He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I have done in the past—mainly to prove I could do it, and I wasn’t the only one. We were always pretty competitive with girls, and sometimes we’d swap just to see if they noticed. But there was one girl—I don’t know, we just had the chemistry, I suppose, and she got on better with me than she had with him—they had a showdown, and she said some pretty hurtful things to him. That was the last time I did it, though, and there’s no way I would have tried to come between you, with or without his accident. He needs someone like you, Clare. He’s a loner by default, really. He doesn’t like being alone, but not many people can put up with his temper.’
She laughed. She had certainly seen plenty of evidence of that in recent weeks. In fact, this week alone without him had seemed unbearably quiet.
‘Will you do me a favour? He’s living on Henrietta until I move out—would you go over and tell him I’ve gone, and bring him back?’
‘Sure. Do you want me to do it today?’
She nodded. ‘I think so. I worry about him down there on his own. And Andrew …’
‘Yes?’
‘Try and make it up with him. He was very upset after your row, and I know he’s missed talking to you. Pop’s mad with him too for some reason—he’s going to need you, if you can heal the breach.’
‘I’d intended to try—that’s why I’m here. I’ll go over now.’
She stood up and gathered the last of her things. ‘I’ve stocked the fridge and freezer up with food so he won’t have to worry about that for a few more days, and I fed the cat this morning. The beds have both got clean sheets on, and I’ve hoovered everywhere——’
She broke off, and bit her lip.
‘Do you want me to give him a message?’
‘No. There’s nothing to say, really, is there? You could give him my love, but there’s not a lot of point. I’m off. Take care of him for me, Andrew.’
She reached up and kissed his cheek, and he hugged her gently.
O’Malley came in and wound round her ankles, and she bent and smoothed his fur. ‘Bye bye, you old rascal,’ she whispered unevenly, and then she left, without looking back.
She didn’t see him again for almost two weeks, although she heard about him from Ross and Lizzi. Andrew had delayed his return to Germany for a few days and had patched up their quarrel, and while he was there he had taken Michael to Ross and Lizzi’s to swim every day, and they had taken Henrietta out a few times.
Michael no longer came in to the physiotherapy department, and she discovered from Tim Mayhew that he was coming back to work on the Monday—five weeks and three days after the accident. He would be there for a week with Mr Mayhew, and then the consultant was off for a fortnight on holiday, and Michael would be on his own.
By all accounts he was fit and well, and adjusting rapidly to life without his leg.
Clare wished she were adjusting as fast. The days seemed endless, and the nights—the nights were the worst. Long, lonely nights, racked with dreams which left her aching for his arms.
She thought she would win a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for the number of tears shed in any given period. On the Thursday afternoon Deborah Lewis cornered her in the kitchen.
‘You look awful,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m going to a party tomorrow night, and I don’t fancy going on my own. David’s away, and I would appreciate some company, and I think it would do you good. How about it?’
‘Oh, Deborah, I don’t think I’d be very good company——’
‘Come on! I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll meet you outside the residence at half-nine, OK?’
Clare sighed. ‘Oh, OK, but I’m warning you, I’ll be miserable.’
‘Rubbish. What you need is a little cheering up. A bit of booze, a bit of male attention—lots of doctors there, all those sexy young housemen—you never know, you might meet someone.’
She laughed. ‘Deborah, shut up. I’ve said I’ll come, let’s leave it at that.’
So there she was at the party with Deborah, fending off advances and wondering how quickly she could get away, when Michael came in, leaning on a stick, in the company of a stunning redhead.
She looked up and met his eyes, and her heart turned over. He looked tanned and healthy, but there was something missing—some vital spark that had disappeared at the time of the accident. He held her gaze for a few seconds, and then deliberately turned his attention back to the woman at his side.
Thereafter he ignored her. She didn’t know how he did it—easily, probably, if he didn’t love her—but there was no way she could ignore him. Her eyes followed his every move—and hers.
Deborah appeared at her side with a drink and shoved it into her nerveless hands.
