‘Who am I to disagree with the others?’ She smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
They made the airport with five minutes to spare.
‘Relax, Elliot,’ Jane said, seeing him scanning the Arrivals board anxiously for information about the 21.00 plane from Paris. ‘The plane might land at nine o’clock, but she’ll have to collect her luggage first, remember, so try to relax.’
Relax? How could he possibly relax when all his instincts were urging him to run, to leave town, to give no forwarding address? He glanced at his watch, then straightened his tie. ‘Do I look all right? I mean, this suit…?’
‘You look fine.’ Actually, she wished he’d brought a pair of casual trousers and a sweatshirt to change into at the hospital instead of a suit and tie, but now was hardly the time to tell him so.
‘Should I get her some flowers, do you think?’ he continued, seeing a man emerging from the florist opposite with an enormous bouquet. ‘Girls always like flowers, don’t they?’
‘Daffodils would be nice…’
‘Not roses, then?’ he queried. ‘You think roses would be too much?’
For sure they would be too much. Roses were for an adult, not a little girl, and she would have told him that if she hadn’t suddenly caught a glimpse of his face.
He looked tense. Tense, and taut, and grim.
Surely he couldn’t possibly be nervous at the prospect of meeting his daughter? Of course he wasn’t. The very idea was ridiculous. He was resentful, yes. Probably even a little bit angry at his ex-wife for doing this to him, but super-confident Elliot nervous about meeting a child? No way. Never. And yet…
Gently she put her hand on his arm. ‘Elliot, all she needs is to feel loved and wanted.’
‘Loved and wanted.’ He nodded, for all the world as though he were ticking off a mental check list of dos and don’ts.
‘Just be her father,’ she continued, ‘and she’ll adore you.’
Be her father? He couldn’t do it—he knew he couldn’t—but a voice over the loudspeaker had announced the arrival of Flight 303 from Paris, and Jane was pushing her way through the crowded concourse, leaving him with no choice but to follow her.
‘Do you have a photograph so we’ll know what she looks like?’ she asked, breaking into his thoughts.
It had never occurred to him to ask if the solicitor had one! Relax, he told himself, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his back. How many six-year-old kids can be travelling on the plane from Paris? Even if there are dozens she’ll have somebody from Donna’s French solicitors with her.
She didn’t. She was on her own. OK, so one of the air stewardesses was holding her hand, but she was still on her own, and somebody had pinned a label onto her coat for all the world as though she were a parcel to be collected, not a child, not a person.
A surge of quite unexpected anger flooded through him. Anger that was just as quickly replaced by an altogether different emotion as the stewardess led his daughter towards him.
She looked exactly like Donna. The same long auburn hair, the same large dark eyes, the same elfin features. The face that stared uncertainly up at him was the one which had loved and then taunted and mocked him during his marriage, and despite all his best efforts to prevent it he felt himself beginning to withdraw. Knew it was wrong, that she was only a child, but he couldn’t stop himself.
And Nicole sensed his withdrawal. He could see it in the clouding of her eyes, and though he managed to swiftly dredge up his brightest smile he knew the damage had been done.
‘Elliot….’
Jane’s hand was at his back, urging him forward, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
‘Hello, Nicole. I’m…I’m your father.’ She gazed up at him without expression and a fresh wave of panic assailed him. What if she didn’t speak any English? Donna had been French. She might never have seen any need for her daughter—his daughter, he reminded himself—to learn English.
‘Nicole…I’m…Moi…Je…Je…’ He bit his lip. Oh, God, but he’d never been any good at languages. ‘Nicole…Moi…votre père?’
‘I know.’
The reply had been barely a whisper.
‘And this…’ He caught Jane’s hand in desperation. ‘This is my friend, Jane Halden. We…we’re…’
‘Flatmates,’ Jane said quickly, coming to his rescue. ‘Your father and I are flatmates.’
What now? Elliot wondered as the air stewardess disappeared, the loudspeaker announced the arrival of the 21.15 from Berlin and his daughter stared at the floor. What did he do and say now?
