‘Do you want to?’
She sighed and wiped the worktop unnecessarily. ‘It would be nice to feel I was more than just that to you.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ His hands were gentle on her shoulders. ‘You have no idea what you’ve given me, have you?’
She turned, determined not to melt. ‘No—so tell me.’
His eyes were stormy, his voice soft, filled with sadness. ‘An oasis of peace in the midst of chaos. The knowledge that I’m not a leper. Pride that I can bring you so much pleasure. Humility that you can bring me to my knees with just a look or a touch of your hand. Above all, your acceptance of me as I am, with all my flaws.’
Tricia blinked back her tears. Not now, she thought. I won’t cry now. ‘There’s one word for it, Rhys. I know exactly what I’ve given you. You’re the one who has difficulty recognising it.’
He swallowed. ‘No, Tricia,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t spoil it. Don’t muddy the waters with that word.’
‘Which word, Rhys? Love?’
His chest rose sharply. ‘Don’t. It’s just a dream—a pipedream. Nothing lasts.’ He moved away. ‘It’s my birthday, Tricia. That’s why we went out. I’m thirtyfive, halfway through my life, and I’ve got no one to share it with.’
‘Your birthday, or your life?’
He gave a brief huff of laughter. ‘Either. Both.’ He turned towards her, his eyes bright. ‘I need you, Tricia. Don’t play word games with me—not tonight. Just let me hold you.’
She was powerless against such need. She led him to the bedroom, stripped off her clothes and lay down.
He watched her for a moment, his face an unreadable mask, and then with a sigh he peeled off his clothes and lay down, drawing her into his arms.
‘You feel so good,’ he murmured into her shoulder. ‘So warm and soft.’ He cupped one breast, his big hand engulfing it, and she put away her sadness and cradled his head against her breast. The passion soon overtook them, ripping through them and leaving them boneless and trembling in its wake.
‘Happy birthday,’ she whispered, but he was asleep. She left him for a few minutes, then woke him and sent him on his way before his elderly neighbour mutinied.
She wondered if the old lady had the slightest idea what the ‘poor boy’ was doing while she tended his children. If Tricia had her way he wouldn’t need a babysitter at all, except for very rare occasions, but after tonight it was even more clear that he was immovable.
No, as far as Rhys Williams was concerned, love was a four-letter word. Sex, on the other hand, was not, and was therefore safe.
A rose by any other name, Tricia thought. If only she could make him see...
She got up at six and made him a birthday cake, and took it down to the kitchen where everyone would see it. Matthew, of course, was mortified.
‘Why didn’t you remind us?’ he growled. ‘The trouble is, Linsey’s so tied up in the baby that she wouldn’t notice if I sprouted horns. A mere birthday doesn’t stand a chance.’
Rhys chuckled. ‘Forget it.’
‘We did,’ Matthew said drily. ‘That’s the trouble. So what did you do?’
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Took the kids to McDonalds.’
‘That’s a cultural experience,’ Matthew teased.
‘We had a great time,’ Rhys defended himself, laughing.
‘I’m sure you did,’ Matthew soothed. ‘Are you going to cut this cake?’
‘Patience, dear boy, patience. I need a knife—’
Tricia put it in his hand. ‘Do we get to sing “Happy Birthday” to you?’ she asked.
‘Not if you don’t want to be run through with this knife,’ he said mildly. ‘Right, who wants a bit?’
In no time the cake was decimated. They all declared it delicious, mainly, Tricia thought, because it was still slightly warm inside. She hadn’t had time to do more than pour glacé icing over the top and write ‘Happy Birthday, Rhys’ in blue, and it was a very simple Victoria sponge recipe. Still, the simple things were often the best, she told herself.
She opened her post and was interested to see a letter from the consultant in charge of Mrs Stobart. ‘You remember that patient I told you about that I thought had Wegener’s granulomatosis? She’s got it,’ Tricia told them all.
‘Clever girl,’ Matthew said warmly. ‘That was quite tricky to spot.’