‘Have this—you look as if you need it.’
She sipped and grimaced. ‘Who is that woman?’
‘The redhead? Jo Harding, Obs and Gynae senior reg. Stunning, isn’t she?’
Clare made a choked noise. ‘I hate her,’ she muttered.
‘Look, love, it’s going to happen,’ Deborah told her matter-of-factly. ‘He’s a hell of a man, and let’s face it, losing part of his leg isn’t exactly going to affect his performance, is it?’
Clare flushed.
‘Sorry, that was tactless. Do you want to go?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I know it’s stupid, but perhaps if I see him with her for long enough, I’ll get to hate him.’
‘That’s the spirit—talking of which, get that brandy down your neck.’
She toyed with it for half a miserable hour, and then fed it to a plant. Michael and Jo Harding had disappeared and there was no sign of Deborah. She decided to go, and went upstairs to look for Deborah and tell her that she was going to make her way home. The stairs were cluttered with people chatting and laughing, escaping from the endless beat of the music in order to catch up on gossip and build bridges into new relationships. She squeezed between them, and found herself on the landing in a queue for the loo.
‘Anyone seen Deborah Lewis?’ she asked, and then a door opened behind her and Michael and Jo Harding came out of a darkened room together. His hair was rumpled, his shirt untucked, and he looked—she swallowed. He looked sexy as hell.
Jo smiled at him, her eyes warmly appreciative. ‘Better?’ she purred, her voice deep and husky.
‘Wonderful—thank you, Jo.’
‘Any time,’ the redhead replied. ‘I enjoyed getting my hands on that gorgeous body!’
He laughed, a slow, sexy laugh that Clare knew well, and turned towards the stairs.
There was no way to escape. His eyes met hers and his lips parted as if he was going to speak, but then he squeezed past her, his body hot and hard against her, and she could have wept. Then Jo passed her, her curves soft and lush on her tall frame, and Clare had to clench her fists so she didn’t scratch her eyes out.
She gave them a few minutes to get out of the hall, then she made her way down the stairs and through the front door.
On the way out she met Ross and Lizzi coming in, and her distress was so apparent that Lizzi took her on one side and calmed her down, gradually extracting the story from her after a few incoherent minutes.
‘The rat!’ she said when Clare had finished. ‘How could he? I mean, fair enough to have a relationship, perhaps, but to be so public—I really would have thought better of him.’
Ross offered to drive her home, and Lizzi quickly agreed.
‘I didn’t want to go to the party anyway, but it was someone in Ross’s department so we thought we should—we’ll blame it on the baby!’
Clare sat in the back of Ross’s car as it purred quietly back to the hospital, totally unaware of her luxurious surroundings. When they pulled up, Ross and Lizzi got out of the car and Ross opened her door.
‘Your destination, ma’am,’ he said with mock deference.
She summoned up a smile and climbed out of the car. Her legs felt as if they would hardly hold her. She
thanked them for the lift, and then out of habit she offered them a coffee.
‘I’m afraid it’s only instant, or you can have tea or fruit juice.’
‘Clare?’
She turned towards them at Lizzi’s softly voiced enquiry.
‘Are you being polite, or would you like some company?’
She stared at her feet. ‘Actually, all I really want to do is crawl into a corner and cry my eyes out,’ she confessed miserably.
‘Right.’ Lizzi took Ross’s arm. ‘Come on, we’re going home. Come over and see us if you want company any time. Don’t sit inside your flat until you get cabin fever.’
Thanking them, she made her way back to her flat and let herself in, sagging back against the door. Damn it, she thought, how dare that bloody woman get her hands on him? ‘He’s mine!’ she sobbed. ‘Mine! You can’t have him!’
She already has, a little voice taunted, and Clare picked up a nearby vase and hurled it against the wall, before crumpling against the door and letting the tears fall yet again.
On Sunday she went for a drive, and found herself out near Michael’s cottage. Parking near the end of the track which led to it, but out of sight, she walked towards the cottage, ready to duck behind the hedge if he appeared.