Jane had no such doubts. She simply got down on her knees, gave the little girl a hug and began talking about the flight from Paris.
Which is what he should have done, he realised bleakly as he retrieved Nicole’s luggage. But it was too late to think about that now. Too late for a lot of things.
All he could do was drive them back to his flat and listen to Jane and Nicole chattering away quite happily while he sat in silence, feeling as much use as a lamb chop in a vegetarian restaurant.
Dinner was no better. Nicole ate little, and said less. Jane—bless her—kept up a steady stream of conversation while Nicole valiantly attacked her fish fingers, but it was a relief when his daughter finally pushed her plate away and asked if she could go to bed.
Jane didn’t linger long afterwards. There was plenty she wanted to say. Things like ‘What happened to the famous Mathieson charm?’ And ‘Couldn’t you at least have tried to make some conversation?’ But it would keep.
A lot of things would keep, she decided as she took her pyjamas out of her suitcase and smiled ruefully as she looked at them.
Passion-killers. That’s what Frank had called the men’s red-and-white-striped pyjamas she liked to wear, and she supposed they were, but she liked them, always had. They were cosy on wintry nights, cool on hot summer evenings, and if they were as sexy as a pair of flannelette knickers then so much the better while she was staying with Elliot.
Not that she had anything to fear on that score, she thought wistfully as she changed into them. She was just Jane. Just good old dependable Jane.
And you should thank your lucky stars you are, her mind declared while she brushed her teeth. How long do Elliot’s girlfriends usually last—a month, six weeks? Gussie was doing well at two months. Actually, Gussie was doing incredibly well to have lasted two months.
Sleep, she told herself firmly. Get into bed and get some sleep. And she tried. She really did try, but two o’clock saw her no sleepier than before, and she’d just decided to get up and make herself a cup of tea when she heard it.
The unmistakable sound of a child’s muffled sobs in the silence.
She was out of bed in a second, tiptoeing quickly down the corridor so as not to wake Elliot, but her stealth was unnecessary. He was already awake, already heading in the same direction, and he came to a halt with clear relief when he saw her. She stopped too, but it wasn’t relief she felt. It was an altogether different emotion.
He only wore boxer shorts to bed. Nothing on top at all. Nothing to disguise the fact that his chest was even broader and more muscular than she’d ever imagined. And the boxer shorts…She swallowed convulsively, and resolutely shifted her gaze to his face and kept it there.
‘Nicole’s crying,’ he said unnecessarily.
‘She’ll be missing her mother,’ she managed to reply. ‘Feeling a bit lost.’
‘I guess so.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ she continued, half turning to go.
‘Leave me?’ he gasped. ‘But you can’t. I mean, I don’t know what to do!’
‘Elliot, all she needs is for you to hold her, cuddle her!’ she exclaimed, unable to hide her exasperation. ‘How hard can that be?’
‘Can’t you do it?’ he begged.
‘Elliot—’
‘Janey, I told you I wasn’t any good with kids. I’ll only muck it up if I go in there, say the wrong thing.’
; ‘But—’
‘And I have to get some sleep,’ he continued in desperation, seeing the shock and disapproval in her face. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Admin tomorrow about next year’s budget, and I must have my wits about me.’
For a second she stared at him speechlessly, then she drew herself up to her full five feet one, her grey eyes blazing.
‘Go, then!’ she snarled. ‘Go and get your precious sleep, and I hope you have nightmares. You deserve to, because you sure as hell don’t deserve a lovely little girl like Nicole!’
And he didn’t, she thought furiously when she went into Nicole’s bedroom and gathered the little girl into her arms. He didn’t deserve anybody’s love.
To think that at the airport she’d been stupid enough to wonder if his apparent callousness might be an act. An act he’d adopted because he was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to cope. But it wasn’t an act. He was just selfish to the core.
And as she cradled Nicole to her, holding the little girl tightly until she finally fell asleep, she didn’t know that Elliot remained outside the bedroom door, listening. Didn’t know that as he stood there, his hands clenched against his sides, his forehead leaning against the door, that he felt not only like the biggest heel of all time but also the world’s biggest failure.
