Second Thoughts
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

‘WOULDN’T it be nice to be pampered…’

‘Pampered?’ Andrew flipped the file shut, put the cap on his fountain pen and sat back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head and stretching his long body. ‘I suppose it would.’ He chuckled. ‘I haven’t really thought about it. Too busy.’

Jennifer gave a rueful little laugh. ‘Mmm – and we’re only halfway through. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Life-saver,’ he said with a grin. ‘I missed my lunch. Are you having one?’

She chuckled. On the sly. If the patients and their parents see me sitting down with a cup in my hand while they wait for another ten minutes I’ll be lynched!’

‘Messy — bring it in here and we’ll tell them we’re having a case conference — on second thoughts, bring in the cup and the next patient. It would be nice to get home tonight.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ she said with a laugh. ‘What is it they call Friday? Poet’s Day?’

‘Push off early, tomorrow’s Saturday.’ He snorted. ‘Fat chance.’

Jennifer picked up the stack of files and went out into the crowded waiting-room to be greeted by a chorus of dissent from the ranks.

‘Sister, are we going to be waiting much longer? We’ve got people for the weekend and we have to meet them off the train,’ one woman asked anxiously.

‘Yeah, if we sit here much longer we’ll be needing geriatrics, not paediatrics,’ a man put in.

She smiled assurance at the bored children and disgruntled parents. ‘I’m sorry we’ve had to keep you so long; Dr Barrett had to deal with an emergency earlier and it’s put him back. He’ll be with you all as soon as he can.’ She gave the secretary the pile of notes and picked up the next few, then went into the kitchen and found one of the domestic staff. ‘Beattie, do me a favour, could you? Dr Barrett would love a cup of tea in his office, and I could do with one, but for heaven’s sake don’t take it out of here!’

‘After you, are they?’

Jennifer laughed and tucked an escaping strand of red-brown hair back under her frilly cap. ‘Aren’t they always? There’s a joker out there, too. “We’ll be needing geriatrics soon”,’ she mimicked wickedly. ‘Just leave my tea on the side, I’ll come and grab it when I can.’

She went back into Andrew’s office and handed him the stack of files. ‘Here you go. William Griffin first.’

‘Ah, right, our little man who’s failing to thrive. Let’s see what the results turned up.’

They opened the file and pored over the notes. ‘Stool, urine and blood cultures all sterile, no blood in the stools, blood chemistry and liver function all normal, and thyroid, and sweat sodium. That rules out thyroid problems or cystic fibrosis, or any nasty liver problems. The serology all looks good — no sign of infection. Did we get a chest X-ray back? And there should have been a barium meal and follow-through.’

‘Yes, here we are, here’s the radiologist’s report.’ Jennifer pulled it out and handed it to him just as Beattie brought in the tea.

‘Wonderful, thank you.’ He flashed her a grateful smile and slipped it while he frowned at the report. ‘Do you know what I think?’ he said after a moment. ‘I reckon he’s got an intussusception.’

‘Really? What about the stools? No sign of occult blood, or abdominal pain or vomiting. I know he had diarrhoea, but what about the cough? And the weight loss?’

‘That could be due to the anorexia — if he’s off his food, he will lose weight. Anyway, the pain and vomiting and bloody stools are typical of acute, not chronic intussuseption. I think we’ll have another look, perhaps under sedation. Is there a surgeon we can call down?’

‘Yes, I think it’s Ross Hamilton today. Shall I get him paged?’

‘Not for a bit. I’d like an ultrasound of that bowel, and I’d like to examine him to see if I can feel anything this time. Could you call him for me?’

‘Sure.’ She popped her head round the door. ‘William Griffin, please?’

His mother carried him in, a little boy of two and a half who looked at least fourth months younger.

‘Sorry, he’s dozed off,’ the mother explained.

Andrew smiled apologetically at her. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting; we had a prem baby at lunchtime that needed my attention. Let him sleep for a minute while you tell me how he’s been getting on.’

‘Oh, I can see him going downhill in front of my eyes — he’s very reluctant to eat, and he’s been sick a couple of times now. I’m so worried…’

Andrew laid his large hand over hers and squeezed gently. ‘Don’t fret. We’ve managed to rule out a lot of very nasty things. There are a couple of other possibilities that I want to eliminate with a few more tests. Has he had any abdominal pain?’

‘Once or twice he’s complained about tummy-ache, and then a while later he’s had diarrhoea.’

Andrew nodded and made a couple of notes. ‘I’d like to feel his tummy, but I don’t want to wake him if I can avoid it. The more relaxed he is, the more I can feel. Do you think you could lay him down in your arms so I can try?’

She shifted carefully, and William made a tiny noise and remained asleep.

‘He’s out for the count, isn’t he?’ Andrew chuckled softly. ‘OK, let’s see what we can feel.’

He eased up the little T-shirt, slipped the shorts down a fraction and very gently and carefully made a minute inspection of the whole abdomen. After a moment he returned to the upper right quadrant, and then pulled the T-shirt back down and looked up at the mother.

‘Right, I’d like him to have an ultrasound scan of his tummy. Did you have one when you were pregnant?’

She nodded.

