Praise for Annie Claydon

‘A compelling, emotional and highly poignant read that I couldn’t bear to put down. Rich in pathos, humour and dramatic intensity, it’s a spellbinding tale about healing old wounds, having the courage to listen to your heart and the power of love that kept me enthralled from beginning to end.’

—Goodreads on Once Upon a Christmas Night …

‘A lovely story—I really enjoyed this book, which was well-written by Annie, as always.’

—Goodreads on Re-awakening His Shy Nurse

‘Well-written, brilliant characters—I have never been disappointed by a book written by Annie Claydon.’

—Goodreads on The Rebel and Miss Jones

‘I don’t suppose you’d like to do that again?’

‘This?’ She kissed Tom’s cheek again.

‘Yeah.’ He didn’t move his hands from the countertop, but dipped his head to touch his lips to her forehead. All Cori could think about was making this real. Letting go of the pretence and doing the one thing she wanted to do. She slid her hand over the soft wool of his sweater, up to the collar of his shirt. At the first touch of her fingers on his skin she heard his uneven intake of breath.

When she curled her arm around his neck, pulling him down towards her, he drew her in close, making sure that she felt his body against hers before she had a chance to feel his lips. He wanted her. The knowledge spilled into her like bright light penetrating a very dark place. He wanted her.

Dear Reader,

For me, writing isn’t just a job—it’s a lifeline. When something’s bothering me I write it down. When I’m happy about something I write it down. For as long as I can remember the page has been my faithful confidante.

So I can understand how Cori Evans operates. As an art therapist she is used to helping children express themselves through the medium of art, and her painting expresses her own thoughts and feelings as well. But Tom Riley’s burden of secrets is her greatest challenge yet.

I hope you enjoy this book—it’s one I’ve long wanted to write. I always enjoy hearing from readers, and you can contact me via annieclaydon.com.

Annie x

Cursed with a poor sense of direction and a propensity to read, ANNIE CLAYDON spent much of her childhood lost in books. A degree in English Literature followed by a career in computing didn’t lead directly to her perfect job—writing romance for Mills & Boon—but she has no regrets in taking the scenic route. She lives in London: a city where getting lost can be a joy.

Discovering Dr Riley
Annie Claydon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lynn

With thanks for helping me count the days

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Annie Claydon

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘DO ME A FAVOUR …’

There was more than a hint of flirtatiousness about the tone of the request, but Tom Riley knew that Dr Helen Kowalski’s designs on his person were far from recreational. A Sunday afternoon, a doctor at a loose end and a phone call from a busy A and E department added up to only one thing.

‘You want me to come down and see someone?’

‘If you’re not busy on the ward. We’ve got a kid here who’s driving everyone crazy.’

‘And since he’s under sixteen, you thought you might pass him on to me.’ Tom smirked into the phone. ‘Because awkward customers are my speciality.’

Helen snorted with laughter. ‘I could say something about it taking one to know how to deal with one.’

‘If you do, I’m going home. I’m not even supposed to be at work today.’

‘Get down here, Tom.’ A crash sounded from somewhere in the background and Helen muttered a curse. ‘Please …’

‘I’m already on my way.’

The source of all the trouble turned out to be eight years old, with a shock of red hair. He was sitting on the bed in one of the cubicles, swinging his legs. Tom gave him a wide berth to avoid being kicked, and smiled at the woman sitting next to him.

‘I’m Dr Tom …’ He winced, stepping back as he realised that he’d underestimated the reach of the boy’s flailing feet.

‘I’m so sorry … Adrian, please don’t do that, you’ll hurt someone.’ It looked as if Adrian’s companion had come straight from some half-completed DIY project, with her dark hair fastened at the back of her head and bound with a scarf. Paint-stained overalls had been slipped from her shoulders, with the sleeves tied around her waist, to reveal a Fair Isle sweater with a darn at one elbow.

‘No harm done.’ Tom dismissed the urge to rub his leg where Adrian had kicked him. ‘What brings you here?’

When she looked up at him, it registered that she had violet eyes. Whatever had brought her here seemed suddenly unimportant.

‘It’s Adrian.’ She turned wearily to the boy, laying her free hand on one flailing leg in an attempt to restrain him. Tom noticed that the other was held fast in Adrian’s own hand. ‘He’s hit his head. There’s a lump.’

‘Okay.’ Tom wondered whether Adrian was usually this badly behaved. ‘Anything else? Any change in his demeanour?’

Her wry smile was directed at the boy, who promptly stopped kicking his feet. ‘He always has plenty of energy.’

That was one way of putting it. ‘So what happened?’

‘I was up a ladder and Adrian was playing. He brushed against the ladder and we both ended up on the floor. He banged his head, so I thought it was best to bring him here and get him checked over.’

She tipped her face back towards Tom, raking him with her gaze. He could almost feel it caress his face, before she looked away.

‘You weren’t hurt?’ Instinct told him that Adrian had probably careened straight into the ladder, rather than merely brushing against it. And the stiff way that she moved told him that Adrian wasn’t the only one who should see a doctor.

‘I’m fine.’ She couldn’t even meet his querying look. ‘Adrian, don’t do that, please.’

Tom focussed his attention back on the boy and saw that he had started to meticulously shred the paper cover that had been laid over the top of the bed. First things first. ‘Right, young man. Let’s take a look at that head of yours.’

Adrian’s freckled face and red hair seemed to flame. He clutched fiercely at the woman, and she winced. Tom backed off. Experience had told him that it was always good to listen to adults, but that you learnt a great deal more by looking at a child.

Pulling a chair away from the bed a little, he sat down, leaning back and folding his arms. Now that there was no imminent danger of being wrestled from the grip of his companion, Adrian calmed, regarding him steadily.

‘All right, Adrian.’ Tom stretched his legs out in front of him, as if he had all the time in the world. ‘How are we going to do this?’

This doctor was a dream. Cori had known that taking Adrian to A and E was going to be a challenge, but he needed to be examined by a doctor, and on a Sunday afternoon there wasn’t a great deal of choice but to join the queue and try to reassure him and keep him calm. The loud farting noises that he had made in the waiting room had ensured a circle of empty chairs around them, and the woman doctor that Adrian had seen at first had been kind and efficient but clearly too busy to give him the time he needed.

She hadn’t caught this doctor’s second name, and perhaps he hadn’t given it. He wasn’t wearing a name badge like the other staff in A and E, but more importantly he’d had the time and the inclination to sit back and let Adrian dictate the pace. He’d explained everything that he was about to do, and nodded when Cori had added the piece of information that she knew Adrian needed to hear. He’d be going home with her, as soon as they were finished here.

The man was blond and blue-eyed, but gifted with enough hard edges to indicate that he was probably no angel. He hadn’t tried to part her and Adrian either, but had somehow contrived to examine Adrian while he’d still clung to her. When his fingers had accidentally brushed her cheek, she’d forgotten the pain in her hip and shoulder and had felt herself automatically relax.