CHAPTER THREE
‘HEY, Elliot, I know everyone says fatherhood’s tough, but don’t you think trying to cut your own throat is a bit drastic?’ Charlie Gordon grinned.
‘Oh, ha, ha, very funny,’ Elliot replied, gingerly rubbing his lacerated chin. ‘Jane’s been using my razor to shave her legs again, and it was blunt as a stone this morning.’
‘Don’t you just hate it when girls do that?’ Charlie laughed. ‘I mean, it’s bad enough when they hang their wet tights and underwear all over the shower rail—’
‘Not to mention all those creams and potions they stack along the bath.’ Elliot sighed ruefully. ‘Two weeks ago I had a bathroom to call my own, and now—’
‘It’s become a branch of your local chemist,’ Charlie finished for him. ‘Still, all that clutter’s nice in an odd sort of way. Makes a man’s flat seem more homely somehow.’
It did, Elliot acknowledged. Just as he also knew that he could never have got through this last fortnight without Jane, in spite of all her clutter. She was the oil that kept everything running. The cement without which everything would have fallen apart. Without her, Nicole’s arrival would have been even more of a nightmare than it actually was.
And it had been a nightmare, despite the fact that he’d tried really hard to involve himself in Nicole’s life. He’d had to, and it wasn’t just because he knew Jane’s watchful eyes were constantly on him. It was because he’d felt so guilty about the way he’d reacted when he’d first seen Nicole, the way he’d chickened out of comforting her on that first night, but nothing he’d done had worked.
With Jane his daughter was completely at ease, laughing and smiling, but the minute he tried to engage her in conversation all her animation disappeared. Oh, she was polite enough, answering all of his questions, dutifully telling him about her new school, but it had been a duty. A duty she’d got over as quickly as she could.
‘Nicole settling in OK at her new school?’ Charlie continued as they walked together towards the treatment room.
‘Very well, thanks.’ Elliot nodded.
And that had been because of Jane, too. He didn’t know how she’d managed to do it but somehow she’d contrived to make friends with the mother of one of the girls in Nicole’s class, and now invitations were starting to arrive for Nicole to come to tea.
‘You must find Jane a great help,’ Charlie said as though he’d read his mind.
‘Couldn’t do without her,’ Elliot admitted frankly.
‘Nice girl, Jane,’ the SHO continued, seeing her coming out of one of the cubicles. ‘Lovely smile, too. Sort of lights up her face, if you know what I mean.’
Elliot didn’t. To him, Jane was…Well, Jane was just Jane but, judging by Charlie Gordon’s admiring gaze, he clearly didn’t think so.
Actually, now he came to think of it, the SHO had no business to be thinking anything about Jane, Elliot decided irritably. Dammit, the man had a girlfriend in Wales or Norfolk, or some such outlandish place, and if he was planning on fooling around with Jane, breaking her heart…
‘Charlie—’
‘Good grief, what in the world have you done to your face, Elliot?’ Jane asked, smothering a chuckle as she joined them.
‘Somebody—somebody—has been using my razor to shave their legs again,’ he observed.
‘Sorry,’ she said guiltily. ‘I’ll try to get to a chemist some time today before I go home.’
‘Better buy some plasters while you’re about it,’ Charlie declared as he headed off towards Reception. ‘Those bits of toilet paper he’s currently got stuck to his chin aren’t exactly going to inspire much confidence in our patients.’
Elliot whipped the forgotten pieces of toilet paper off quickly, but not fast enough. Jane let out a peal of laughter, and as he stared down at her he realised that Charlie was right.
She did have a nice smile. Wide, and full, and generous. She had nice hair, too. Thick and black, it shone like silk when she took it down from its topknot back at his flat after work and brushed it out. And she didn’t do anything special with it. Simply washed, then blow-dried it. He knew that because he’d watched her doing it last night when she’d been helping Nicole with her homework.
‘S-sorry?’ he stammered, suddenly realising from her expectant expression that she must have asked him something. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I asked—I asked—if you remembered that Nicole’s going round to her new friend Stephanie’s house for tea tonight,’ she said tightly. ‘But as usual, when it comes to talking about your daughter, you weren’t listening!’