As she reached the entrance into the drive she saw Ross’s car parked beside the Volvo, and her steps faltered. Then she heard footsteps on the gravel, and quickly hid behind a shrub.
As they approached, she heard Ross speaking.
‘I think you’re being a fool. You obviously love her—why not give her the benefit of the doubt?’
‘Oh, Ross, I can’t risk it. She can’t love me—not after such a short time. If I’d met her after the accident, I would be more sure, but it was so sudden, so quick. One minute I didn’t know her, and the next we were engaged. We didn’t have any time to get to know each other, but I know her better now, and I know she’d stand by me even if she hated my guts. She’s that kind of girl, Ross. She takes commitment seriously. That’s why I can’t hold her to it. I had to let her go.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t want to go? I think she loves you, Michael—genuinely, truly loves you. I think you’re doing her a grave injustice by not believing her.’
Michael laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, no. You should have heard her in the train, begging me not to take the other bloke’s foot off because he would be a cripple. When I came round, all I could hear was her voice saying that, over and over again—he’ll be a cripple, he’ll be a cripple—God almighty, Ross, you have no idea what I went through. Losing my leg was nothing; waking up to the realisation that I’d lost Clare was infinitely worse.’
‘But she’s stood by you, Michael—has she ever said anything to make you think she finds your injury unacceptable, or pities you? Do you really think she finds you unattractive?’
There was a lengthy silence, during which Clare remembered all the times she had had to shove her hands in her pockets to keep from touching him. Unattractive? She almost laughed aloud.
‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘She’s too sensitive to my feelings to be that transparent. She pretends all this empathy, but I know it’s just pity, really.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Ross replied. ‘I think she loves you, and your leg doesn’t matter a damn to her. Of course she’s sorry it happened—we all were. You can’t hold that against her. Good grief, man, she’d be a callous bitch if she felt nothing! Can I give you my honest opinion? I think you’re wallowing in self-pity, and I think you’re afraid. I think you’re crippling yourself, emotionally, to punish yourself for staying in that carriage when she wanted you to get out. I think you’re trying to turn yourself into a hero to make up for what you perceive as your inadequacy—and I think you’re a fool, because you’re throwing away the love of a good woman for the sake of your pride.’
‘That’s rubbish!’
‘Is it? Think about it. Come on, Lizzi will be waiting.’
She heard the car doors slam, and ducked lower behind the hedge as the car reversed out of the drive and then pulled slowly away down the track. Peering carefully through the leaves, she could see Michael sitting in the front of the car next to Ross, staring rigidly ahead.
She watched the car out of sight, then straightened her aching legs and stood up. O’Malley came running up, and she absently lifted him and draped him round her neck. He purred furiously, overjoyed to see her again.
‘Tell me something, O’Malley,’ she said shakily. ‘If he loves me, then why is he sleeping so openly with that damned redhead?’
O’Malley squawked and rubbed his head against her cheek.
‘That’s just what I think—she’s a brazen tart. Damn it, she’s only known him a few weeks!’ she exclaimed in disgust, and then rather belatedly remembered her own speedy fall from chastity in his arms. ‘I wonder if he gives her the same old line about being her other half?’ she asked the cat in a choked voice.
Disentangling him from her hair, she set him down and walked back to her car, her thoughts confused.
If he did love her, as Ross suggested, and if he was so heartbroken at ending their relationship, then that could explain how he had found it so difficult to live with her, and why he had allowed himself to weaken and make love to her on the two bitter-sweet occasions that his rigid self-control had lapsed—but if that was the case, as she would dearly love to believe, then why that damned redhead?
‘Joanna Harding, I hate you!’ she muttered.
She started her car and crashed the gears, finally managing to locate reverse and turn it round before heading back to the hospital.
Tomorrow he was back at work. Tomorrow she would see him again. Tomorrow, maybe, she would get some answers.
Tomorrow.
