She felt a bit lost when he and Johanne had gone. She sat in the sun reading her book and watching Elizabeth splashing in the junior pool. She wished that Adam was somewhere near. She’d got very fond of his company.
Had she just seen a new side of him? Or had she forgotten it was there? She thought of his certainty that he was right, his decision to do what he thought best, no matter what the cost. Her dead husband had had a similar kind of certainty, and Amy had hated it. But Adam was different. Wasn’t he?
Amy decided that she’d like to hear a loving voice, she needed to know she was wanted. So when Elizabeth was collected for a meeting of the Beach Babes, she went into the hotel foyer and phoned her mother. It was the first time for four days, it would be good to speak to her. But there was no answer. Funny, she should be in at this time. Amy left a message on the answering machine and decided to try again in half an hour.
When she rang again there was no answer. She sat and thought for a minute, decided to phone the surgery. Her mother knew all the staff there, had worked with a couple of them. They might know something. She got through to the receptionist, Rita.
‘Rita, have you any idea where my mother is? I can’t get through to her at home.’
Amy felt the first hint of unease when her friend didn’t answer the question or ask how the holiday was going. Instead, with rather a cautious voice, she said, ‘Hi, Amy. I’m putting you through to Dr Wright now.’
‘Dr Wright? Rita, why Dr Wright? All I’m asking is’
‘I’m putting you through now.’
Now Amy was seriously worried. Dr Wright was an old family friend. He knew her mother very well. Why should she have to talk to—
‘Amy! Good to hear from you. Enjoying your holiday?’
‘Never mind that. Where’s my mother? Is everything all right?’
‘Everything is fine—more or less. But your mother’s in hospital with pleurisy.’
Amy was a nurse as well as a daughter. ‘Pleurisy? Dry or wet?’
‘Wet. She had this sudden stabbing pain in her chest, called me round. I decided to be extra careful and sent her to hospital. They’ve drained the fluid and sent it for analysis but I’m sure everything will be fine. She’ll be home in a day or two,’
‘But why didn’t she tell me?’
‘She told us not to and insisted that we say nothing. She said that you needed a break and that there was no need for you to rush home.’
‘Well, you know I’m going to rush home, don’t you?’
‘Amy! There really is no need. We’re all coping fine.’
‘I’m coming anyway. I’ll see you some time tonight.’ Then she rang off.
She took a moment to consider, to remember. Pleurisy wasn’t usually dangerous. The pleura was a membrane between the chest wall and the lungs. Dry pleurisy was when the membrane became inflamed, wet pleurisy—often the more dangerous kind—was when fluids collected in between the pleura and the chest wall. Dr Wright was right, it was highly unlikely that the condition was serious. It was certainly painful—coughing could be agonising. But, whatever, there was no question about it. She was going home at once.
There was a travel agent rep on duty at the hotel. When Amy explained the situation to her, said it was an emergency, she nodded and phoned the airport. It took no time to organise. Amy could catch a plane in four hours, there would be a taxi waiting for her outside the hotel in two hours.
Amy rushed back to her room and packed. She didn’t want to think, she needed to act without thinking. But after an hour her bags were ready and taken to Reception.
Elizabeth would be with the Beach Babes for another half-hour. Now Amy had to think of the situation she was abandoning—to think of Adam.
There were three days of her holiday left. She had been looking forward to spending them with Adam, but had already started wondering about how they would part. Perhaps this way was better. Sudden, rushed, no time to wonder or make foolish promises.
For a moment she wondered if she was making an excuse of her mother’s illness. Pleurisy—even wet pleurisy—wasn’t too dangerous. Was she using this as a means of avoiding that last painful conversation she knew she would have to have with Adam? She just didn’t know.
She had taken this—well, it was a relationship, wasn’t it? She had taken this relationship on as a holiday romance. They had both agreed to see each other just for a few days. Now it was over. Did she want to see more of him? Well, of course she did. But was she going to risk her future happiness by trusting another man? She just couldn’t do it.