‘Right, then, Adrian.’ Tom grinned. ‘I’m officially giving you a clean bill of health. That means you can go home with your …’ His gaze flipped questioningly towards Cori.

‘Sister.’ She volunteered the closest description she could manage without a lengthy explanation.

He nodded gravely, clearly taking a shot at estimating the eighteen-year difference between Adrian’s age and hers. ‘Right. Your sister.’

Perhaps he’d come to the conclusion that they came from a large family, which was close enough to the truth. Cori nudged Adrian, who was now beaming at Tom.

‘Thank you,’ Adrian responded to her prompt, and Tom smiled again. He had a nice smile, which came packaged up with a small nod, as if he was sharing a secret. Cori reminded herself that, whatever the conspiracy was, it was probably between him and Adrian and not her.

‘You’re very welcome. You were right to come.’ He turned his attention to Cori, and she felt her fingertips tingle. That was probably the effect of having fallen hard on her left side, although why her right hand should be affected as well was beyond her.

‘How are you getting home?’

‘My father’s coming to pick us up. He should be here by now.’

‘All right. What’s his name?’

‘Ralph Evans. But—’

‘Stay there.’ Tom’s look brooked no argument. ‘I’ll see if I can find him.’

Adrian was clearly still determined not to be parted from his sister, and so Tom was going to have to find a way of examining her without distressing the boy. Because however much Adrian wanted to go home, and however much his sister tried to hide it, she was clearly in pain. And as much as he prided himself on his medical skills, Tom was unable to tell whether her ribs were broken by simply looking at her.

He caught Helen’s eye as she hurried past. ‘Have you got a minute? I want you to have a look at the woman that the boy came in with.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’

‘She’s had a fall. If you could just check her over …’

Helen shook her head. ‘If she’s not urgent then she’ll have to wait. The boy’s father was here a minute ago.’

‘You get on. I’ll find him.’

Helen shot him a smile over her shoulder, and Tom looked around the busy department for some clue as to who the father might be. Maybe red hair, which matched the boy’s …

A middle-aged man turned towards him, following the receptionist’s pointing finger. ‘Dr Riley? I’m here for Adrian Harper, I’m his guardian.’

Tom’s surprise must have shown on his face. In his experience you could often explain a child’s behaviour when you met the parent, but this man, with his relaxed manner and dark, salt-and-pepper hair, bore no resemblance to Adrian at all. Before he could frame the question, the man had reached into his pocket and drawn a card from his wallet to identify himself.

‘Adrian’s your foster son?’

Ralph nodded. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He has a bit of a bump on his head.’ Tom remembered the pamphlets on aftercare that were stacked behind Reception and reached across, selecting the right one and handing it to Ralph. ‘You should keep an eye on him for the next twenty-four hours.’

Ralph chuckled. ‘We always do. Is Cori all right?’

‘His sister?’ Tom realised that he didn’t know her name. Her smile and the extraordinary colour and warmth of her eyes had seemed enough.

‘Yes. When she called she said that Adrian had cannoned into a ladder. I was rather hoping she hadn’t been up it at the time.’

Cori had obviously rationed out the truth, giving little bits of it as and when she’d reckoned necessary. ‘She told me he brushed against the ladder and that she’d fallen. I’d like her to see a doctor, as she’s obviously in pain, but Adrian won’t let go of her.’

Ralph nodded, clearly not fazed by any of this. ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll take Adrian home and make sure that Cori sees someone.’

‘Today.’ Tom peered through to the waiting room, which, if anything, looked even fuller than it had been half an hour ago. ‘If she comes back here, I’ll try and find someone who’ll see her quickly.’

‘Thanks. I know how busy you are, and I appreciate it. She’ll be back as soon as I’ve got Adrian into the car.’

Cori walked back from the hospital car park. Adrian had been mollified by her assertion that she wasn’t coming with them because she was going straight back to her own flat, but Ralph had insisted quietly that she do nothing of the sort. Now she had at least another two-hour wait in front of her before she saw one of the doctors in A and E.

The pain in her shoulder and hip was getting worse, though, and now that she was alone Cori suddenly wanted to cry. She couldn’t be injured, not now. Tomorrow morning she’d be starting an eight-week attachment, here at the hospital, which might lead to getting the permanent post that she really wanted. However hard she’d fallen, she couldn’t afford not to get up and get on with it.

‘Hey, there.’

That sounded suspiciously like Tom’s voice, laced with a hint of the conspiratorial quality of his smile. She looked up, and saw him standing outside the entrance to the A and E department, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked like a dream come true.

‘Come along.’ He took a long swig of the last of his coffee and spun the paper cup into the bin.

She wanted to just go with him, without asking where or why. But that wasn’t going to get her out of there any quicker. ‘I’ve got to go and register at Reception. Get my place in the queue.’

He grinned and Cori hesitated. When he smiled, he was the most perfect man that she had ever seen. Wherever it was that he wanted her to go, it suddenly seemed like a good idea.

‘You’ve just jumped the queue.’

‘But …’ It was tempting. ‘There are people waiting. You should see them first.’

‘I’m off shift, and there’s nothing more for me to do here. And you’ve already waited once.’

Did he have to be quite so persuasive? ‘It’s okay, really. I appreciate it, but you should go home if your shift has finished.’

His brow darkened. ‘You’re not going to kick me, are you?’

She shook her head, silently.

‘Good. In that case, you’d better follow me.’ He turned on his heel, not waiting for the objection that Cori felt duty-bound to make, and led the way back into A and E.

Tom hadn’t given her the chance to protest any further. He’d taken one look at the rapidly forming bruises on Cori’s shoulder and hip, and filled out a form for her to take down to X-Ray. While he was waiting for her, Helen had made the most of the opportunity and passed a couple of minor cases to him, telling him that she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him bored.

When they came through, he reviewed the X-rays carefully, and then went to find Cori. She was sitting on a chair in one of the cubicles, a hospital gown pulled down over her knees, her T-shirt and sweater wrapped in a bundle and hugged against her chest.

‘I wanted to say thank-you, for being so nice with Adrian. And that I’m sorry he kicked you. I hope he didn’t hurt you too much.’ She blurted the words out almost as soon as he drew the curtain across the entrance to the cubicle.

‘It’s okay. I’ve had worse.’ A lot worse. He’d grown up with it, and Tom had learned to just take the blows and move on. To cry later, when he was alone in his bed. He pushed the memory away, wondering why it had chosen that moment to surface. Maybe it had been something to do with the gentle way that Cori had treated Adrian. Tenderness always seemed to awaken an obscure feeling of loss in him.

‘So what were you painting?’ He didn’t want to think about it any more, and Cori seemed nervous. Small talk would hopefully rectify both those issues.

‘It was a wall.’ She seemed to relax a bit. ‘Actually, a mural. In my spare time I work with a group of artists, which donates wall art to charities and schools.’

‘Sounds great. Only Adrian had different ideas?’

