A Very Single Woman

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘In here,’ Nick called, and she followed his voice to the kitchen. He was fiddling with salad things, chopping and slicing, and he looked totally at home.

  ‘Were your parents OK to have Sam?’ she asked, but he shook his head and her heart plummeted. She couldn’t do the auction alone!

  ‘No, but Linda was, so he’s round there with her and Tommy. It’s better, actually. He loves it there, it’s his second home. He’ll be back later. Have a pew.’

  ‘This is getting to be a habit,’ she said with an apologetic smile. ‘You do realise I’ve eaten with you every evening since I came for interview, except for Saturday when I wasn’t here?’

  ‘It’s my magnetic personality,’ he said with a crooked grin. ‘Must be. It can’t be the cooking, we’re having fish fingers and oven chips tonight. Still, I’ve made a salad as my concession to vitamin C.’

  Helen smiled and hitched herself up onto a bar stool, propping her elbows on the breakfast bar and feeling very much at home. ‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely, whatever it is.’

  ‘You’re too kind. Water?’

  Was she really so predictable? Probably. ‘Thanks, that would be lovely,’ she said with a smile. She looked around his kitchen, and he pulled a face.

  ‘Don’t look too hard, it could do with a jolly good scrub.’

  ‘I’m looking for ideas,’ she said. ‘Not that a new kitchen is very high on my list of priorities at the moment. I’ve got rather more immediate worries, like the roof.’

  ‘I thought she’d had the roof done?’

  ‘Only part of it, apparently. The little back bit still needs doing, and it needs some repointing round there as well. Then there’s all the wiring, and the plumbing—’

  ‘I think I’d better read this survey,’ Nick said with a grimace. ‘It sounds a bit of a horror. No wonder you were put off.’

  ‘I wasn’t exactly put off,’ she protested. ‘Just—’

  ‘Put off?’ His smile was teasing, and did funny things to her knees. It was a good job she was sitting down. She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out the survey, pushing it towards him across the counter.

  ‘Read it for yourself. It’s enough to give you nightmares.’

  He flicked through it, alternately frowning and raising his eyebrows, and then he put it down. ‘It’s not that bad,’ he said. ‘I think the guy’s just a pedant. I’m sure if you go round the house and look at the things he’s picked up, you’ll find that most of them aren’t that bad.’

  ‘I wish I had your faith.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just experience. I’ve done loads of DIY in my time. When Sue and I bought this place, it was virtually derelict, and we did a lot of the early work ourselves together. Then when she died it gave me something to do, so I spent the next two or three years finishing it off. You’ll find two things about DIY. Most things are easier than you think, and all of them take longer. Oh, and did I mention that the Law of Sod applies?’

  Helen laughed. ‘Tell me about it. I’ve done a little bit of DIY myself, but nothing like this. I just hope I’m not biting off more than I can chew.’

  ‘Well, if it helps, I really meant what I said about helping you, and I’ve got lots of useful things like drills, sanders, and so on. You’re more than welcome to borrow anything you need.’

  He glanced at his watch, then met her eyes with a grin. ‘Right. Let’s go and buy you a house.’

  Helen’s heart was in her mouth. She picked up her number from the auctioneer, took her place in the seething throng of bidders and curious onlookers, and waited for her cottage to come up.

  The bidding on a pair of cottages was brisk, and an ex-pub went for something a little over the guide price. She felt her shoulders droop. What if she didn’t get it?

  ‘Right, ladies and gentlemen, Rosemary Cottage, Post Mill Lane, for the executors of Mrs Hilda Smith. Where will you start me?’

  He threw numbers at the assembled company, dropping his price until someone picked up the gauntlet. There was a nod to Helen’s right, then one straight in front of her. It was still well below the guide price, and she bided her time, her heart hammering.

  ‘Any advance?’ the auctioneer asked, his hammer poised, and Nick nudged her.

  ‘Yes!’ she called, her voice a little frantic. She waved her number at him, and he nodded. The other bidder looked at her, then back to the auctioneer and nodded again.

