Lucie didn't mind because as long as they were with Dick and Pam Will wasn't cold and remote.
Finally, though, he stood up to go, and on the way home he managed to keep the civilised veneer intact.
They got back as the phone was ringing, and he went in and came out again, calling her across the yard.
'Lucie? Phone—it's Fergus,' he said, and the coldness was back.
How odd. Surely it wasn't Fergus that was causing the problem, was it? Goodness knows. She went in, and as before he Went through the door and closed it firmly in her face.
'Fergus?'
'Lucie, hi. How are things?'
She looked at the closed door. 'Just peachy, Fergus—just peachy,' she said heavily. 'How are you?'
Fergus again. Damn the man. Will looked morosely out of the window, staring at Henry's empty field. It seemed so odd without him. Apparently it was touch and go, but they were giving him time. Amanda, however, was making progress, and had recovered fully from her head injury. She would be in a neck brace for the next couple of weeks until her cervical fracture healed, and she had an external fixator on her pelvis to hold it, and her femur had been pinned and so had her lower legs, so that she didn't have heavy casts dragging her down once she started getting up and about.
Knowing how ruthless the physios were, Will thought it quite likely that she'd be up and about sooner than she thought or wanted, but he had it on good authority that she was a pretty tough cookie.
He wished he could drive. He wanted to go and see her, but he didn't want to ask Lucie. He was putting on her a lot, and he didn't want to—especially not now, when he was tortured by that night.
He could hear her voice speaking softly on the other side of the door, and, although he couldn't hear the words, every now and again she laughed, a soft, intimate little laugh that turned a knife in his gut.
He gulped and stared hard out of the window, down towards the river that would never be the same again since she'd been down there with him. Now he could see her there, outlined against the morning sky, her hair like a soft cloud around her head, and every time he went there he could feel her presence.
She hung up. He heard the clatter of the phone, and then her voice talking to Bruno, and then a tap on the door. 'Any news of Amanda?' she asked, coming through without waiting for the gruff invitation that was still locked in his throat.
'She's doing well. Everything's pinned and fixed and propped, and she's probably damned uncomfortable, but she's alive, and so is the horse, by a miracle.'
'That's good. I thought I might go and see her. I wondered if you wanted to come?'
Damn. She'd pre-empted him, and now he couldn't escape from her company, because he did want to see Amanda and it was more important than his personal feelings.
'I was thinking of going. I thought I'd get a taxi, to save you having to do all the running around.'
'I don't mind.'
So that was that. No way out, and anyway it would have been churlish. He snorted softly to himself. That didn't normally hold him back, he thought, and hated himself a little more.
They arrived at the hospital at seven, and Amanda, although obviously in pain still and very weary, was pleased to see them.
Lucie gave her some flowers to add to the many she already had, and Will showed her the card and hung it on a string over the bed with the others.
There was a cradle over her hips, keeping the bedclothes off her fixators, and she was lying flat, of course, because of the neck injury, but she said the worst thing was the boredom.
'And it's only been a couple of days!' she wailed laughingly. 'What will I be like in a month?'
'Longing to he down,' Will advised her. 'You wait till the physios get hold of you!'
'Oh, don't. There's one girl who's already having a go—she's lovely really, but she makes me do all sorts of things and it hurts! Still, it's my own fault. I shouldn't have been galloping along there on the verge. You don't know what it was he fell over, do you?'
'An iron bar, part of a bit of old farm machinery,' Will said. 'I've had a word with the farmer and he's moving it. He said he's very sorry to hear you had such a bad fall, but he pointed out it isn't an official bridleway.'
'Oops,' Amanda said with a grin. 'Oh, dear. My father was muttering about compensation. I'll have to talk him out of it!'
'Might be wise. Anyway, it's gone. Any news of Henry?'