‘But with no continuity of care it would have been impossible. If I’d been staying on indefinitely, I might have left it longer before worrying, but I thought if I did nothing and someone else again took her over it might be too late before anyone twigged there was something serious.’
‘What made you think of it?’ Rhys asked.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know—instinct, I suppose. The same thing that made me put adrenalin in my bag in the summer. I just wasn’t happy that I knew what was wrong with her.’
‘That’s what makes you a good doctor instead of an ordinary one. Listening to yourself.’
She looked at Rhys. ‘Yes. It works with life too. You should try it one day.’ She picked up her post. ‘I must get on; I’ve got patients. I’ll see you all.’
One of her first patients was Belinda Long, the patient of Rhys’s who had wanted a bilateral mastectomy. She had been referred to the consultant privately and Tricia had heard nothing more. She wondered what had happened, but she didn’t have to wait long to find out.
The woman who entered her surgery bore almost no resemblance to the woman who had been in before in August. Her eyes were bright, her skin was clear with no shadows under her eyes, and she had gained a little weight.
‘You look well,’ Tricia said with a smile. ‘What’s been happening since I saw you last?’
‘I’ve had my op.’
‘Really? Successful?’
‘Wonderful. You can have no idea what it’s like to wake up in the morning and not worry about having to check for lumps. I had implants put in at the time, and really, you would hardly know. My husband’s thrilled—he confessed he was secretly very attached to my breasts and was very sad about losing them, but that I meant more. This way he gets both!’
Tricia shared her smile. ‘So, with all that behind you, what can I do for you today?’
‘Contraceptive advice. I can take the Pill now, of course, but we rather thought we might like to try for a family and it’s not a good idea to take it for a while before, is it?’
‘Not marvellous. When were you thinking of trying?’
‘Next year some time? Perhaps six months?’
Tricia discussed the pros and cons, and then agreed to fit an IUCD, or coil. She told Mrs Long to make an appointment for when she would have a period, and sent her on her way.
Her surgery was quite short, and when it finished she found Matthew waiting with a bombshell. ‘Linsey wants to talk to you,’ he told her. ‘I haven’t told the others, but I think she’s decided not to come back to work, and she wants you to take over from her.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘SO WILL you think about it?’
Tricia lifted baby Andrew up against her shoulder and rubbed his back absently. ‘I don’t know. It all depends.’
‘On Rhys?’
The baby burped, and Tricia lifted him down and tucked him into the crook of her arm, smiling indulgently at him. ‘What a clever boy!’ she exclaimed softly.
‘Tricia, don’t change the subject! What does it depend on?’
‘I’m not. Rhys, of course. I love him, Linsey. I think—I hope—he loves me. But he’s so afraid of rejection, of being hurt again, of going through all that hell with another woman.’
‘Matthew wouldn’t make a commitment. Men hate to make commitments to women. They feel they’re handing over all their power and autonomy.’
‘And they’re dead right,’ Matthew said drily, coming into the kitchen. He hitched a hip up on the table, stroked his son’s cheek with his fingertip and looked at the girls. ‘I take it you’re talking about Rhys.’
Th
ey nodded.
‘You’ve certainly got to him,’ Matthew told Tricia. ‘He can’t take his eyes off you, and it’s more than just good old-fashioned lust I see there. I’d say the man’s got it bad, but he just hasn’t realised.’
‘Or won’t accept it. I was pushing him a bit the other day and he told me not to play word games.’
‘Words games?’ Linsey said curiously. ‘What sort of word games?’
She smiled wryly. ‘I tried to make him admit that what I’ve given him is love.’
Matthew laughed softly. ‘And I bet he wriggled like a worm on a hook.’
‘Absolutely, but it wasn’t funny. He was seriously scared, Matthew. He doesn’t want to know.’
‘If you stay, of course,’ Linsey said with a crafty smile, ‘then you’ll have more chance to persuade him. You could make yourself so indispensable to him that he can’t live without you.’