She stiffened. ‘He didn’t mean to do it. He’s not usually as naughty as when you saw him …’

He liked the way she rose to the boy’s defence, her eyes flashing defiance at him. ‘That’s okay. I’m not blaming him for anything.’

‘No. Thank you. Adrian hasn’t had things very easy in the last few years.’

‘Your father told me he’s fostered with your family.’

‘Yes, that’s right. He’s had a few really bad experiences with hospitals.’ She clutched at her sweater, as if she felt she’d just made a faux pas. ‘Not this one.’

‘No hospital’s an easy place to be for a child. We do our best, but …’

‘I know. You were great with him, and I really appreciate it. It makes a difference.’ She seemed unwilling to let the point go. ‘When he was little, he was taken into his local A and E department with his mother. Drugs overdose. The boyfriend forgot all about Adrian and he got left in the waiting room on his own. The staff found him curled up in a corner.’

A little boy, lost and alone. Tom felt a sudden heaviness in his chest, as if something was trying to stop him from breathing. ‘Which is why he wouldn’t let go of you?’

‘Yes. And why I said there was nothing wrong with me.’ She shrugged, and winced painfully. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you all this, but I guess it’s okay, since you’re his doctor. And I wanted you to know how much the way you treated him will have meant to him. He doesn’t have the words to say it. Not yet anyway.’

For a moment, Tom really couldn’t breathe, and felt himself begin to choke. Then self-control came to his rescue. ‘Thanks for telling me. Adrian’s lucky to have you to speak up for him.’

‘I’m adopted too.’ She gave him a bright smile. ‘I was lucky to have someone speak up for me when I needed it.’

And now she was paying it forward. Tom turned quickly, trying to shut out the what ifs. The fact was that no one had spoken up for him when he’d been a child, and it was far too late for anyone to do it now. He moved the bed down so she could sit on it without him having to help her up, and motioned her towards it.

‘Your X-rays are fine, so there are no breaks or fractures, but I’d like to check on the movement in your shoulder.’

She nodded, rising stiffly from the chair and sitting down on the bed. Tom raised it until they were almost face to face, trying not to allow her eyes to distract him from the job in hand.

‘I’m going to rotate your shoulder. It’s going hurt a little bit but try and relax.’

She smiled again, almost as if she was trying to reassure him. But he wasn’t supposed to be noticing her smile, let alone allowing himself to react to it like a teenager. ‘It already hurts a little bit.’

‘Right. Then it’s going to hurt a little bit more.’

It hurt. He was gentle, and measured, but it still hurt.

‘Sorry … Nearly done.’

She let out the breath she’d been holding. Somehow she’d let go of the edge of the bed, and her fingers had clutched at the closest thing to hand, the material of his white coat. She felt herself flush, and let go, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

‘Everything’s fine there. I just want to take another look at the bruising. If you could slip the gown off your shoulder …’

Cori did as he asked with trembling fingers. It was nothing. She’d shown her shoulders in public before without a second thought. But even though Tom had his back turned and was scribbling something on her notes, she was suddenly embarrassed. In the moment before she’d let go of his coat, she’d felt hard muscle flexing beneath her hand.

He was cool, and professional, his gloved fingers gently probing her shoulders and back. That just made things worse. If he’d cracked a joke, at least she could have come back with a smart reply to take the edge off the tension. Cori squeezed her eyes closed, dropping her head forward.

‘Okay. That’s good.’ He didn’t seem aware of the fact that her forehead was resting against his shoulder, and that they were in an awkward replica of an embrace. When he stepped away again, she wanted to pull him back.

‘You can get dressed now.’ His cool professionalism told Cori that the closeness was all in her head. She was just another patient in a never-ending line of them, and he’d been nice to her because he was probably nice to everyone.

‘Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done.’ She waited for him to lower the level of the bed so she could slip off it easily.

‘All part of the service. I’ll write a prescription for some painkillers, and see if I can find a leaflet for you to take away.’ A hint of humour shone in his eyes. ‘Apparently we have a leaflet for pretty much everything.’

He turned his back and then he was gone, leaving Cori to pull her T-shirt and sweater back on as quickly as her shaking, painful limbs would allow.

When she’d let out that choking gasp of pain, and reached for him, Tom had almost forgotten what he was supposed to be doing and given her a hug to comfort her. Then he’d reminded himself where he was, and had drawn back. He gave her more than enough time to get changed, and headed back to the cubicle, finding her dressed and ready to go.

He handed her the leaflet and she took it, scanning the page. ‘This tells you what you can do to make yourself more comfortable. You should take it easy for a few days. You have some deep bruising and it’ll hurt in the morning.’

She twisted her mouth downwards in an expression of dismay. ‘I start a new job tomorrow. Here, actually.’

‘You’d be better off staying at home.’ Then the words sank in. ‘Here?’

‘Yes, I’m an art therapist. I’m here for eight weeks, starting tomorrow …’

Cori? Corrine Evans? Suddenly Tom’s mouth went dry. This was the woman that he’d tried to keep out of his department?

‘It’s going to be quite a challenge and I can’t take time off …’ She looked at him earnestly.

He was the challenge she was talking about. And the determined look on her face told him exactly what she meant to do with that challenge.

‘I’m sure …’

What was he sure of? That he happened to know that Dr Thomas Riley, Acting Head of Paediatrics, would be more than happy to give her the next two days off? That he’d actually be more than happy to give her the whole of the next eight weeks off?

Before he could come to a decision on how to break the news, she stood up. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you. I really appreciate all you’ve done.’ She shot him a bright smile, thanked him and then she was gone.

Corrine Evans. Even her name seemed to have gained an allure now that he had met her. He’d expected that he would be able to largely ignore the new art therapist, sideline her by giving her a few things to do that couldn’t cause any trouble, and get on with his own job of running the department. In eight weeks’ time she’d be gone and out of his hair.

Something deep in the pit of his stomach told him that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

CHAPTER TWO

CORI WOKE FEELING as if she’d been run over by a steamroller in the night. Perhaps she’d feel better once she’d had a shower and got moving.

There wasn’t much choice in the matter. Her supervisor had told her that Dr Shah, Head of Paediatrics, had taken extended medical leave, and that the acting head had expressed concern about her being allowed to work in the unit. She wasn’t going to give him any excuses to dismiss her before she’d even had a chance to show what she could do. Not turning up on the first day would be like presenting him with her head on a plate.

She’d packed everything she’d thought she might need for the day in a large canvas bag, which sat in the hall. Taking the heaviest and least essential items back out, she pulled the strap across her shoulder, decided she could manage, and called a taxi.

The two miles to the hospital was easy, but by the time she’d found her way through the maze of corridors to the paediatric unit her shoulder was on fire and she needed to sit down. The entrance doors to the unit were locked, and pressing the bell didn’t elicit an immediate response.

‘I thought I told you to stay home for a couple of days.’ The voice behind her was unmistakable. Dammit. What was he doing here? A and E was on the other side of the building.

