Bonny jerked her head up—looked at him again—and the pain that was inside her today was there on his face; the agony she felt was mirrored in his eyes.

And it wasn’t wanton, or bold, or even particularly brave—because, looking at him, Bonita knew her kiss wasn’t about to be rejected.

Kisses—strange, delicious things, her mind thought as their lips mingled.

Just this delicious sharing, this sweet acknowledgement that was better expressed without words. A kiss that wasn’t about escaping, more about sustenance. A little pause in a vile day—a kiss that wouldn’t go further because for now it was absolutely enough.

‘You and I,’ Hugh said, as their kiss inevitably ended, ‘are going to have to do some serious talking.’

‘I know.’

Carol Marinelli recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked—‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But—given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open—I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Recent titles by the same author:

Medical™ Romance ONE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS A DOCTOR, A NURSE: A LITTLE MIRACLE BILLIONAIRE PRINCE, ORDINARY NURSE*

Modern™ Romance HIRED: THE ITALIAN’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS ITALIAN BOSS, RUTHLESS REVENGE EXPECTING HIS LOVE-CHILD*

*The House of Kolovsky

ENGLISH DOCTOR, ITALIAN BRIDE

By

CAROL MARINELLI

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘SORRY if this is awkward for you!’ Hugh Armstrong flashed a tight smile at his reluctant patient.

‘It’s not awkward for me.’ Bonita managed through pale lips, shaking her head as Deb, the charge nurse, offered her more gas to inhale. Bonita held her arm slightly away from her body, terrified to move it and even more terrified at the thought of anyone touching it. The journey to the hospital had been short but hellish, the makeshift sling her friend had applied had done little to help and certainly hadn’t provided a buffer to the pain—she’d felt every jolt. Every movement, anticipated or real, had also been agony as Deb had helped get her out of the car and onto the trolley. ‘I’m just in a lot of pain.’

‘Good!’ Hugh said, as Bonita shivered on the trolley. ‘Not good that you’re in pain, of course!’ He gave her a patronising smile. ‘I mean, it’s good that it’s not awkward for you. Accidents happen after all or we wouldn’t have a job!’

He thought he was funny!

Bonita wished she could make light of the fact that she was sitting bolt upright on a trolley in the accident and emergency department she worked in, dressed in her netball gear, her long brown curls all damp and frizzy, her shoulder hanging out of its socket and her arch-enemy Hugh Bloody Armstrong the only senior doctor available!

Just her luck. But, then again, the whole day had been a series of errors. She wasn’t even supposed to have been playing netball today, had actually given it up last year after she’d knocked herself out and then a fortnight later had hurt her knee. But an early morning phone call telling her that the team was short and begging her to fill in had caught her off guard. She should have said no—centre forward wasn’t even her position!

And as for Hugh Armstrong treating her—well, he wasn’t even supposed to be on duty, Bonita thought, holding onto her arm so carefully that her neck was starting to hurt with the tension of trying to stay still. Andrew Browne was the consultant on duty today, only he was stuck in Resus and Hugh had just happened to call in to drop off the emergency pager, midway between the wedding and reception he was attending today. Dressed in a grey morning suit, knowing damn well that he looked fantastic, reeking of cologne, with Amber, his stunning girlfriend, trotting faithfully behind, he’d seen Bonita being wheeled through the department. Of course, given she was a staff member, and there was no one else available, it was only right that he deal with her, only right that she wasn’t left waiting.

She was staff.

And, because today she was also a patient, for once he’d be nice to her and, in turn, she’d suffer his patronising attempts at humour, if it meant that her shoulder would get sorted quickly.

It was entirely irrelevant that they loathed each other.

‘Take a couple of breaths of this, and then hopefully you can give me your arm.’

She was making a scene; Bonita knew that, but bravery was something she was having great difficulty summoning.

Sobbing, crying and red in the face, she’d turned more than a few heads since her arrival.

Hugh had almost got an IV in when she’d first arrived, which had been a feat in itself, given she had useless thready veins, yet he’d somehow managed to find one on her good arm.

And then she’d suddenly moved.

Which had caused more pain, made her yelp and Hugh had let out a hiss of frustration as the tiny plastic tube had kinked beneath his fingers and her vein had collapsed.

‘Come on, honey!’ Deb soothed. ‘You’re an Azetti—you should be used to this!’

Not this Azetti!

Having a girl after three strapping sons, her mother, it seemed to Bonita, should have wrapped her in cotton wool, dressed her in pink and enrolled her for ballet. Instead, until puberty had hit loudly, she had been raised as one of the boys, brought up in her brothers’ cast-offs and forced to play with their toys. She had proved a constant source of irritation to her mother because she hadn’t liked roughing it and, horror of horrors, had no affinity for horses. Sure, her mother and three brothers might pop out a shoulder or dislocate the odd patella when they took a tumble from a horse, and handle themselves with pained dignity, but it just wasn’t Bonita.

Like her Sicilian father, Luigi, emotion was Bonita’s forte, and Hugh knew that. He smiled just a touch as Bonita rolled her eyes at Deb’s comment and said nothing. Neither correcting nor commenting on the fact that he knew different.

‘Can’t you just do something for the pain?’

Impatient to get her to X-Ray, Hugh was trying to do just that, Bonita knew. He was holding up a mask and trying to be patient, but the rubbery smell, along with the anticipation of pain, was just upsetting her more.

‘Come on, now.’ He tried again to be nice. ‘I know you’re upset, I know you’re in pain, but if you just take a couple of big breaths of this and give me your arm, we can get an IV in and give you something more substantial for your pain.’ Which was the only thing Bonita wanted to hear. Oh, she’d dealt with plenty of dislocated shoulders in the year she’d worked here, knew that it hurt, only she hadn’t realised just how much.

‘I really think I’ve done more than just dislocate it…’ Bonita shivered. ‘It’s way worse than a straight dislocation—I think I might have fractured it or maybe done something to the nerves.’

‘Let’s just get something into you for pain, we’ll get some X-rays and then I’ll make my diagnosis!’

‘Oh, sorry, I forgot I was a mere nurse.’ Bonita smarted. ‘Forgive me for having an opinion!’

‘That’s quite all right, Nurse!’ He winked. Somehow Hugh had always put her in her place. Growing up, he’d made it clear she was an annoyance, had sat bored through her teenage tantrums and had roared with laughter when she’d announced she was going to be a nurse.

Why couldn’t he have stayed in England, where he belonged?