‘Maybe,’ Tricia said, ‘and maybe not. I think his will is stronger than mine. I think all this affair is going to do is hurt us both, but I don’t have the strength to end it unless I leave. Even then I don’t know how I’ll cope.’
Linsey’s eyes filled. ‘Oh, Tricia, I’m sorry. All this is my fault. If only I’d just got our usual locum in and not tried to interfere and meddle and make things right!’
‘He may come round,’ Matthew said quietly. ‘If you give him time and don’t put him under pressure, he may come round.’
‘But I can’t cope with that. Matthew, I love him. Without him my life won’t be worth living.’
‘Then you’ve got nothing to lose by trying, have you? Nothing at all.’
Tricia looked down at the baby lying in her arms, and her eyes filled. ‘You’re so lucky, you know. You’ve got everything—each other, a lovely home, a beautiful baby—don’t take it for granted, will you?’
A tear splashed on Andrew’s cheek, and Matthew took him gently from Tricia’s arms, and Linsey pulled her into a wordless hug of comfort, rocking her as she wept. Then finally she pulled herself together and lifted her head.
‘Matthew’s right,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve got nothing to lose. I’ll stay—at least for a while, to give you time to decide if you want to come back to work or not, Lins. And in the meantime maybe Rhys will realise that he loves me.’
‘If he doesn’t he’s a damn fool,’ Matthew growled.
‘No,’ Tricia said sadly. ‘Just too badly hurt to try again. Some wounds never heal, Matthew. I may have to accept that—for him and for me.’
They didn’t make any grand announcement—Matthew simply said, at the next practice meeting on Friday, that Linsey was unsure now about returning to work and Tricia had agreed to stay on for as long as necessary, to give her time to make up her mind.
Tricia, watching Rhys out of the corner of her eye, saw him stiffen, then lift his head and look at her. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘I thought you were planning to leave by Christmas.’
‘I may anyway,’ she said calmly. ‘It depends on Linsey. It’s just to take the pressure off her, so she doesn’t have to make a decision in a hurry.’
A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘And if she decides to give up and stay at home?’
‘Then her job will become vacant,’ Matthew said.
The muscle worked again. Rhys’s eyes never left her face. ‘Will you apply?’
She returned his searching gaze with a level stare. ‘I don’t know. It depends.’
‘On?’
‘Whether my application would be welcome.’
The silence hung between them like a challenge, their eyes locked.
It was Rhys who looked away first.
Matthew cleared his throat and set his coffee-cup down with a little thud, then said, ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, shall we? Right, anything anybody wants to add?’
There was a general murmuring and gathering of paper, and the practice staff all dispersed to go about their duties.
Tricia, conscious of Rhys’s hard stare, slipped out of the room and went into her consulting room. He followed her, tapping, on the door and coming in before she could answer.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to stay?’ he asked without preamble.
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know. Linsey asked me the other day if I’d mind.’
‘And you didn’t think to mention it to me?’
She challenged him. ‘Should I have done? Asked your permission, perhaps?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! I just thought after all we’ve shared—’
‘Shared?’ she hissed angrily. ‘What have we shared? Shall I tell you? My bed, that’s all. That’s all you will share with me. Well, if that’s all I get, that’s all you get too. You can’t expect me to open my heart to you if you won’t open yours to me, Rhys.’
He stared at her in silence for a moment, his jaw clenched, the muscle jumping. ‘I didn’t ask you to open your heart. I asked you to discuss your decision to stay in the practice with me.’
‘But I haven’t made a decision!’ she told him. ‘It’s not my decision to make, it’s Linsey’s! I wanted her to be free from pressure, and you going off the deep end like this is hardly going to achieve that! If you want me gone so badly, how come you’re so ready to fall into my bed at every available opportunity?’
‘Perhaps that’s why!’ he said harshly. ‘Perhaps I don’t like feeling out of control!’
‘Perhaps you don’t like feeling,’ she bit back.
The door opened and Matthew put his head round. ‘Can you please keep it down, you two? We’ve got patients out here.’