  She nodded ferociously, and the other man must have realised she had the bit between her teeth, because he shook his head and turned away.

  ‘He’s a property developer,’ Nick muttered. ‘He can’t afford to be sentimental.’

  Neither could Helen, but suddenly that was nothing to do with it, because she was in this to the death. She would outbid them all—

  ‘Going twice…’ There was a crash, and Nick turned to her with a grin.

  ‘Congratulations. You’re the proud owner of Rosemary Cottage.’

  She looked at him in blank astonishment. ‘Really? What about the others?’

  He shrugged. ‘No others. I think they took one look at you and gave up.’ He grinned and prodded her towards the auctioneer’s assistant. ‘Go and do your stuff. I’ll buy you a drink.’

  On trembling legs she made her way to the auctioneer’s desk. They were selling a Georgian vicarage now, the reason, she guessed, why most of the people were there, and the bidding was fast and furious. She fought her way through the crowd, still convinced that there had been a mistake, but the lady behind the desk smiled at her.

  ‘Ah, Dr Moore. Congratulations. Could you sign here?’

  And that was it. The cottage was hers—or would be, as soon as the banks opened and the money could be transferred. With a huge sigh of relief, she made her way back to Nick, just as the hammer came down on the vicarage and the place went into uproar.

  They swallowed their drinks and walked back to Nick’s house, Helen unnaturally quiet beside him.

  ‘Penny for them?’ he murmured, and she shot him a rueful grin.

  ‘Just wondering if the bidding was so slow because the others saw something in the survey that I missed.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. It’s just that it’s small—and anyway, they were all there for the vicarage. There’s been a lot of hype about it for the past few weeks.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Of course I’m right. We’ll go over to the cottage after supper and have a look, set your mind at rest.’

  ‘Or not,’ she said philosophically.

  He unlocked the door and they went into the kitchen. The oven was hot, and he slid the tray of oven chips and fish fingers into it, fiddled with the salad and handed Helen the cutlery.

  When it was done he dished up and took his place at the breakfast bar beside Helen.

  It seemed oddly familiar. He was getting altogether too used to having her sitting there next to him. As she’d pointed out, she’d been there three nights out of four, and it was in danger of becoming a habit.

  Still, he reminded himself, there was a good reason for it tonight, and as soon as their simple meal was cleared away, he intended to go back to the cottage with her, survey in hand, and try and allay her fears.

  Just as they finished the doorbell rang, and he went and opened the door to find Linda there with Sam and Tommy.

  ‘Dad,’ Sam said hopefully, ‘can Tommy and I go and play in the tree-house now? I’ve done my reading.’

  ‘Are you quite sure?’ Nick eyed his son with scepticism. ‘You haven’t been watching telly?’

  Sam wriggled uncomfortably. ‘That was after I finished, Dad,’ he protested. ‘I have done it, really.’

  He met Linda’s laughing eyes over their heads. ‘He has done it, I promise,’ she assured him.

  ‘OK, then. Thanks for looking after him. I’ll walk Tommy back in a bit.’ He looked down at Sam. ‘I tell you what, read me a page, then you and Tommy can go and play.’

  A disgruntled Sam rummaged in his bag, emerging a
moment later with the book in hand. Nick threw Helen an apologetic smile, but thought it wouldn’t do her any harm at all to see the real side of parenting. It was one thing playing with tree-houses, it was quite another attending to the nitty-gritty of your child’s education.

  It didn’t seem to worry her, though, because while they were sitting at the breakfast bar, reading, she cleared away the plates, loaded the dishwasher and put the kettle on.

  There was something terribly homely about it, and she’d slipped into their routine absolutely seamlessly. It ought to worry him, but it didn’t. On the contrary, it seemed utterly right, and rather distracting.

  So distracting that he actually didn’t notice how far down the page Sam had read, because he simply wasn’t concentrating on the child. He forced himself to pay attention to the last few lines, and then with a smile of relief he let the boys go.

