Role Play
Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ABIGAIL PEARCE was going to marry a doctor. It wasn’t a conscious decision, rather something she had always known and accepted.

What she also knew, after a week in general practice, was that there was no way he would be a GP!

The lifestyle was horrendous. Paper mountains, patients with nothing wrong with them and patients who were clearly dying and had left it too late to do anything, all muddled up with legions of bronchitics and asthmatics —and the whole lot of them tied together with endless miles of tangled red tape!

It didn’t suit Abbie’s chaotic and ephemeral mind at all, and as she drove towards the surgery on that lovely August morning she felt the now familiar panic tightening her chest. What would she do if someone came in and she wasn’t sure about her diagnosis? For the first time in her life there wasn’t someone else to ask, a registrar to fall back on at a moment’s notice.

Not that she was really alone. There were other doctors in the practice, she was hardly single-handed, but the senior partner Dr Williams was off sick with a bad back, Dr Patel didn’t seem inclined to be over-friendly towards her, and Dr Chandler was on holiday. Only Peter Sargent had been welcoming, and Abbie was fairly sure it was because all his ‘heartsink’ patients had transferred themselves to her within the first thirty seconds, or so it seemed.

And her heart was sinking, too, at the thought of the rest of the year yawning away ahead of her like something out of a horror movie. It wasn’t going to be improved by the fact that she was late, either.

Her inventive mind busily working on excuses, she swung into the car park and skidded to an undignified halt. There was a red sports car — well, it had been once, about thirty years ago, she thought disparagingly—abandoned across the entrance, the roof down and Tina Turner blaring forth from the open cockpit. She had nearly hit it — not that she would have done it a great deal of harm, when all was said and done, but her own could have sustained considerable damage ——

A car tooted furiously behind her, and she inched forwards until she was nearly touching the muddy bumper. What a heap!

And blocking her space. She climbed out and locked her car, checking to see how far out into the road it was hanging. Not very. She might just get away with it until whoever owned it moved the horrible relic.

She squeezed past the front of the car, smearing mud on her jacket as she went, and ran up the steps into the office at the back of the surgery where the practice meeting was drawing to a close.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she apologised, scattering her smile among the assembled company. ‘Some yob’s abandoned a heap of scrap in the car park and I couldn’t get in.’

‘Ah.’

Her eyes swivelled to the owner of the voice, and as their gazes locked a tiny quiver of something unfamiliar curled around her throat and tightened.

She watched, mesmerised, as the stranger unravelled his long legs and stood up, the soft battered leather of his jacket tugging over his broad shoulders as he pushed the chair in, sending her pulse rocketing; confused, she dropped her eyes and they lingered over lean hips and long, long legs in faded denim jeans that hugged his body intimately, finally crumpling to a halt at the ancient trainers on his feet.

She relaxed with a tiny sigh of relief. He looked for all the world like an overgrown college student — or one of her brothers, she thought absently, and then found herself trapped again by those extraordinary blue-gold eyes.

He was laughing at her, aware of her minute inspection of his person and supremely, masculinely confident that he would have passed muster. As he returned the compliment with a quick, appreciative once-over, all her muscles leapt to attention again, and she felt the heat rising from her toes upwards until she flushed almost guiltily.

‘I’ll move it.’

His voice was rich and deep and gravelly, and completed the process of cerebral disintegration that had started the second she clapped eyes on him. ‘What?’ she said absently.

‘The car.’

She gathered her scattered thought-processes rapidly. Oh. It’s yours, then,’ she managed inanely, and to her disgust and humiliation her voice sounded breathless and far-away.

His smile was brilliant, teasing, wicked. ‘ “Heap of scrap”,’ he said softly. ‘Is that any way to speak of my charger, when I’ve come dashing back from my holiday like a knight in shining armour to rescue you from the clutches of my colleagues? Not to mention calling me a yob!’

‘Oh, God,’ she mumbled under her breath, and felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Had she really said all that?

He shrugged away from the table and held out his hand. ‘You must be Abigail Pearce. Leo Chandler — yob, doctor, knight in shining armour — at your service, ma’am.’ His hand was warm and dry and firm, engulfing hers and making her feel unexpectedly feminine and fragile. She was stunned at the shock-wave that rippled up her arm from the brief contact, and as soon as she could she whipped her hand away and tucked it into her pocket.

He smiled knowingly. ‘I’ll move the “heap of scrap”.’

And with a grin he sauntered out through the door and left her standing rooted to the spot, her mouth hanging slightly open.

A slight noise behid her brought her back to reality with a bump, and, snapping her mouth shut, she turned back to the others.

‘Oh, God,’ she repeated, and slumped against the wall.

Peter Sargent chuckled. ‘That’ll get you off to a flying start — good job he doesn’t take offence easily.’

Abbie was still feeling thoroughly rattled by the encounter, and she was sure it showed. To escape from Ravi Patel’s knowing black eyes, she went back outside to move her car just as Leo Chandler loped up the steps.

‘There you are,’ he said with that spectacular grin. ‘Plenty of room now, even for you. Oh, by the way, Dr Pearce, we need to have a chat some time. Colin’s asked me to take over your training until he’s back, so we could do with sorting out a few things. Coffee suit you?’

‘That’ll be fine,’ she mumbled, stunned again by the amazing eyes. Or was it the man behind them?

She climbed into her car, over-conscious of his lazy scrutiny, and crashed the gears. What on earth had got into her? She was twenty-seven, for goodness’ sake — she’d survived all her brothers’ friends, and the endless stream of available men at medical school — why this particular man, and why now of all times? He was a shocking flirt, too, a superficial, womanising tease, not at all the sort of man she had in mind.

So why the damage to her pulse-rate?

Must be a virus, she thought with the last vestige of humour, and, crunching the gears again, she eased into the tiny space he had left her and struggled out.

‘Poor little car,’ he murmured as she reached the top of the steps.

‘You put me off,’ she said crossly, and then was angry with herself for giving it away.

His grin broadened. ‘Interesting.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ she replied as coolly as she could manage, and, sucking in her breath, she squeezed past him through the gap.

Or she would have done if he hadn’t moved his arm up to block her path.

She came to a dead halt, her breasts pressed against his well-muscled forearm, her heart doing a tango against her ribs.

‘Don’t forget our date.’

She stepped back and looked up into his eyes, bewildered by his words and by the flood of sensation that was swamping her. ‘Date?’ she said weakly.

‘Coffee — to talk about your training programme.’

‘Oh — yes, of course.’

‘You’re blushing,’ he said with evident amusement, and she felt the colour deepen.

‘Rubbish, it’s hot. Excuse me, I have a surgery …’

‘Ah, yes.’ He moved out of her way, almost reluctantly, and she felt his eyes on her until she reached the door at the far side of the office.