‘So you know it doesn’t hurt at all — in fact, he’s so drowsy he might not even know he’d had it done. Sister will give you directions to that department, and then when we’ve got the result I’ll see you again. All right?’ Handing her the completed request form, he smiled reassuringly. ‘Give this to the receptionist in the ultrasound department.’

Mrs Griffin stood up carefully, cradling William against her chest, and Jennifer showed her out, directed her to Ultrasound and went back in.

‘You found something.’

‘Mmm. A soft mass, nothing specific. Could well be a small section of ileum intruding into the colon. Then again, it might not.’

‘So what else could it be? A tumour?’

‘Could be. Let’s hope not. We won’t know, I don’t suppose, until we open him up. As soon as he comes back I’d like Ross Hamilton down here, I think.’

She nodded. ‘Will do. Who’s next?’

He glanced at the file. ‘The Robinson triplets.’

‘You won’t recognise them. They’re huge!’

He grinned. ‘Good! We could do with a happy ending.’

She called Mr and Mrs Robinson and their three delightful little baby girls, who had been born prematurely at thirty weeks. Now almost five months, they were definitely thriving!

‘Oh, let me help you,’ Jennifer said with a smile, and took one of the babies from the mother. ‘Now, who’s this?’

The mother peered at her. ‘Megan.’

‘Right, come on, Megan, let’s go and see that nice Dr Barrett.’ The baby beamed at her, and made a grab for her pens in the top pocket. ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ she laughed. ‘Come on, madam.’

She led the little group through into Andrew’s consulting-room and watched while he greeted the whole family with his warm enthusiasm. The babies had been in his care since birth, and for a long time their grip on life had seemed fragile to say the least. Then, one by one, they grew stronger, but the smallest, Megan, had still been troubled by a slight chestiness for some time, and Andrew had felt it advisable to monitor them for three months after their discharge. Now, his delight reflected the depth of his concern in their early days.

‘Oh, well, I don’t have to lay a finger on them to tell they’re doing magnificently!’ he said, but nevertheless he inspected each one with great care, and asked endless questions about their developmental progress, feeding problems and so on. Megan’s chest appeared to have resolved itself, and Andrew declared himself well satisfied. ‘I should say they’re only about three weeks behind now, which is excellent! Give them a bit longer and you would never have known. Well, I think we can safely discharge you young ladies from our care now,’ he said to the babies, and they all gurgled on cue.

‘Heartbreakers, all of them,’ he said with a laugh, and, after answering the parents’ last few questions, he showed them out with almost visible reluctance.

‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d grown attached to those little girls,’ Jennifer teased.

‘Me — would I?’ he said innocently. ‘Right, who’s next?

The clinic proceeded without any hitches, and shortly before they finished little William Griffin and his mother returned to the department.

They called Ross Hamilton down, and he arrived just as they dealt with the last patient.

They called Mrs Griffin in after Andrew had filled Ross in on the results to date and examined the ultrasound image. There was an indistinct but abnormal mass shown on the picture, and after examining William Ross agreed with Andrew that it was most likely an intussusception.

They explained the implications to Mrs Griffin, and told her that he would need surgery as soon as was reasonable. Ross glanced at his watch. ‘Well, it’s getting on to do anything today. Can we admit him now and go for tomorrow morning? I’d rather have lab staff around.’

Andrew nodded, understanding his unspoken thoughts. If it proved to be a tumour rather than the loop of bowel tucked inside itself that they thought it was, then they would need biopsies and frozen sections and tissue analysis to determine further treatment. It was important to have the full backup of all necessary staff, and they were more likely to be available during the day. Also, while a minor delay would make no difference at all to William, it would give the parents time to prepare him — and themselves — for the operation and his stay in hospital.

‘Right, Mrs Griffin, can you take him home, give him a light supper and bring him back by seven this evening, and we’ll sort him out tomorrow morning. Is that OK?’

She nodded, and Ross went back to his ward, leaving Mrs Griffin looking worried. ‘Will I be able to stay with him?’

‘Oh, yes — he’s far too young to leave. He’ll need you around, if you can possibly manage it.’

‘How long will he be in?’

‘A few days — a week at the most. Is that a problem?’

She shook her head, and after a few more questions Jennifer gave her a leaflet about the paediatric unit and what she would need to bring, and showed her out. When she went back into Andrew’s office, he was just closing the file.

‘And another week bites the dust,’ he said with weary good humour.

She returned his smile. Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.’

The clinic secretary tapped on the door and came in. ‘Can I have the files, Dr Barrett?’

‘Sure. Here we are, the last few. I’m admitting William Griffin, so his file needs to go up to the ward.’

‘I’ll pop it in on my way out. Have a good weekend.’

‘Thanks, Janet. You too.’

‘Uh-huh. Bye, Sister. See you on Monday.’

‘No doubt,’ Jennifer said with a little sigh as the door closed behind the secretary. A tiny yawn escaped her, and she laughingly apologised.

‘Tired?’

She nodded. ‘Aren’t I always? Friday’s a killer, isn’t it? The clinic always seems endless.’

‘Never mind, you’ve got the weekend to look forward to.’

‘Mmm.’

‘You don’t sound very convinced.’

She picked up the blanket on the examination couch and refolded it, hugging it against her chest. ‘Oh, I just wish it could be different for once. To have someone say, “Come on, drop everything, I’m going to take you away from it all” — wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

‘Is it really so grim?’