It was just as well that Cori could only turn slowly as it gave her time to think. ‘Actually, you told me to take it easy for a couple of days.’

He didn’t look best pleased. ‘So I did. And I can see that you’re following my instructions to the letter.’ He reached past her and punched a code into the pad by the door, then held it open for her. Dressed in a suit, instead of the dark blue chinos he’d been wearing yesterday, he seemed a lot less approachable, if no less handsome.

‘Thanks. I’m looking for the admin office …’ Hopefully Tom wasn’t going to be staying around long enough to mention that she’d turned up to work against doctor’s orders. That wasn’t the start she’d been hoping to make.

‘I’m Tom Riley.’ He pulled the door closed behind them. ‘Acting Head of Paediatrics.’

Suddenly Cori’s shoulder stopped hurting, in response to an instinctive urge to either fight or fly. The effort of doing neither left her staring at him in dumb horror.

A flicker of remorse showed in his eyes. ‘I didn’t realise who you were yesterday, until you’d gone.’

At least he had some idea of the position he’d put her in. And if this wasn’t quite an apology, at least it wasn’t a declaration of out-and-out war.

‘I didn’t catch your surname.’ She flushed, remembering that Adrian had kicked him before he’d had a chance to say it.

‘Let me help you with the bag.’ He was suddenly closer than she’d like. ‘I know you’ve got to be hurting.’

Cori thought about telling him she could manage, but it was much too late for that. He’d already seen the bruises. She’d already betrayed far more about herself than he needed to know, and then she’d allowed herself to fantasise about those innocent-as-sin blue eyes. The detached professionalism which she’d intended to hit Dr Riley with this morning wasn’t going to work.

‘Thanks.’ She grabbed at the strap of her bag, trying awkwardly to lift it over her head, and he came closer still to help, grimacing when he felt its weight.

‘How did you get here?’ It was probably just concern on his part, but Cori couldn’t help but feel there was an edge of criticism to the question. She took a breath, lacing her answer with a smile.

‘By taxi. If I’m going to be reckless, I’d prefer to do it the easy way.’

Taking the gamble of joking with him didn’t come off well. He seemed about to smile and then reconsidered, turning abruptly to lead the way past the reception desk. Cori followed him along a snaking corridor, her eyes fixed on his back, trying not to count the number of ways that she might be in disgrace.

He threw open a door. ‘We’ve set a room aside for you.’

‘Thanks …’ Cori caught her breath. The health authority scheme, linking art therapists with local hospitals, had produced a set of guidelines that stipulated a separate room, but most of the therapists in her group had been given a large cupboard at best. Tom might not approve of her presence, but he’d given her a bright and airy room, with two large tables to work at and a small seating area in one corner.

‘This is …’ Perfect. Wonderful. Suddenly it was quite unbelievable. ‘Are there any limitations on when I can use the room?’

‘Nope. It’s all yours for eight weeks.’ The breath of a smile played around his lips. ‘That’s what the guidelines requested.’

‘The guidelines asked for more than anyone expected to get.’ Cori looked around. ‘This is perfect, thank you.’

His nod indicated that he’d heard, but conveyed nothing else. ‘I have a meeting in a minute, so I hope you don’t mind if I leave you to it. I’ll get Maureen, the unit administrator, to show you around and then perhaps you can use today to get settled. It would be good if you could draw up a list of proposals for the kinds of activities you want to run, as well.’

She already had a list of proposals. Okay, so she hadn’t seen the space she was going to be using, but she’d made sure to include options that covered almost anything from a broom cupboard to Buckingham Palace. But Tom seemed to be intent on getting out of the room as quickly as possible and was already halfway to the door. Taking a breath and thinking first, before she said anything rash, was the thing to do now.

‘Thank you. Maureen, you say …?’

Was that a smile? Maybe he was congratulating himself at not having to bother with her any more this morning. ‘Yeah. She probably won’t be in yet, but I’ll leave a note on her desk. If you stay here, she’ll find you.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

This time there definitely was a smile. As swift as it was melting, it sent warmth tingling through her followed by a sudden, empty feeling of loss as it was withdrawn. She almost choked.

‘Coffee machine’s in the main office. Help yourself.’ He was gone. Taking with him his smile, the fresh scent that Cori had tried not to notice, and any hope that she might have had of winning him around at their first meeting.

She sat down with a bump, wincing as she did so. This morning hadn’t quite gone as she’d intended, but she was still here. And she was still in with a chance of finding out exactly what Tom had against her being here, and of changing his mind.

Not so long ago, the only thing expected of Tom when a pretty young woman arrived on the unit was that he would turn on the charm and ask her to dinner. But then Dr Shah had suffered a heart attack, and it had fallen to Tom to keep the unit running while he was away on extended leave.

It was a mystery to him that Cori was even here. He’d seen the bruises and knew that she must be hurting like hell. It wasn’t as if there was any hope of a job once her eight weeks in the hospital were up. Funding had been withdrawn, and the only reason this placement hadn’t been cancelled was that it had been considered too late to stop it. But she seemed determined, and it was his responsibility to provide her with as many opportunities as he could.

Thankfully Maureen was already at her desk, reviewing the contents of her handbag before she started her day. At least he could send someone else to provide Cori with the welcome that he’d entirely failed to give.

‘Was that the new art therapist I saw you with?’ Maureen dispensed with the usual Good morning and Did you have a nice weekend?

‘It was. Do you still have time to show her around?’

‘Of course. What have you said to her?’

‘That I’d see if I could find you …’

‘So, in other words, you ducked the issue.’

‘I know it looks a lot like that. Now I’m Acting Head of Department, I think I’m allowed to call it delegating.’ He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes. Maureen had been in the department for twenty years and there was no one, including Tom, who hadn’t been picked up and dusted down by her at one point or another in their career.

‘I’ll tell you now that I’ve no intention of playing good cop. Or bad cop, for that matter, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He imagined that the woman he’d met yesterday in A and E would spot such a game a mile off, and probably outplay him. ‘I just want you to keep an eye out for her. Let me know how she’s doing.’

‘And the better she does, the less you’ll like it?’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Does she know that?’

‘It’s not as simple as that …’

‘No. Nothing ever is.’ Maureen got to her feet, pulling her jacket straight in a no-nonsense motion. ‘Just as long as I’m not the one who has to explain that to her.’

Tom Riley was almost certainly a better doctor than he was a boss. Cori considered the matter carefully as she tidied up the pens and paper from the afternoon’s art session. It had been fun. Children from the ward had been joined by parents and siblings and more than one person had said that it was a great addition to the pastoral care that the unit provided. The only problem was that it hadn’t been art therapy.

The next eight weeks might not be precious to Tom but they were precious to her and time was trickling away. A day, then two, now three …

As expected, Ralph and Jean had provided comfort food, followed by advice over the washing-up.

‘You know this isn’t your fault, don’t you?’ Ralph was soaping plates vigorously.