At eighteen he had come to Australia on a gap year. He’d intended to head back to England to study medicine, only Hugh had fallen in love with the country and after a year travelling, he’d transferred his course to Australia. At med school he’d met her brother Paul and become something of a regular fixture in the Azetti household during those years of study. Bonita’s parents had a sprawling home on the Mornington Peninsular where they ran a winery, growing their own grapes and producing a boutique wine. Along with her mother’s riding school, the winery had expanded successfully over the years. Apart from his blond hair, Hugh had slotted right in with her family. He’d come for regular dinners, stayed over sometimes, picked fruit during semester breaks, worked in the cellar door shop, exercised the horses—not that he’d needed to work, the Azettis had later found out. His family background meant he could have spent the six years it had taken to get through medical school concentrating solely on his studies and partying. Hugh, though, had managed to accommodate all three—work, study and partying, in fact he was a master of them all!

He was almost an honorary son in the Azetti household. One of the only times Bonita had actually seen her mother cry had been when Hugh’s father had fallen ill and Hugh had headed quickly back to the UK, not for a holiday, but to live.

Oh, he’d kept in touch, witty postcards and letters regularly appeared in their mailbox, and her mother Carmel had happily read them out. Paul often forwarded Hugh’s emails, regaling his latest tales of success, promotions, girlfriends, family deaths, engagements and breakups, but there had been no direct contact between Hugh and Bonita. His had just been a name that had cropped up in conversation, or in an email to read second hand that displayed his stunning dry wit. Bonita had watched Hugh grow from young man to mature adult on a third-party basis, only privy to his life by default.

Until six months ago.

Until she’d arrived home to find him at the family’s dinner table—a surprise guest, with surprising news.

He was back.

And not just back—he had taken up the position of registrar in the accident and emergency department of her small town. Which, of course, had delighted everyone. Andrew Browne thrilled that such an eminent London doctor was taking up residence, her family delighted that the prodigal son had returned, all the female nurses and ancillary staff finding an excellent reason to apply a second coat of mascara in the morning. Her mother had long since wound down the riding school, so that just a few of the mounts remained, and Hugh had promptly bought one—Ramone, a devil of a horse—which meant to her parents’ delight that he was a regular visitor, paying agistment fees and stopping in for coffee after he’d ridden!

Yes, Hugh’s return had delighted everyone, except herself…

Woozy with the gas, she stared at his silky blond hair, flopping over his high smooth forehead, the full, sulky mouth that delivered such effortless mocking wit, dark green eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled—and never had she hated him more.

‘I need your good arm!’ Hugh said, his voice kind now, gently leaning her forward, but every movement was agony. ‘Just take a couple of breaths on the gas.’

‘It’s not helping!’ Her words were muffled by the mask Deb had clamped over her face.

‘It won’t if you keep talking instead of breathing. Come on, Bonny!’ She hated it that he called her that. That was what her family called her, and it was OK for them to do it, but here at work she was Bonita. She pulled her face away to tell him but he wasn’t listening. ‘Let the sling take the weight,’ Hugh said, trying to prise her good arm away, but she was terrified to let go, terrified of even the tiniest movement, tears stinging in her brown eyes, determined not to let him see her cry again. But it was so hard to be brave.

‘I don’t like gas.’

‘OK!’ He gave a tight smile as he gave in, then spoke in his commanding snobby voice and patronised her just a little bit more. ‘Let’s just take a moment to relax, shall we? I’ll be back shortly.’ She saw him roll his eyes to Deb, a sort of apology, Bonita decided, that his patient wasn’t meekly behaving, before he, no doubt, went to apologise to his girlfriend, Amber, that the five minutes he had promised her she’d have to wait was turning into fifteen.

‘Sorry to be such an inconvenience,’ Bonita called to his departing back. She was very close to tears, but managed a dash of sarcasm before he walked out, hating how much it hurt, hating she was being such a baby, hating making a fool of herself, and especially in front of him!

‘Don’t be daft,’ Deb said. ‘Nobody thinks you’re an inconvenience, do we, Hugh?’

‘Not at all…’ Hugh attempted, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he stalked out, clearly less than impressed.

‘I saw him roll his eyes.’

‘He’s worried about you!’ Deb soothed. ‘I told him to go off to the wedding reception, that Andrew would get to you very soon, but he insisted on getting you some pain control.’

Which meant nothing! He was a doctor after all, and would stay and help a colleague just as he would a dog in the street—it didn’t mean a thing!

‘OK, then!’ Hugh breezed back in with a little medicine pot. ‘I’ve got some oral Valium, which will relax you. And we can have another go when it kicks in.’

‘Just do it,’ Bonita said, refusing the tablet and gritting her teeth, determined it would work this time.

‘As you wish.’ Hugh put down the medicine cup and picked up his tourniquet. ‘Now, it doesn’t matter if it’s making you feel sick or dizzy, Bonny, I want you to take some deep breaths of the gas and let the sling take the weight…’ As Deb clamped the mask over her face, Bonita caught Hugh’s dark green eyes. ‘Like it or not, you’re going to have to trust me!’

Never.

Oh, she didn’t say it out loud, couldn’t say it really because Deb was holding the mask over her mouth, but her brown eyes said it all as, for the first time in six years, they actually met and held his. Even though they’d worked together these past months, even though she’d seen him at her parents’ and had made idle chitchat, for the first time in years she looked into his eyes and remembered the last time she had.

The last time his face had been close.

The last time that full, sensual mouth had captured hers, and somehow she’d believed in him.

But not now.

Older, wiser, and a good dash more bitter, she wouldn’t trust Hugh Armstrong as far as she could see him, let alone throw him. She had witnessed first hand his treatment of women…his treatment of her.

‘Give me your hand, Bonny.’ He was prising it away now, and whether it was the gas, or that the sling was taking the weight, or just that his slow movement didn’t jolt her, when finally she let him, it didn’t hurt that much at all.

OK—so she trusted him as a doctor, Bonita conceded, as she shook off the mask. In the months she’d worked alongside him he had been nothing other than brilliant with the patients and their care—it was the man she had issues with!

‘Good girl,’ Hugh said, wrapping a tourniquet around her arm.

‘Ten years ago, that might have been appropriate,’ Bonita snapped.

‘Just stay still,’ Hugh warned, and then grinned slightly. ‘Actually, it wouldn’t have been appropriate ten years ago.’ He winked, slipping the needle into her flesh. ‘You were always getting into trouble!’