And not only his eyes. Ravi, too, was watching her, her sloe eyes intent, accusing.

So that’s the way of it, Abbie thought. Well, I’m no threat to you, Ravi, dear. Have him, and welcome.

She shut her surgery door behind her with relief.

It was short-lived. The second her last patient exited the surgery, Leo Chandler was in, two cups of coffee balanced in one hand, a file in the other.

‘What kept you?’ she asked drily.

He grinned his appreciation. ‘Me?’ he murmured innocently. ‘I’ve been dangling around for ages while you built relationships with your patients. “Good morning, that looks nasty, have a bottle of pills, goodbye.” ’

She sighed and leant back in the chair, lifting the heavy mass of red-gold hair that tumbled in cheerful profusion over her shoulders. Her neck was hot — really she should have worn it up, or at least tied back, but she had been on the drag ——

‘Why were you late, by the way?’ he asked as if he read her mind. ‘I mean, pulling up behind my “heap of scrap” must have taken you — oh, thirty seconds? At the outside.’

She sighed again. Clearly that remark was going to haunt her forever more. ‘Time isn’t my absolutely best thing,’ she confessed with a rueful grin.

‘You don’t say.’ He handed her the coffee and sprawled in the chair beside her desk, long legs stuck out in front, his cup balanced precariously on his belt-buckle. He had changed into a pair of cool cotton trousers and a soft, stone washed shirt, the cuffs turned back to reveal the scatter of fine golden hair that dusted his wrists and forearms. The trousers were much less conspicuously masculine than the jeans had been, and yet —— She looked away, her cheeks heating again.

Her embarrassment wasn’t eased by his evident enjoyment of it.

‘So,’ he said suddenly. ‘Your training. Done any role-play exercises before?’

She groaned and rolled her eyes. ‘Role play?’

‘Mmm. Doctor, doctor, I think I’m a pair of curtains. Pull yourself together, man. That sort of thing.’

She giggled despite herself. ‘Not for years. Why?’

He shrugged. ‘Because it can be very useful for exploring the unsolved mysteries of doctor-patient relationships.’

He shifted in his chair, and swung his eyes away from her, suddenly awkward.

‘Before we get on to that, there’s something I wanted to ask you about — something personal.’

Her heart tightened in anticipation. Not that date he had teased her with, surely? But what else …?

‘Ask away,’ she prompted.

He was silent for a second, then he spoke in a rush, his voice strained. ‘I’m having problems — personal problems. Well, sexual problems, I suppose. I’m — I think I’m impotent.’

She laughed. She didn’t mean to, but the idea of the man in front of her having any kind of sexual problem at all was just absurd in the extreme.

He met her eyes, his own reproving. ‘Tut-tut. You aren’t supposed to laugh, you’re supposed to ask me when it started, how many times it’s happened, if it’s always the same pattern, if it’s only when I’m with a partner or ——’

‘All right, all right!’ She threw her hands up in the air in an attitude of surrender, and tried to school her expression. ‘You just caught me unprepared.’

‘And would you be prepared if someone came up to you and said something like that in a supermarket, or in a restaurant?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! They wouldn’t ——’

‘Oh no?’ He leant back and shook his head. ‘Don’t be too sure. I was in the bar at the squash club last winter and someone came up to me — total stranger — and asked me what he should do about his genital warts. I told him to see his GP, and he said I was his GP, and what should he do?’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘Come and see me at the surgery. What else? If you give advice when you can’t make an examination, then you could be in deep legal trouble. Once you’ve started to give any advice at all, you’ve assumed responsibility for the treatment and the repercussions could be phenomenal. Now, about my sexual problems ——’

She laughed again.

He gave her a reproachful look. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Dr Pearce. I thought you might have some new perspective on it that might help me.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ she told him bluntly, trying hard not to blush. ‘The only sexual problem you’ve got is finding time for all those opportunities in your hectic schedule, I have no doubt.’

He grinned. ‘I’m flattered.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment,’ she said severely, squashing the urge to laugh.

The grin widened. ‘Listen, little lady, with my problem I’ll take what I can get.’

‘Yes, well, just make sure it isn’t something nasty.’

‘Like Ravinda Patel?’

Her head flew up and their eyes clashed in the sudden silence. ‘I thought …’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Ravi’s interested in me, but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve never given her the slightest encouragement.’

‘That’s not how it looks.’

He shrugged. ‘Ravi’s got expressive eyes. You’ll have to trust me.’

Abbie wasn’t sure she dared. Instead, she changed tack. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘Because the internal politics of any closely knit working community are very sensitive — I just wanted you to know the truth.’

‘How do I know it’s the truth? How do I know you aren’t the world’s most monumental flirt who’s seen a new toy to play with?’

‘Me?’ His expression of injured innocence had to be seen to be believed. Only the wicked twinkling of his extraordinary blue-gold eyes gave him away.

‘You, Leo Chandler,’ she said firmly, and quelled the urge to laugh. ‘Anyway, all that besides, what good is role play going to do? We just end up making fools of ourselves and learning nothing we couldn’t learn by any other more conventional means.’

‘Does that worry you? Making a fool of yourself?’

She shifted awkwardly. How did he know that? ‘I like to be in control of a situation,’ she compromised.

He laughed. ‘In general practice? No way. You want pathology if you want control. Dead people don’t do anything unexpected. Live people, now …’ He shot her a sideways look. ‘I have to go out on some calls — come with me. Part of your education.’

‘Only if we can go in my car,’ she said quickly.

He grinned. ‘Mine not good enough for you?’ he teased.

She felt herself flush, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that, but it is a little — well — unconventional?’ she tried.

He grinned. ‘So she is. I’m only using her while my incredibly boring and middle-of-the-road Volvo is being serviced. Topsy usually only comes out on high days and holidays.’

‘Topsy?’ she said incredulously. Not since her brothers’ youth had she heard of a car with a name. ‘Why Topsy?’

He shrugged expressively. ‘Because of the servicing and repair bills, which, like Topsy, just grow’d and grow’d.’

She laughed softly. ‘I’ll bet. Look, I’m sorry if I was rude. It’s nothing personal, I’m just not into retro-motoring.’

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Most women think she’s wonderful.’

‘Yes, well, I’m not most women,’ she told him repressively.

He shot her an odd look. ‘No, you’re not, are you?’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘Pity, it could have been fun. Ah, well …’ He uncoiled his legs and stood up, suddenly almost oppressively large in the small room, and ambled towards the door, whistling softly.

She glared at his departing back, and was treated to the disturbing sight of his neat little bottom and long, lean legs striding casually down the corridor, the soft cotton of his trousers tugging and easing, outlining his firm, muscular thighs with every stride.