'He's had an operation—they've splinted it with a bit of bone from a rib, and wired it all together, so goodness knows how he's managing to stand up, but he seems to be all right. They don't know how well he'll heal, but he seems to have settled down there, at least, and he's taking an interest in his surroundings. Of course, that's easier if you haven't got your neck wrapped in a plastic tube!'
They chatted a little longer, but then it was obvious that she was tiring, so they stood up to leave, and she reached out and took Will's hand. 'Thank you so much for helping me. They told me you saved my life, both of you, and I don't know what to say.'
Her eyes filled with tears, and Will bent and brushed his lips against hers. 'You don't have to say anything. I'll put it on your livery bill,' he said with a twisted little smile, and Lucie knew he was touched by her words.
She was, too, but she hardly knew Amanda. Will knew her all too well, and had spent months avoiding her. Odd, how he had now been cast in the role of hero.
Amanda held out her hand to Lucie, and she bent and kissed the girl's cheek. 'You take care, OK? We'll see you soon.'
They left her there, surrounded by her flowers and cards, and passed her parents on the way in. It meant another brief delay and another round of thanks, but then they were out and heading for the car.
'Fancy going to the pub for a meal? Or an Indian?'
She met his eyes, and wondered at his motive. Was this an attempt to mend fences, or would it be a chance to find out what had happened between Friday night and Saturday morning? Or was it simply that he was hungry and wanted to eat tonight?
Whatever, she was starving.
'Sounds fine. We'll do whatever you want—I'm easy.'
They went to an Indian restaurant, and discovered a shared passion for chicken korma in a really thick creamy sauce, with lots of twiddly bits to go with it and heaps of plain boiled rice, not the fancy pilau rice with spices, but just the clean, fresh flavour of basmati.
And Lucie wondered why it was that they could be so close in so many ways and yet she couldn't ask him what had happened and why he didn't want to talk to her after she'd given him her soul.
They didn't fight, though, and they kept the conversation trivial and away from anything that might damage the fragile truce that seemed to have sprung up between them.
And when they arrived back at the house, Lucie looked across at him and took a leap of faith. 'Coffee?' she offered, but to her relief and disappointment he shook his head.
'I won't. Thanks. I've got a couple of letters I ought to write and it takes ages with this stupid cast on. Maybe another night.'
'OK.'
She locked the car, handed him the keys and let herself into the cottage. Minnie was there, curled up on the bed, and she stretched and wandered out to the kitchen, asking for food.
'I don't do catfood, you'll have to speak to Will,' she told Minnie, and opened the door for her. Half an hour later she was back through the bedroom window, licking her lips, and curled up on Lucie's bed again.
Lucie was in bed herself, with her diary on her lap, telling it about Will and their meal.
'It was a really nice evening, but we were both walking on eggshells. What's happened? I must ring Fergus tomorrow and give him an answer about those concert tickets for Saturday. Bet I forget.'
She did. She forgot on Wednesday, and so on Thursday morning, she stuck herself a note on the front of the fridge.
Give Fergus an Answer! it said, in big red letters, but she still forgot to ring him.
The truce with Will was still holding, and it
really seemed as if they were about to make some progress. They got back from the surgery shortly before seven on Thursday evening, and on impulse she turned to him in the car and invited him in.
'Goodness knows what I've got, but you're welcome to it. I can probably throw something edible together.'
'OK,' he said cautiously. 'I'll just feed the dog and cat, and I'll be back.'
It took him a few minutes because he took Bruno for a run, but by the time he returned she'd thrown together a scratch supper with eggs and pasta and bacon, with a grating of cheese over the top.
'Perfect timing,' she said, handing it to him with a smile. It was gorgeous, and he sat there in the comfy armchair opposite her and wondered if she really felt that much about Fergus, or if there might be a chance for him.
Then Lucie got up to make coffee and he followed her through to the kitchen with his plate. 'Here, you can make the coffee, I'll wash up,' she suggested, and put the dishes in the sink while he started pottering with the mugs.