Amy took a sheet of hotel notepaper, started to write. A short, formal note to him and Johanne. An explanation, but no suggestion that they keep in touch. She would hope he had a good holiday in Canada and wish him well in his future career.
As she looked up she caught sight of herself in a mirror. Why were her eyes shining like that? Surely not tears?
Chapter Five
That had been then.
Seven weeks had passed in which she had tried to push Adam Ross out of her thoughts and perhaps had succeeded. Well, just a bit. It helped if she thought of it as what it was, a holiday romance, not to be taken seriously. And as she worked in and around Lissom, she came across people, places that reminded her of her ex-husband. And that made her more determined. She had thought herself desperately in love once—and look where that had got her.
And now Adam was coming to see her, alone, in her own house. Well, she could cope.
She guessed he would be punctual, it was one of the virtues he respected. And he was. Her doorbell rang at exactly eight o’clock. In spite of all her thoughts, her preparations, her rehearsals, her heart started to thud. This was going to be hard.
Somehow she opened the door and with a hostess’s professional smile said, ‘Adam, do come in.’
But her heart was thudding more than ever. Of course, it was colder here than in Majorca. Now he was dressed in cords, a sweater and a short leather coat. But he still looked good.
She moved back at once, she didn’t want him to kiss her. He followed her into the living room, looked round with interest. He saw the stone fireplace, the couch drawn up in front of it, the pictures of Elizabeth on the walls and the mantelshelf.
‘I’ve brought a bottle of wine,’ he said. ‘You’re not on call or anything?’
‘No. This evening my time is my own.’ She looked at the bottle he held out to her. It was one they had drunk many times at the hotel. The same as the one she had put back in the cupboard. Well, if he wanted to bring back memories... But he didn’t need the wine for that. ‘Take your coat off and make yourself at home,’ she said. ‘I have glasses ready.’
He took his coat off, but instead of sitting he walked round the room, inspecting the pictures of Elizabeth. ‘Elizabeth is here?’ he asked.
‘Sleeping upstairs. You remember, she’s a good child. Sleeps easily.’
‘I remember her very well. I’ve missed her and so has Johanne. Could I see her?’
The question threw her. She hadn’t expected this. ‘No...yes...I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to see her?’
‘I told you, I’ve missed her. And, besides, I like children.’
‘Well, keep very quiet, then.’ She took him upstairs. They had to pass her own bedroom. She had forgotten that the door was open and he could see her double bed, her uniform still hanging on the wardrobe door. For a moment she wondered if this had been a plan to get her upstairs, then she rejected the thought. Adam wasn’t like that. But she noticed he did glance in.
They stood side by side and looked at Elizabeth, who, as ever, was looking sweet. ‘I remember Johanne looking like that,’ he said, ‘but then she grew up.’
‘They do,’ said Amy.
She watched as he gently moved a wisp of hair from Elizabeth’s forehead, stroked it back against her head. It looked like the act of a loving man and she didn’t want to think about it. ‘Let’s go and have some wine,’ she said abruptly. �
�You can’t stay long. I have a full day and I need an early start.’ The sight of him apparently so pleased to see Elizabeth was upsetting.
He sat on the couch, she sat on an easy chair to one side and passed him the corkscrew. There were glasses and plates of little goodies on the coffee table already. Silently he opened the bottle, poured the wine. They both sipped.
She felt uneasy then she felt angry at being made to feel uneasy in her home, the home she had created with her own hands. This was her domain. He was the interloper.
‘In the letter you left me you said that your mother was ill,’ he said, ‘and you had to get back to her.’
‘She had pleurisy. I felt I had to get back and sort things out. I told you that.’
‘I know. We missed you, Johanne and I, but Johanne understood when I explained to her that you were worried about your mother.’
‘Johanne understood? You didn’t understand?’
‘I thought we meant more to each other than something that could be curtly dismissed in a letter.’
‘A letter that would be read by your daughter,’ she pointed out. ‘The daughter you wanted not to know about us. I was sorry I had to go, I would have liked another couple of days with you. But these things happen. And I hate goodbyes. A letter was best.’