He turned at the end and caught her watching him, smiling knowingly at her blush.

‘Coming?’

She went — against her better judgement — in Topsy. The car was in distinctly average condition, and she handled, as he put it, ‘like a bitch’, which did nothing for Abbie’s nerves. Nor, frankly, did his proximity in the little car. It was, quite simply, nothing like big enough to keep her as far away from his long, rangy body as she would have liked to be, and every time he changed gear her leg muscles contracted to pull herself further away from him.

Predictably, he noticed. ‘Why are you trying to climb out of the door?’ he asked casually.

She forced herself to appear relaxed. ‘I wasn’t — I was just trying to keep out of your way.’

He shot her an evil grin. ‘Don’t worry on my account,’ he told her, and she gave him a dirty look and turned away to stare fixedly out of the side-window, anchoring her hair firmly with one hand to stop it from flying in her eyes.

It was a mercifully short drive, thankfully, through the leafy little Suffolk town of Brocklingford to the house of his first patient.

She was a girl of twelve who suffered from autism, a disorder of behaviour affecting the ability to communicate, where everything said was taken literally — not only words, but tone and movements. Nothing emphatic, nor over-demonstrative, and certainly no physical contact that was a demonstration of affection, Leo told her, because the other and most noticeable feature of autism was an inability to form any relationship or interact normally with another person. It also involved repetitive behaviour patterns, and frustration of those patterns almost inevitably led to major tantrums.

Maxie, she was told, was not severely autistic but had ‘autistic features’ — meaning, in her case, the lack of social communication skills, and repetitive behaviour coupled with the classic shocking temper. However, she was very gifted musically and also highly intelligent, which was quite unusual.

Abbie was interested, never having had an autistic patient, but she was quite unprepared for the level of literal thinking she was to find.

Maxie’s mother greeted them at the door and told them that she had refused to stay in bed. Leo grinned, unsurprised, and followed the woman through to the back of the house.

The girl was pretty in a plain sort of way, but very distant. She was sitting in the dining-room, playing the pino with exquisite sensitivity.

‘Hello, Maxie,’ Leo said softly.

She stopped playing abruptly and looked at him with no interest at all. ‘Dr Chandler. Why are you here?’ she asked tonelessly.

‘Your mother said you hadn’t been feeling well.’

She turned away, avoiding eye contact. ‘Yes. I’ve got a headache now. Who’s that with you?’

‘Dr Pearce. She’s going to be with the practice for a year. May I have a look at you?’

She turned back again. ‘Can’t you see me?’

At first Abbie thought she was being cheeky, but then realised she had interpreted Leo’s remark quite literally.

‘Yes, but I need to look at your eyes and ears and throat with an instrument, and measure your blood-pressure with another, and then perhaps ask you some questions about your diet.’

‘I’m not on a diet.’

‘The food you eat every day is your diet. We talk about being on a diet when we really mean a reducing diet.’

‘Oh.’ She turned away again. ‘All right.’

‘Could you come over here?’

She stood, her movements wooden, and walked over to him. He looked into her eyes with the torch, then checked her ears and took her blood-presssure and temperature.

‘You’re a bit hot.’

‘It’s sunny.’

‘No, inside. You’ve got a raised temperature — I think you might have a mild virus that’s making you feel ill. May I feel your neck and under your arms?’

She nodded, and he kept his touch to the minimum. Even so, Abbie could see her shrinking.

‘Your glands are up — I think you might have glandular fever. Have you had a sore throat recently?’

‘You did have one last week,’ her mother put in, and Maxie nodded again.

‘It was very sore — it still hurts.’

‘May I see?’

He shone his torch down her throat and nodded.

‘Yes, it looks like a mild case of glandular fever, for which the treatment is rest, rest and more rest. Early nights, not too much activity, and take things easy for a while — maybe even a month. OK?’

Her mother nodded and smiled. ‘OK. I had it when I was sixteen, so I can remember what it’s like. We’ll have to have some early nights, I think.’

Leo smiled, but Maxie turned back to the piano. ‘I don’t want to rest. Goodbye, Dr Chandler.’

She began to play again, loudly, and her mother shook her head and led them out into the hall, closing the door.

‘She really ought to rest, you know,’ Leo said seriously.

‘I know. I’ll do what I can, but she’s better off playing the piano than working herself up into a steaming tantrum over it until she collapses with exhaustion.’

‘Does she do that?’ Abbie asked, amazed that the calm, almost monochromatic child they had just witnessed could throw a tantrum.

Mrs Clarke rolled her eyes. ‘Does she ever! You’ve seen her, haven’t you, Dr Chandler?’

‘Oh, yes — it’s spectacular. She’s only calm when she’s getting her own way, but she’s as stubborn as a mule. Any attempt to coerce her and she flips. Still, you manage her very well.’

The mother shrugged. ‘I don’t really. We achieve a sort of peace by letting her do things her way. Anything else is cataclysmic! It took some time to learn how to deal with her, and years after that before I could undo the harm I’d done with hugs and cuddles and abortive attempts at discipline.’

Leo nodded. ‘The school seems to have helped.’

‘Yes — me as much as her. It gives me a break from her but the holidays are just as difficult as ever.’

Leo laid a large, comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘You’re doing a grand job — don’t lose heart.’

The mother gave them a weary smile. ‘Thank you. It helps to hear it.’

As they drove away, Abbie turned to Leo and shook her head. ‘How does she cope?’

‘How does anyone cope? There but for fortune and all that.’

‘Why didn’t you take a blood sample to check for mononucleosis?’

He shot her a grin. ‘Because Maxie doesn’t like needles, and when Maxie doesn’t like something she says so — loudly! Anyway, there’s no point. Whatever she’s got, a few weeks of taking it easy will knock it on the head, and if it doesn’t we can deal with it then. Now, we’re going to see the rest of my patients, and on the way back to the surgery we’re going to pick up some lunch and eat it by the river.’

‘Um — do you need me with you?’

He glanced at her, his eyes twinkling wickedly. ‘Well, now — there’s need, and there’s need. What’s the problem?’

She gave a tiny snort of disbelief. ‘Apart from you? I have things I ought to be doing — I’ve got an antenatal clinic this afternoon and I wanted to go through the notes, and then there are prescriptions I should be signing and letters to write and ——’

‘I’ve done your prescriptions and I’m doing your antenatal clinic this afternoon, so you’ll have plenty of time to sit down with Peggy and do the letters. Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ she said, furiously embarrassed. ‘I need the loo.’

He chuckled. ‘Trust a woman. Why didn’t you go ——?’

‘Don’t! Don’t say it! Don’t say a word!’ she exploded. ‘How was I to know you planned a day-long expedition? Anyway, you didn’t give me time!’

