She laughed. ‘I think you’re one of the most unpredictable people I’ve ever met.’
‘Dancing to the beat of a different drum, you mean?’ People had said that to him, and about him, all his life. That he was gifted. Different. That he didn’t need the company of his peers as much as he needed to fulfil his potential.
‘Is it a different drum? I rather thought that it was the same drum, but you just hear it a little more clearly.’
Edward let the thought percolate. ‘That might be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.’
The unexpected idea that words might not be enough to express his feelings on the matter occurred to him. He wanted to hold her again.
She smiled and his theory morphed into a tried and tested fact. Charlotte’s smile held so much more meaning than words, and he allowed himself to bathe in it, feeling its warmth lap against his skin.
He didn’t know how long he played for, and didn’t much care. However long she sat here next to him, her body melting into the rhythm of the music, it wouldn’t be enough.
When finally she drew away, another of those gorgeous smiles on her lips, the world felt suddenly cold.
‘You play wonderfully.’
He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘You listen wonderfully.’ It was more as if she’d been a part of the music, shaping the emotion and cadence with him, although her fingers had never touched the keys.
She laughed, getting to her feet. ‘I should go and get some sleep, though. Thank you for a lovely evening.’
‘My pleasure. We should do this again.’ The words escaped his heart before his head could issue the caution against asking for trouble.
She flushed a little and nodded quickly. ‘Goodnight, Edward.’
He played a short, quiet goodnight, listening to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. Then he closed the lid over the keys.
Charlotte was everything that he held himself aloof from. The instinct and emotion that he saved only for his music seemed to bleed into her whole life. It was captivating—tantalising, even—but it was a language that he didn’t know how to speak. However much she tried not to disrupt his life, however well-behaved Isaac was, the two of them had the power to turn his well-ordered existence upside down.
Archie roused himself, stretched, and joined him on a restless errand to the kitchen, which had no particular purpose other than his need to go somewhere. Edward poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle they’d opened at dinner, leaving Archie to pounce on his food bowl as if he hadn’t eaten in years, and wandered back into the sitting room. The book that he’d abandoned in favour of going to talk to Charlotte still lay on the sofa, and he picked it up, flipping it open. This, at least, he knew how to handle.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHARLOTTE KNEW THAT Edward would be here somewhere. She hated that she needed to see him so badly, but she had nowhere else to go. She slipped through the reception area, avoiding the last stragglers on their way out of the clinic at 200 Harley Street, and ran up the stairs.
Edward’s office door was closed and locked, but she could see his jacket, slung over the back of his chair. There was only one other place that he could be.
She left her coat and bag on one of the chairs in the closed-up nurses’ station and took the stairs down to the basement. The gym was in darkness, but she could see lights shining through the glass doors which led to the pool.
Suddenly her courage failed her. She’d already accepted too much from Edward. Already allowed herself to get too involved with his life. He was quiet and kind, creative and a little quirky. But then her husband had been quiet and kind, too. She’d thought that she could see hidden depths in him, where actually there had just been an angry void that he’d sought to fill with the thrill he got from risking everything on the cards.
Charlotte turned. She knew that Edward was here, and that at this time in the evening he was probably alone. Walking away was the best thing to do. The only thing to do.
She’d go upstairs to fetch her coat. Then come back down again, using the back stairs, so that no one would see her.
‘What are you doing here?’
She’d been so lost in her own emotions she hadn’t even seen that there was anyone on the stairs below her. Instinctively she turned to run upstairs, but it was too late. Edward had seen her.
It had been him in the swimming pool. His dark hair was still wet, slicked back from his face, and his white shirt was open at the neck. Not sure what to say or do, Charlotte focussed on the logo splashed across the gym bag that was slung over his shoulder.
‘Charlotte...?’ He was standing two steps below her now, and they were face to face. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ Everything. ‘I just forgot something and popped back...’
The whole difficulty of dealing with Edward was that excuses were practically impossible to get away with—unless, of course, you had the time to construct a well-thought-out, fully featured alibi.
He raised one eyebrow in disbelief and shooed her up the stairs.
‘Come to my office.’ His keys were in his hand already, and he strode past the deserted nurses’ station and unlocked the door, motioning her in. He slung his bag on the floor, in the corner, and sat down in his high-backed leather chair.
‘I feel as if I’m being hauled up in front of the beak.’ Small talk was the one thing that she was better at than Edward. Her only chance.
His brow clouded, but then he refused to take the bait. ‘Why don’t you sit down, then?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘You don’t need to do anything. It’s an invitation.’
He leaned back in his chair, propping one foot on the desk, and Charlotte slumped down into one of the visitors’ chairs.
‘So...what is it, then?’ One last try at putting the ball in his court. Making Edward talk first.
‘I...um...’