‘Perhaps.’ Adam was obviously not convinced.
‘Adam, it was a holiday romance! We both agreed that. I didn’t want anything long term, I still don’t. So let’s get to the question—what are you doing here?’
‘It was the kind of job I was looking for when I came back from Canada,’ he said. ‘A pleasant town to live in, attractive countryside, apparently a very good school for Johanne. I’m renting a flat this afternoon, with the option to buy. Most important, it’s a chance to do the kind of work I like best. Work I think I’m good at. I’m a doctor, Amy. This job has everything I want.’
‘That’s rubbish! You came here because of me!’
There was silence for a moment and then she said, ‘That sounds very egocentric, very arrogant. Tell me what I said is not true and I’ll apologise.’
After a while he said, ‘Of course you’re right. I came here largely because of you.’
‘Why? Do you want more free sex?’
He flushed. ‘That thought is unworthy of you, Amy,’ he said. ‘You know it’s not true.’
‘Perhaps not,’ she mumbled. ‘But there’s another question. Why have you come when you know I don’t want you here?’
‘I wanted...I needed...to see more of you. It’s as simple as that. I wanted to see how things still were between us. You made such an impression on me... And, Amy, I’m as unsure of things as you are.’
She drank some of the wine and tried to ignore the rush of memories that it brought about. ‘It’s over, Adam. I’m at home now, with a job, a daughter, a place in the community. I don’t need a man.’
‘I thought that’s what you did need, you seemed passionate to me. I take it there’s no other man in your life? You said not.’
‘No other man. And I don’t want one. And if I did, Adam, you’re too much like my ex-husband to be comfortable.’
She saw the glow of anger in his eyes. But his voice was still calm as he said, ‘That’s not a comparison I care for. How am I like him?’
‘When you’ve made your mind up, you’re always sure you are right. You have a tendency to ride over other people’s feelings. If you had really thought of me, you wouldn’t have come here. You know I didn’t want you.’
‘I came here because I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried, Amy, I really did. I even went out with a girl in Canada a couple of times. It just didn’t work. All I could see was you.’
He looked at her with that intensity she remembered so well. ‘Now, you be honest with me. Have you thought about me? Missed me?’
She couldn’t lie. ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘I missed you a lot at first. But just because you want something sometimes it doesn’t mean it’s good for you.’
‘Perhaps not.’ He took another sip of wine, rolled the glass between his hands. ‘I’m going to admit to what you’ve accused me of,’ he said. ‘When I see something I want, I go for it, and sometimes I don’t bother too much about the consequences. And, Amy, I think I want you. We both need time to decide. But I thought that with you I had the chance of happiness I’d never seen before.’
‘You said your ex-wife had made you suspicious of any relationships!’
‘I did. I meant it. Perhaps I still do mean it. Sometimes I can’t believe what I’m doing now. We’ve known each other for such a short time, we’d be mad to start anything.’
‘In this case it takes two to start something,’ she pointed out.
‘True. But we’re going to work together for six months. We’ll get to know each other better and perhaps we’ll both come to see that there’s something in it for us both.’
‘It won’t happen! I don’t want it to happen! Adam, why did you have to come here? You’re upsetting me.’
She had intended to remain calm, to be mistress of the situation. But what he was saying was making that almost impossible. She knew her plea had affected him. There was the anguish in his face. But then it was replaced by determination.
‘The last thing I want to do is to cause you pain. I want you to be happy. I want you to find out if you could be happy with me.’
She finished her drink, stood and looked at him. He rose, too. ‘I think you’d better go now,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t ever come here again unless I ask you to. Don’t phone me here, we can talk at work. This is my home, my refuge. I need somewhere that’s safe.’
‘You’re safe with me!’ Then his face fell and he said, ‘But I guess I’d better go.’ He picked up his coat, made for the door. He reached for the door handle, and before she knew what he was doing he stooped and kissed her. She wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t prepared. So, without thought, she kissed him back. For a moment they were back in Majorca, hiding in the shadows in the garden, snatching a moment of stolen pleasure. But then she pushed him away.