‘It’s all that coffee you had for breakfast when you should have been on your way to work,’ he teased.

‘I didn’t have time,’ she repeated tightly.

‘You amaze me.’ He shot her a wink. ‘Can you hang on ten minutes? Our next call is in the hospice.’

She subsided huffily. ‘I should think so.’

‘I hope so — don’t want my upholstery ruined.’

She glared at him. ‘I think you’re a few years too late to worry about that!’

He tutted gently. ‘I don’t know — why are you so determined to insult my car? Anybody would think you didn’t like me.’

She glared at him again. ‘Anybody would be right,’ she muttered.

Without warning he swung the car off the road and screeched to a halt in a lay-by. Abbie was flung forward and grabbed the dashboard automatically, her heart pounding.

‘Sorry — the brakes snatch a bit.’

Slowly she released her death-grip on the dashboard and sagged back against the seat. ‘Do you always drive like that?’ she asked him weakly.

He chuckled softly under his breath. ‘Only when I’m trying to impress a woman.’

‘I’m impressed,’ she groaned. ‘Why have we stopped?’

‘Because you’re telling lies.’

She frowned at him in puzzlement. ‘Lies?’

‘You said you didn’t like me.’

She laughed shortly. ‘God, that’s some ego you’ve got.’

His smile was slow and lazy. ‘Abbie, Abbie — don’t beat around the bush. You like me — even though you might not want to. and you want me — even though you think it’s a lousy idea. I do, too, but ——’ His shrug was Gallic and very expressive.

She blushed. ‘Dream on,’ she muttered.

‘Oh, Abigail. You’re lovely — but then you know that, don’t you?’ His fingers sifted through her hair, fanning it out against her shoulders. ‘Beautiful — like sunlight trapped in autumn leaves. It feels wonderful …’ He let it fall from his fingers and sat back with a sigh. ‘What’s the matter, Abbie? Am I too direct for you? Should I pretend for the sake of convention? Perhaps for the first few days — a fortnight, maybe? Or wait even longer, until you’ll believe me if I say I love you, so your conscience is satisfied as well as your body?’

She drew herself away from him, so that the last strand of her hair fell from his fingers, as if breaking the contact would defuse the tension that zinged between them.

He was right, of course. She did like him, and want him, and she did, indeed, think it was a lousy idea. Furthermore, acting on her feelings was the very last thing she intended to do, and she told him so.

‘Why?’ he asked softly, and his fingers invaded her hair again, sifting the strands with sensuous slowness.

Her heartbeat grew heavier, so that she could feel the blood pulsing through her body, bringing it alive. She pulled away again.

‘Are you always so damned unsubtle?’

‘Unsubtle?’ He smiled. ‘I’m wounded. I thought I was being very understanding.’

She glowered at him. ‘I don’t know you!’

‘There’s time.’

‘A year. That’s all. I’m here for a year.’

He shrugged. ‘That’s OK. I can handle a long-term relationship.’

‘Long-term?’ she exclaimed. ‘I meant only a year!’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Damn it, Abbie, I’m not proposing. All I’m suggesting is that we spend some time together — a mutual scratching of itches.’

‘I don’t do that sort of thing,’ she replied tightly, ‘and certainly not with egotistical doctors!’

‘No? You should. You might enjoy it.’

‘I doubt it.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘What a waste. Oh, well, if you change your mind, I’m here. We’d better get to the hospice.’

For the rest of the short drive Abbie sat scrunched up at her side of the car, hardly daring to breathe in case he made some suggestive remark, and wondering all the time how he could possibly have qualified as a doctor when his morals were so clearly askew.

Then she saw him in action at the hospice, and all her preconceptions about him were eroded at a stroke.

They arrived at the modern, purpose-built hospice just as the sun broke through the clouds, and Abbie felt peace steal over her immediately. The buildings were low, constructed in mellow golden brick, and the whole atmosphere was one of tranquillity.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ he said softly. ‘There are other kinds of healing apart from the physical. It’s so easy to forget that, and most hospitals are soulless places, but I love coming here. Every visit refreshes me, even when, as so often, it signals the end. Even so, there’s a lightness about it.’

Abbie could feel the lightness seeping into her as they stepped into the airy, quiet reception area.

‘Ladies’ loo,’ he said with a nudge of his head towards a door. ‘I’ll have a chat to the staff for a minute.’

She escaped gratefully, and hurried back to find him deep in conversation with a diminutive little nurse in sister’s uniform.

‘You must be Dr Pearce,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Welcome to St Saviour. We’ll look forward to seeing you when Leo comes on his clinic days, shall we?’

She mumbled something non-committal, unaware that Leo even did clinic days at the hospice, and then they left the sister and went towards the little four-bedded ward.

‘We’re going to see Mary Tanner,’ Leo told her. ‘She’s forty-two, had a mastectomy three years ago and she’s got skeletal metastases. Recently she’s had some back pain so she’s had a course of radiotherapy to try and halt the pressure on the nerves, and she’s in for convalescence and drug review before going home again. Lots of emotional problems, obviously. They’ve got two girls just coming up for their teens.’

They went into the ward, and he was greeted with gentle warmth by the staff, and genuine respect and affection by the patient, Mary Tanner, and her husband Gerry.

He introduced Abbie to them, then perched on the bed and asked Mary how she was feeling now.

‘Oh, heaps better. My back feels nearly OK now already and the pain’s much better controlled. I feel almost human again,’ she said with a low laugh, and Leo smiled.

‘Good. Home soon, then?’

‘Oh, yes, I think so — if Gerry can cope.’

‘Of course I can cope,’ he told his wife, but his eyes were sad. Abbie looked away, feeling like an intruder, and Leo stood up to leave, dropping a kiss on Mary’s cheek.

‘I’ll pop in and see you again once you’re home. Come with us, Gerry, and we’ll have a chat to the staff about when she can leave.’

As they approached the reception area, Leo turned to Gerry. ‘How are you really coping?’

He shrugged. ‘I just feel so guilty. I’ve really enjoyed being able to slouch around and take the kids out for long walks without worrying about her, and I feel a real louse because she’s the one with the problems, really, and I feel I ought to be offering her more support, but I don’t know, I just can’t — not all the time. I feel better now, but — oh, I don’t know; it’s just such hard work trying to be cheerful …’

Leo squeezed his shoulder gently. ‘Don’t feel guilty, Gerry. I’m sure Mary understands, you know — and I think in a way it’s a relief for her to have some time away from you all when she doesn’t have to be brave and cheerful all the time, too.’

‘Really?’ He looked doubtful, but was clearly desperate for reassurance, and Leo gave it to him.