She sighed and put the blanket down. ‘No. Now I’m sounding like a spoilt brat, and I don’t mean to. It’s just that I know that in company with X million other working women I’ll have to clean the flat and do the washing and wrestle with Tim’s homework and repair his uniform, and it would be nice if, just now and again, it could be different…’

Andrew frowned at her. ‘When did you last get away?’

She blinked. ‘Me? Heavens, I don’t remember. Tim went to his father in July for a week, and I had that fortnight off to be with him in August, but I haven’t been away for years.’ She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘I don’t think I’d know how to relax now if I had the chance.’

Andrew stood up slowly and took his jacket off the back of the chair, shrugging into it thoughtfully.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’

She looked up at him, all six foot three of warm brown eyes and gentle smile, and wondered if he’d gone suddenly deaf.

‘Cleaning the flat, doing the washing ——’

‘What else? Anything you can’t just drop?’

She tipped her head on one side and her brows twitched together in a little frown. ‘No — not that I can think of. Why?’

He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘How do you fancy being pampered?’

She felt her jaw drop slightly. ‘What?’

‘I wondered if you’d like to come out to the cottage for the weekend.’

It was totally unexpected, and Jennifer floundered. Oh, sure, they’d had the odd drink together after work, but the weekend? ‘Um — I don’t think — I mean, Tim ——’

Andrew flushed slightly. ‘I don’t want you to misconstrue my invitation. I just thought you and Tim might benefit from a weekend in the country, but if you’d rather not please say so. I don’t want to embarrass you.’

She looked away, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course he wasn’t suggesting a weekend of unbridled sex. Heavens, the very idea! If there was one thing Andrew Barrett wasn’t, it was a ladies’ man. He was also painfully honest, with himself and everybody else. If he had meant to seduce her, he would have made it perfectly clear. As it was, he had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t. And anyway, they would have Tim as a chaperon. Not quite sure if the flicker of something she felt was disappointment or relief, she looked back at him.

He was packing up the things on his desk, tidying everything neatly away.

‘Andrew?’

He glanced up.

‘I — that would be lovely, but I really do have to the washing ——’

‘Bring it with you. What time would you like me to pick you up?’

She blinked. ‘Bring it?’

‘Bring it. What time? Seven?

She shook her head dazedly. ‘Seven?’ She glanced at her watch. Quarter to six. She would just have time to collect Tim and pack a bag. ‘Yes, that would be fine — thanks. Are you sure — ?’

‘Quite sure.’ His smile was warmly reassuring and she relaxed.

‘We’ll be ready.’

The four-wheel-drive off-roader suited him, Jennifer decided. Big, rugged and capable, devoid of frills but immensely practical.

He loaded their few things and the bag of washing into the back, buckled Tim in safely and held the door for her with quiet courtesy while she climbed up into the front passenger seat. It was quite a step and she was glad she had opted for jeans and not a skirt, although she was sure Andrew wouldn’t even have noticed. She had let her hair down and brushed it out, but the layers looked a little ragged unless she finger-dried it upside down, and there hadn’t been time between collecting Tim from the childminder and Andrew arriving to pick them up. She found time, though, for a quick swipe of lipstick, more for her self-respect than any attempt at glamour. After all, it wasn’t going to be that sort of weekend.

One thing was certain, they were going to eat, if the carrier bags in the back were any indication. He had obviously been shopping since she last saw him, and she had a twinge of guilt that they were causing him a lot of bother — it went with the twinge about ducking out of the housework, and she chewed her lip.

He must have read her mind, because he threw her a teasing grin. ‘Just lie back and relax,’ he instructed firmly. ‘No fretting about the housework. It’ll still be there when you go back.’

She laughed without humour. ‘Isn’t it always?’

‘Without fail — like the weeds. They grow regardless of whether I’ve got time to pull them up.’ He turned and winked at Tim over his shoulder. ‘OK back there?’

Tim nodded.

‘Good. Do you like cats?’

‘Oh, yes — I think so.’

‘Pets aren’t allowed in our flats, so he doesn’t get to see all that many animals,’ Jennifer explained.

‘No? What a shame. I’ve got two cats — I used to have just one but a week ago this other cat turned up and just adopted us. Bit of a problem, really; it seems she’s going to have kittens, and I don’t know if Blu-Tack is going to like it.’

‘Blu-Tack?’

‘Mmm. The other cat. He’s a Russian Blue — beautiful pedigree cat, but he’s only got three legs. He lost the other one in an accident and the owners didn’t want him any more. He’s lived with me for two years, two bachelors together, and now we’ve been invaded.’ He laughed briefly. ‘It’s a little odd.’

She felt suddenly uncomfortable, unsure if he was referring to them or just the pregnant cat. Well, too bad, she thought. He had invited them, and Tim was so excited by the thought of going away for the weekend with her that there was no way she was going to spoil it by being petty. She would just have to make sure they didn’t get in Andrew’s way.

It was nearly half-past seven by the time they arrived, and the last rays of the September sun were gilding the cottage, sparkling on the latticed windows and setting fire to the riot of flowers that flanked the soft pink walls.

‘Oh, Andrew, it’s lovely!’ she exclaimed, enchanted.