He was right. Ten years ago she’d been fourteen—and despite her mother’s best attempts to keep her as some androgynous being, hormones, along with a rather spectacular pair of breasts, had emerged, which had meant frequent blistering rows with her mother about make-up, clothes, magazines and boys. Hugh, who had known her since she was a gangly eleven-year-old, had witnessed plenty of those rows and had seen his share of her tears too.

She didn’t want to think about it, found that it was easier to focus on the needle than her thoughts, or him, and the little prick he was making in her arm certainly hurt less than examining her past. Needles didn’t bother her. Bonita watched as he slipped it into her arm, and Hugh quickly taped it in place. Only, as much as needles and blood didn’t bother her, she’d never actually witnessed one going into her own arm, or the little trickle of her own blood that slipped out as he capped the IV.

It was horribly hot, she could feel sweat trickling between her breasts, the air stifling as she tried to drag it in, saliva pouring into her mouth. Bonita’s urgent eyes met Deb’s as realisation hit, then she retched suddenly—the violent movement causing such a spasm of pain that she didn’t even retch again, just sobbed as 500 ml of bright blue sports drink, erupted into a hastily found kidney dish Deb thrust in front of her. Oh, it was an extremely common event in Emergency but it just added to the utter indignity of it all, especially when Hugh, wearing a rather appalled expression at her Technicolor display, stepped back smartly.

‘We’ll add an anti-emetic to the painkiller, please, Deb,’ he drawled, and, oh, how strained his smile was as he dampened a paper wipe and brushed two tiny—in fact, Bonita was sure imaginary—spots off his smart morning suit.

‘I’m sorry.’ Beyond embarrassed, she just sat there as Deb wiped her face, her nose, her mouth, while Hugh delivered the blessed pain relief. ‘I’m so sorry. Your lovely suit…’

‘Forget it,’ Hugh clipped.

But it was such a lovely suit, Bonita thought, the horror receding slightly as the medication took over. Dark grey, with a long jacket, rather like a riding coat. And with legs up to his neck, Hugh wore it well. There was a pale grey waistcoat underneath that accentuated his flat stomach, and it was set off with a pale pink tie. A lock of blond hair flopped over his eyebrows as he checked her radial pulse, making sure the circulation in her arm was OK, and she caught a glimpse of manicured nails and a flash of a very expensive watch. ‘I’ll pay to have it cleaned.’

‘Don’t give it another thought,’ Hugh said magnanimously. ‘It’s my fault for not putting on a gown when I dealt with you… How’s your pain?’

‘Terrible…’ Bonita started, but on second thoughts it wasn’t that bad. In fact, she could lie back just a fraction on the pillow. Oh, she couldn’t move it or anything but if she kept very still, it actually felt OK.

‘That bad, huh?’ Hugh grinned as she promptly closed her eyes. ‘OK, let’s have a proper look at this shoulder now, please.’

But not even IV painkiller could fully take away the sting of Deb cutting off her netball top to reveal a rather grey sports bra, and the agony of trying to remember, as Hugh so gently probed whether or not she’d shaved her armpits in the shower that morning.

‘Sorry, pet, but we need this off for the X-ray,’ Deb said as she snipped away at Bonita’s bra and carefully peeled it off, keeping the breasts covered with the sling and a towel as best she could. ‘Hugh, could you just hold the towel while I feed the drip through the gown?’

‘I’ll do the drip!’ Hugh responded, leaving Deb to hold the towel and hopefully maintain what appeared to be the very last shred of Bonita’s dignity.

It was the only saving grace in the entire afternoon.

‘At least Bill’s not on duty,’ Deb said, trying to cheer her up as she covered her friend as best she could with a threadbare gown, and failed miserably. ‘No woman wants her ex-boyfriend seeing her like this… Bastard!’ she added—just as everyone who worked in Emergency did these days after they said Bill’s name.

Only Bill wasn’t a bastard—anything but. A charge nurse in Emergency, he was an adorable guy, perceptive too, Bonita thought with a brain that was starting to refuse to think. Bill was the only person out of everyone who would understand just how appalling this afternoon was for her.

Bill was the only one who knew about Hugh.

‘Well, it looks straightforward enough!’ Hugh scribbled out his request on a pad. ‘Let’s get her round to X-Ray.’

* * *

‘Anterior dislocation.’ Hugh snapped the X-rays onto the viewfinder as soon as Bonita returned. ‘Just as I thought. And no fracture. Let’s get you into Theatre and we can pop it back and soon have you feeling more comfortable.’

It wasn’t the word ‘theatre’ that had her looking aghast. There was a minor theatre in Emergency, which was used mainly for suturing, but procedures such as this one were often performed there. No, it wasn’t that that had her reeling—it was that Hugh was going to do it.

‘You’re supposed to be at a wedding!’

‘That’s not your problem.’

‘No.’ Bonita shook her head, the painkillers making her bravely honest. ‘I don’t want you to be the one putting it back.’

‘I’m sure Andrew would prefer it if he could do it,’ Hugh said, studying the X-ray as she spoke, ‘but he’s in with some relatives and he’s going to be stuck for some time. You know that the sooner we get it back, the less swollen it will be and the less chance of nerve damage.’

‘I know all that! It’s just—’

‘Look!’ As direct as ever, he left off studying the X-rays and came over. ‘I can understand that you’d prefer if it was Andrew who did the procedure. I know you and I don’t particularly get on, and to be honest, yes, there are many other places I’d prefer to be right now, but, all that aside, you know I’m a bloody good doctor…’ Which was so pompous, so backhanded and so utterly Hugh that it really came as no surprise to hear him say it. ‘And I know that shoulder needs to be put back just as soon as possible. So…’ He forced his haughty face into an attempt at a reassuring smile, giving her a glimpse of very white even teeth and green eyes that were utterly bored and less than impressed. ‘If you’ll let me do it, you’ll be on your way home very soon and I might just make it back to the reception in time for the speeches.’

It would have been childish and stupid in the extreme to refuse, and, Bonita thought glumly as with her good hand and a hefty dose of painkillers she attempted a signature on the consent form, her mother would never forgive her.

It was quiet in the little theatre, away from the hubbub of the department. Even though Bonita knew what was going to happen, there was something quite peaceful about just lying down and listening as Deb and Hugh set up for the procedure. A sort of comfort almost as she heard the little blip of the oxygen saturation machine as it was clipped to her finger and Debbie attached some nasal prongs.

‘We’ll give you a sedative,’ Hugh explained, ‘which will send you off into a nice little twilight sleep.

‘Deb, let’s just check her ID.’

