Every time he’d seen her he’d smiled that eye-crinkling smile, and she’d turned to putty. His shoulders had brushed against hers at someone’s bedside and her heart had nearly stopped. He’s just a man, she’d told herself, and now, lying in bed, she reminded herself of this again.
He’s just a man.
And that, of course, was the root of the problem, because a man was what she wanted, what she needed in her life. Just a man, an ordinary, everyday decent human being to share life’s ups and downs.
Or cause them. Every down that had happened to her in the past six years had been caused by Andrew.
No, she didn’t want a man. Well, she did, but she didn’t need a man. What she needed was sleep, so she could get up in the morning and do her job properly and not get the sack!
But her restless mind wouldn’t let go, and when it did, it was only so that it could torture her with dreams…
‘Hi, there.’
Julia looked up from her computer terminal at the work station, a smile of welcome already on her lips. Oh, heavens, she thought dizzily, the dreams didn’t do his eyes justice.
She pulled herself together and tried to look professional instead of like a mesmerised rabbit. ‘Morning. You’re in bright and early.’
‘I wanted to check my post-ops before my clinic at nine, and I need time to read through the notes before then, and I need to meet my secretary and have more than a five-second conversation with her at some time before the clinic, so—’
‘You got up at five to make an early start.’
David laughed. ‘Something like that. I don’t suppose there’s a kettle anywhere on the ward, is there? I’d like to chat about a couple of the patients with you. Besides, I only had time for a quick slug of tea before I left home, and I’m parched.’
‘Have you had breakfast?’ she asked, wondering what his wife thought about him leaving home so early and telling herself it was none of her business.
‘You sound just like my mother,’ he said with a slow smile that messed up her heart rhythm again, ‘and, no, I didn’t have time for breakfast either.’
‘Better have some toast, then, to go with your tea—or was it coffee?’
‘Tea sounds good.’
He followed her into the little kitchen, his broad shoulders and deep chest somehow filling the space and crowding her, but not unpleasantly. She felt…odd, as if his aura was brushing up against hers, chafing softly against it and sending little shivers up and down her spine.
She filled the kettle and switched it on, then turned and bumped into him, and he smiled and moved back a little. ‘Sorry,’ she said a touch breathlessly. ‘It’s rather cramped in here.’
‘It’s a nice cosy little retreat,’ he corrected, the smile playing around his mouth and drawing an answering smile to her lips.
‘It can be, but not for long. We’re too busy usually to take advantage, but yesterday’s bedlam seems to have retreated a bit.’
‘Just as well, isn’t it? You were running at full stretch, I would have thought.’
‘We were a bit overcrowded. Still, with Nick off with flu we should be able to catch up a little. Two slices, or more?’
‘Two to start with,’ he said, and propped his hips against the units, his hands resting on the worktop each side so that his suit jacket gaped open and displayed his broad chest and lean hips to unfair advantage. She dragged her eyes away from him and put an extra couple of slices of bread in the toaster for herself.
‘So, our young lady from the RTA yesterday—I gather she’s had a good night and is looking better,’ he said, watching her work.
‘Yes—apparently. She’s finished her transfusions and she’s on saline now, and she seems comfortable.’
‘She was lucky, you know. She had a stupid, gimmicky necklace on made of old beer cans cut up into triangles and bent onto a leather thong, and one of the triangles had sliced the edge of her carotid artery. If she hadn’t had medical attention when she did, she would have bled to death within minutes, certainly before the paramedics got there.’
Julia threw tea bags into two mugs and poured boiling water over them. ‘She was over the limit, you know. The police were in last night to talk to her. Her passenger’s got spinal injuries, but nothing drastic. His kneecaps have both got starburst fractures, and his head’s sore, but he was very lucky she wasn’t going faster. Here, your tea. Help yourself to sugar.’
‘I don’t, thanks. He should have had his seat belt on, of course, then he probably wouldn’t have been injured.’
‘Whereas ironically her injury was probably caused by the seat belt cutting into her necklace,’ Julia pointed out.
‘No, it was caused by the stupid, dangerous necklace,’ he corrected, plucking the toast from the toaster and dropping it onto the proffered plate. ‘Looks good.’
‘Butter, or marg?’
He grinned. ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
She shook her head and slid the butter towards him along the worktop, together with a knife, and then spent the next few minutes trying not to stare at him as his even white teeth tore into the toast and the muscles in his jaw worked to chew it.
She scraped margarine on her toast and ate it fast, one eye on the time, and she was just swallowing the last bite when the door opened and Sally Kennedy put her head round.
‘Ah, Julia, you’re hiding in here. New admission—could you come? It’s one for Owen Douglas.’
‘Sure.’
She drained her tea and threw David a distracted smile. ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to cut and run. Take your time—make more, if you want.’
‘I’m fine. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.’
That smile again.
Blast.
She found herself spending the day wishing one of his patients would have a problem so she could call him back to the ward, but as luck would have it they were all fine.
Julia left the hospital on time, more or less, chastising herself for dawdling in the corridor just in case David was on his way to the ward, and then just to punish her God decided that her car was going to choose that afternoon to fail to start.