He gave a dry chuckle. ‘You’re definitely seeing at its best. In the winter without the roses and the perennials it can look a bit bare, and it’s sometimes a bit draughty inside if the wind gets up. Still, I like it. Here, Tim, take the key and go and open the door for your mother, there’s a good chap.’

He opened the back of the car and picked up four shopping bags, and ushered Jennifer into the cottage. ‘Go and sit down — make yourself at home. I’ll bring the shopping in then make some tea.’

‘I could make the tea ——’

‘No. Sit down.’

‘But ——’

‘No buts. Pampered, you said, and pampered it’s going to be. Sit.’

Overruled, she gave him a tiny smile and surrendered. ‘Yes, sir.’

She followed the wave of his arm and went through into a cosy little sitting-room, heavily beamed and furnished with affection. There was nothing even remotely designerish about it, from the elderly chair covers to the faded velvet curtains and the worn rug in front of the old inglenook fireplace, but it was unbelievably homely.

There was a chair that was obviously his, pulled up near the fire with a remote-control unit on an old oak table beside it. A large grey cat with unblinking emerald-green eyes stared at her from its depths, then tucked his nose in his paws again and went back to sleep. Blu-Tack, obviously.

She chose the chair on the other side of the fireplace and sat down, almost vanishing into its welcome embrace.

Bliss. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her tired feet up under her bottom and fell instantly asleep.

He was quite surprised at how right she looked, sitting curled up in the other chair with her head resting on one hand like that. Her wrist was bent, so he carefully eased her arm down and replaced it with a cushion.

It didn’t disturb her. Her grey eyes fluttered open for a second, she made a funny little noise and snuggled further down, and then was still again.

Andrew scooped Blu-Tack off the chair opposite and settled himself into it, the cat on his lap, and touched the remote control. Soft music flooded the room, and he rested his head back and relaxed, content to watch her sleep.

There was something strangely intimate about it that touched him, deep inside. It surprised him, just as her Tightness here had surprised him.

He hadn’t meant to issue the invitation. It was quite out of character, but perhaps it was time to break out a little. Oh, true, he’d taken her out for the occasional drink, but he’d never kissed her goodnight — unless you counted a peck on her sweetly scented cheek. He supposed it was in part a reluctance to disturb the balance of their working relationship, a relationship that had meant a great deal to him in the six months since he had taken up his consultancy.

The children’s outpatients sister was one of the most important people on the team, and he had come to rely very heavily on her. Apart from her background knowledge of many of the patients, her gentle efficiency and firm kindness had to be seen to be believed. She would be a wonderful mother — was a wonderful mother, he corrected himself, thinking of the serious, intelligent but delightful child asleep upstairs.

While Jennifer dozed, he had cooked Tim a prawn omelette with salad and a microwaved jacket potato — Tim’s choice. Another surprise. Andrew had been quite prepared to do fish fingers and beans and chips, but the child had looked doubtful — not rude enough to decline, but definitely not enthusiastic. Andrew had asked him to choose, given him a list of possibilities and that was what he’d selected.

‘We don’t have chips and things like that at home,’ Tim had told him guilelessly. Only when I go out for the weekend with Dad. I don’t like them much.’

Interesting. Andrew had filed it for future reference. Likewise the business of the bath.

‘Do you usually have a bath before you go to bed?’ he’d asked.

‘Mum always makes me. Dad doesn’t.’

‘I think you’d better have one, then,’ Andrew had said, and put that in the file, too.

After Andrew tucked him into bed in the little room overlooking the orchard, he had left him reading for a little while and gone downstairs to prepare a meal for himself and Jennifer. When he’d gone back up half an hour later, Tim was asleep, his book still in his hand.

Andrew had looked at it and was surprised at how advanced it was, well beyond Tim’s seven years. He stroked the soft brown hair back off his little brow, tucked the quilt in round his slight shoulders and then turned down the light, leaving a soft glow in case he woke. Then he had gone down to Jennifer.

As he watched her sleep, a curious contentment stole over him, together with a touch of regret because he knew that when they went back the house would seem empty. For now, however, it was just exactly right, and he would enjoy the moment and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Jennifer woke to soft lights and the haunting sound of a flute — and pins and needles in her right foot.

She straightened up and blinked. ‘Oh — you shouldn’t have let me sleep,’ she said, embarrassed.

‘You were tired.’

‘But Tim ——’

‘Tim’s in bed. He’s had supper and a bath, and he’s out for the count.’

She dropped her head back against the chair. ‘Oh. Thank you. You shouldn’t have done all that.’

‘I’m pampering you, remember?’

His smile was kindly teasing. She returned it, then winced as the circulation came back into her foot.

‘Pins and needles?’ he guessed, and she nodded, wriggling it. He turned the cat off his knee and crouched in front of her, taking her foot in his large, warm hands and massaging it gently.

‘Ow,’ she mumbled.

‘Hell, isn’t it? How’s that?’

She felt suddenly uncomfortable with this big man kneeling at her feet.

‘Better, thank you,’ she told him and almost snatched it out of his hands, further embarrassed by the growl from her stomach.

‘Hungry?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Apparently.’ She laughed a little awkwardly.

‘Supper’s ready when you are. There’s a cloakroom at the bottom of the stairs if you want to freshen up.’

She looked dreadful, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were flushed and crumpled from the cushion and she looked — wanton was the nearest she could come up with, and it unsettled her.