He seemed suddenly hesitant. Maybe she was going to get her way after all. They could go home, she’d make dinner, and then on the excuse of an early night she could go and cry into her pillow. That was the thing she should have done in the first place—not come running to Edward every time something went wrong.
He tried again. ‘There seems to be something wrong. I was wondering how the meeting with my father went...’ He backtracked slightly. ‘Not in detail. I wouldn’t presume to interfere with a confidential exchange between lawyer and client...’
There was no such thing as a simple question in Edward’s vocabulary; there was always some accompanying detail. The way his mind worked made Charlotte smile, however bad things were. ‘No. I’m sure you wouldn’t.’
‘It’s just a broad brush enquiry. About whether you’re happy as a result of...whatever it was that was said.’
‘Your father was very kind.’
Straight spikes of hair had begun to fall across his forehead, and when he smiled it looked almost rakish.
‘Good. And apart from being kind...?’
‘He’s offered to represent me, and I’ve accepted. I gave him some details on the phone yesterday, and he’s already got an investigator to follow up on them. He’s thought of everything.’
Edward nodded. ‘I imagine he has. There’s no need to worry.’
Her heart was almost tearing itself apart with panic. ‘No. I’m sure there isn’t.’
He got to his feet, unhooking his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘I guess I should call your bluff and just take you home, then.’
‘Peter applied for a loan in Isaac’s name. One of those quickie ones you can get on the internet.’ Charlotte couldn’t help it. She’d blurted out what she’d come to say—what she knew that Edward couldn’t mend, but somehow wanted him to know.
He slumped back down into his chair, shock on hi
s face. ‘Did he get it?’
‘No, thank goodness. And your father’s going to do all he can to protect Isaac from that happening again.’ Charlotte could feel her shoulders beginning to droop, but the effort of keeping her spine straight was finally too much to do anything about it.
‘And what about the phone bill that you were being chased for?’
‘He’s putting pressure on the phone company to leave me alone. It seems that there’s a bit of a mix-up with names and I might be facing a few more where that one came from.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘A mix-up? How could that have involved you?’
She’d faced a pair of blue eyes and a sharp legal mind once already this afternoon. Edward’s were as kind as his father’s, but somehow much more challenging. The truth had been easier the first time around.
‘When Peter and I were living together...’
Tears again. What must Edward think of her?
‘Hey...’ He rounded his desk, dragged one of the heavy armchairs over towards hers and sat down opposite her, leaning forward until his hands almost touched hers. ‘It’s okay, Charlotte. I just want to help.’
All she wanted right now was to feel his arms around her. If Edward was on her side she could do anything, be all kinds of strong. She met those blue eyes again. They gave her courage for the thing that damned her the most.
‘The phone bill dates back to when Peter and I were living together. He must have taken the contract out in my name and...’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know about that phone—it was his second one. He had someone else.’
His face became cold, as if she’d just slapped him. ‘You mean he’s expecting you to pay for the calls he made to his mistress? While you were living with him?’ Edward shook his head angrily. ‘Oh, no...you’re not doing that.’
She reached for him, but he wasn’t there. He was too angry now even to see her, and he sprang to his feet and started to pace the office like a caged tiger.
‘Edward. Please, don’t... Peter probably didn’t think of it like that. He doesn’t think anything through. The phone was registered at my old address and it’s up to me to prove it isn’t mine...’
‘Don’t make excuses for him, Charlotte.’
Her own anger flared in response to his. ‘I’m not. I’m just trying to work out what happened...’
‘And if you keep on taking his side you’ll always be a victim.’
‘Oh, so that’s what you think, is it?’ She was on her feet, catching his arm, forcing him to face her. ‘I am not a victim. I’ve stood on my own two feet since Peter left me, provided for Isaac...’ She took a deep breath. Shouting wasn’t going to do any good, and if there was anyone still in the building they’d be sure to hear them.
‘I know.’ Edward’s rage turned abruptly cold. ‘But this is not your responsibility.’
‘No, it isn’t. But there’s another child, too—a little girl. She’s not my responsibility either, but I still can’t help thinking that somewhere out there that child’s mother is going to be facing the same thing that I did. I might not like her very much, but I can feel for her.’
‘There’s a baby?’
‘Not a baby—a child. She’ll be three years old now.’
He didn’t need to be a genius to be able to do that particular calculation. Peter hadn’t just had someone else while he was living with her, he’d had a child as well.
‘You’ve told my father this?’
‘Yes. I said that he could do whatever it took as far as Peter was concerned, but that I wouldn’t go out of my way to implicate his partner if there’s been any fraud. That’s my decision, Edward, whether you like it or not.’
Warmth bloomed in his face. ‘Most people wouldn’t be so forgiving.’
‘I’m not either. I don’t forgive her, but I won’t hurt her daughter. She’s no more responsible for any of this than Isaac is.’
‘Maybe the best thing you can do for this woman is to show her exactly what she’s got herself into...’
‘That’s what your father said.’