It seemed the most pointless, ridiculous thing to be doing. Everyone in the room knew that this was Bonita Azetti and that she was 24 years old, only maybe it wasn’t so pointless because, as it turned out, they didn’t know that she was allergic to penicillin, and though it was highly unlikely she might need it, Deb still scuttled off to get a red armband, just in case. Hugh took off his jacket and waistcoat and hung them up. His immaculate shirt had lifted out of his trousers a touch and she was treated to a woozy glimpse of tanned flesh as he tucked himself in. She was too out of it to even bother looking away.

‘OK?’ Hugh asked when he turned around.

‘Fantastic!’

‘You will be soon.’

‘Aren’t you going to take off your shoes?’ Bonita almost managed a joke. For one particularly difficult dislocation she’d assisted him with she’d seen him place the ball of his foot in the patient’s armpit to provide traction as he pulled on the arm, though admittedly that had been on some vast, muscle-bound farmhand.

‘I don’t need to for a skinny thing like you. It’ll just pop back in.’ Still she could see the towel over the trolley that Deb would pull on and nerves started to catch up with her as she remembered the pain she’d been in.

‘It’s going to hurt!’

‘It won’t hurt at all. We’ll wait till the sedative has taken effect, and anyway,’ Hugh reassured her, ‘it’s a brilliant amnesiac—you won’t remember a thing afterwards!’

‘Your mum’s on her way pet,’ Deb added, but that only made things worse. The next batch of tears for the day came pouring out as she thought of her mother on the way.

‘She doesn’t need this!’ Bonita sobbed into the paper towel Hugh ripped off the dispenser and handed her, ‘what with dad being so sick and everything… And it’s tourist time; the shop’s really busy at the moment—’

‘Hey!’ Hugh cut off the dramatics. ‘This could be exactly what she needs. You’re going to have a few weeks off with this shoulder—it might help having you around right now.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Your dad will love having you home…’ Hugh soothed. ‘OK…’ He dragged a stool over with his foot and carried on chatting away as he connected the syringe to the bung, talking to calm her down as he would to any nervous patient. ‘Let’s get this medicine into you. Now, just think nice thoughts—it will all work out. I know things are difficult at home right now, but this could end up being the best thing that ever…’ His voice was sort of slowing down, his mouth moved at normal speed but the words were starting to sound jumbled. She could see Deb walking over and talking to Rita who had come to the theatre door, could see Hugh staring down at her as he quietly and calmly waited for the sedative to take effect, knew that she was OK, because Deb was still happily chatting to Rita and Hugh didn’t look remotely fazed.

He was looking at her again, his eyes holding hers, observing her carefully.

He really did have beautiful eyes, Bonita thought—though green didn’t really accurately describe them. Maybe hazel would be a better choice, because just at the inner rim of the iris there was a swirl of gold. He was smiling at her, a sort of soft, gentle smile that she hadn’t seen in a long time, a patient, kind smile that she remembered of old.

The one that had always made her tummy curl into itself, Bonita thought dreamily.

And even if he was a bastard at times, even if it had been so hard to work with him in Emergency, to see him with her family, these past few months, it was as if all the mist that had surrounded them was finally clearing and just the simple truth remained.

‘I do love you!’

She could see him frown just a touch, see him glance up to where Deb was still chatting, then he gave her a sort of patronising smile. She could feel his hand patting her in a sort of ‘there, there’ motion, as if she had no idea what she was saying, as if she couldn’t possibly know how she felt. She knew she was drifting off and suddenly for Bonita it was imperative that he get it, imperative that she make herself absolutely clear. She tried to lift her head off the pillow, only it was too heavy. All she was able to do was look at him and hopefully the urgency in her eyes might convey this imperative point, as she sensationally elaborated.

‘Hugh—I’ve always loved you.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘ALL done!’ Deb’s smiling face was the first thing Bonita saw as she awoke, her voice soothing as she welcomed Bonita back to the world. ‘Everything’s back where it should be so you should be feeling a lot more comfortable. For now just have a little rest!’

In stages she remembered: the tackle at netball; the journey here; Hugh… She cringed at the scene she’d made when he’d tried to get the IV in and cringed again when she remembered that she’d been sick.

Not that Hugh noticed her cringe now—he barely even glanced at her as he spoke.

‘Wiggle your fingers for me!’ he snapped, deigning to give her nothing more than a cursory glance as he slipped his fingers into the navy shoulder immobiliser and again checked her radial pulse. ‘How does it feel?’

‘Fine.’ Bonita blinked in surprise, because it actually did feel fine. Staring around the familiar room from where she lay, she carried on wiggling her fingers, even rearranged herself a touch on the pillows, and it didn’t hurt a bit! ‘Did it go back OK?’

‘Easily!’ Hugh gave a tight smile. ‘It popped straight back.’

‘How long was I out for?’ Bonita asked, but Hugh wasn’t listening. His duties over, he was back to being his usual abrasive, rude self where she was concerned. He didn’t even attempt to answer her question, just filled out her notes.

‘You were just out for ten minutes or so.’ Deb filled in the silence. ‘Everything went really well.’

‘You’ve got a visitor!’ Rita popped her head around the theatre door, closely followed by Bonita’s mother’s rather striking head of curls.

‘Oh, Bonny! What on earth happened?” Carmel Azetti was one hundred per cent Australian but, having been married to Luigi for forty-four years, some Italianisms had certainly rubbed off. Seeing her daughter, pale, drained and looking wretched, Carmel came marching over with her arms outstretched. In fact, as Bonita, mindful of her newly placed shoulder, cringed on the trolley, she thought it was odd that the one time her mother might just display some affection, she didn’t want her to!

‘Gently Carmel…’ As if Hugh had applied brakes, Carmel came to a stop in the nick of time and Hugh caught Carmel into a hug of his own, which was probably the last thing he wanted to do, given her mother was dressed in grubby jeans and a T-shirt, with even grubbier boots, and she reeked to high heaven of horses! Not that Hugh seemed to mind but, then, he’d always adored her mother—it was the daughter he had issues with!

‘Sorry to call you to come to the hospital like that. It must have given you a fright.’

‘It did,’ Carmel admitted. ‘Mind you, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, three sons and then Calamity Jane here…’ She gave an exasperated sigh as she stared over at her daughter. ‘After you knocked yourself out last year, you said you weren’t going to play netball this season.’

‘The team were short a player!’ Bonita grumbled. ‘They’d have had to forfeit the game otherwise.’

‘Well, I wish they had!’ Carmel sighed, her brief display of affection soon wearing off as she reverted to her rather more usual brusque self. Bonita couldn’t blame her. Her mother had a terminally ill husband, a winery to run, horses to exercise and take care of, and now she had an incapacitated daughter to deal with.

