‘Yes, I am.’
‘And then what? If you’re married to a commoner, the law means you can’t become queen?’
She sucked in a breath. Did he really think…? ‘I’m not using you to get out of being queen, if that’s what you’re thinking. Dio—I fell in love with you, Dragan, almost the first moment I saw you. You’re everything I want in a man. Apart from the fact that I go up in flames every time I look at you, it’s who you are. You’re honest and you’re honourable and you do what’s right. You’re compassionate and you’re kind and you’re clever and I…I’ll be so proud to be your wife. And I’m stuck here, hundreds of miles away from you, where you can’t see my face or my eyes and know for yourself that I mean every word I’m saying, that I’m not lying to you or using your or…’ She swallowed hard. ‘Look, I’m coming home. I’ll call you from the airport and let you know when my flight’s due in.’
‘Melinda, you can’t. You went back to Contarini for your brother’s funeral,’ he reminded her.
‘Which is tomorrow.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘And it’s going to be horrible. My parents didn’t let me say goodbye to him in private. Saying goodbye in public isn’t the same.’
‘I know, but you still need to say goodbye. Or you’ll feel there’s unfinished business.’
Was that how he felt? Had he even had the chance to say goodbye properly to his family? She hadn’t asked—and she couldn’t ask now, not without ripping his wounds open again. She’d hurt him enough today—enough for a lifetime. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘This is all such a mess.’
‘Go to the funeral, Melinda,’ he said softly. ‘You owe it to yourself and to your family. Don’t turn your back on them.’
‘I…’
‘Things will work out, Melinda. For the best.’
He sounded all calm and reassuring, but there was an undercurrent. An undercurrent that told her he was having doubts—about her, about the way she felt about him. She needed to get back to Penhally and straighten this out. She’d stay for the funeral, but then she’d be on the first possible flight back to England. She’d go home to the man she loved—and make him see that she loved him. ‘I’m coming home as soon as I can after the funeral,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk when I get back.’
‘Sure.’
‘I love you, Dragan. And I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He hadn’t said he loved her, too. Her stomach turned to water. Please, don’t let her lose him. Don’t let him walk away from her under some misguided notion that he was helping her do the right thing—because ruling the country would be so very much the wrong thing for her and for Contarini. ‘And, Dragan? About the press—’
‘I told them I was your friend,’ he cut in. ‘Your neighbour.’
‘They drag things up,’ she said. ‘So don’t believe whatever you read in the papers or what they say to you. It might not be true. There might be a spin on it to make a story. And don’t let them rile you either—just smile politely and say “No comment” to absolutely everything, and they’ll leave you alone pretty quickly because they’ll realise they won’t get anything. Otherwise they’ll hound you and push you into doing or saying something you’ll regret. But I’ll be home soon and I’ll take the heat off you. I promise. And I love you.’
‘OK.’
One tiny word. Two syllables. And it was untrue: everything was very far from being OK.
And he hadn’t said he still loved her.
She had to get home to Penhally and fix this.
Fast.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DRAGAN was halfway through his breakfast the following morning when his mobile phone beeped.
Melinda.
He flicked through to the message.
Am flying home tonight. I love you. M x
He loved her, too. But he’d spent a lot of the previous night thinking. And he still didn’t have any answers. It was her duty to go back to Contarini and rule. Her family needed her. But he would have no place in the life of Queen Melinda: he was standing in her way. It wasn’t fair to make her choose between him and her family. He was going to have to do the honourable thing.
Even though the thought of losing her ripped his heart into shreds.
Be thinking of you today. D x, he texted back.
His phone beeped again within seconds. I miss you. M x
He missed her, too. But playing text-tennis wasn’t going to help either of them right now. Due in surgery. Turning phone off now. D x
As soon as he left the house, he saw the paparazzi. And he was well aware that he was being followed all the way to the surgery.
There were stares from the patients, little speculative murmurs and whispers behind hands as he walked in to the waiting room.
‘Well, well. You and Melinda,’ Hazel said, a knowing look on her face.