‘That’s how it feels.’ She could share those fears with Ralph. He knew that was how she’d felt when she’d been a kid, rejected by one family after another. It had almost been too late by the time he and Jean had finally found her.

‘So you’ll be getting up at six in the morning to do the housework?’ A smile played around Ralph’s mouth. ‘You want a hand with that?’

Cori chuckled. That was exactly what he had said when he’d found her in the kitchen, seven years old and trying to reach the switch for the washing machine, reckoning that if she made herself useful Ralph and Jean might keep her for a while. She’d liked their relaxed, cluttered household from the start and being allowed to stay had seemed like the first time a dream had ever come true for her.

‘I think I’ve got it covered. I’m not going to be washing Dr Riley’s socks.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Ralph stacked more plates onto the drainer, his brow puckered in thought. ‘So let me get this clear. There’s an initial eight-week period, and if that’s a success the post becomes permanent.’

‘Yes, that’s right. It’s such a good opportunity, working with children, close to home. It’s exactly the job I want.’

‘And this Dr Riley doesn’t want you. Why on earth did he agree to it in the first place?’

‘That’s the thing, he didn’t. His predecessor, Dr Shah, agreed to it, and now this Dr Riley has got his reservations. I’ve emailed the scheme’s supervisor to ask her why, but she’s now on holiday. And I’m sure Dr Riley’s avoiding me.’

‘Is there anyone else you can talk to?’

‘Only Maureen, the unit administrator. She’s been really welcoming, but it’s up to Dr Riley to refer specific patients on to me if I’m to do any clinical work. If he doesn’t do that, then all I can do is general art sessions.’

‘And you’re taking that personally, eh?’

‘How else can it take it? Every time I see him he either rushes off before I can get to talk to him or he says he’s busy and he’ll get back to me.’

‘Is he like that with everyone else?’ Ralph frowned as he turned the problem over in his head.

‘You saw what he was like with Adrian, he’s fantastic with the kids. They all think he’s the coolest doctor ever.’

‘What about the other staff?’

‘Everyone says he’s great. That he always listens and is very fair about things. They seem to like him a lot better than Dr Shah. He was apparently pretty autocratic.’

The frightened child in her, who had blamed herself each time a fostering arrangement had fallen through, had been tugging at Cori’s sleeve for the last three days. Keeping her behind after work, even though her sore ribs were screaming for a hot bath, working to make the best of the room she’d been given.

She’d succeeded. The children loved the room, and no one had been able to walk across the threshold without being tempted to touch at least something. The problem had been that Tom Riley hadn’t yet found time to walk across the threshold. And that rejection outweighed every other expression of delight.

Ralph shook the suds from his hands, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘There’s no shame in saying this place isn’t right for you, Cori. You don’t have to prove yourself. They’re the ones who have to be good enough for you.’

She hugged him tight. ‘Thanks. Spoken like the best dad in the world.’

Ralph gave a small chuckle of pleasure. ‘So what are you going to do, then? We’re around at the weekend to help you with some more job applications, if you want to come over.’

It seemed like a plan. Since this job didn’t seem to be going too well, it would be good to keep all her options open. But she wasn’t ready to give up on Dr Riley just yet.

‘Thanks. I think I’ll give it another week or so, though. I’ve still got a couple more things up my sleeve.’

It had been a long and busy week and all Tom wanted to do was go home, fling himself onto the sofa and think about nothing. Heading up the paediatric unit wasn’t as easy as Dr Shah had made it look. But slowly he was cracking it. One problem at a time. One patient. One member of staff.

The light glimmering on his windscreen hadn’t stood out amongst the other reflections from the overhead strip lighting in the car park. In truth, he’d been thinking hard about something else, and it wasn’t until he’d flipped the central locking that Tom switched his attention to his car.

Perched on his windscreen wiper was a fairy. Actually, it was a bundle of scrunched-up silver wire, some sparkly fabric and a bit of tinsel. But the whole was a great deal more than its parts, and the resulting fairy leaned as if inspecting the exact spot where he was standing, her head tilted slightly in a questioning pose.

‘What do you want?’ Tom shot the creature a glare. It was a little late to start believing in fairies now. Particularly on a cold, wet Friday evening.

The fairy ignored him. Whatever she was doing here, it was clearly none of his business, even if she was sitting on his windscreen. Tom looked around, and saw that his car was the only one that sported an otherworldly being.

It was just a bundle of wire and gauze, which had somehow landed here by accident. The significance of its pose was a trick of the light. Tom reached for the fairy and then hesitated, as the bundle of wire and glitter seemed to scowl at him reproachfully. Its outstretched hand held a wand.

His gaze followed the direction in which the gently glowing tip of the wand was pointing. The passage of car tyres over the concrete floor had scattered it a little, but the trail of glitter was still easy to see.

There was only one person who could have done this, and he’d been avoiding her all week. Slinging his briefcase into the back of his car, and giving the fairy one last baleful stare before he locked it in the glove compartment, he followed the trail of glitter that Cori had laid.

As soon as he stepped onto the frosty path outside the car park, Tom could see where he was headed. It was pretty much impossible not to notice the tiny lights, glimmering amongst the spreading branches of the tree that stood by the main entrance to the hospital. A nurse passed him walking in the other direction, holding a fairy in her hand, the little LED light at the tip of its wand glowing in the darkness.

When he got closer, he saw Cori leaning against the dark shadow of the tree trunk, her face lit up by the twinkle of lights in the branches around her. She did him the courtesy of not pretending to be surprised to see him.

‘People usually find that leaving a note on my desk works.’ Tom was trying hard not to be enchanted by this method of catching his attention.

‘Do they?’ She grinned up at him, her eyes dark in the shadows. ‘You seemed so very busy.’

He supposed he deserved that. Each day that he’d transferred his meeting with Cori onto his ‘to do’ list for tomorrow, it had been easier to put it off. When Friday had come, the difficult problem of what exactly he should say to her had seemed quite naturally to fit into next week’s timetable instead of this week’s.

‘Okay.’ He was in the wrong and if it had been anyone else Tom would have apologised. But an apology was meaningless unless one intended to change in some way, and right now changing his mind was out of the question. ‘So what’s the point of all this?’

She folded her arms across her chest, looking up at him. ‘You’re my point.’

A sudden breathless feeling seemed to spread heat across his chest. ‘How, exactly?’

Cori shrugged. ‘I know you have your reservations about my effectiveness in the unit …’ A little quiver in her voice told Tom that this mattered to her.

‘I have no doubts whatever about your effectiveness.’ Tom glanced at the fairies, cavorting around them in the tree. Some touch of magic had turned them from confections of wire and glitter into personalities, each one thrilling with life. There was a small group obviously arguing about something. Some preened themselves, and others beckoned watchers closer, looking no doubt to cast some kind of spell on them.

‘Then … what?’ She stared at him, nonplussed.