‘I’m sorry, Mum!’ Bonita said. ‘I just didn’t think—’

‘You never do!’ Carmel snapped.

‘Well, I’m going to have to leave you ladies. I’ve got one more patient to wrap up and then I really must get going. Andrew will see you tomorrow at ten a.m. at the fracture clinic,’ Hugh instructed, ‘just to check everything’s OK. Then your GP can take over your care.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You need to be reviewed tomorrow!’ Hugh clipped.

‘It feels OK,’ Bonita insisted, knowing how busy Sundays were for her mother, how busy every day was for her right now, but Hugh wasn’t having any of it.

‘It feels fine because while you were under I injected local anaesthetic into your shoulder to help you through tonight, but you ought to be seen when it’s worn off—to make sure there isn’t a trapped nerve or anything. Which,’ he added, just to make her blush for her carryon before, ‘you yourself were worried about.’

He wasn’t even pretending to be nice to her now. He just stalked off with her notes to see his other patient.

Of course he wouldn’t have sat twiddling his thumbs waiting for her to come back from X-Ray. The place was busy so naturally he’d help out, Bonita thought as Carmel tried to help her into jeans that felt way too small. Bonita didn’t even attempt to put on the T-shirt.

‘I’m in an arm immobilizer, Mum!’ Bonita grumbled. ‘How would I even get it on? I’m just going to have to wear the gown home.’

“Well, excuse me for trying,’ Carmel snapped back as she did up Bonita’s netball runners. ‘I’m a farmer’s wife, not a nurse!’

‘I need another gown,’ Bonita said, ‘to cover my bottom—’

‘Just hold it!’ Carmel said briskly. ‘We’re not borrowing two! I’ll wash it and you can give it back tomorrow when I bring you for your appointment.’

‘I can get a taxi tomorrow,’ Bonita offered, chewing her bottom lip. ‘You’ve got church.’

‘I’ll just have to go to evening Mass,’ Carmel said, trying, but not that hard, to make out that it didn’t matter, that Bonita wasn’t this massive inconvenience that had suddenly landed on her.

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

‘Stop it!’ Carmel said firmly. ‘I can deal with anything except your tears! Let’s just get you home.’

Home!

Bonita knew Carmel didn’t mean the little flat she shared with Emily. She shuffled along the corridor, clutching the gap in the hospital gown for dear life. It really didn’t help that all her colleagues came out to say goodbye and Carmel seized the opportunity for a quick word with Hugh, who was on his way out with Amber.

‘You are coming to the barbeque, I hope?’ Bonita’s heart skipped a beat as she walked into the end of the conversation. ‘You too,’ Carmel added to the surly face standing beside him. ‘Nothing fancy, just the annual Azetti barbeque, too much food, too much wine…’

‘I’m actually working that weekend Carmel,’ Hugh politely declined, ‘though I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Well, please, do!’ A straight shooter, it would never have entered her mother’s head to read between the lines, Bonita realized. She wouldn’t even guess that Hugh was trying to politely wriggle out of it. And why would he want to come? It may be a tradition but it had been years since Hugh had been here. He’d been in London, had spent a year in France, for goodness’ sake. As if he and Amber were hankering for a sausage in bread and the whole circus of her family. ‘We’d like to see you there—especially with Luigi not being well.’ For a second so fleeting it was barely there, Bonita could have sworn she saw her mother falter, knew, because they all knew, that this would be the last Azetti barbeque with Luigi—not that she wavered long. ‘You wait in the foyer,’ Carmel instructed Bonita. ‘I’ll bring the ute round.’

Why would she expect anything less that the ute today? Bonita thought with a sigh as she sat on the little bench in the foyer and awaited her chariot. The whole day had been a complete embarrassment from start to bitter end, so why would her mother spare her blushes by bringing the car? Oh, no, bring out the shabby ute with the dog tied in the back and spades and Eskies and goodness knows what else piled up high. She could almost hear the banjo playing as she climbed on in, could see the slight smirk on Amber’s lips as they drove past in Hugh’s sleek silver sports car on their way to a sumptuous dinner and endless champagne.

‘A nice cup of tea.’ Carmel jerked the Ute into first gear. ‘That will soon fix you up.’

Home.

Seeing the cellar door sales sign and the endless rows of vines catching the sun as they drove up the driveway, Bonita felt her stomach turn over. Oh, she’d come home almost every other day since her father’s condition had worsened, which was more than her brothers did. Ricky and Marco were partners in an equine veterinary practice out near Bendigo, which was a good couple of hours away, and with their busy schedules they couldn’t get away that often. Her brother Paul, a surgical registrar at the same hospital where Bonita worked, seemed permanently busy these days—only managing a whirlwind visit to his parents once or twice a week. This left the everyday things like doctors’ appointments and shopping for Bonita to deal with, and though she didn’t mind in the least, was glad to help out her parents as much as she could, living here again was going to be an entirely different matter.

As she gingerly lowered herself from the ute, sniffed at the familiar scent of fermenting grapes, heard the horses whinnying, saw the endless rows of vines—despite the abundance of space, she could almost feel the walls closing in around her, a nervous thud of recognition as her mother scolded her to hurry up, and not for the first time since they’d commenced the journey home, Bonita wondered if she was up to it.

Dinner she could handle.

Living here she wasn’t so sure about.

‘Hi, Dad!’ He looked so small in the chair, her big strapping dad just this shadow now. His hair was still as black as hers, but it was limp and brushed back from his hollow face. Making her way over, she kissed him hello and with her good arm cuddled him, horrified at his frailty, that even in the couple of days since she’d seen him he seemed to have lost yet more weight. His cheeks were sunken, his wide shoulders rounded now, and she could feel tears welling in her eyes. But catching her mother’s warning look, Bonita blinked them back. ‘I’m sorry about all this, Dad.’

‘Never be sorry! It’s good you are home.’

He was so delighted to see her, delighted even that she’d had an accident if it meant that it brought her home, and it felt good to sit down, to sink into her regular spot on the comfy sofa, all the drama of the day catching up with her as the drugs wore off. Her shoulder was starting to hurt a bit now, and Bonita was touched when her mother made a bit of a fuss, brought her a mug of tea and insisted that she put her feet up, even helped her when it proved a bit difficult, nudging a few cushions behind Bonita, before giving her the brew.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Bonita mused, relaxing into familiar surroundings. The cat jumped onto her lap and purred loudly. Surely this was way better than trying to recuperate at the flat and feeling like an unwelcome guest as Emily’s new boyfriend helped himself to the contents of the fridge. They’d shared a flat for a couple of years now and it had worked well till Emily had broken up with her long-term partner and Bonita had broken up with Bill.