She splashed her face with cold water and went back into the big farmhouse-style kitchen, where Andrew was just setting the huge old refectory table.

‘OK?’

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘Eat,’ he said with a grin.

It was no hardship. The meal was wonderful, a seafood concoction with mushrooms and a delicious creamy sauce under the lightest, fluffiest mashed potato she had ever tasted. It was served with fresh sprouting broccoli and glazed carrots, both homegrown, he told her.

‘Where did you learn to cook like that?’ she asked him, replete, as she sat at the table under orders not to move and watched him clear up.

He laughed. ‘Self-defence. I can’t stand canteen food and I can’t afford a housekeeper. Anyway, I enjoy it. Coffee?’

‘Mmm. Can I —— ?’

‘No. Go and sit down, I’ll be with you in a tick.’

‘Actually, I think I’ll go up and check on Tim, if you really don’t need my help.’

‘Top of the stairs, turn left and follow your nose. He’s in the little bedroom at the end.’

‘OK.’ She ran lightly up the stairs, noticing as she went the higgledy-piggledy collection of pictures on the walls, etchings and pen and ink drawings and little watercolours, the occasional photograph, an oil on wood. There was no theme, except perhaps the straightforward one of personal choice, pictures collected for no better reason than that he liked them. And what better reason was there?

She found Tim, his cheek cradled on his hand, fast asleep in a wonderful old captain’s bed, the forerunner by some hundred years of the modern chipboard equivalent. His lashes dark against his pale cheeks, he looked terribly vulnerable and very small. He also looked as if he belonged in this room, with its distinctly Boys’ Own flavour.

She brushed a kiss on his cheek, whispered ‘Goodnight,’ and tiptoed out.

‘OK?’

She jumped slightly. Big as he was, she hadn’t heard him approach. ‘Yes, he’s fine. Where did you get that wonderful bed?’

‘The bed? It used to be mine when I was a child. I couldn’t bear to part with it when my parents died. Obviously I couldn’t keep everything, but that I refused to get rid of.’ He pushed open a door. ‘I’ve put you in here next to him,’ Andrew told her, ushering her in.

It was a delightful room, with high twin beds and pretty lace bedspreads. Her suitcase was lying on one of the beds, and on the table between them was a small vase of roses.

‘Oh, Andrew…’ She reached out and touched the blooms with her finger. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me ——’

‘Pampered, you said. How can you pamper a woman without roses?’ His voice was husky and much too close.

The room seemed suddenly very small, his presence filling it, and for the first time she was shockingly, intensely aware of him.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured a little breathlessly, and after a second’s hesitation he turned and ducked under the doorway.

‘Coffee’s ready when you are. I’ll see you downstairs,’ he told her, and she wasn’t sure if his voice was a little strained or if she had imagined it.

When she went back down, though, she decided she had imagined it because he was all quiet courtesy and the perfect host. The pregnant black and white cat made herself at home on his lap for a while, and he sat and absently fiddled with her ears while they talked about the children they had seen in the clinic that afternoon.

‘We shouldn’t be talking shop — you’re supposed to be getting away from it all,’ he said after a while.

‘Do you ever truly get away? Especially with paediatrics. It’s rather like being a vet, all those great big trusting eyes. They do something to your insides.’

He laughed. ‘And you accused me of getting attached to the Robinsons!’

‘Well, they are delicious,’ she said with a forgiving smile.

‘Mmm. They’re very lucky people. And unlike most parents, they realise it. Probably because they had such a struggle before IVF finally gave them their family. Most people just take their children for granted.’

Jennifer nodded and sighed. ‘It’s easy, though, isn’t it? I just wish Tim meant more to his father.’

‘Why did you get divorced?’ Andrew asked quietly.

She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Nick decided one day that he couldn’t handle the responsibility any more, and he went. Crazy, really. We’d got through his house years when he was never at home — perhaps that was it? Perhaps once he reached the point where he was at home more, he realised we weren’t what he wanted. Whatever, he left. He’s always been very good about helping financially, though. Whatever his other failings, he’s always been meticulous about that. Well, he is meticulous. Everything always has to be just so. He’d rip this room apart and re-do it all, because it’s not perfect.’

Andrew glanced round, and shrugged. ‘I know it’s not up to much, but I like it.’

She flushed, mortified. ‘Sorry, that was unbelievably tactless, but I really didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s just that Nick’s taste is — well, let’s say clinical, shall we? And I became so indoctrinated that now I can’t seem to make our flat homely, but this house — I think it’s charming, restful, cosy … everything a home should be. I don’t know quite how you’ve done it, but I love it and I think it would be a great shame to change it.’

‘Thank you.’ They exchanged smiles, and he tipped the cat off his lap and stood up. ‘Nightcap?’

‘No, thanks. Actually, I’m ready for bed.’

She stood up and went over to him, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. ‘Thank you for spoiling us. You’re a good man.’

He flushed slightly and squeezed her shoulders. ‘You deserve it. You’re a lovely girl, you should have someone spoiling you all the time.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, no, I’d get fat and lazy. I’m better off as I am. Goodnight.’

For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, but then his hands slid down her arms and he stepped back. ‘See you in the morning.’