‘Must be right, then.’ A ghost of a grin shimmered on his mouth.
‘I suppose so. But all I really want to do is to be free of Peter. Your father’s agreed to review my divorce papers, to see if there’s anything I’ve missed, and to do all he can to push it through without any hitches. That’s a big weight off my mind.’
He nodded. ‘My dad’s not going to let you down. Once he gets his teeth into something he’s like a dog with a bone, and he won’t let up until he’s got everything sorted out.’
She could smile now. His impassioned rage had shown that Edward didn’t just pity her. He hadn’t shrunk from demanding answers from her, asking the really hard questions.
‘That’s something you both have in common. I appreciate it more than I can say.’
He gave the customary small nod, which said he’d heard. A smile which said he’d understood.
‘I should go now. I need to pick Isaac up soon.’
He shook his head. ‘One more minute.’ His back was against the door and he was leaning on it, his arms folded. ‘I’m afraid it’s no more Mr Nice Guy, Charlotte.’
She swallowed. Edward was getting darker and more dangerous again. She had to admit that she rather liked it.
‘Really?’ She took a step forward, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. If he wanted another confrontation he could have it.
‘Yeah. You can put up a fight if you like, but you and Isaac are staying on with me until this is all sorted out. However long it takes.’
‘We’ve had this conversation before...’
‘And we can have it again if you want. You’ll tell me that you don’t want to impose, I’ll say that you and Isaac are no trouble and that I like having you both around, and then you’ll give me that look...’ He grinned. ‘The one that you’re giving me right now...’
‘And...?’
‘And you’ll say that you and Isaac have managed on your own up till now, that you don’t need anyone.’
‘That’s not quite true...’
‘No, it’s not. You’ll say it anyway, though, just to put me in my place.’
That smile of his didn’t have a place. Neither did Edward.
‘You’re reading my mind now, are you?’ Just as long as he couldn’t access the part of her imagination that was engaged in stripping his shirt from his shoulders. Running its hungry fingers over his skin and allowing him to back her against the desk...
He narrowed his eyes and she shivered. There was something tender about the curve of his lips, something raw about the look in his eyes. ‘I should warn you that I have a Joker up my sleeve.’
She nodded. ‘Isaac. You’ll say he’s happy where he is and it would be wrong to put him through any more upset. That I might be able to see the debt collectors off, but I can’t protect him from the stress.’
John North had said as much, advising her that if she had somewhere else to stay she should do so.
Edward nodded. His gaze flipped quickly to the sofa, which was relegated to the one corner of his office that wasn’t lined with bookshelves, and then back again to her face. Maybe he really was reading her mind. The sofa would be admittedly more comfortable than the desk.
‘And I’d be right?’
‘Yes. You’d be right.’
The smile that made his eyes seem impossibly blue, the one that he had no trouble in sharing with Isaac, was all for her this time. ‘Are we done, then?’
Not by any stretch of the imagination. ‘I suppose so.’
‘And your answer...?’
‘Thank you. Isaac and I would like to stay.’
At least he had the grace to nod, as if the outcome of this particular skirmish hadn’t been a foregone conclusion.
> He stepped away from the door, hooking up his jacket and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of here. What’s for dinner?’
* * *
She’d tried to palm him off with peppered steak, but Edward had rather liked the idea of eating early and sharing pizza with Charlotte and Isaac. He liked the execution even better.
Isaac stood on a chair, a folded-down apron tied around him, dipping into bowls of sliced tomatoes and mushrooms to decorate his pizza. This was the kind of fun he hadn’t had in a long time, and the feeling that the woman and child he so wanted to protect were here, safe with him...
Edward paused for a moment to consider whether safe and with him weren’t in fact a contradiction of terms and then gave up the unequal struggle. For tonight it was more than enough to know that they were having fun, and that he was there to turn back anyone who came knocking on the door.
‘So who’s this meant to be, then?’
A grave face stared out at him from Isaac’s pizza.
‘It’s...’ Isaac had a showman’s mastery of the expectant pause ‘...you!’
‘Me?’ Edward ignored the stifled giggle behind him. ‘I don’t look very happy.’
‘That’s your thinking face.’
‘Ah. Well, I suppose that’s all right, then.’
‘What’s yours?’ Isaac peered across at Edward’s pizza, and would have toppled off the chair if Edward hadn’t shot a hand out to steady him.
‘It’s...just a pattern.’ He was beginning to learn that details could get him into trouble.
Isaac twisted his head from one side to the other. Edward wondered whether the complex symmetry was really so beyond him, and came to the conclusion that somewhere, on a chiefly instinctive level, he understood.
‘It’s different from Mum’s.’
Charlotte had decorated her pizza with swirls and curlicues of tomato, mushrooms and olives.
‘Well, your mum and I are different. We like different things.’
‘Hmm...’
200 Harley Street: The Enigmatic Surgeon Page 7