No, a few weeks at home might be just the tonic she needed.

‘Hugh looked after her!” Carmel said proudly, wrapping a rug around Luigi’s knees and pouring out his medicine. With Bonita in her immobilizer, the front room resembled the dayroom at an old people’s home.

‘As he should!’ Luigi nodded.

‘No, he was off duty,’ Carmel explained. ‘On his way to a wedding reception and he stayed to make sure Bonita was OK. By the looks of things he’s back with that girl he used to date before he left Australia, that pretty radiographer…what’s her name, Bonny?’

‘Amber.’ Bonita tried to keep her voice light, but the single word seemed to catch in her throat.

‘That’s the one.’ Carmel nodded. ‘Maybe she’s the reason he came back.’

‘Maybe he just likes living here!’ Bonita retorted. ‘It’s not as if he’s got any family back in the UK.’

‘Poor pet!’ Carmel always fussed over Hugh, in a way she never did over Bonita. ‘We should ask him to eat with us more often—he can come and have a nice meal when he exercises Ramone.’

‘I’m sure he’s got other things to be getting on with,’ Bonita snapped as her mother shot her yet another warning look, but Bonita wasn’t about to be deflected, her own disappointment slipping out as she stated the obvious. ‘He didn’t even want to come to the barbeque.’

‘Hugh’s not coming?’ Her father frowned and instantly Bonita felt guilty for upsetting him, but, hell, what did they expect? As if Hugh was going to bring Amber to one of their get-togethers.

‘He’s working, darling,’ Carmel said, smiling at her husband while simultaneously freezing Bonita with a look! ‘You know how busy he is, but he did say he’d try to come.’

Why did they constantly make excuses for him? Bonita thought, more than a little rattled now.

It was as if the fact his mother had died when he was young and he’d been raised in a boarding school was excuse enough for Hugh to pick and choose when he turned up, excuse enough to bed half his fellow medical students and then work his way through the rest of the hospital personnel.

Every exploit, every broken heart, every late or non-arrival had been brushed off and forgiven by her brothers and parents.

Well, all bar one, Bonita thought, closing her eyes on the beginning of a thumping headache. She wondered how forgiving her father would be if he knew how badly the fabulous Hugh had treated his own daughter.

‘How long did Hugh say you’d be off work for?’ Carmel asked despite Bonita’s closed eyes.

‘I’ve got two weeks in this contraption, and then it all depends. Another two to four weeks…’ Bonita let out a weary sigh and opened her eyes as an impossible thought dawned. ‘After my knee last year and everything, I’ve only got five days’ sick leave left.’

‘Well, you can’t go back before you’re ready—they’ll understand that!’

‘I know,’ Bonita replied, ‘it’s just…’

‘And you don’t need to worry about money. It’s not as if you’re not going to be going out much or anything.’

‘I know!’ Bonita said, irritated, because her mother didn’t get it, thinking of the rent that would still have to be paid, half the electricity bill that was tucked behind the fridge, and the fact sick pay didn’t give shift allowance.

‘We’ll sort it out a bit later!’ Carmel broke into her thoughts, gave Bonita a tired smile that showed maybe she did get it after all, and that they’d talk about it away from her father.

‘You can do some work here,’ Luigi said later, when after a doze on the sofa they had dinner and, with far less gusto that Bonita, he tried to work his way through some home-made mushroom soup. ‘You can work on the till.’

‘She’s not going to be able to work the till and pack bags with one arm,’ Carmel huffed. ‘She can’t possibly work at the shop.’

‘She can answer the phone!’ Luigi said.

‘What—and tell them to hold while she puts down the receiver to write things down? A one-armed helper in this place is as useless as tits on a bull!’ Carmel said, in her usual manner. ‘And she can’t help with the wine-tasting, because she won’t be able to pour.’

‘I have got one arm!’ Bonita said indignantly. ‘I’m sure I can manage the wine-tasting!’

‘Are you going to call me down from the stables to pull a cork?’ Carmel snapped. ‘And, anyway, you don’t even like wine! The customers will know you have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘So you’re basically saying that I’m useless!’ Bonita bristled, hoping for a dash of guilt from her mother, not surprised when it never came.

‘Pretty much—yes!’ Carmel responded, then turned to her husband. ‘You’ll just have to keep her company, Luigi—stop her moping about the place.’

Taking another gulp of her soup, Bonita was about to give her mother another smart reply, another surly Sorry even, but her spoon paused midway, and it was there again, something in her mother’s eyes that she’d seen at the hospital.

What was it Hugh had said as she’d been going under?

Dipping buttered bread into the soup, Bonita tried to recall, but it was like chasing a dream, tiny little fragments of conversation, like scooping water with a net, the words slipping away…

‘It might help… The best thing that ever…’ She could hear those words again, hear his voice lulling her as she had drifted off.

Was her mother, in her no-nonsense way, letting them both off the hook?

Telling them both that there wasn’t a thing she could do?

Maybe just her being here with her father would be a help on its own….

‘Have you heard from your young man?’ Luigi asked, pushing away his nearly full plate.

‘He isn’t my “young man” any more.’ Bonita smiled. ‘It’s over between Bill and I, Dad.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ Luigi checked. ‘You were together a long time. Maybe he’ll change his mind.’

‘He’s not going to change his mind.’

‘Then he’s a fool,’ Luigi said darkly. ‘What sort of man would finish with his girlfriend at a time like this?’

‘Come on, Gig,’ Carmel interrupted, calling him by his pet name, ‘have a little bit more soup.’

It was the closest, Bonita realised, they’d ever come to admitting that her father was so ill and, yes, it was a question that plagued her family and colleagues—how could Bill have even thought about breaking up with Bonita now, when she had so much going on in her life? Only Bill wasn’t the bastard they all made out. Bill, as it turned out, knew her almost better than she knew herself.

Bill, ending it when he had, had solved a massive dilemma for Bonita—just not one she could ever reveal.

‘Bill’s a nice guy, Dad. It just didn’t work out between us, we weren’t right for each other.’

‘And it took you three years to work that out!’ Luigi huffed. ‘He should have done the decent thing by you ages ago.’