He groaned inwardly as Jane whirled angrily round on her heel and strode away. Damn Charlie Gordon. If the SHO hadn’t been wittering on about how nice Jane was, and what a terrific smile she had, he would have been paying attention to what she was saying, and not simply gazing at her.
It had taken him three days after the fiasco of Nicole’s arrival to get Jane to say anything to him beyond an abrupt ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to any of his questions, and the last thing he wanted was to go through that again.
Swiftly he hurried after her, catching up with her beside the whiteboard. ‘Jane, I’m sorry. I wasn’t being uncaring but I was thinking about something else. I was wondering…’ Think of something fast, Elliot, he told himself, and make it good. ‘I…I was trying to figure out if I could afford another bathroom.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said tartly.
‘It’s true,’ he protested, crossing his fingers behind his back. ‘One bathroom isn’t really sufficient for the three of us, and I was wondering whether the cupboard in the hall could become an extra toilet.’
She gazed at him suspiciously. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re spinning me a line?’
‘Do I look like the kind of man who would?’ he exclaimed, opening his blue eyes very wide.
‘Absolutely one hundred per cent,’ she replied. ‘Elliot, I’ve known you for two years, seen how you operate, so cut the flannel. Were you really thinking about a bathroom?’
He stared at her for a second, then his mouth turned up at the corners. ‘Actually, I was thinking what a very nice smile you had.’
Her jaw dropped, then she began to laugh. ‘You’re impossible, you know that, don’t you? Expecting me to swallow a load of old baloney like that—’
‘It’s true—Scout’s honour.’
‘Elliot, you were never a Scout,’ she protested. ‘The kind of man every mother warns her daughter about, but never a Scout. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you!’
‘’Cos you like me?’ he suggested, his blue eyes sparkling.
Oh, I do, she thought, laughing and shaking her head. I do, bu
t I just wish you would use some of that charm of yours on your daughter for a change.
To be fair to him, he’d certainly been making more of an effort, talking to Nicole about her new school, the things she was learning, but he was so stiff with her, so formal. It was obvious that all the little girl wanted was to be loved, and yet Elliot either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see it.
‘Elliot…’
The rest of what she’d been about to say died in her throat as the treatment-room doors opened, and a young woman stood there, dishevelled, wild-eyed and panic-stricken.
‘Please! Please, can somebody help me? My boyfriend. He’s out in the car. He has an allergy to almonds, and I think he’s dying!’
Elliot reached for an Ambu-bag and was off at a run, with Jane and the young woman not far behind.
‘What’s his name?’ he demanded when they reached the car and he threw open the front passenger door.
‘Keith. Keith Fuller,’ the young woman sobbed, her face chalk-white with fear. ‘We were just leaving to go to work, and—’
‘Keith—Keith, can you hear me—do you know where you are?’ Elliot asked, lifting the young man’s head back from the dashboard.
A slurred, incoherent mumble was his only reply.
With a muttered oath Elliot peeled the sterile cover off the Ambu-bag, took out the long polystyrene tube and skilfully worked it down the young man’s throat and into his trachea. Then, just as deftly, he attached the Ambu-bag to the end of the tube and began squeezing it, sending air rushing into Keith’s chest.
‘Wheelchair?’ Jane queried.
Not ideal, but Keith couldn’t walk. Giving the Ambubag to Jane, Elliot levered the young man into the wheelchair with as much care as was possible under the circumstances, and at a run they set off back to the treatment room.
‘OK, IV line with adrenaline and corticosteroid,’ Elliot ordered the moment the young man had been transferred onto the examination trolley in cubicle 7. ‘It looks to me like a full-blown anaphylactic shock.’
It looked that way to Jane, too, as Floella led the weeping girlfriend away. Keith’s chest was covered in a mass of deep red welts, his face was red and puffy and his eyes were swollen shut. Somehow he must have eaten almonds without realising it, but the ‘how’ could wait until later. Right now, they had to concentrate on counteracting the massive amounts of histamine that the young man’s body was producing.
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