She climbed the picture-lined staircase and checked Tim, then washed and climbed into bed, snuggling down against the freshly scented linen with a contented sigh. She was asleep in seconds.

CHAPTER TWO

JENNIFER woke to the sounds of the countryside — birdsong, barking dogs, the rusty squawk of a pheasant, and in the distance the drone of a tractor. She smiled to herself. In a strange way it was noisier than the town!

She stretched lazily and glanced at her watch, then threw back the covers, horrified. Ten to nine! What on earth would Andrew think of her, lying in this late?

She pushed her feet into slippers and was reaching for her dressing-gown when there was a tap on the door.

‘Jennifer?’

She pushed her arms hastily into the robe and opened the door, overwhelmingly conscious of her tousled hair and flushed cheeks.

Andrew was standing there, dressed in soft old cords and a plaid shirt open at the neck, balancing a tray on one large hand. His hair was still damp from the shower, and one unruly lock had fallen forwards over his brow. She clenched her fists, shocked at the sudden urge to smooth it back.

‘Morning,’ she mumbled.

‘Morning. Did you sleep all right?’

She ran a hand through her hair, tousling it further. ‘Wonderfully, thank you…’

He grinned. ‘I’ve brought you breakfast. Tim said you only ever have tea and toast, but I thought maybe I could tempt you with a boiled egg from one of the little bantams.’

He set the tray down on the bedside table. There was a cup of tea, a slice of wholemeal toast and a tiny, perfect little brown egg in a miniature eggcup. And a yellow rosebud, just on the point of opening.

‘You really are taking this to extremes, aren’t you?’ she said shakily.

Of course. You deserve it — I’ve been working you too hard. In you get.’

He held the bedclothes so that she had no choice but to kick off her slippers and get back into bed. She felt incredibly foolish and terribly spoilt.

‘Relax and enjoy,’ he advised, and set the tray down on her lap. ‘We’ll be in the garden when you’re ready. Why don’t you have another little sleep?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ she protested, but after she had eaten the little egg and the slice of toast and drunk the delicately flavoured tea, she found she had no urge to get up. ‘Just a few minutes,’ she said to herself, and setting the tray down, she snuggled back under the covers and fell instantly asleep.

The next time she woke it was to the sound of a motor much closer than before, and much higher pitched. Throwing back the bedclothes, she crossed over to the window and looked out, to see Tim sitting on a tiny red tractor, going up and down the garden with Andrew striding beside him, occasionally reaching across to turn the steering-wheel slightly. They both looked perfectly content, so she took her time washing and dressing before she went downstairs, intending to clear up the kitchen and look around for something for lunch.

She found the kitchen immaculate, a quiche browning gently in the oven, and a pile of washing folded on the table.

She did a mild double-take. Her clothes? And Tim’s?

She sat down slowly, gratitude warring with embarrassment. The thought of anyone else — especially a man, and particularly her boss! — going through her washing was enough to bring her out in a rash. All that ancient underwear …

She gave a low moan and put her face in her hands. How was she ever going to face him again?

‘Jennifer? Are you feeling all right?’

‘Yes — no,’ she mumbled, and forced herself to look up at him. ‘You shouldn’t have done my washing,’ she said firmly.

He grinned. ‘All part of the service, ma’am. I’m afraid it isn’t ironed, but I’m not much good at that; I tend to burn things. Coffee?’

She sighed and gave up. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. Where’s Tim?’

‘Out in the garden, molesting Blu-Tack.’

‘Is he all right?’

He raised an eyebrow at her anxious tone. ‘Which one? I believe they’ll both survive the encounter.’

She smiled. ‘I meant was Blu-Tack all right with children. Some cats can be a bit funny.’

Andrew shrugged. ‘He’s a little shy, but he’s very friendly once he knows you. I’ve never known him scratch anyone yet, and my sister’s children persecute him mercilessly. Mummy-cat’s taken herself off somewhere, though. Bit too much for her, all this attention.’ He handed her a mug of coffee. ‘We’ve just cut the grass.’

‘I know — I watched you from the window. Tim will have enjoyed it.’

‘Kids always do. I get through gallons of petrol when I have little visitors.’ He settled himself at the table, his broad shoulders straining the soft fabric of his plaid shirt. The mug almost vanished in his big hands. He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I have to nip in to the hospital for a little while to see William Griffin. It was an ileocolic intussusception, by the way, and Ross said he sorted it out without any trouble, but I’d just like to have a look. I thought we could go for a walk after lunch if you feel up to it.’

She laughed. ‘Andrew, I’m not ill, just a bit tired. Where did you want to go?’

‘In the woods. There’s a badger’s sett and a couple of foxholes, and endless rabbit holes. I thought Tim would like it, but you could stay here if you’d rather.’

‘No, that would be great. I’m sure he’ll love it, but have you got time?’

He looked surprised. ‘Of course — this is your weekend, Jennifer. Stop feeling guilty and enjoy it.’

So she did. Lunch was superb, the walk a delight, brought to life by Andrew’s extensive knowledge of the countryside. Tim, who was fascinated by all knowledge, soaked it up like a sponge, and Jennifer strolled behind, content simply to watch them interact.

If only his father was like that with him, she thought, and felt a twinge of sadness. Nick had never understood Tim, and the older he got, the wider the gulf seemed to grow.