Tricia sighed and apologised. Rhys, his face stormy, thrust Matthew out of the way and strode down the corridor towards the stairs, then took them two at a time. Seconds later they heard him enter his room overhead and then another person joined him.
Tricia looked up and shrugged helplessly at Matthew. ‘So much for that.’
‘He’s just feeling pressured.’
‘He wants me to go, Matthew.’
Matthew pressed his lips together and patted her shoulder. ‘Yeah—maybe. I’m sorry. See what he’s like when he calms down.’
Distant, was the answer. For more than two weeks he avoided her whenever possible, and he was polite but remote whenever they were forced to speak.
It was as if he had a ‘No Trespassing’ sign hanging round his neck.
Tricia just let him get on with it, but the pain inside was awful. She could hardly eat, she felt sick, and she looked dreadful. Linsey was racked with guilt, and Tricia thought it might do her good. Perhaps she’d think twice next time before meddling with other people’s lives. Even if it had been with the best of motives.
Workwise it was as busy as ever. There was a flu epidemic, just for a change, and they were all rushed off their feet.
Tricia thought she had never been so busy in her life, even as a junior hospital doctor. Her parents came down to visit, and her mother was horrified at how thin she was and sent a cake in the post the next day. Tricia couldn’t eat it.
She went out on visits endlessly, it seemed, admitting elderly people to hospital only when absolutely necessary because not only beds but also staff were in short supply in the hospitals.
Most of the patients were ones she’d never seen before, although she did have to visit Mrs Jenkins, the lady who had fallen downstairs the night that Lisa Stevens had collapsed with her diabetes just a few doors away.
Mrs Jenkins seemed better with less warfarin, with no noticeable bruising, and although she was feeling very poorly with her flu at least she now had a commode upstairs and her daughter and a neighbour were coming in several times a day to check on her.
Her house was reasonably warm, Tricia thought—more so than many of the homes she had visited. Some elderly people lived in appalling conditions, although how much of that was of their own making and how much due to abject poverty she couldn’t have said.
One of the patients who was new to her was a Mr Bridges. Acc
ording to his notes, he was as fit as a flea and hadn’t suffered from so much as a broken nail in all the years he had been with the practice. He was in his early fifties, and she gathered from the remarks his wife made as she let Tricia in that he was in the construction industry.
She wasn’t surprised, then, that he was a big man. His hands were enormous, like dinner plates, his jaw long and jutting, his face coarse-featured. He was also wallowing in self-pity and hating his illness.
‘It’s just flu,’ Tricia assured him. ‘You’ll be all right in a few days.’
She prescribed rest, aspirin or paracetamol for the fever, and plenty of fluids. As Mrs Bridges was showing her out, she asked if he would be better by the weekend. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary at the end of the week—I’d planned a little puty.’ She pointed to a framed photograph on the wall in the hall. ‘That’s us thirty years ago. Handsome fellow, wasn’t he?’
Tricia looked at the picture, then at Mrs Bridges, a horrible suspicion dawning on her. ‘Is this your husband?’
‘Yes, of course it is!’ she laughed. ‘He’s changed a bit, mind you. Sort of grown heavier, more thickset around the face and hands, but that’s age and the work, of course, and I’m no oil painting any more.’
Tricia shook her head. ‘No. The hands might be due to his work, to a certain extent, but his face—no. Mrs Bridges, I think it might be a condition caused by excess growth hormone. Nobody’s mentioned it to you?’
‘No.’ Mrs Bridges looked alarmed. ‘You mean there’s something wrong with him, he’s not just getting ugly with old age?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. We need to do a few simple tests first. Let’s get him well before we worry about that. If it is what I feel it might be, the changes are very slow and there’s no desperate urgency.’
‘Can it be cured? He won’t die?’
‘No, he won’t die, and yes, it can be cured. It can’t be reversed, so we can’t change him back to Mr Universe, but, you know, he’s still a good-looking man, Mrs Bridges, even now. The important thing is to stop it getting any worse.’
‘And it’s not life-threatening?’
The Ideal Choice Page 14