It seemed that she needed to hear him say this. He couldn’t for the life of him think why, but if it would get her off his back, then he was more than happy to oblige. ‘Look, Cori, your CV is very impressive, your work is great and the kids are enjoying it …’

‘You haven’t seen any of my work yet.’ She looked ready for a staring match. From somewhere, the craving to respond hit him, the urge to look deep into those violet eyes, and break down all her defences.

‘I do take a look around the unit once in a while. And I quite often talk to my patients, as well.’ Tom resisted the temptation to add that talking to children was a damn sight easier than navigating the uneasy waters of adult office politics. ‘I can see that you’ve been making a difference …’

‘And making a difference is a good thing, isn’t it?’

Tom wondered if she was deliberately playing dumb, or she really didn’t know. Surely she knew that the funding had been cut. It was impossible that no one had told her.

‘You have the potential to be a real asset for the unit, Cori. But now that we have no funding for a long-term appointment, and it’s just this eight weeks …’

She was staring at him as if he’d just grown a pair of wings and was about to flutter off into the branches with the fairies. Her mouth formed an ‘O’, and she covered it with her gloved hand. ‘So … There’s no permanent post … after these eight weeks are over?’

‘No. I’m sorry. Once your work placement is finished, there are no plans for any permanent post until next year at the earliest. Didn’t the scheme supervisor tell you that?’

She shook her head and abruptly turned away, as if there was something she wanted to hide from him. Disbelief, maybe. Tears? Anger? It was difficult to say, and, if he was honest, he would rather not have to deal with any of those emotions. He should go now, let her think about things over the weekend and they could talk again about what she wanted to do on Monday morning.

‘Hey, Tom! What’s going on? Can anyone join in?’ A voice came from behind him and Tom turned to see a couple of off-duty nurses, one of whom was trying to draw his attention to a little girl, transfixed by the lights in the tree and trying to escape her father’s grip on her hand. It seemed that they had just come from A and E, because the man also carried a younger child with a bulky dressing on her arm.

Cori had already seen them and was moving towards them. ‘Would they like to come and take a look?’ She spoke to the man first, and when he nodded she bent down to the little girl at his side. ‘If you want, you can take a fairy home.’

The answer to that was a clear and overwhelming yes. She led the little girl under the sparkling canopy, and her father followed, the child in his arms reaching up with her uninjured hand to touch the fairies. It was touching, heartwarming, and Tom wanted to be a part of the magic that Cori was able to create, more than he could say. Which was exactly why it would be much better if he went home. Now.

CHAPTER THREE

NOT SO FAST. Cori could see Tom out of the corner of her eye, pulling his car keys out of his pocket. She’d spent all of yesterday evening making fairies, and her lunchtime today attaching the little LED lights to the tips of their wands. He’d found his way here, and if he thought he was going anywhere before they talked this out, he was mistaken.

‘Dr Riley. We need some help here.’

She called over to him, indicating the child beside her. Tom turned, his eyes narrowing in an indication that he knew full well that she wasn’t playing fair, and she grinned at him in reply.

He moved across the grass towards her with all the affability of a tiger caught in a trap. He lifted the child up in his arms so she could reach the fairy that she wanted, never taking his gaze from Cori’s face.

‘Thank you.’ The little girl responded to a prompt from her father and thanked him, and Tom’s face broke into the kind of smile that Cori would have decorated the whole hospital with fairies for.

‘You’re very welcome.’ He bent down, watching as the child inspected the fairy. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Only I know it.’

Tom nodded gravely. ‘Right. Well don’t forget to take good care of her. She needs to have breakfast every morning.’

‘Porridge?’

‘Yep. I’m told that fairies are very partial to porridge. Particularly during the winter.’

The child nodded. ‘Can Hannah have one?’

Tom allowed himself to be drawn into choosing and obtaining a fairy for the child with the injured arm. Before he was finished, Cori had given away another four, as hospital staff and visitors stopped to look at the tree.

‘Dr Riley?’ A man in a suit and overcoat was marching across the grass towards them. Tom turned away from the children, and the corner of the man’s mouth twitched downwards.

‘Now we’re in for it …’ He murmured the words as he passed behind Cori, moving forward to meet the man. ‘Alan. Have you come to make a wish?’

It didn’t look as if the man believed in fairies. Cori noticed that a couple of the nurses who’d been lingering under the tree had melted away, leaving the sparkling branches to those who were obviously not employed at the hospital and therefore not subject to the disapproval of its administrators.

‘Just came to see what’s going on.’ Alan was looking round with an assessing gaze.

‘Make-a-wish Friday.’ Tom’s smile would have cracked an iceberg, but he was obviously improvising, and Cori stepped forward. If anyone was going to get into trouble for this, then it should be her.

‘It’s all my …’ She felt fingers close around the sleeve of her coat and Tom pulled her back a couple of steps.

‘These are all Cori’s creations. She’s attached to the unit temporarily and she’s been doing some stupendous work. We had some leftover fairies and I thought it was a shame for them to go to waste.’

‘You’re supervising this?’

‘Absolutely. Can’t have people wandering around hospital grounds making unsupervised wishes.’

Cori opened her mouth to speak and Tom turned to face her. For a moment his gaze met hers and she forgot what she was about to say.

‘I suppose …’ Alan looked around and gave a small shrug. ‘There is a procedure to go through for anything like this in the hospital grounds, though.’

‘Yes, I know. I apologise, but it was an off-the-cuff thing. Next time we’ll go through the right channels.’ Tom’s gaze swung around to Alan, and for a moment it was touch-and-go as to who was going to outstare who. Then Alan backed down.

‘No apologies needed, I’m sure. Good work … um …’

‘Cori Evans.’ Tom smiled beatifically in Cori’s direction.

‘Good work, Ms Evans. Thank you. You’re the new art therapist?’

‘Temporary art therapist.’ The years when she’d moved from one foster home to another, before finding a home with Ralph and Jean, had taught Cori that the ‘T’ word was one to be both respected and feared. Knowing the difference between something that might work out and something that was strictly temporary was vital to one’s own sense of self-worth.

‘Did I mention that the unit could really do with someone on a permanent basis?’ Tom broke in again.

‘Several times.’ Alan bestowed a hurried smile on Cori, and obviously decided it was time to retreat. Tom watched him go, his face impassive.

‘I’m sorry.’ She’d tried to get Tom’s attention, and had ended up getting into hot water. And, unlikely as it might seem, it had been Tom who’d come to her rescue.

He shrugged. ‘It’s okay. Alan’s all right, he just gets a bit scratchy when you don’t fill in the necessary forms. Next time you take anything out of the unit, let Maureen know. She’ll notify the right people.’

‘Yes. I’ll do that.’ There wasn’t going to be a next time. This had been all about getting Tom’s attention, finding out why he seemed so dead set against her working in the unit. And Cori had found out a great deal more than she’d wanted to know.

‘Look …’ He turned suddenly. In the darkness, his hair seemed every colour from blond to tawny. ‘I thought that you knew that the funding for the art therapy scheme had been cut. I don’t know who omitted to tell you that, but I intend to find out.’