Not that Nick’s casual attitude to access exactly helped, although recently he had been better, making more of an effort not to break arrangements, but often when Tim came back he was silent and uncommunicative, and Nick always seemed to heave a sigh of relief when he handed him over to her again.

‘Penny for them.’

She looked up into Andrew’s homely, lived-in face. He would understand, but it seemed disloyal to discuss Nick’s attitude with him. She felt she had already said too much last night.

Instead she smiled. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘Hey, Andrew, look at this!’ Tim called excitedly.

With a last, searching glance at her face, Andrew turned back to Tim and the huge bracket fungus he had found.

That evening, after they had eaten supper and while she put Tim to bed, Andrew cleared up the kitchen and then lit the fire in the little sitting-room. It had been a glorious, sunny September day, but with the clear sky came a sharp drop in temperature, sufficient justification, Andrew said smilingly, for the self-indulgence of a log fire.

He had opened a bottle of Australian Cabernet with supper, and they finished it off, sitting in their respective chairs in companionable silence and gazing into the flames, while the pure, clear sound of a chorister flowed around them.

Jennifer laid her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, letting it all wash over her.

‘This is beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘You aren’t really in the right place — you should be here for the best image.’

She laughed drowsily. ‘But you’re there.’

His voice was soft. ‘You could always join me.’

And because she was so relaxed and perhaps a little tipsy, and because he was so comfortable to be with, it seemed perfectly natural to go over to him and settle herself on his lap, her head against his broad shoulder, and close her eyes again.

‘Better?’ he asked quietly, and she made a small sound of agreement.

This is lovely — what is it?’

The “Pie Jesu”, from Fauré’s Requiem. ‘

‘It’s so peaceful — uplifting, spiritual.’

‘Requiem means rest,’ he told her, and she sighed softly and let the music soothe her.

After a while the Requiem ended, and she lay cradled on his lap with only the hiss of the logs and the occasional screech of an owl to break the silence.

She could hear the steady thud of his heart, and the slow, even sound of his breathing. His big, blunt hand lay warmly on her knee, and the other arm was around her shoulders, holding her against his solid chest. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her, his expression sober.

‘What is it?’ she asked softly.

He hesitated for a moment, then murmured, ‘I was just wondering if it would ruin everything if I kissed you.’

Her breath lodged in her throat. Unable to reply, she lifted her hand and touched it lightly to his cheek. He had shaved and changed before supper, but even so she could feel the slight rasp of stubble against her palm. She slid her hand round and threaded her fingers through his hair, then gently drew his face down towards hers.

In the moment before their lips met, she wondered briefly why it had taken them so long to reach this point.

After that, there was no more coherent thought. His lips were firm but gentle, not the clever, practised lips of the master-seducer but hesitant at first, as if it was a long time since he had kissed anybody. Then with a small sound of satisfaction his hand slid up into her hair and steadied her, as if he had remembered what to do, so that when she whimpered and parted her lips he was there, his tongue stroking the velvet recesses of her mouth, drawing her own into his mouth to suckle it gently until she whimpered again.

He shifted her in his arms so that his hands were free, and as he unfastened the buttons on her blouse she could see they were trembling. Then he drew the edges apart and gazed at her, at the soft swell of her breasts above the lace edges of her bra, the rose-pink nipples peaking against the restraint, aching for his attention.

His fingers shook as they brushed the delicate skin, then they moved to the clasp.

‘Let me look at you,’ he whispered, and nothing had ever seemed more right.

He fumbled the clasp and in the end she helped him, unable to bear the sweet suspense. Her breasts spilled out into his hands and he groaned deep in his throat.

‘So lovely,’ he whispered, and then his head lowered and his lips and tongue took the place of his fingers, soothing the aching peaks and yet driving them to even greater frenzy. He drew a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, and with a shocked cry she arched against him.

He lifted his head instantly, his eyes heavy-lidded, dazed. ‘Did I hurt you? I’m sorry ——’

‘No — no, it was — I want to touch you, too…’

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and he tried to help her but his own hands were shaking nearly as badly. Finally the buttons gave way and she dragged the shirt out of his waistband and slid her arms round his sides as he eased her up against his chest, driving the breath from her lungs in a ragged sigh. The soft scatter of hair chafed unbearably against her sensitive nipples, making them ache for more, and she moved against him restlessly, dragging an answering sigh from his lips as they moved against her shoulder.

‘Touch me,’ he muttered unevenly, and, unable to resist the invitation, her hands slid up and round, over the smooth skin of his shoulders and down the strong column of his back, then round the sides and over the washboard of his stomach and up, feeling his body shudder beneath his hands, her fingers threading into the lightly tangled curls that clustered in the centre of his chest.

Under her palms she could feel his heart thundering, the blood bounding in his veins. Sliding her hands up over his shoulders, she drew him back to her and lifted her face to his.

His mouth found hers with unerring accuracy, their tongues meshing, wild now with need, and he shifted her again so that he was lying half across her, one leg over hers, the imprint of his arousal hard against her hip.

He ran his hand up her thigh and over her other hip, drawing her harder against him, and his shuddering sigh mingled with hers and was lost in their kiss.

His hand moved again, over the inside of her thigh and up, his palm hot through the fabric of her jeans, cradling the unbearable ache that was building deep inside her.