She'd tied her hair back in a scrunchie and he could see the nape of her neck, and he bent, unable to stop himself, and nuzzled it gently. 'I've got a better idea,' he murmured, and drew her into his arms. His kiss was gentle, nothing too demanding, but his pulse rocketed and his knees felt weak and it was like coining home.
'I tell you what, let's forget the coffee and the washing-up, shall we?' she suggested softly, and he smiled.
'I'll put the milk back,' he said, and then he saw the note. Give Fergus an Answer! With great care he put the milk in the fridge and shut the door, and turned to her, slamming down the pain and refusing to let it take control of him. Fergus again, he thought. And what answer?
'On second thoughts, maybe I'll have an early night,' he said, his voice sounding as if it came from miles away.
'What?'
'I—I can't stay. I'm not feeling all that good—my arm. I need some painkillers.'
'Is it all right if I come over and use the phone in a minute?' she said.
'Sure,' he agreed, and with great reserve he managed not to bolt for the door, hanging onto his control by a thread. Once he was in his kitchen he leant back against the door and banged his head against it firmly.
'Idiot,' he growled. 'How could you be so stupid? You know damn well Fergus is still after her.'
The door pushed behind him, and he moved away from it to let her in.
'Sorry, I was leaning on it, doing up my shoes,' he lied, and kicked them off anyway in favour of his boots. 'I'm walking the dog. Help yourself to the phone.'
'OK.' She dialled while he struggled into his boots, his right arm still too weak to pull hard enough, and then she started to speak before he had time to escape.
'Fergus? Hi, it's Lucie. The answer's yes.'
Will slammed the door behind him, taking the steps in one and veering onto the track at the end of the yard, heading down to the river at a run, Bruno at his heels.
Hell. What answer? That answer? Please, no, he thought, and ran faster, his legs pumping, his heart slamming against his ribs. Please, no, please, no, please...
Lucie hung up the phone, looked out of the window at Will heading down the track like a greyhound and shook her head. What the hell had got into him tonight—unless it was her ringing Fergus? He didn't seem to like it but, anyway, it had been before then.
She went back, cleared up her kitchen, watched television and then just before it was pitch dark she saw Will coming back, walking heavily as if he was exhausted.
Idiot. His arm would be playing up if he was treating it like that. She shut her curtains, went into the bedroom and turfed the cat off the pillow then went to bed with her diary.
I give up! she wrote. 'I can't rescue him, he's unrescuable. I'm going to London for the weekend, I've had enough. I told Fergus yes, so must meet up with him on Friday night. At least he's reliable and won't change his mind every ten seconds about whether he likes me or not.'
And throwing the diary on the floor, she settled back and glared at the ceiling while it went slowly out of focus and blurred. She blinked and it came back into focus, but only for a second.
Damn. Not again!
She sniffed, pushed the cat out of the way again and turned out the light. To hell with him. To hell with all men. They were more trouble than they were worth.
Except that this one, she knew, was worth ten of any other man, and she couldn't seem to get through to him.
Defeated, she let the tears fall, and in the morning she packed her case, put it in her car ready, turned the cat out and shut the windows. She'd come and pick the car up after work, when she brought Will back.
And then at least she'd have the weekend to cool off before trying again.
If she could bring herself to try any more. Just at the moment, she wasn't sure she could.
'Oh, Minnie, no! You are such a pain, cat. How did you get in there?'
The cat mewed at him through the closed window, and Will went into the house, fetched the spare keys of the cottage and went back to let her out. She must have darted in when Lucie left for London, he thought, and a great heavy lump settled in his chest.
He might as well get used to it, though. He went in through the cottage door, and Minnie ran into the bedroom and jumped on the bed, settling down to wash herself.
'You, little cat, are a nuisance,' he told her, and scooped her up.
A book caught his eye, fallen open on the floor, and he sat on the edge of the bed and bent to pick it up. Then he froze, suddenly realising what it was.
A diary, written in Lucie's neat hand. Three words stood out in bold—Rescuing Dr Ryan! Rescuing him? From what—apart from her? Oh, lord.