‘Great,’ she said, slamming her hands down on the steering-wheel and glaring at the bonnet. ‘Marvellous.’
With no very real idea of what she might be looking for, she pulled the bonnet catch and spent several fruitless moments trying to get the safety catch off so she could raise it.
‘Here,’ a passing stranger said, and slid his hand under the edge, tweaked something and the bonnet came up into his hand. How intensely irritating!
‘Thanks,’ she said grudgingly, put the stay up to hold it and stuck her head into the engine bay. Not that she had any idea what she was looking at. She knew just enough to know that the engine hadn’t been stolen, but beyond that she was stuffed.
A shadow fell over her line of sight, and she glanced up and straightened, bumping her head on the bonnet catch.
She yelped and clutched her head, and David tutted softly.
‘You all right?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ she muttered ungraciously. ‘My car won’t start, goodness knows why, so I’m going to be late to fetch my daughter from school, and now just to improve things I’ve got a hole in my head.’
‘That would be a no, then,’ he said softly, and she laughed in spite of herself.
‘In short.’
‘Hmm.’ He stood beside her and stared down at the engine, and hope dawned.
‘I don’t suppose you know anything about engines?’ she asked him optimistically.
He chuckled. ‘Not enough to fix them. I suppose you’ve got petrol?’
Julia nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve got petrol, I filled it up at the weekend.’
‘In which case,’ he said, dropping the bonnet with a solid clunk, ‘I suggest you get a taxi to your daughter’s school and get a garage to come and look at it later. Do you belong to a motoring organisation?’
She shook her head. ‘No—and there’s n
o way I can afford a taxi.’ Or a garage.
‘In which case, can you drive an automatic?’
She stared at him blankly. ‘An automatic? Yes, my father’s got one, I’ve driven it a few times. Why?’
‘Because you could take my car, get your daughter and go home, and I’ll get my rescue service to come out and fix yours and then I’ll drive it home for you and pick mine up.’
‘But it’s not your car! They won’t do that.’
‘It doesn’t need to be mine. I just need to be driving it.’
He dangled his keys in front of her temptingly, and she hesitated.
‘Don’t you need it? Why aren’t you working? And won’t your wife or whatever mind if you’re late home?’
‘I’ve got the afternoon off. I was doing paperwork. I saw you from my window—and I don’t have a wife, or a whatever, so she won’t mind in the slightest. Come on, you can’t be late for your daughter—unless your husband can pick her up?’
She shook her head. ‘No—he’s dead,’ she said bluntly, not bothering to be subtle. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. It’s just over there—the silver BMW.’
‘I’ll crash it,’ she muttered under her breath, and he winced and laughed.
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he said mildly, propelling her gently in its direction. ‘I’ve only had it a short while—not that it’s new, but it still cost me enough, and I’m quite fond of it already.’
‘What about insurance?’
‘You’re covered. Any driver over twenty five.’
She nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He paused, his hands on the top of the door, just as she was about to drive it away. ‘Your address would be useful.’
Julia felt a little rush of colour flood her cheeks. ‘How silly. Sorry. Twenty-five Victoria Road. It’s near the park.’
‘I know it. I’ll see you there.’
He shut the door firmly, and she eased out of the parking place and headed for the road, too absorbed in trying to avoid scraping his car against the barriers to worry about the fact that she’d just given him her address. It was only when she pulled up outside her house and took Katie in that she realised she’d broken one of her cardinal rules…
David watched her go, his face thoughtful.
So Julia was a widow with a daughter. That was tough. She couldn’t be more than about twenty-seven or -eight, thirty at the outside. He wondered when her husband had died, and if she was over him or if she still cried for him in the small hours of the night.
He didn’t know, but suddenly he wanted to find out. He’d spent the last few years moving around from one Special Registrar’s post to another, completing his training, and now that he could finally settle down in one place, he was hoping in time to find a woman he could spend his life with.
And maybe, just maybe, that woman might be Julia Revell.
A slow smile nudged the corner of his mouth. He even had her address, thanks to the car. All he needed now was for the recovery people to come up trumps and fix it, and he’d be round there…
CHAPTER TWO
DAVID arrived at eight-thirty, but not in Julia’s car.
‘It needed a little part and he didn’t have it, so he’s taken it to the garage for repair,’ he told her, not adding that he’d booked it in for a full service because it was clearly desperately in need of one.
Even so, her face fell. ‘I wonder how much it’ll cost? Oh, well, I have to have it. I can’t survive without a car.’
Which was exactly what he’d thought, and why he’d phoned his father and borrowed the runabout they kept at the farm for his younger brothers and sisters when they were home from university.
‘I won’t ask,’ his father had said wisely, and David had been unable to stop the little smile. Now he handed her the keys.
‘It’s a family runabout. You can have it till your car’s ready.’
A tiny frown pleated her brow. ‘Are you sure? That seems very generous. Won’t someone need it?’
‘It’s not being used at the moment, they’re all away at university still.’
