken, leaving raw patches an inch wide. Tears filled her eyes. She’d never get her shoes back on. They were ruined anyway, fit only for the bin.
Taking a big gulp from the glass beside her, she swallowed down her tears with the water. Somehow, she managed to smile at Matthew when he returned, carrying a large square bowl, with two towels slung over his arm.
He bent to lay a towel on the floor in front of her and placed the bowl on it. “Put your feet in.”
She lowered them into the water and bit her lip to hold back a groan as the water stung raw skin. After the things he’d seen in Africa, she was a baby to be making a fuss about a few blisters. But it did hurt.
“Put your feet all the way into the water and leave them there,” he cautioned. “They’ll be more painful at first, but it will pass. So, tell me about your date?”
“You heard what I said to Mum?”
“Hard not to.” He waved a hand to take in the tiny room.
No point pretending the date hadn’t been another disaster. She let herself relax against the cushions and settled her feet deeper into the water with a sigh. “You’re right. It’s not stinging nearly as much now.”
“Good girl.” The smile accompanying his words made them approving, not patronising.
“What I told Mum is it in a nutshell. A new guy from the dating site suggested a cycle ride in Hyde Park for a first meeting. It sounded fun. I never guessed what he really meant was a crazy dash around every Boris Bike station in central London, changing bikes at each one. Hundreds of them! He only wanted me there to take photos.” She rolled her eyes at the memory. “No time to even take a loo stop, because it would slow him down too much. I kept up as long as I could, then told him to take his own photos. Too late though, as taking them and Tweeting them for him used up all my phone battery.”
He threw back his head and laughed, a warm genuine laugh making him look years younger and dangerously appealing. He’d broken his promise not to laugh, but she wasn’t going to call him on it. Instead, she laughed too.
“False pretences,” he said. “I believe it’s rife on dating sites.”
“But this is a Christian site!” She shook her head and huffed. “The part I don’t understand is why he even wanted me there. He would have gone faster on his own. He didn’t need anyone with him to take photos. He could have taken selfies at each stop. It’s as if he wanted an audience.”
“Some men are like that.” A sudden bitterness in his tone drew her glance up. His posture had tensed and his eyes clouded, looking far away. She sensed his anger wasn’t directed at her.
“You’re not.”
She hardly knew him, but she knew that. With certainty. Even in the video clip, she’d seen it. Dedication to what he did, but reluctance to be filmed. Some men would be revelling in being the centre of attention with the interview. He wanted to get back to his work.
His fists tightened. “No, I’m not. I suspect perhaps my grandfather was. It seems he loved having the final say over everything and being fawned over at ladies’ luncheons. It’s not for me. I want to be a doctor, not a performing seal the Mission Trust can wheel out whenever they need to put on a show.”
Frowning, he jumped up and took a few strides either way like a caged panther. The room seemed much too small for him. As if after so long in Africa, with all its open space, he couldn’t adjust to being limited to the confines of England. His strong presence filled the room, leaving her oddly breathless, as though he’d forced all the air from the tiny space.
She ached to reach out, to somehow help his pain and frustration, but she couldn’t. Instead, she silently asked God to help him.
“I’m sorry the Mission is keeping you here.” She spoke tentatively, afraid of making things worse.
He stopped pacing, blew out a harsh angry breath, and then his expression blanked as if he’d put on a mask.
“I need to accept my duty. It’s not easy.” Glancing at her, he picked up the other towel he’d left on the dining table. “I think your feet have soaked long enough. Lift them up.” His stiffly professional voice erased every trace of the emotion he’d revealed.
She raised her feet, and he edged the bowl to one side. “Rest them on the towel.”
To her surprise, he knelt in front of her and took one foot in his hands.
“This may hurt a little.”
On instinct, she stiffened at his brusque voice. Then every muscle loosened as his big, oh-so-very-gentle hands patted her feet dry and examined them carefully.
As she gazed down at his head, close to her while he bent over his task, and inhaled his clean citrusy odour, aching awareness of him overcame her. She curled her fingers closed to contain the yearning to reach out and touch his dark springy hair.
Forget the dating agency disasters.
This wasn’t Dr Bluebeard—proud, judgmental, bossy, and opinionated. She glimpsed again the tenderness he hid, felt it in his compassionate and caring touch.
Though she’d only known him a week, this Matthew was a man she could easily start to fall in love with, if she wasn’t careful.
Please, Lord, help me to be careful!
Surely, after all her dates and all her searching, he couldn’t be the man God intended her to love.
Chapter 10
Matthew couldn’t recall ever washing a patient’s feet himself. He delegated those tasks to his clinic nurses. Though he endeavoured to treat what he did for Anita as a mere medical procedure, it felt like something more.
Something far more intimate.
“Thank you.” She smiled at him, her wide eyes holding emotion he couldn’t quite comprehend. Surprise, wonderment, and something more. Like a little girl who’d just received a birthday gift.
He couldn’t resist smiling back.
Her injuries scarcely compared to the traumas he routinely dealt with, and she’d admitted hers were self-inflicted by her choice of inappropriate footwear. He should have no sympathy for her.
Even so, the discomfort must be considerable, and she bore it without complaint. Her behaviour suggested courage and stamina that could be an asset in an employee.
Or even a wife.
Abruptly, he set down the foot he’d been examining and stood. When had he started imagining Anita might be suitable?
He wasn’t even looking for a wife. At their last meeting, his godfather had reminded him yet again of his duty to marry. An edge of sarcasm tainted his amused reply. David immediately retorted—he’d pray that when God wanted Matthew to marry, He’d
put the perfect woman right where he couldn’t ignore her.
Anita could not be that woman.
The ridiculous thought rocked his world to its foundations. He withdrew into professionalism.
“Blisters that size will almost certainly become infected. I’ll write you a private prescription for some antibiotics. You need to use dressings to cover the broken blisters so the raw skin isn’t exposed, and wear sensible shoes until your feet heal.”
His voice grated harsh as a crow’s caw, and he didn’t attempt to moderate it. He had no plans to marry yet, or to remain in England. Once he changed the Mission Trust’s current unworkable rules, he’d return to Africa. Surely that was God’s will for him.
Anita blinked and pulled back, almost as if he’d slapped her. With a visible effort, she made herself laugh. “Sensible shoes? What are they?”
He rolled his eyes, and she waved her hands as if to forestall any argument. “Only joking. I do have a pair or two of flats tucked away. And I think Beth has blister plasters. I gave her a box not long ago when she needed them, and I believe she said she only used one. They’re probably in her bathroom cupboard.” Wincing a little, she struggled to rise.
Barefoot on the towel, without her usual heels, she barely reached his shoulder. As if she’d taken off her usual feistiness with her shoes, she appeared younger, softer, vulnerable. A wave of protectiveness he’d never experienced before swept him. He’d gladly carry her to the bathroom if he had to.
He suppressed the ridiculous thought. “Sit down. I’m sure Beth keeps her floors clean, but I don’t want you contaminating those open wounds. I’ll fetch the plasters.”
Again, his curt tone hid his feelings.
Perhaps too well. The way she blinked and shrank in on herself as she flopped back into the chair made him feel like he’d kicked a kitten. “Where’s her bathroom? Also through the kitchen, or is it upstairs?”
She shook her head. “Actually, it’s the little door just there. The one that looks like a cupboard under the stairs.”
Teapots & Tiaras: A sweet and clean Christian romance in London and Cambridge (Love In Store Book 5) Page 8