‘Yes, really. This situation’s very emotionally demanding on all of you and you need to recharge your batteries. Once you’ve done that, you’ll be more use to her, and her to you. Don’t feel guilty. She’ll be home to you soon, and you’ll be glad you’ve had a rest.’

Gerry smiled, more relaxed. ‘You’re right — as always.’

Leo tapped on the sister’s door, and they all trooped in and discussed Mary’s progress and decided she should go home at the end of the week unless she had any further set-backs.

As they parted at the door, Gerry turned to Leo and smiled wearily. ‘Thanks for dropping by.’

Leo shook his hand warmly. ‘My pleasure. See you soon. And don’t feel guilty. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.’

Gerry nodded and turned away, walking back to his wife and the crisis in their lives.

‘Do you know them well?’ Abbie asked, remembering the kiss he had given Mary as they left her bedside.

‘No — well, only since Mary’s mastectomy. I’ve spent a lot of time with both of them since. Why?’

She shrugged. ‘Just wondered. You kissed her.’

His mouth quirked. ‘Jealous, Abbie? The offer’s still open.’

So they were back to that, were they? ‘Of course I’m not jealous. It just seemed — odd, that’s all.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t find it odd to greet people with physical contact. I’m a toucher, Abbie …’

His hand was resting lightly on the small of her back as he spoke. She stepped away.

‘I’d noticed,’ she said shortly.

‘Whereas you — you’re a buttoned-up little virgin.’

‘I am not!’ she denied hotly, acutely uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the direction of the conversation, and he laughed, a low, smoky laugh that did incredible things to her system.

‘Well, then, all I can say is that whoever you’ve had affairs with didn’t even get close to the real you.’

Abbie made no attempt to correct him. What was the point? He was so absolutely right.

CHAPTER TWO

AS THE days passed, so Abbie’s disordered impressions of life in general practice settled down to a sort of pattern.

Peter Sargent, she realised, was the sort to skate through life with cheerful inefficiency, constantly chivvied by the secretarial staff who were quite unmoved by his ingenuous charm.

She discovered that Ravi Patel was single, thirty-four and after Leo, who did precious little to discourage her despite his protestations to the contrary.

As for Leo himself, he was thirty-two and a constant thorn in her side, rattling through his patients at twice the speed of light so that by the time she finally emerged exhausted but triumphant at the end of her surgeries he was long gone on his visits and she was unable to ask him the inevitable string of questions that the consultations had generated.

‘Well, you shouldn’t dawdle about for so long,’ he would tell her, and then would sit and rip through the seemingly knotty problems, so that she felt a complete fool for not having seen the answers herself.

Not that he ever tried to belittle her medical knowledge. He didn’t have to. Frankly, she was more than aware of the glaring lapses in her understanding of certain conditions.

As for the paperwork, it defeated her utterly, to the point that when the receptionist told her she should fill in her PC4 she asked where she could find it, much to everyone’s amusement.

Leo, not even trying to disguise his mirth, explained cheerfully that a PC4 was a course of four tablets taken as post-coital contraception — hence the name.

Peggy Taylor, the practice manager, took pity on her and told the others off, but it did little to dilute Abbie’s humiliation.

It wasn’t that she minded being teased — lord, she was used to that. She had two brothers who had taken it as their filial duty to torment the life out of her in her childhood, until, in her teens, she’d suddenly changed into the object of their friends’ lascivious attention. Then they’d closed ranks protectively, but even so they still teased her gently to this day.

So it wasn’t being teased that troubled her, rather the glaring gaps in her knowledge that the teasing had exposed.

Leo found her later sitting in her surgery surrounded by a heap of textbooks, and came and hitched a lean hip up on to the corner of her desk.

‘Boning up on methods of contraception, Abbie?’ he teased.

She ignored him huffily.

‘Tut-tut,’ he admonished. ‘Wallowing in self-pity?’

‘Oh, go to hell,’ she muttered, her voice clogged.

He stuck a finger under her chin and tipped her head up, studying her face intently. She turned away, embarrassed that he should see the traces of tears on her cheeks.

‘Leave me alone.’

He stood up, but instead of walking away he came round her desk, pulled her to her feet and wrapped his long arms round her.

At first she was stunned into immobility, but after a few seconds she gave in to the luxury of his undemanding embrace, dropping her head forward into the hollow of his shoulder and sighing shakily.

His hand came up and smoothed her hair.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I’m sure Jackie didn’t.’

‘It’s not that,’ she mumbled into his shirt. ‘I just feel so inadequate. I should have known what a PC4 was.’

‘Probably,’ he agreed, ‘but nobody’s perfect. Stop torturing yourself.’

She lifted her head and looked up into his eyes. ‘But what if it’s something important? Something life-threatening, and I don’t know about it? I could kill someone!’

‘Do you really think you’re that bad?’ he asked quietly. ‘Do you really think you would have got so far in medicine if you were a danger to your patients?’

She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Perhaps I just scraped through — perhaps it was all a fluke. Maybe I just got the examiners on a good day. Who knows?’

Leo sighed. ‘You really don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?’

Numbly, she shook her head. ‘There’s so much to know, and I always feel I’m fumbling in the dark. It terrifies me, Leo, knowing I’m responsible for whether somebody lives or dies.’

He chuckled. ‘In general practice? In the average week the most drastic thing you’re likely to come across is a nasty case of piles.’

She giggled despite herself. ‘You know what I mean. What if I miss something? What if someone dies because of my ignorance?’

‘You can always ask,’ he assured her. ‘Peter or Ravi or me — any of us. Don’t feel you have to cope alone.’

‘What about when you’ve all gone and I’m still here trying to get to grips with this stupid machine?’ She flicked a contemptuous glance at the computer, and Leo laughed.

‘Does it still hate you?’

‘Does it ever,’ she grumbled.

‘You need a break — have supper with me tonight.’

She realised she was still standing in his arms, although she wasn’t crushed up against him any more, but she might just as well have been because she could feel the warmth of his body, could remember the feel of it, long and hard and lean, all sleek, solid muscle and sinew, terrifyingly, overwhelming male.

She stepped back a little further. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ she said as firmly as she could manage.

‘Why?’

‘I — I just don’t …’ she floundered.

His grin was wicked. ‘Not good enough. Come on, you’ve finished here for the night.’

He flicked off her terminal, stacked her books back on to the shelf and held out his hand. ‘Come.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’ she said defensively.

He sighed. ‘You’re lying again, Abbie,’ he teased in a soft, sing-song voice.

Her mouth firmed in defiance. ‘I have to study.’

‘Cobblers,’ he said rudely. ‘Come on. We’ll pick up a take-away.’

Her stomach rumbled loudly at the thought, and he chuckled. ‘Co-operation at last!’