  They shot off, and Nick grinned at Helen. ‘That’s that out of the way. Thanks for clearing the dishes.’

  She smiled back. ‘My pleasure. If you’re going to keep feeding me, it’s the least I can do.’

  He stifled the retort that he’d be happy to feed her for ever. He had a feeling she wouldn’t want to hear it. ‘Let’s go and have a look at the cottage,’ he said instead. ‘It’s close enough to the tree-house that they’ll be safe.’

  Five minutes later, they were walking through the gap in the fence and through the tangled garden, key in hand.

  ‘Are you sure the owners don’t mind you taking me in?’ Helen asked. ‘After all, I haven’t paid yet. It seems a bit cheeky.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘I spoke to the son today, in fact, and he’s quite happy. I think, after all this time, they trust me, and anyway they’re delighted that you wanted to buy the house. I told him you were a keen gardener, and he seemed very pleased. He grew up here, and he remembers his mother planting a lot of the roses. He said he hoped you’d get it.’

  He let them in through the back door, walked through the house with her room by room and, one by one, he despatched each of the surveyor’s comments. Then they went outside, and he did the same thing again. ‘Look on the bright side,’ he said confidently. ‘There aren’t any structural faults.’

  Helen raised an expressive eyebrow at him. ‘No, of course not, that would just be the icing on the cake.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s quite bad enough as it is,’ she wailed. ‘How much worse could it possibly get?’

  Nick opened his mouth to answer but she laughed and clapped a hand over it.

  ‘No! Don’t tell me!’ She laughed. ‘I don’t want to know!’

  His hand came up and circled her wrist, gently easing her fingers away from his mouth. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed and, instead of easy camaraderie, the air became charged with tension. Her eyes met his, wide and slightly startled, and her lips parted a fraction.

  It was too much for him. With a quiet groan he drew her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She tasted wonderful. Her lips were soft and warm, parting further to allow him access, and she slid her slender arms around his waist and drew him closer. The slow simmering burn he had struggled to control for the last four days raged out of control, threatening to consume him. The feel of her ripe, firm body pressed against him nearly drove him wild, and all the suppressed needs of the last five years rose up to torment him.

  ‘Helen,’ he groaned against her lips, and a little whimper rose in her throat. It nearly killed him.

  He wanted her in a way he’d forgotten he could want, and only the thought of the boys in the tree-house just a short distance away prevented him from laying her down in the long, damp grass and making love to her there and then. Reluctantly, he lifted his head and stared down into her wide, confused eyes. She gazed at him for a startled moment then looked away, lowering her eyes and taking a slight step back, putting distance between them.

  He supposed he ought to apologise, but he was damned if he was going to. She kissed like an angel, and there was no way he could talk himself into regretting it.

  ‘Um—I should be getting back,’ she said hurriedly. She sounded a little puzzled, as if she wasn’t quite sure what had happened or where it had come from.

  He caught her hand as she stepped away from him and halted her flight. ‘Helen, don’t.’

  She looked back at him, her eyes now wary. ‘Nick, I have—We—I don’t do this sort of thing.’

  ‘What sort of thing? I kissed you.’

  She gave a strangled laugh. ‘I did notice.’

  He smiled a little crookedly. ‘Good. I would have hated you to miss it.’

  She shook her head slightly as if to clear it. ‘Nick, really, I didn’t mean to—We shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Helen, it was just a kiss.’

  A kiss he was at pains to repeat at the earliest opportunity, but he had a horrible feeling he wasn’t going to get a chance. Oh, hell. He stabbed a hand through his hair, and went to pick up the survey which lay forgotten on the grass.

  ‘Well, if you’ve seen enough of the cottage, I suppose I should get back to the boys.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She was suddenly formal, all the familiarity of suppertime gone, wiped out at a stroke.

  He felt suddenly very, very sad.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HELEN couldn’t get the kiss out of her mind. For the rest of that week, she avoided Nick except in a professional context, and even then, all contact between them was limited to what was strictly necessary. The rest of the time, she avoided him, but of course there were times when she couldn’t, and then she would find him watching her, a slight reproach in his eyes.