‘It’s okay …’

‘It’s not okay.’ He frowned.

‘It will have been the scheme supervisor at the local health authority. She’s been under a lot of stress recently, so I suppose she must have forgotten, and she’s on holiday now so she hasn’t responded to any of my emails.’ Cori shrugged. ‘Please. Leave it. I don’t want to get her into trouble.’

‘In that case, I’ll deliver the reprimand to myself, for not making sure that you understood the situation.’

‘No. Please, don’t do that either. It won’t change anything.’ She could feel tears pricking at the sides of her eyes now, and hoped that the darkness would hide them from him. ‘This is why you have your reservations about me doing clinical work in the unit, isn’t it? You don’t want me to start something when there’s no chance of any follow-up.’

‘Yeah. I just don’t think it’s fair to offer therapy to someone and have it stopped after only eight weeks. I’m sorry, Cori.’ He seemed suddenly very close. Close enough to put his arm around her, and if he did that she would make a fool of herself and start crying.

‘Don’t …’ She took a step backwards. ‘There’s no need to be sorry. You’re right.’ He was acting in his patients’ best interests and Cori couldn’t argue with that. But she couldn’t just accept it either.

‘Will you give me an hour? Please? Just one hour of your time.’

He shot her a melting look that seemed to say he understood all her hopes, all her fears. ‘In all fairness I have to tell you that I can’t change my mind. You’re welcome to hold general groups and sessions on the unit, but I won’t offer you anything more.’

‘Maybe there’s something else I can do … Please. Just an hour.’ He hesitated, and Cori took her opportunity. ‘What harm can it do to listen?’

He shook his head. Then he smiled, and suddenly she was looking at the Tom Riley who had such a special connection with the children under his care. The one who could make people feel that everything was all right with the world.

‘Okay. But you come alone. No fairies.’

‘Of course not. That would be an unfair advantage.’

He nodded. ‘I don’t have much time next week. But I’m dropping in to the hospital tomorrow and I’ll be finished at about four. Will that suit you?’

‘Four o’clock is fine.’

‘Okay, I have your mobile number, I’ll call you then.’ He looked around at the fairies. ‘What are you going to do with these?’

Cori shrugged. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of takers for them. I think I’ll stop here for another fifteen minutes and give them away.’

‘You don’t want to save them for another time?’

She shook her head. ‘Nah. I can always make more, and I think these all deserve a home now.’

‘Having done what they were meant to do for tonight?’

He’d come uncomfortably close to the truth, but Cori wasn’t about to admit it. ‘You think this was all for you?’

‘I’m not that self-centred. I think you want to be of benefit to the children, and to do that you need to catch my attention. And that you found a way to do that which also highlighted your own skills.’

Was that a compliment or a warning? Was he telling her he knew what she was up to and that he was more than a match for her? Before Cori could even begin to work it out, he was walking away.

Tom parked in the tree-lined avenue at the address that Cori had given him. A large Victorian mansion, converted into flats, stood back from the road. Running his finger down the row of names next to the door, he found Cori’s and pressed the bell alongside it, hearing a chime sound from somewhere deep inside the house.

She answered almost immediately, wearing a padded coat that engulfed her small frame, accessorised with striped gloves, a scarf and a brightly coloured woollen beret, set at a rakish angle. Tom found himself wondering whether jeans and a leather jacket were quite right for the occasion. Somehow a suit would have made this outing feel more professional and less like a date.

‘Is this thing you want to show me far?’

‘We only have an hour, so we’ll go by car.’ Tom’s gaze followed her pointing finger to a small, rather battered blue car. ‘We could take mine, but the heater’s broken …’

He imagined that the suspension was as old as the bodywork looked. And although it was nearly a week since he’d examined the bruises on her shoulder and hip, some of them had been deep enough to still be hurting her. ‘We’ll take mine. You can give me directions.’

She nodded, looking slightly relieved. ‘Yes. More comfortable.’

As he opened the door for her, and she slid carefully into the passenger seat, the world suddenly felt right again. Working in the unit today had carried with it a sense of dislocation, as if something was missing, something that he had been doing his best to ignore. Now that Cori was in his car, Tom realised what that something had been.

‘So what is it you want me to see?’ They’d driven through a maze of back streets, until he’d lost his bearings.

‘I’d rather it took you by surprise.’ When he glanced across at her, her face had taken on an impish expression.

‘Ah. So it would be wrong of me to try and guess.’

‘Very wrong. Turn left here.’

They drew up outside a building that Tom recognised as the old town hall, which now housed a community centre and various offices. Cori led the way along a broken path that wound its way to the back of the building, and then down some metal steps into a gloomy passageway that led to the sub-basement space. Tom squinted at the metal plate on the door, recognising the name of a local charity working with families affected by domestic violence.

His heart felt as if it were stopping. How could she know? No one knew. His childhood was the one part of Tom’s life that he kept strictly private.

‘What’s this?’ His voice sounded distant, as if he’d left his body and was already halfway up the steps and out of there.

‘I’ve been working here with some friends from art college. I want you to see what we’ve been able to do.’ She pressed a rather ancient-looking buzzer on one side of the door.

‘Your CV says you’ve been working at another hospital.’ Suspicion clawed at him. If she was trying to gain his favour, by thinking she knew what made him tick, she was going about it in quite the wrong way.

‘Yes, that’s right. I was there for a year, covering for one of the therapists who was on maternity leave. I worked here at the weekends.’ She turned to him, her face bright in the darkness. ‘We finished up last Sunday. Or rather the others finished up. I was unavoidably detained elsewhere.’

So this was what she’d been doing when she’d fallen off the ladder. Before Tom could think about apologising for the suspicions he hadn’t voiced, the door opened and warm light flooded out into the gloomy passageway.

‘Cori.’ The woman at the door hugged her gingerly. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine, thanks. I’ve been resting up.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ The woman turned a smile onto Tom, as if she suspected he’d probably had something to do with that. ‘You’re Dr Riley? Welcome. I’m Lena Graves, the centre’s director.’

Lena motioned them both inside, into a small reception area. It was then that Tom realised why he was there.

CHAPTER FOUR

A FAINT SMELL of new paint still lingered in the place. Three of the walls were painted cream and the fourth was a riot of colour that stopped Tom in his tracks.

‘Fabulous …’ It was a glimpse into a world of pure fantasy. Lushly painted trees and flowers formed the framework for animals and birds, engaged in familiar, human pursuits. In one corner, a group of hedgehogs was holding a tea party. In another, flamingos were gossiping together.

The design was covered with clear plastic panels, running the length and height of the wall. ‘These are to protect it?’

Lena chuckled. ‘Not really.’

Cori picked up a marker pen from a box on the reception desk and handed it to him. ‘You’re supposed to draw on it. Have a go.’

He almost didn’t dare. ‘And it wipes off?’

‘That’s the idea. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a while, and Lena agreed to let us try it out here.’