‘Only from my involuntary muscles —— ’

‘That’ll do for a start. I realise that aggravating mouth of yours will take a little longer to tame. Come on — and say, Yes, Leo.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, Leo.’

‘Better. Now come on.’

She assumed they’d have fish and chips, or a Chinese at the outside, but the little town surprised her. Tucked away in a narrow alley off the main street was a tiny but immaculate kebab house owned and run by a Greek Cypriot who, Leo said, had come over from Cyprus at the time of the Turkish invasion in the early seventies and stayed ever since.

The shop, predictably, was called Spiro’s, and Spiro himself was almost circular, balding and grumbled constantly about the price of lamb and the rubbish at the market.

Leo, commiserating, bought shish kebabs in pitta pockets groaning with salad, and they ate them in the car looking out over a field because they were both too hungry to wait any longer. Despite Spiro’s complaints the quality was superb, and Abbie ate every last bit and even pinched a bit of Leo’s second one.

Then he drove her back to his house, a cottage on a quiet lane about two miles from the town centre, and the evening sun gleamed on the windows and on the glowing banks of perennials that flanked the path, the magenta of the crane’s bill, the green and white of the lady’s-mantle, the tall spires of the hollyhocks nodding at the back behind the white and yellow daisies.

‘Oh, how pretty!’ Abbie said, enchanted, and Leo let them in, retrieved a bottle of wine and two glasses and took her for a stroll round the garden.

The evening was much cooler than the day had been, and she was able to enjoy the mellow air and the sweetly scented roses that graced the soft pink walls.

‘How do you manage it all?’ she asked, incredulous, after he had finished his guided tour.

He laughed softly. ‘Me? I wouldn’t know a dandelion from a primula! I have a gardener who comes in twice a week and cuts the grass and keeps the beds in order.’

‘He does a wonderful job,’ she said admiringly, glancing round again at the riot of colour that filled every corner.

‘She. Yes, she’s excellent, I have to say. When I moved here the garden was a mess, but she’s worked wonders.’

‘She?’ Abbie said with a teasing grin. ‘I might have known.’

‘Of course. She’s tall, blonde and very, very lovely.’ He grinned back. ‘She’s also in her late forties and a grandmother. I swear she’s stronger than I am, and she’s definitely no competition to you, Abigail, my love, so you needn’t get all jealous.’

She looked away hastily. ‘I’m not your love, Leo, and I don’t intend to be. And I’m certainly not jealous!’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I really ought to get on. I’ve got studying I should be doing, and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do ——’

He laughed softly. ‘Running, Abbie?’

‘Not at all,’ she blustered, but she was, and they both knew it.

He took pity on her, though, and drove her back to the surgery so that she could collect her car.

As she unlocked the door, she became suddenly, startlingly aware of his body close behind her. His hand, warm and hard, closed over her shoulder and turned her gently towards him.

‘Leo?’ she said breathlessly, and then her protest, such as it was, was cut off by his lips as they covered hers in a feather-light caress.

‘Goodnight, Abigail,’ he murmured softly, and then he turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

Shaken, she unlocked her door and slid behind the wheel, her limbs trembling. He was waiting for her to start the car and drive away, she thought dimly, so mechanically she turned the key, backed out and drove off.

After a moment she realised he was flashing his lights furiously at her, and she pulled over.

He leapt out of his car and ran towards her. She wound down the window just far enough to talk to him but not so far that he could kiss her again—just in case.

‘What do you want?’ she asked nervously.

‘Me? That’s an interesting thought.’

‘Leo ——’

‘You didn’t have your lights on.’

She blinked. ‘Oh — right. Thanks.’

His grin was infuriating. ‘My pleasure. I didn’t realise one little kiss would throw you so badly.’

‘It’s nothing to do with your kiss!’ she protested, and the grin widened.

‘You’re telling porkie-pies again, Abbie, darling,’ he murmured, and, slipping his hand through the partly-open window, he brushed her cheek with his knuckles.

It sent a shiver through her, as did his softly voiced, ‘Sleep well, princess. Dream of me.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Leo, go away,’ she said unsteadily, but he was gone, leaving her in a tangle of wild and unfamiliar emotions, not least of which was a most unsettling feeling that she would, indeed, be dreaming of him — with or without his permission!

She didn’t dream of him, in the end — largely because she didn’t sleep until almost dawn, because every time she closed her eyes she felt the brush of lips on hers and her whole body screamed to life.

Unable to bear it, incapable of sweeping aside such unfamiliar and overwhelming sensations, she paced her little flat over a shoe-shop in the centre of town and wondered how she was going to get through the next year.

By ignoring him whenever possible, was the conclusion she eventually came to, and after a drink of hot milk and another severe lecture to herself she finally crawled exhausted into bed shortly before dawn to fall instantly and deeply asleep until the traffic woke her at almost eight-thirty.

Predictably, she was late, and, equally predictably, her surgery was less than straightforward. To add insult to injury, she found that when under pressure the computer was even less co-operative, and she finally, in desperation, asked Peggy if she could come in and sit with her and show her what she was doing wrong.

‘No,’ Peggy told her, ‘I don’t think the patients would like it, but Leo’s here. I’ll send him in; it’ll get him off my back while I type these letters.’

Seconds later there was a tap on the door and Leo appeared clutching two cups of coffee and the computer manual.

‘Problems?’

‘It hates me!’ she wailed despairingly.

He chuckled. ‘Nonsense. It’s an inanimate object. It’s incapable of hate.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ she snorted. ‘Tell it to the fairies.’ She glanced at him, took in the cool cotton trousers and the turned-back cuffs of his shirt, exposing strong, hair-strewn wrists, and turned quickly away. After that kiss the night before, the very last thing she needed was him beside her looking sexy as all get-out. She forced herself to concentrate. ‘Look, how do I recall previous prescriptions and history?’ she asked, her voice a little strained to her ears.

Leo, apparently oblivious to her discomfort, leant over her, his body brushing hers, casually tapping buttons, and the information on her next patient appeared as if by magic. She blinked. The vital manoeuvres were still lost to her, drowned out by the clamouring of her hormones.

‘How did you do that?’ she asked faintly.

He grinned. ‘Easy — you should have watched.’

‘I did,’ she lied. ‘It takes me ages to get it to do that, and I’m sure I go through a far longer process —— Right, show me again.’

He shook his head. ‘Finish your surgery and I’ll go over it with you afterwards. I’ll just sit here and help you get through the rest of your patients for now.’

One or two of the patients looked askance at Leo, but he smilingly explained that they were having problems with the computer and he was fighting with it to try and save the patients’ waiting time.