  Still, she couldn’t explain, didn’t want to go into all the reasons why she didn’t do this sort of thing. Any sort of thing, really, with men. Not since Tony.

  Even his name brought back the sense of betrayal that made her heart pound and her stomach sick with dread and disgust. He was just her father, all over again, both of them lying, faithless bastards, cruel and self-interested.

  So she threw herself into her work, and when she wasn’t working, she busied herself with planning the work she was to do on the cottage, getting quotes from local contractors and generally throwing herself headlong into the preparation. It served two purposes. The first was to bring forward the date when she could move into the cottage, and the second, and much more pressing, was to keep her out of Nick’s way.

  By Friday afternoon, the legal work on her purchase was completed, and she spent the weekend stripping wallpaper in the larger of the two bedrooms. By a miracle the electrician was able to start work on Monday, and with any luck she should have the room decorated so she could move into it by the end of the week. Of course, the central heating still needed to be installed, but the plumber couldn’t start for another week, and she couldn’t stand the tiny room at the practice any longer. It was just too near to Nick.

  On Monday, Mrs Emery came back to see her about her headaches. After asking her how they were, Helen sat back in her chair and smiled. ‘You do seem to suffer from an awful lot of little, trying ailments,’ she said gently. ‘It’s almost as if you feel slightly under the weather all the time. Is that right?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs Emery said. ‘I just never feel well. Every morning I wake up and I feel—I don’t know, just not right.’

  ‘And is that just since you lost your husband?’

  Mrs Emery’s eyes fell, and she stared at her hands, her fingers twisting together. ‘There’s just nothing to wake up for any longer,’ she said sadly. ‘Nothing to do, nobody who needs me, my life’s just empty—and on top of that, I feel ill.’

  ‘Maybe you aren’t really ill,’ Helen suggested, ‘but just lonely and bored. I think that’s quite understandable. Have you ever thought of getting out of the house and finding something else to do?’

  Mrs Emery snorted. ‘What, like working in a charity shop? It would drive me mad.’

  ‘How about a proper job? A real one with responsibility—people r
elying on you.’

  ‘I don’t know that I could do it any more. All that responsibility, I don’t know if I could cope with it. But you’re right, of course, I’d be much happier if I had something to do with my days.’

  ‘Think about it. See what’s around. You never know, it could open up a whole new world to you.’ Helen smiled encouragingly at her. ‘You see, I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. I’m sure you do get headaches, and tummyaches and perhaps even a little bit of chest pain from time to time, but they’re nothing to worry about, and I think if you were busier you wouldn’t even notice them.’

  Mrs Emery nodded. Helen noticed that her eyes were misted with tears as she stood up to leave. ‘Thank you, Dr Moore. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘You haven’t troubled me,’ Helen corrected gently. ‘See how it goes. We’re always here if you need us.’

  She watched her go, hoping that she’d said the right thing. It seemed to have struck a chord, anyway, and it would have given her something to think about.

  Helen gave her next patient something to think about as well. He was a child, a boy of about Sam’s age, and he came in with a rash on the inside of his lips, on his hands and the soles of his feet. He’d had a headache and a slight sore throat for the last few days, and his temperature had been slightly elevated at the start of the illness.

  Helen examined him and turned to his mother with a smile of reassurance. ‘He’s all right. I think he has a thing called hand, foot and mouth disease—’

  ‘Foot and mouth disease!’ the boy exclaimed. ‘Wicked!’

  ‘Oh, good grief! How on earth has he caught that?’ his startled mother asked.

  Helen stifled a smile. ‘No, not foot and mouth disease, it’s hand, foot and mouth disease. It’s quite different; it’s caused by the Coxsackie virus, and it’s pretty harmless usually. The incubation period is three to six days, so if any of you are going to get it, you’ll probably do so quite soon. Just keep him off school until it’s cleared up, and make sure he washes his hands very thoroughly when he’s been to the loo, and don’t let him cough all over people.’