‘It’s working well so far. The children love it. One little guy spent all afternoon here yesterday. He drew a picture of himself sitting in a chair next to the hedgehogs.’ Lena grinned. ‘The staff like doing their thing with it too. At the end of the day we just wipe it all down, ready for tomorrow’s designs.’

The tip of the marker pen hovered over the smooth, clear surface. ‘You’re thinking too much.’ He heard Cori’s voice close behind him.

‘Yeah. Guess I am.’ Tom stepped back, putting the cap back onto the pen. ‘What happens if someone … if the drawings the kids make become challenging?’

‘Challenging to who? The people who draw, or the people who are looking?’ She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Does that matter?’

‘It might. If it’s disruptive.’

‘This area’s always supervised. And most of the children who come here with their parents are traumatised because of their family situations. I imagine that Lena will tell you that drawing isn’t the most disruptive way of revealing that trauma.’

‘Not by a very long chalk.’ Lena grinned. ‘Anyway, sometimes it’s the ones who sit quietly in the corner, and can’t bring themselves to reveal anything, who worry me the most.’

‘As opposed to someone like me, who reveals everything by painting all over your walls?’ Cori chuckled, nudging Lena.

‘We’re not getting into that. We’ll be here all evening.’ Lena turned to Tom. ‘There’s more I’d like to show you. Through here, when you’re ready …’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ Tom couldn’t take his eyes off the huge painting. It was like Cori, disturbing and confronting and yet captivating. Something he wanted to touch, but he knew that once he did so he would be unable to conceal the feelings that had the power to destroy him if he let them have their way.

‘He’s the only one.’ Lena shrugged, mouthing the words to Cori as Tom turned from the painting, walking briskly away from it. He was the only person, adult or child, who had stood in front of the wall art with a pen in their hand without making their own addition to the design, however tiny.

And it was Tom Riley, the man who was in charge of her future for the next seven weeks, who had turned out to be completely immune to the temptation to draw. The one man she wanted to impress, and her best shot at doing just that had left him cold.

Maybe he was just trying to be objective. To not get involved so that he could make a better decision. Cori held on to that thought, allowing Lena to usher him into the activities room.

He spent a while looking at everything. The child-sized painted chairs, each of which had an individual design snaking up the legs and across the back. The art table, which she had arranged like a sweet shop, different pens and paper displayed with an implicit invitation to touch, to pick up and to draw.

‘We got the chairs from a recycling charity.’ She had to say something to break the silence. ‘Some of them were a bit rickety, but we fixed them up and painted them …’ This morning it had seemed like a good idea to show him this. Now she was wondering whether she hadn’t blown things completely.

‘They’re great.’ Finally, he smiled. Not the conspiratorial, we-know-a-secret smile that she liked more than she cared to say, but it was something at least.

‘The wall here is painted with a wipe-clean surface.’ She ran her hand across the hard, white finish. ‘It’s a different experience from the one outside. A clean slate.’

He nodded. ‘You’re encouraging the kids to paint on the walls?’

Lena came to her rescue. ‘Just this wall. This is an experiment too. If we find too much graffiti all over the place then we’ll paint over it and put it down to experience.’

‘It’s a lot of effort just to paint over.’

‘If we try something and it doesn’t work, that’s not wasted effort. We learn and do better the next time. Lena’s been great in allowing us to experiment a bit.’ Cori flashed a grin towards Lena, who nodded, encouraging her to go on. ‘You wanted to see something where the benefits didn’t rely on having an in-house art therapist. I think this is it.’

‘And how much did all of this cost? Just a ballpark figure.’

Cori caught her breath. If he was going to dismiss it out of hand, surely he wouldn’t have asked that.

‘Cori’s group is self-funding.’ Lena stepped in again. ‘We couldn’t have afforded this on our budget.’

He turned to her. The approval in his eyes was breathtaking. ‘How much?’

‘I’d … have to work it out. I can supply you with figures, but … Well, I’d prefer it if you would come to see our fundraising operation.’ Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

‘You have an … operation?’ He raised one eyebrow.

‘Well, that might be a bit of an overstatement …’ No. They did. And she was proud of it. ‘Yes, we do. And when you’ve finished looking around here, I’d like you to see it.’

As they left the building and walked back to the car, the cold evening air on his face seemed to jolt Tom back into the here and now. ‘Where are we going this time?’

‘The High Street. You carry on down here, take a left and then keep going until you get to the traffic lights.’ She settled herself into the passenger seat of his car and buckled the seat belt, clearly not inclined to give any more information about what he was going to see.

‘Right.’ He started the engine, wondering what she was going to come up with next.

There were no clues from the place she indicated as a parking spot, and he became more baffled as she led him into a bright, warm tea shop, bustling with activity. Sitting down at a table, she loosened her scarf and coat, and signalled to a waitress.

‘Hi, Cori. Pot of green tea?’

‘Yes, thanks. Tom …?’

At some point in the course of the afternoon she’d responded to his request to stop calling him Dr Riley. Tom couldn’t remember quite when that had been, but it felt good, as if she’d acknowledged that he might be at least partially on her side.

‘Earl Grey, please.’ He settled back in his chair, looking around. ‘You run a tea shop?’

‘No, of course we don’t. Where would we get the time to do that?’ She grinned, jerking her thumb at the back wall. ‘That’s our fundraising operation.’

The wall was covered with canvases, ranging from tabletop height almost as far as the ceiling, jostling together in a chorus of colour. ‘You painted all of these?’

‘I wish. There are over a dozen of us in the group, and everyone contributes a few paintings. The tea shop displays them for us and gets ten percent of sales. It brings people in here and they have something to put on their walls. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

‘And you use the money to fund the work that you do for charities.’

‘Yes. Charities, schools, hospitals …’ That impish grin appeared again. ‘Actually, we haven’t done any hospitals. But we would, if we got the chance.’

Tom chuckled. ‘Anywhere in mind?’

‘No, not specifically. We’re just open to the possibility.’

‘I see.’ He could think more clearly now. ‘So can you tell me what all this has to do with art therapy?’

She laughed. ‘I was wondering when you were going to ask me that.’

‘It’s the obvious question. As I understand it, art therapy is all about the process of engaging people in some kind of artistic pursuit in a safe environment, and working through the issues that it raises for them. I’ve only seen the first half of that process today.’

‘It has its benefits, though.’

‘I’m not denying that.’ Tom nodded a thank-you as the waitress put a cup and saucer and a small teapot down in front of him. ‘I think what you’ve done at the centre is fantastic. It’s welcoming and inclusive, and at the same time it’s challenging …’

‘But you’re right. It’s not art therapy.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘It is sustainable, though, and it’s helping to create a culture where users of the centre can use art to express themselves. I’d like to have a conversation with you about doing something of the sort in your department.’

This was something that she lived for, that set her alight, the way that medicine set Tom alight. And fire suited her. He wondered what it might be like to feel her heat flickering across his skin, warming him on a cold night.

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