Oh, great. So Nick had spotted him last night, leapt to conclusions and speculated in the staffroom. Just what he could do without this morning. ‘What did Nick say?’
‘Nick?’ She looked surprised. ‘Nothing. He’s too busy with that pushy bottle blonde to notice anything.’ She shook her head. ‘That woman’s no good for him.’
‘He needs someone with a heart,’ Dragan agreed.
‘Someone like our Kate. She’s such a lovely girl.’
‘Absolutely.’ Dragan’s smile was genuine; he liked the midwife. ‘Though maybe we shouldn’t be matchmaking.’
‘Matchmaking.’
Uh-oh. Wrong choice of word. He’d clearly just reminded Hazel about a choice piece of gossip, because the practice manager tapped the side of her nose. ‘You kept it quiet about Melinda.’
He sighed. ‘Because we both prefer things to be private. Not that there’s much chance of that around here,’ he said ruefully. ‘And the village grapevine’s not on form because that’s very old news.’
‘No, not about you two seeing each other. Everyone’s known that for ages,’ Hazel said impatiently. ‘I mean about who she really is. Of course, the papers got some of it wrong because it’s not a secret about you two around here.’
Papers?
Even as it sank in, she fished under her desk and handed him the paper. The headline was enormous.
ROYAL VET’S SECRET LOVER
Underneath, there was a picture of him—a photograph that had clearly been taken outside Melinda’s flat the previous evening.
‘I had no idea she was royalty,’ Hazel said, looking interested. ‘I mean, she’s always had that air of quality about her, but I thought she was the Penhally vet.’
‘She is,’ Dragan said. ‘Hazel, forgive me for being rude, but I really don’t think this is the time or place discuss this.’ And he most definitely didn’t want any speculation getting back to the paparazzi. ‘Excuse me. I’m keeping everyone waiting. I’ll be ready for surgery in five minutes.’
He managed to field awkward questions from his patients, but the paparazzi were still there when he left the surgery at lunchtime, posing as tourists: sitting at one of the little pavement tables outside the café, looking out to sea or reading a newspaper; browsing in the window of the surf shop or the little souvenir place; apparently studying the collection times listed above the post box set in the post-office wall.
If he ignored them, they’d probably follow him to all his house calls and compromise his patients’ confidentiality. But he couldn’t not do his house calls and compromise his patients’ health.
Just smile politely and say ‘No comment’ to absolutely everything, and they’ll leave you alone.
He’d never had to deal with the press. So he’d have to rely on Melinda’s advice for this one.
For the first time ever, he found himself sympathising with the celebrities who complained about the invasion of their privacy. He’d had barely a day of it, but it was already grating on his nerves.
‘What’s wrong with these people, Bramble?’ he asked. ‘I’m just an ordinary man.’
The pro
blem was, his girlfriend wasn’t ordinary.
He gave the paparazzi polite smiles but said nothing as he lifted Bramble into the back of his car, although he realised before he’d driven to the end of Bridge Street that he was being followed on his way out of the village. Part of him was tempted to lead his pursuers on a wild goose chase and lose them in the maze of narrow Cornish lanes with their high stone walls. But then again, Melinda had said that if he didn’t react they’d realise there was no story. So let them follow him. They’d soon find out what a GP’s life was like. And it wasn’t the media version of a doctor raking in the cash and dumping their patients on an out-of-hours call system either—at Penhally Bay Surgery, they did their own calls.
He noted after his first three calls that his pursuers tended to hang about in gateways with maps—obviously they could pretend to be lost tourists if anyone challenged them. But he forgot about them completely when he did his fifth call of the afternoon, at the riding stables a few miles south of Penhally.
Georgina Somers came out to meet him. ‘Thanks for coming, Dr Lovak.’ She leaned through the car window to stroke Bramble. ‘Hello, you. So when are you going to be fit enough to chase rabbits again, then?’
‘Soon. Provided she doesn’t overdo it and skid round a corner and crack the bone again, like she did the last time I let her off the lead.’ Dragan smiled at her. ‘So what can I do for you, Georgina?’