‘Why don’t you have a bath?’ Carmel said, and this time Bonita was grateful for the interruption. According to her father’s rules she and Bill should have long since been married—that they had been dating for three years and there wasn’t even a ring to hurl at Bill was proving impossible for her father to understand. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

Her mother bathing her was not an option, and Bonita immediately shook her head.

‘I’ll have a wash at the sink.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Carmel said, picking up the plates, trying hard to pretend it didn’t matter that Luigi had only managed two spoonfuls of soup. ‘But, I’m warning you, I won’t have time to help you in the morning. If you want to go for your appointment half-washed, then it’s up to you! Oh, and by the way, your hair smells of vomit!’

A farmer’s wife she may be, but Carmel would—Bonita realised as they headed to the hallowed sanctum of her parents’ room, which was on the other side of the house to the ‘children’s’ bedrooms—actually have made a very good nurse.

‘We’re all set up for it in here!’ Carmel smiled as she flicked on the light in her bathroom. There was a little stool perched in the bath and a hand-rail the occupational therapist had arranged to be inserted, along with a handheld shower. Even groggy from the day and with one arm out of action, Bonita, could, in fact, have a decent wash.

Carmel would have made a lovely nurse actually because when for the first time she could really remember Bonita had to strip in front of her mother, instead of saying it didn’t matter and she’d seen it all before, Carmel held up a towel. Then, once Bonita was seated, Carmel gave her a moment before she dealt with the practical and covered her daughter’s arm with a large garbage bag. Then she chatted away, wiping imaginary spots off the shower as her daughter washed.

‘Do you want me to wash your hair for you?’ Carmel offered.

‘It will dry all fluffy!’

‘If you rub it dry and don’t put some product in, it will.’ Carmel gave a half-smile. Bonita looked at her mum’s salt-and-pepper coloured corkscrew curls, as long and as wild as her own dark ones. ‘Curly hair is something I know about.’

‘OK, then,’ Bonita said, closing her eyes and letting the wretched day go as her mother massaged shampoo into her scalp.

And it did feel nice to be clean, nice to be wrapped in a big towel as her mother sorted out something for her to wear to bed.

‘This will do!’

‘It will not!’ Bonita baulked at the vast flannelette nightdress her mother held up. ‘It’s hideous.’

‘I know!’ Carmel agreed. ‘Ricky bought it me for Christmas.’

‘Yuk!’ Bonita pulled a face, wondering what on earth had possessed her elder brother.

‘What about this?’ Carmel proffered another creation, and Bonita was about to pull a face but realised it was one of her own gifts that she had given her mother a couple of birthdays ago.

‘Wait till you get to my age.’ Carmel grinned, popping it over her head and helping her pull through her good arm. ‘I’ve got a drawer full of nightdresses—I don’t even wear a nightdress.’

‘Mum! Too much information, thanks!’

Hideous nightdress or not, it was nice to sit in her mother’s room. Carmel didn’t rub her hair dry as she had when Bonita had been a child but instead patted it then put through half a bottle of anti-frizz. It was actually nice to talk to her mother.

‘Are you still upset about Bill?’

‘No.’ Even though she was pleating the nightdress with her good hand, even though she couldn’t look her mother in the eye as she spoke, Bonita’s answer was honest. ‘He was right to end it.’

‘Why did he?’ For the first time her mother pushed, but Bonita just couldn’t answer. ‘You two seemed so happy.’

‘We were.’

‘You still don’t want to talk about it?’ Carmel said. Then she changed the subject and promptly hit a very sensitive nerve that had nothing to do with Bonita’s shoulder!

‘How does it feel, seeing Hugh again after all this time?’

‘OK,’ Bonita said lightly. ‘It’s a bit weird working with him, though…’ She watched her mother’s eyes narrow a touch as she worked on her hair. ‘I mean, I knew him when he was a medical student—it’s strange now that he’s a registrar.’

‘I always thought that he’d come back,’ Carmel mused. ‘When he went back to England, of course, I worried, but he always kept in touch and he did love Australia so. I’m surprised he even went back!’

‘His father was dying,’ Bonita pointed out. Her lips tightened as she swallowed hard for a second, wondering, not for the first time, just how hard it must have been for Hugh—his mother had died when he was very young and he had no brothers and sisters. As much as her family drove Bonita crazy at times, she absolutely adored them. She couldn’t, for even a moment, imagine dealing with her father completely on her own.

‘I expected him to go back for a holiday perhaps,’ Carmel huffed, unmoved. ‘Not to live there. I mean, they hardly knew each other—imagine sending a five-year-old to boarding school! I’m sure that’s why he’s the way he is.’

‘What do you mean? Bonita asked, then wished she hadn’t, wished she hadn’t prolonged the conversation, her heart in her mouth when her mother spoke next.

‘With women,’ Carmel responded. ‘He’s good at flirting, good at dating, but he hasn’t got much staying power—first sign of commitment and he’s gone. I guess it’s hard to get close to someone if you’ve never actually been close to anyone…

‘You had a bit of a thing for him once, didn’t you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous…’ Bonita attempted, and then gave in. After all, from the moment puberty had hit she’d blushed every time his name had been mentioned! ‘I was a teenager, Mum—hormones raging. I’m not exactly the first girl to have a crush on one of her brother’s friends.’

‘How about now?’

‘Please!’ Bonita scoffed. ‘I’ve seen how he goes through women. Good-looking he may be, but he knows it! And he’s so scathingly superior at work.’

‘Maybe,’ Carmel agreed, ‘but underneath all that he’s still a very nice man. He’s always kept in touch, and since he’s been back he’s been round plenty of times, not just to exercise Ramone but to see your father.’

‘I guess.’ Bonita attempted a shrug, but it hurt too much, and not just in her shoulder. ‘We’ll just have to agree to disagree about Hugh.’ Grateful for any distraction from this rather difficult subject, her eyes lit up a touch when she saw a heavy framed silver photo on her mother’s dressing-table.

‘Zia Lucia!’

Fondly Bonita traced the elegant figure of her favourite aunt. ‘I miss her.’

‘You adored her, didn’t you?’ Carmel smiled. ‘You wanted to be just like her!’

‘She was always so glamorous.’ Bonita grinned. ‘Dashing overseas, sending us lovely gifts…’

‘Giving your father an ulcer.’

Oh, and she had. Bonita could remember the tension whenever Zia Lucia had descended. Cooing like a bird of paradise, she’d swoop on the family, showering her favourite niece with shiny dresses and shoes, drinking too much wine with dinner and refusing to help with the dishes. The fact she’d never married had been a constant thorn in Luigi’s side, as if somehow he’d failed his sister, as if somehow, by staying single, Lucia also had failed.