Slowly he picked it up and scanned the entry, guilt nudging at him, but he ignored it. She was writing about him, and somehow that made it seem less wrong. He read, 'He kissed me. Don't think he meant to. Don't think he means to do it again—we'll have to see about that! I have a feeling he needs rescuing from himself. It can be my next challenge—Rescuing Dr Ryan!'
Rescuing me from myself? Am I so tragic? Yes, his honest self replied. Tragic and lonely and an object of pity. Oh, hell.
Will went on, flicking through the pages, scanning the odd entry until he arrived at last Saturday, almost a week ago. 'We made love last night,' she'd written. 'At least, I thought we did. Perhaps it was just amazing sex.'
There was something so poignant about that that he felt tears fill his eyes. He blinked them away. There was a smudge on the page, as if it something wet had splashed on it and been brushed aside. One of Lucie's tears, to match his own? He swallowed hard and read on.
'Fergus coming for lunch tomorrow. He wants to ask me something. Hope it isn't what I think it is. Amanda and Henry came to grief on the track by the river. Very dramatic. Thought we were going to lose them both, but apparently not. Oh, Will, I love you, but you drive me crazy. Why can't you just open up with me? I thought we had something really special, but it must have been wishful thinking.'
I love you? I love you?
Oh, lord. He read on, but there was nothing very much. Comments on his temper, on their fragile truce, and then last night, after she'd phoned Fergus, she'd written, 'I give up! I can't rescue him, he's unrescuable.'
No, Lucie, Will's heart cried. Don't give up! I didn't know! Give me a chance. He read on, and horror filled him. 'I'm going to London for the weekend, I've had enough. I told Fergus yes, so must meet up with him on Friday night. At least he's reliable and won't change his mind every ten seconds about whether he likes me or not.'
Oh, lord. She'd given up on him, and gone to Fergus, and she'd told him yes. Yes to what? To sleeping with him? Living with him? Going back to London?
Marrying him?
'No,' he growled. Flinging the diary aside, he scooped up the startled cat and strode out of the cottage, locking it up and taking Bruno out to the kennel he used sometimes if Will was going to be out for long.
'Sorry, old boy,' he told him, giving him another bowl of
food. 'I'll be back in the morning, whatever happens. On guard, eh, mate? Good lad.'
He shut the pen, and locked the house, throwing his light overnight bag in the car. He had to go via the surgery and pick up Lucie's address, but he'd already got Fergus's card which Lucie had pinned up on the board by the phone the other week and left there, so that would give him two places to start.
OK, he shouldn't be driving, but needs must, and he had to get to her before she did something irrevocable.
Like what? Sleep with him?
'We made love last night. At least I think we did. Perhaps it was just amazing sex.'
The very thought of Fergus touching her brought a surge of bile to his throat. 'She's mine,' he growled. 'She loves me, not you. Don't you lay a finger on her, you bastard!'
Will went up the track far faster than even the rugged Volvo was designed for, dodging the potholes whenever possible, and shot out onto the road with unwary haste. He picked her address up from her personnel file in the surgery, and then jumped back into the car and headed for the A12.
He needed a clear run and a following wind, and he got both, amazingly. He was in London in record time, probably picked up on scores of speed cameras, but he'd deal with that if and when it mattered. He cruised up and down, scanning the A-Z on his lap, and finally found her little street.
And there, right outside her address, was her car, squeezed into an impossibly tiny space. The nearest space he could find that he could fit the car in was three streets away in a residents' parking zone, but that was tough.
He slotted the car in, grabbed his bag and ran back to Lucie's, staring at the bells in puzzlement. This was her address—or it had been. Had she left it completely? He'd thought she'd handed it over to her flatmate, and still had a room here for emergencies. And maybe she was out with Fergus already—or up there with him.
His patience snapped, and he went for the right flat number, standing with his finger on the bell until he heard her voice on the intercom.
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