‘Oh. Well, if you’re really sure…’ She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. ‘Can I get you a coffee or something? Or supper? Have you eaten? You must have been hanging around for ages, I’m so sorry.’
He hadn’t, in fact. The car had been dealt with by a quarter to six, and he’d been home and had had a meal with his parents and stalled until he’d thought her daughter might be in bed, but it wouldn’t hurt to let her think he’d been hard done by.
‘A coffee would be great,’ he said with just enough enthusiasm. ‘I’ve grabbed something to eat.’
He thought of the wonderful hotpot his mother had given him and waited for God to strike him down for dismissing it so casually, but it was in a good cause after all—and one his mother would be the first to further!
‘Come in,’ she said belatedly, stepping back and letting him into the hallway of her little Victorian terraced house.
He looked around at the stripped pine doors and pale walls, relieved by the careful placement of a few large, simple prints and colourful fabric hangings, and smiled. ‘It’s lovely. Have you been here long?’
‘Three years. I moved here after Andrew died.’
He filed that information and followed her down the hall past the stairs towards the kitchen. A huge tabby cat was curled up in a sheepskin cat bed that hung from the radiator by the breakfast room door, and it yawned at him as he walked past.
He scratched its head and it purred and jumped out of the bed, trotting behind him into the kitchen.
‘Arthur, you’ve been fed,’ she told him, but the cat jumped up on the worktop beside her and nudged her with its big head.
‘Horrible cat, get down,’ she admonished, putting him on the floor, so he wound himself round David’s ankles instead, sniffing them and checking out all the cats and dogs from the farm that had rubbed against his legs that evening.
Satisfied, it arched its back for a caress, and he bent and stroked it absently while he watched Julia moving around her little kitchen.
The units were dated, but the room was bright and cheerful and spotlessly clean and, like the rest of the house that he’d seen so far, it was welcoming.
Strange, then, that Julia seemed so edgy in a way, and so unlike the capable and efficient nurse he’d seen at work. Her body was like a coiled spring, the tension in her almost palpable. Did no one ever come here? She’d hesitated before inviting him in. Perhaps she was an intensely private person—or perhaps it was just because he was a man.
Instinctively he scooped up the cat and fussed it, and Julia seemed to relax slightly, as if he couldn’t be threatening if he was an animal lover. To remove the threat still further he migrated to the breakfast room through the archway and sat down, thus shrinking himself—all the tricks he’d had to learn in paediatrics because of his size. He felt a twinge of guilt at manipulating her emotions, but told himself it was in a good cause. After all, he needed to get to know his colleagues.
She followed him, mugs in hand, and hesitated again. ‘Are you all right here, or do you want to go through to the sitting room?’
He wanted to see the sitting room, or indeed anywhere else that would give him more clues to the person she was, but he forced himself to shrug. ‘Wherever you’re most comfortable,’ he told her, figuring that the more relaxed she was, the more chance he’d have of getting to know her better.
She smiled softly. ‘Here, then, as the cat’s so comfy. He’s not really allowed in the sitting room because he trashes the carpet and it’s the only decent one in the house, so Katie and I spend a lot of time in here,’ she told him, slipping into the chair opposite and settling down, her elbows on the table, her mug cradled between her slender hands.
Her fair hair slithered forwards and screened her face, and he had an almost irresistible urge to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear so he could see her expression better.
‘My car,’ she said after a moment. ‘Which part did it need?’
David laughed and shrugged. ‘I can’t remember. Something to do with the ignition. Would it mean anything if I could remember?’
Her mouth kicked up in a wry smile and she shook her head, her hair slipping softly over her face again. She tucked it back out of the way, and he could see the smile still hovering around her lips. ‘No. I wouldn’t have a clue. I was just curious. It seems awful not to make the effort to understand somehow.’
‘I gave up years ago when I moved on to cars with electronic ignition,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It all got too complicated for me. I could understand carburettors and timing belts and stuff like that. The modern engine management systems give me the heaves.’
‘So which garage is it at?’ she asked, worrying her lip with her teeth.
‘The one my father’s always used. Don’t worry, they’re cheap and sensible.’ And amenable to suggestion about rigging the bill, furthermore, but she didn’t need to know that. He leant back in his chair, giving the cat more room to stretch out, and met her eyes over the table.
‘This is a nice house,’ he said softly. ‘Friendly.’
Julia smiled again. ‘We like it. The other one was modern and soulless—a detached ‘‘executive’’—’ she wiggled her fingers in the air to make quotes ‘—house with an en suite bathroom and very little else to commend it. I hated it.’
Her smile had faded, and he pressed her gently for more information. ‘Not your kind of thing, then?’ he suggested, and she shook her head.
‘It was Andrew’s choice. I had to sell it when he died because—well, there was a problem with the insurance.’ She hesitated. ‘I couldn’t afford to stay on even if I’d wanted to, but this came on the market, and it’s quite handy for the hospital and the school, and, being near the park, it’s nice in the summer. So I bought it. It’s been a struggle but we’re nearly through it now.’
The Perfect Christmas Page 2