‘Just ignore me,’ he said, but Abbie found it intensely off-putting and difficult.

Until, that was, she had a patient with a seemingly innocent mole just below her collarbone. She examined it, asked all the appropriate questions and was on the point of telling the patient to go home and stop worrying when Leo’s toe connected none too gently with her ankle.

She glanced at him, but he was staring fixedly at the computer screen. She followed the direction of his eyes, and saw ‘Excision and histology’ on the screen.

She cleared her throat, smiled at the patient and shot up some thanks for Leo’s presence at her elbow. ‘Right,’ she told the patient, ‘what we need to do is remove it, just as a precaution, and then send it to the lab to have it checked, just to be on the safe side. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but removing it is such a minor procedure it seems silly not to do so. Now, the only thing is I’m not an expert in minor surgery, but I believe Dr Chandler here could remove it for you, couldn’t you, Dr Chandler?’

He turned a charming smile on the young woman. ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and he told her to book in with the receptionist for surgery the following day. ‘Dr Pearce will, of course, assist me and continue with your follow-up,’ he added, and the woman smiled gratefully at both of them and left.

Abbie turned to Leo. ‘Is it really necessary to remove it?’ she asked, her confidence shaken yet again.

He shrugged. ‘Probably not, but it’s the sort of blemish that could easily turn into melanoma, if not now then in the future, and it’s so dead easy to take them off and check. We have a set procedure, by the way, for follow-up of any mole or skin lesion removed in the surgery. All material excised is sent for histology, always, without exception, and the patient is always recalled automatically when the result comes back because if they’ve gone to the lengths of consulting their doctor they’re going to worry till they know the answer one way or the other. The only time we don’t do it ourselves is if we’re sure it’s gone too far for simple excision or in the case of a difficult site.’

‘Difficult as in cosmetically difficult?’

‘Or in one of the areas where nerves are likely to be implicated, like the anterior triangle of the neck, or eyelids, or over the flexor tendons of the fingers, for instance. Cheeks can be difficult, too, both cosmetically and because of the nerves and glands over the jaws. We do what we can, but it’s important to know your limitations. We aren’t plastic surgeons, and some procedures require other skills.’

‘What about this lady?’ Abbie asked doubtfully. ‘Won’t she have some scarring?’

He grinned wryly. ‘No faith, have you? I’m not a complete butcher, Abbie. She might have a tiny scar, but I won’t disfigure her for life, my love. Right, who’s next?’

Abbie, completely fazed by his endearment, floundered on with her surgery until all her patients had been dealt with and the computer had gobbled up Leo’s instructions, obediently spewed out various prescriptions and gone quietly back to sleep.

She glared at it. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she grumbled crossly. ‘Horrid thing.’

Leo grinned. ‘Think of the writer’s cramp it’s saved you.’

She snorted. ‘Yes, I’ve got cramp of the brain instead!’

‘All comes of being a simple-minded woman ——’

‘It’s nothing to do with ——’ she began, rising instantly to the bait, but then, seeing his dancing eyes, she subsided immediately. ‘Thank you so much for your help,’ she said instead, batting her lashes at him.

He laughed. ‘Come on, time for visits. Mary Tanner has gone home and I have to pop in and see her. Want to come?’

‘Sure. How’s her husband coping?’ she asked as she packed up her things.

‘I don’t know. That’s one of the things I want to find out.’

She followed him out, returning the patient envelopes to the office as she went.

Predictably, Peggy was waiting with a question. ‘Did you mean to send this urine off on a haematology form?’

‘Oh, hell,’ she muttered.

Behind her Leo tutted and gave a resigned sigh while she quickly filled in the correct form and gave it to the patient practice manager.

‘Sorry, Peggy,’ she said with an apologetic smile, and was greeted with an encouraging pat on the hand.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll come with time.’

‘I wish,’ she muttered under her breath, and then Leo was wheeling her out of the door and towards the car.

‘Now, do you need the loo before we go?’ he asked with heavy tolerance, and she glared at him.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Sure?’

‘Perfectly!’

‘Don’t get grotty with me ——’

‘I’m not getting grotty!’ she said, her voice rising steadily.

He tutted again. ‘You’ll be stamping your foot in a second.’ He hopped over the door and slid behind the wheel, watching with interest as Abbie struggled into the low bucket seat, her skirt riding up as she did so.

She shot him a furious glare. ‘Don’t leer,’ she told him crossly. ‘And anyway, where’s your Volvo? Isn’t it time you got it back?’

‘All in good time — anyway, I get a better view of your legs in Topsy.’

She glowered at him, and he chuckled. ‘God, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry, do you know that?’

She looked hastily away. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To see Mary Tanner, then an elderly lady with congestive heart failure who’s struggling for breath. I’ve put her on Bambuterol but I want to see if it’s doing the trick.’

‘I haven’t heard of it,’ Abbie said, and then could have kicked herself.

‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he murmured. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t have expected you to, because it’s pretty new. It’s a bronchodilator like Ventolin, but oral, to give her more prophylactic cover over twenty-four hours. She’s been waking up breathless and in those circumstances an inhaler is a bit like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. Anyway, we’ll see if it’s working. Right, here we go.’

The engine purred smoothly to life, and Leo swung the car out on to the road and headed for the Tanners’ house while Abbie tried to appear nonchalant, hold her hair down and keep her knees out of reach all at once.

She failed — at least with the knees. As the car swerved round a corner, so she slid over the leather upholstery and fetched up against the gear lever just as Leo reached for it.

With a gasp she swivelled out of reach but not before the touch of his warm fingers had sent shivers down her spine. He threw her a teasing grin.

‘If you want me to touch you, Abbie, you only have to ask,’ he said softly, and his voice, deep and gravelly, turned her bones to jelly and her resolve to mush.

‘You should be so lucky,’ she mumbled, and let go of her hair to get a firmer grip on the seat. ‘Of course, if you weren’t going round the corners like a bat out of hell I wouldn’t slide around so much.’

‘Your bottom’s too small. If you had a few curves, you’d fit the seat better,’ he replied with a grin.

‘I have curves,’ she told him primly.

His eyes slid over her body and back to the road. ‘I’d noticed — but only on the front.’

Abbie’s top-heaviness had been the bane of her adolescence. All gangly legs and boyishly slim hips, the last thing she had expected or wanted was the lush fullness of her breasts, which had appeared as if by magic when she was thirteen and kept growing out of all proportion to her otherwise streamlined frame. Her brothers had ragged her to death about it, and so she had acquired a complex about a mile wide. As she grew older she had learned to deal with the leers of her male colleagues, and by wearing loose blouses and jackets she had managed to minimise the problem.