‘Poor Zia…’ Bonita sighed. ‘She was just so busy with her career.’

‘Career, my foot!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘She never worked a day in her life.’

‘She had a career in sales.’

‘Selling herself more like!’ Carmel tutted. ‘Off with that fancy MP. She was a kept woman—a mistress!’

‘Zia Lucia!’ Bonita gave a shocked laugh and after a moment Carmel laughed, too. ‘Does Dad know?’

‘Your dad didn’t want to know!’ Carmel winked. ‘So don’t waste any tears crying for your prematurely departed spinster aunt. She packed more into her life than anyone else I’ve met.’

‘Golly!’ Bonita blinked at the photo. ‘No wonder you used to get so cross when I said I wanted to grow up and be exactly like her.’

‘No wonder!’ Carmel rolled her eyes. ‘Bed!”

‘It’s eight o’clock,’ Bonita attempted, but she really wasn’t up to arguing. She headed to the lounge and kissed her dad goodnight then went happily to her old bedroom, slipped into her little single bed and just lay there.

Thought about Zia Lucia and her fancy man, which made her smile.

Then thought about Hugh, which made it fade.

Bill had been right to end it.

Oh, they had been happy, or at least chugging along, till Hugh had come back—till Hugh had ripped off the sticky plaster she’d applied to her heart when he’d left, and all the old hurt, the anger, the bitterness, the longing had started to seep out. And try as she had to hide it, Bill had sensed the shift, and had eventually ended it…just as she had been about to. How she’d cried, but her friends and family hadn’t understood. She hadn’t been crying over the ending—instead, she’d been crying at the reason it was over.

That Hugh was back and even though she couldn’t stand to admit it, even to herself, her feelings remained.

Hugh had been her first real kiss.

Not her first kiss—oh, there had been plenty of them, half-baked efforts at the local disco.

No, Hugh had been her first real kiss.

Real, because he’d been the first one who had truly moved her.

Real, because as he’d held her, as this stunning man had held her in his arms, she’d understood every warning her father had given her, every speech her mother had made that a kiss could lead to other things.

Closing her eyes, she remembered the awful row she’d had with her mother.

She’d been just shy of eighteen, in her last year of high school, studying like crazy for her exams. She had, after a lot of persuading, been allowed to go to her best friend’s eighteenth birthday, yet her mother had insisted that she be home from the party by eleven. The first to leave, she hadn’t got home till twelve and had stood angrily and defiantly in the kitchen as Carmel had ripped into her. Only that time Bonita hadn’t said sorry.

Bonita had known she’d had nothing to be sorry for. She had left all her friends partying the night away, her homework had been up to date, and she’d still worked part time in the shop. Bonita had known she couldn’t do it any more, couldn’t live like that a moment longer, and she wouldn’t. She told her mother she was leaving home, that she was going to share a flat, was going to have a life.

She hadn’t even known that Hugh had been there—he’d been trying to sleep in the lounge and had heard every word. But the next morning, when her brother Paul—because it was OK for him to be—had been in bed nursing a hangover and her parents had been at church, no doubt praying for her imagined sins, Hugh had come into the kitchen. He’d found her in her thick candlewick dressing-gown, her eyes swollen from crying, and had tried to say the right thing.

‘I hate her,’ Bonita snarled.

‘She just worries about you!’

‘Why?’ Angry, hurting, furious, it was all there in her words as she paced the kitchen. ‘Because I’m a girl…’

‘And because you’re the youngest, because you’ve got three older brothers, because they had you late in life.’

‘I’m eighteen in a couple of weeks, I could be married and have children by now, I’m learning to drive, I’ll be at university next year. I’ve had it with her—I’m going to leave. Today, when they get home from church, I’m going to tell them properly. I’m going to get a job, find a flat…’

‘Don’t leave home, Bonny!’ Hugh came over to where she stood. ‘Not now.’

‘You did!’ Bonita pointed out. She was furious now, crying hot, angry tears, hands flailing, blaming him somehow. ‘You left the country when you were eighteen—I’m not allowed out the house after eleven! I’m not a child.’

‘Come here.’ He cuddled her then—and it felt nice. They hadn’t ever really got on. Oh, she’d had a crush on him for years, but he’d teased her so mercilessly, had been so downright horrible at times, that it hadn’t been hard to dislike him, too. But when he held her, for the first time she felt that someone might just understand. Her brothers didn’t, they just told her to toe the line and not upset Mum and Dad, and her parents certainly didn’t, and neither did her friends, who told her to just tell her parents where they could stick there rules. But standing in the kitchen Bonita realised two things.

Armstrong was an appropriate surname for him, because being wrapped in his arms was heaven.

And maybe, just maybe, Hugh was the one person on this earth who did understand.

‘Your dad’s just worried that you’re going to—’

‘It’s not Dad who’s the problem,’ Bonita interrupted, shaking her head against his chest. ‘It’s Mum. She’s the one who’s always having a go—she called me a tart last night before I went out, just for wearing lipstick.’

‘If your dad had seen you wearing lipstick you wouldn’t have been allowed to even go to the party!’ Hugh patiently explained, only she wasn’t listening, couldn’t see it, refused to get it.

It was her mother who was the problem!

‘I just can’t stand it here.’

‘You don’t have to for much longer,’ Hugh said. ‘Do your exams, get your grades and maybe when you go to university things will settle down, but you can’t throw it all away now.’

She nearly had. That morning, replaying the row, three months more at school had seemed endless, way easier to just leave, to get a job, to do anything if it meant that she could get away, to be allowed to live. And then he’d held her.

‘Don’t do anything rash, you could end up regretting it for ever.’

For ever was a lot longer than three months… even her jumbled mind could work that one out. Her head on his chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart, the hands of time that soothed, only they didn’t…

The pendulum paused on the edge of time, dipped into the next second and clattered back into a different rhythm.

His mouth was there, just inches away, talking to her, telling her to hold on, delivering reasonable words that soothed. Only suddenly she was aware of it…and she knew that suddenly he was aware of her, in a way he never had been before. Everything shifted then. A slightly startled look flashed between them as they both caught the other looking in a way they shouldn’t. And then he kissed her…or she kissed him.

No matter how many times Bonita replayed it, she could never quite decide who moved first, just lips merging, blending to the most exquisite of tastes. His mouth tender at first, exploring her slowly, her inexperienced lips tentative, savouring each delicious sensation, the feel of him full on her mouth, the tangy fragrance and the soft coolness of his tongue.

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