They were close. She could see the turmoil in his eyes and wondered what he could see in her eyes.
‘You know, you wanted to kiss me then,’ he said gently, ‘just as much as I wanted to kiss you.’
‘Yes, I know. It brought back memories. Paul used to do that, kiss me until my legs felt weak. Then I married him and he bullied me. He harassed me, even hit me once, made my life a complete misery. So it made the memory of that kiss a bit sour.’
She saw the shock on his face. She opened the door, he passed through it and she closed it before he could even say goodnight. She waited behind the door. After a moment she heard the crunch of footsteps moving away. He had gone.
She didn’t want to think, she needed to work. So she went back to the living room, cleared away. But that didn’t take long so she sat down and asked herself why her heart was still beating so rapidly.
That kiss. It had meant so much to her. She shied away from making comparisons, it seemed unfair to both concerned. But secretly she had to admit to herself that that lovemaking with Adam had brought her more fulfilment than she had ever felt with Paul. It wasn’t just that Adam was more considerate, it was something to do with her own feelings. She realised she had been just a child with Paul. With Adam she was a woman.
Just once, in a moment of sheer self-indulgence, she remembered what it was like to be in his arms. She thought about what it would be like to share a life with him, see his face smiling at her from the pillow every morning. Dinner together every night, perhaps even a brother or sister for Johanne and Elizabeth... Elizabeth! That brought her up short. She had Elizabeth to think of, apart from herself. But, then, he and Elizabeth had got on so well together.
Next day was a normal working day. Whatever emotional turmoil Amy might be going through, life had to go on. So it was breakfast with Elizabeth, uniform on and a drive round to her mother’s.
Elizabeth wa
s the first child there, and went instantly to play by herself in a corner. Amy’s mother was just finishing her breakfast. Amy had kept an eye on her since her illness, but she seemed to have recovered. Now she was looking well. There was a brightness in her eyes.
Obviously she was enjoying her work, she loved children. She would have liked a larger family, but after having Amy she had developed an infection that had made having more babies a very risky business.
Amy hadn’t told her mother about her affair. In fact, apart from Adam, no one knew. And since her mother had been ill when Amy had returned from her holiday, she hadn’t questioned her daughter too much about how she had enjoyed herself. Amy preferred it that way.
‘You’re looking well,’ she said to her mother, ‘not only completely recovered but better than you were before.’
‘Everyone should have a stay in hospital. It makes you grateful for what you’ve got. You appreciate it more.’
‘It’s a point of view,’ Amy agreed. ‘But I think I’d rather stay out of a hospital bed.’
Then it was off for her day’s work. Every day was similar, every day was different. Her first visit was to an elderly lady who had been rushed into hospital with appendicitis. Now that she’d been discharged, Amy was changing her dressings, making sure she didn’t relapse in any way.
There was another old lady to help get washed and a couple of injections to give. Then a drive out into the countryside to Laneside Farm. This was a case—one of many—where Amy was a social worker as much as a nurse.
Laneside Farm was large, the white-painted farmhouse standing on the lane that gave it its name, a well-tended garden in front. No walking through the farmyard to get to the front door here. To one side was a cottage, with a Land Rover outside. Amy frowned. Peter Brooks drove everywhere in that vehicle. What was it doing here in the middle of the day?
The farm was owned by Nathan Brooks. His son Peter worked for him and lived in the cottage Amy was visiting. Her patient was Peter’s wife, Nancy. Nancy was a bright young woman. A few days before she had been working in one of the barns and had slipped and gashed her side really badly. An ambulance had taken her to hospital where she’d been given blood and had her side sutured. When she had returned home the doctor—and Amy in her turn—had impressed on her the absolute importance of not in any way pulling the stitches. Nancy had to take life very easy for a week or two. And, of course, she was now bored.
A Doctor to Come Home to Page 7