‘It isn’t me.’ She kept her voice low. ‘It’s Luka. I’m worried about him.’
Dragan frowned. Luka was one of the stablehands, who lived in a caravan tucked away in a quiet corner of the stable grounds. George Smith, Melinda’s boss, had always said that Luka was brilliant with horses and he’d give him a job like a shot. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘He says he’s just got a virus, that’s why he’s got a sore throat and a bit of a temperature. But I’m not so sure. He caught himself on some barbed wire last week. He says I’m fussing, but he just doesn’t look right and nobody else has come down with a sore throat and a temperature. I think it might be blood poisoning or something because he wouldn’t let me treat his hand last week either.’ She sighed. ‘I know, it’s awful of me to call you out for a cut hand—but you know what Luka’s like.’
Along with the rest of his family—Romany travellers—Luka Zingari was incredibly suspicious of the medical profession. And out of all of the doctors at the Penhally practice, Dragan knew that he was the one they were most likely to respond to: the stranger in a strange land, like them. ‘I’ll have a word with him,’ he promised.
‘I’ll take you over.’
Was this just a concerned employer worrying about her stablehand? Dragan wondered. Had Georgina’s father called him, it would be more a case of an employer worrying about being sued—Malcolm Somers was very much of the old school and believed in paying his staff as little as possible for the maximum amount of work. Malcolm had finally handed over the running of the stables to his only child the previous year—although he interfered all the time, according to Melinda.
Something about Georgina’s expression alerted Dragan. It wasn’t the face of a concerned employer. It was more like a girlfriend who was worried sick.
Were Georgina and Luka…?
He chided himself even for thinking it. Who was he to speculate? Especially as the press were speculating about him and Melinda. He should know better. It was none of his business. But it would explain a lot.
Georgina rapped on the caravan door. ‘Luka? It’s me. Can I come in?’
There was a muttered croak from inside the caravan, and she opened the door. ‘I know you said not to fuss, but Dr Lovak’s here. He was calling on Mum…’ her quick glance pleaded with Dragan not to expose the lie ‘…and when I told him you’d been ill he asked if he could drop in.’
‘I don’t need a doctor. She’s fussing,’ Luka said.
But the sardonic grin on his face worried Dragan. Luka was a typically handsome gipsy—again according to Melinda, half the girls in the village fancied him—and that grin definitely wasn’t his normal expression.
An alarm bell rang in his mind. Luka worked at the stables. He’d cut his hand on barbed wire. If Luka’s tetanus vaccinations weren’t up to date, that could be a pretty nasty combination. ‘So how are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘It’s just a virus. Sore throat, headache, bit of a temperature. It’ll go.’
‘But you’re having problems swallowing.’
‘Only because of my sore throat.’
‘Then you won’t mind me checking your pulse, will you?’ Before Luka could protest, Dragan checked the pulse at his wrist. ‘Your heartbeat’s pretty rapid.’
‘Because I’ve got a bug.’ Luka rolled his eyes. ‘Georgie’s fussing.’
‘Have you had any pains in your arms or legs or stomach?’
‘It’s just a bug.’
Dragan knew Luka was going to evade any other questions along that line, so he changed tack. ‘How’s that hand you hurt the other week?’
‘Fine.’
‘Can I take a look?’
Luka looked at Georgina, sighed, then held out his left hand. Dragan gently unwrapped the slightly grubby bandage. ‘Have you put anything on this?’
‘It’ll heal.’
Dragan raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I reckon you’ve got a bug all right.’
‘See?’ Luka glanced at Georgina. ‘I told you it was all right.’
‘Actually, it’s not. You haven’t got flu. It’s a bacteriim called Clostridium tetani,’ Dragan said.
‘Oh, lord. You mean he’s got tetanus?’ Georgina looked shocked.
‘When was the last time you had a tetanus vaccination?’ Dragan asked Luka.
‘No idea. I don’t like needles,’ Luka admitted.