God, how she dreaded tomorrow!
On Monday morning, Michael appeared on the ward at eight, just as Clare finished taking the report from Judith Price. He was walking with a stick, but she sensed it was for moral support as much as anything, as his gait seemed almost perfectly normal.
‘Good morning, Staff,’ he said in a civil but slightly distant voice.
‘Good morning,’ she replied stiffly, wondering how on earth she was going to get through the next few minutes, never mind the weeks until she left. ‘It’s good to have you back.’
He met her eyes for the first time, and smiled slightly. ‘It’s good to be back. Perhaps you could take me round and fill me in?’
‘Certainly. Where would you like to start?’
He glanced at his watch. She noticed that it hung loosely on his wrist, as if he had lost weight. ‘I think I’ve got time to see them all, but perhaps I’d better see the pre-ops first to have a chat.’
‘Fine.’ She led him to the second bay, opposite the nursing station, where the pre-operative patients were being prepared for Theatre.
‘This is Mrs Green, who’s having an arthroscopy to investigate a possible meniscal tear.’
‘Yes, hello again. We met in Outpatients a few weeks ago. How’s your knee been?’
He perched on the bed and chatted to her for a few minutes, explained again what they were going to do and marked the limb with an indelible pen.
‘Don’t want to get the wrong one!’ he said with a grin, and moved on to the next patient.
He was calm, steady and efficient, moving from one patient to another without haste and yet without wasting any time on unnecessary chat, and without giving the impression that he was rationing their time. After the pre-ops, he examined the post-ops, and then went in to see Barry Warner, who was making heavy weather of his recovery.
‘Michael—you’re back in the saddle again! Good man. How’s it going?’
Only then did she see the slightest flicker of emotion across his features, and it was so slight and gone so quickly that nobody else would have noticed.
‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘How about you? How are the legs? I gather from the X-rays that you’re progressing well.’
He examined Barry’s legs gently, and then replaced the covers. ‘Those skin grafts have taken well, Barry. I think we could start getting you up now on partial weight-bearing exercises. We don’t want you forgetting how to walk,’ he said with a grin.
As they left, he asked Clare how Danny Drew had got on.
‘Oh, he made good progress. He went home a couple of weeks ago, still on crutches and coming back for physio. He pops in every now and again to see us and visit some of the inmates.’
‘And Pete Sawyer?’
‘You should see him in Outpatients. He’s doing fine, I gather. His cast comes off this week.’
‘Good. Let’s hope he gets some mobility back in that hand soon. Right, I must go up to Theatre. Thank you, Staff.’
‘My pleasure, sir,’ she said drily to his departing back.
She went to check on the pre-ops and give them their pre-med. Mrs Green was first on the list.
‘What a lovely man he is—I’m so glad it’s him doing my knee. He’s given me such confidence.’
Clare forced herself to smile. ‘That’s what it’s all about, Mrs Green. It’ll soon be over and you’ll be up and about again in no time.’
‘Looked as if he’d been in the wars himself with that stick—what’s he done, sprained his ankle playing squash or something?’
Clare’s smile slipped.
‘No, he lost his left leg below the knee in an accident five weeks ago. It’s his first day back.’
‘Oh, my lord! Well, the poor boy!’
Clare forced a laugh. ‘Believe me, Mrs Green, the poor boy’s fine. Now, let’s just give you this injection to make you drowsy and dry up your mouth a little. Staff Nurse Lewis, could you check for me?’
Deborah joined her at the drug trolley, checked the Omnopon and scopolamine, and hissed, ‘What happened to you on Friday? One minute you were there, and the next—pouf—you’d gone!’
Clare sighed. ‘Not now. I’ll tell you later.’
‘Too right you will. Hello, Mrs Green. How are you?’
‘Oh, all right, dear. Looking forward to having this over, actually.’
‘Soon be done,’ Deborah said cheerfully, and went on to the next patient. ‘Hello, my love. How are you today?’
A Perfect Hero Page 13