Not, apparently, enough to fool Leo. She felt the blush coming and turned away so that he wouldn’t see, but they were at the end of their journey and he pulled up outside the Tanners’ house and turned to her.

‘Coming in?’

‘Only if you’ll stop this endless sexual harassment,’ she told him grimly.

He stopped in the act of climbing out of the car and turned back to her, her face serious for once. ‘Abbie, I’m only teasing.’

‘Are you?’ She made herself look at him. ‘What about all this rubbish about an affair? Is that teasing, too?’

He met her eyes for a long time, the gold flecks gleaming in their blue surround, making his eyes almost green — like a lion, she thought, predatory but content to watch — for now. She licked her lips. ‘Well?’ she prompted.

‘No, that isn’t teasing. I’m more than ready for anything you want to offer. Just say the word. For the rest ——’ He shrugged. ‘You take youself too seriously.’

‘Damn it, Leo, someone has to! I’m sick of being treated like a bimbo just because I’ve got ——’ She floundered to a halt.

‘A chest like a page-three model?’

She flushed furiously and turned away. ‘Exactly. Female exploitation.’

He chuckled. ‘Oh, come on, Abbie — I’ve seen you looking at me. If you’d only admit it was mutual we’d maybe stand a chance.’

‘No way.’

He sighed and finished climbing out of the car. ‘Coming?’

She opened the door, grabbed her skirt and yanked it down as she squirmed out of the seat. As she straightened, she met his eyes and the blue and gold burned bright like a hot flame. The sun glinted on his tawny hair, and he stood quite still, watching her. She felt frozen by his eyes, pinned to the spot, unable to move or look away. He reminded her of a big cat, a lion, relaxed but ready to spring — on her.

She had the distinct feeling that with this particular lion, though, her time was running out. He wasn’t going to be content to watch for much longer — and she felt about as defenceless as a new-born lamb.

CHAPTER THREE

GERRY TANNER greeted them at the door, and Abbie thought his face seemed less drawn than the first time she had seen him.

‘Hi,’ he said with a smile. ‘Come in. Mary’s in the garden at the moment, sunning herself. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Something cold?’ Leo asked hopefully, and Mr Tanner nodded.

‘I made some fresh lemonade this morning for Mary — will that do?’

Abbie couldn’t think of anything more wonderful. It was another scorcher, with the August sun beating relentlessly down on them, and she was desperate for some cool retreat. She found it, moments later, when they left Gerry Tanner getting the drinks and Leo led her through the house and out of the patio doors at the back into the garden.

It was a lovely little oasis, cool and leafy, and they found Mary under a tree on a swinging hammock, fast asleep.

Leo touched her gently on the hand, and her eyes flew open.

She propped herself up on one elbow and smiled self-consciously. ‘Sorry — I must have dropped off.’

Leo returned the smile. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m not surprised you were asleep, it’s so peaceful here.’ He picked up the book that had fallen on to the lawn, and glanced at the cover. ‘It must be riveting,’ he said drily.

Mary laughed. ‘Actually, it is, but I’m finding it difficult to concentrate with the pain-killers.’

She was on a sustained release oral diamorphine, with Maxalon to alleviate the sickness she was suffering as a result, but at least she was kept relatively pain-free. Leo settled himself on a nearby garden chair and eyed his patient thoughtfully.

‘So, how do you feel?’

‘Physically?’

‘That’ll do for a start.’

Mary shrugged. ‘Oh, the pain’s better and I’m not feeling nearly so sick, but I still feel so weak — frustrated, really, sums it up. I just can’t seem to do anything, and I’ve never sat still in my life. The garden’s getting full of weeds, and there are some shrubs I meant to put in over there but I just haven’t got round to it.’

‘I don’t think you ought to flagellate yourself with guilt, Mary,’ Leo told her, his face grave. ‘There are more important things in life than whether a few pounds’ worth of shrubs get put in.’

Mary sighed raggedly. ‘Oh, it’s not just that. I wouldn’t see them flower anyway, so I can’t get excited about it, but I meant to decorate the girls’ rooms last summer, and I just didn’t get round to it. I don’t know — you always think you can do it tomorrow, and now it’s too late because there won’t be any tomorrows, and there just seems to be so much I’ve left undone. I thought I’d have more time …’

Abbie wanted to weep for her, for her frustration and anger, for her guilt, for all she left unsaid, but above all for the untimely end that drew ever nearer.

Leo, too, was clearly touched by her sorrow. He asked, very quietly, ‘How are you getting on with Gerry and the girls?’

‘Oh, not brilliantly, you know — he still doesn’t seem to want to accept the fact that I’m dying, and the girls just avoid the subject all the time. I just wish someone would acknowledge it so I could talk to them about their future!’

Leo shook his head. ‘Perhaps they just don’t know how to talk to you about it.’

She shrugged again. ‘I just feel — I don’t know — cut off, I suppose. As if it isn’t happening to me, and no one will give me the chance to talk about it, to say the things I need to say.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh — well, that I’m sorry for the things I’ve done that have annoyed them over the years, that I’ve forgiven them for things they’ve done — that I love them. I don’t know. I want to give Gerry a foolproof list of instructions for bringing up the girls, and I want to answer all their questions before they even occur to them to ask, and I want to be sure that they’re equipped for the world. It’s such a ghastly place, and I don’t know how they’ll cope … Basically I think I just want to leave everything in order before I say goodbye, but I don’t know how to start.’

Leo leaned across and squeezed her hand. ‘Everyone’s different, but we all have our own way of coping. Some of us are just better at it than others, and at the moment Gerry’s way of coping is denial. Don’t worry, I’ll try and talk to him and see if I can help him come to terms with it so you can talk to each other and say all the things that need to be said.’

She sighed shakily. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it — not when the crunch comes.’

‘You will,’ Leo assured her softly. ‘When the time comes, you’ll find the way — and if you still can’t there are plenty of people available who can help you to start talking to each other about it.’

Mary gazed wistfully across the garden for a while, then turned back to them with a sigh. ‘I think Gerry’s angry with me for leaving him.’

‘I expect he is. He doesn’t want to be a widower in his forties with the responsibility for bringing up two young girls.’

Mary gave a lop-sided grin. ‘I’m not exactly ecstatic about it myself!’

Leo’s mouth softened in a gentle smile of understanding. ‘No — no, I imagine you aren’t, but for you at least dying will be the end of the road. For them, in many ways, it’s just the beginning, and that’s bound to be frightening. Fear often makes us angry.’

Abbie watched as Mary’s face became pensive. ‘I don’t know how they’ll cope.’

‘We’ll be here for them — they can talk to the staff at the hospice, and all the staff at our practice are at their disposal. They know that. All of us are able to help with practical as well as emotional issues, and the social services are very good. What about your solicitor?’

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