‘Most people don’t. But it’s not worth taking the risk of skipping a vaccination, especially with what you do for a living. Stables are one of the most common places to find Clostridium tetani.’ Dragan looked at him grimly. ‘Get a puncture wound from a nail—or in your case have an argument with some barbed wire—and then muck out a stable, and the bacterium’s just found its dinner.’
‘So what does tetanus do—if I have it?’
Lord, the man was stubborn. Even more so than Melinda.
‘It’s a disorder of the nervous system. It gives you muscle cramps—and that sometimes makes it hard to open your mouth, which is why tetanus is also known as lockjaw. In the early stages, you might get muscle spasms around the site of the infection—but when it hits the bloodstream it tends to affect your facial muscles,’ Dragan explained.
‘So when the bug’s out of my system I’ll be fine.’
‘That’s the thing,’ Dragan said softly. ‘If you don’t treat it, you’re pretty likely to die.’
Luka blinked. ‘You what?’
‘You’re likely to die,’ Dragan repeated. ‘And it’s not a nice way to go. You can’t breathe properly, your muscles go into spasm and you suffocate. Or maybe the next muscle to go into spasm is your heart—it stops, and that’s it. We probably won’t get you back because your heart muscle won’t respond to being shocked. Then there are your kidneys, there’s the possibility of septicaemia…So you need treatment, Luka.’
‘You don’t know I’ve definitely got tetanus.’
Dragan had met Luka before and knew the man wasn’t being awkward just to be macho—the chances were that Luka was terrified of hospitals, and denying that anything was wrong with him meant he wouldn’t have to even consider the idea of going near one.
Georgina clearly thought the same, because she begged, ‘Make him see sense, Dr Lovak. Luka, if I lose you…’
Luka’s right hand reached out to grip hers. ‘You’re not going to lose me.’
‘Then you need treatment, Luka,’ Dragan said softly. ‘You need to go to hospital. For Georgina’s sake, if not your own.’
Luka shook his head. ‘I’m not going in an ambulance. They’re meat vans.’
‘
You don’t have to go in an ambulance. I’ll take you myself,’ Dragan offered.
‘I hate hospitals.’
‘So do a lot of people. But you’ve got a three in five chance of dying if you don’t have treatment.’
‘Which gives me a two in five chance of being fine. Forty per cent’s reasonable odds,’ Luka said.
Dragan shook his head. ‘This is going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better. If it gets better.’
‘What does the treatment involve?’ Georgina asked.
‘I’m not going to lie about it. It involves needles. But you’ll need some antibodies against the bacteria, Luka—they’re called tetanus antitoxins. And some antibiotics, as well as something to stop your muscles going into spasm. This kind of treatment’s best done in hospital, where there’s a sterile environment.’
Luka scoffed. ‘You see it in the paper all the time, people going into hospitals and catching a superbug because the place isn’t clean.’
Luka’s caravan, although small, was absolutely spotless.
‘Often things make the news simply because they are news, not the norm. You need medical attention, Luka. Attention I can’t give you.’ Dragan sighed. ‘As well as the medication, they’re going to need to get plenty of protein into you and a lot of calories to fight the infection, so they’ll probably put you on a drip. Once the needle’s in, it doesn’t hurt, and it’s the best way to get the right fluids into you.’
‘So you’re saying I’ll have to stay in hospital?’ Luka’s eyes widened.
‘It won’t be for that long.’
‘No. No way. I belong here.’
He’d heard that before. Very recently. From someone just as stubborn.
Except she wasn’t here now.
‘I belong with the horses,’ Luka insisted.
‘Then the sooner we get you to hospital, the sooner we can get you back here with the horses again.’
Luka was silent for a long, long time. Only the way he gripped Georgina’s hand gave any clue to what was going on in his head. Finally, he looked at Dragan. ‘All right. I trust you.’
Melinda hadn’t. The thought skidded into Dragan’s mind before he could stop it. He pushed the idea away. Now wasn’t the time to start thinking about the way his life had been turned upside down. He had a duty to his patients. ‘Let’s go, then,’ he said quietly.
Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2 Page 8