She arched against him, his name a plea on her lips, and his deep, harsh groan answered her.

Then his hand moved, slowly now, up her side to her shoulders, and he lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes.

‘We mustn’t,’ he whispered, his voice tortured, and she whimpered and moved against him, beyond reason.

‘No, love, stop,’ he pleaded gruffly.

She reached up and touched his cheek with a trembling hand, his agony finally penetrating the fog of sensation that surrounded her. ‘What is it?’

He tipped back his head and groaned, his throat working. There was a dull flush lying over his cheeks, and his breathing was laboured and untidy. ‘I hadn’t intended — I never meant to go so far. Forgive me.’

‘Not if you stop now,’ she murmured huskily.

He groaned again, as if he was in pain. ‘Jennifer, I have to.’

‘No ——’

‘Yes. I didn’t mean this to happen ——’

‘Neither did I, but it has…’

‘No it hasn’t, not yet, and it isn’t going to — not unless you want to end up pregnant.’

She was shocked into stillness. ‘Oh, Lord. How unbelievably irresponsible — I didn’t even think of that…’

His chuckle was wry. ‘Neither did I — at least, not in time to do anything about it. Believe me, when I invited you for this weekend, nothing was further from my mind.’ His hands lingering regretfully, he re-fastened her bra, then drew the edges of her blouse together again with fingers that were not quite steady.

‘Perhaps it’s just as well,’ he said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to wake up in the morning hating me.’

‘I could never hate you,’ she murmured, and laid her hand against his heart. It was still pounding, although more slowly, and he was still clearly aroused. The kind thing to do would be to get off his lap and go to bed, leaving him to cool off alone.

But she didn’t want to leave him, not when her body was still singing with need in the aftermath of his lovemaking. Reaching out her hand, she laid it against his chest.

‘Put the Requiem on again,’ she said softly.

He reached for the remote control, and the cool, pure notes poured over them like balm. She settled herself against his shoulder, her hand on his heart, and let the tension slowly seep away.

Lord, but she was lovely. Her body was soft against his, relaxed in sleep, and as he gazed down at her he remembered the way she had clung to him, the soft whimpers and little cries of ecstasy she had made.

How he had stopped he would never know, but he had found the strength from somewhere, and now he was profoundly glad. He would never have forgiven himself if she had ended up hating him, but it had just happened so naturally. It had felt so — right, as if their bodies belonged together.

The Requiem ended, the final notes dying away in the silence, and he lifted her carefully in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her room.

He debated leaving her clothes on, and decided that a little more self-control would be good for him. He removed them, careful not to wake her, and slipped her under the covers. He left her underwear, however, partly for her dignity and partly because he felt he had played with fire long enough and his self-control was getting singed round the edges.

Shutting the bathroom door, he turned on the shower and stripped, stepping into the scalding water with resignation. There was no point in even trying a cold shower. It would take the combined melt waters of both polar icecaps to cool him off tonight, with Jennifer lying almost naked just feet away from him. With a low growl of frustration, he dropped his head forwards against the tiles and let the hot water stream over him while his body throbbed and ached and called him a fool.

Sunday was another glorious day. For Jennifer it started, like Saturday, with breakfast in bed, this time accompanied by the feather-soft brush of his lips on hers and a husky ‘good morning’ to wake her.

‘We’ve had a population explosion in the night,’ he told her softly. ‘Tim and I are in the kitchen — come on down in a minute and see.’

She obediently ate her breakfast while she puzzled over the fact that she was in her underwear. She hadn’t been that drunk, surely? She could remember — her cheeks flushed, and she groaned. Had she gone to sleep and he’d carried her to bed? Oh, well, it could have been worse, at least she’d had decent underwear on — not that her underwear was any surprise to him after doing her washing.

She groaned again, and then, pulling on her dressing-gown, made her way downstairs.

Tim was sitting on the floor by the airing cupboard, his eyes like saucers, and on a pile of once-clean sheets the black and white cat who had adopted Andrew reclined with her four tiny little kittens.

‘Oh, aren’t they adorable?’ she breathed. They were all different colours; ginger, black, tortoiseshell and white, and black and white like her.

‘We mustn’t touch them or she might eat them,’ Tim warned her seriously. ‘Especially as she doesn’t know us very well.’

‘Perhaps we’d better let her have some peace now,’ Andrew suggested. ‘I’ll put the top sheet in a box and put them all back in it in a minute.’

Jennifer straightened up and met his eyes. ‘Six cats?’

He groaned and laughed softly. ‘Don’t.’

She smiled. ‘You’re just an old softie, aren’t you?’

‘That’s me. Why don’t you go and wallow in the bath for a while and Tim and I can make her a box and see if we can get her to eat something?’

In fact, the whole day revolved around the cat. They went out to give her peace, then came back to give her food, then went out again for another walk to give her more peace. Finally, at five, he took them home, complete with washing, homework done, and feeling more spoilt and pampered then she had ever felt in her life. He refused her offer of a cup of tea, saying he wanted to check on William Griffin again, so they said their farewells at her door.

‘We’ve had a wonderful weekend,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’ And she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

‘Thank you for having me,’ Tim said spontaneously. ‘I’ve had a lovely time — look after the kittens.’

‘I will,’ Andrew assured him gravely. ‘We must do it again.

‘Next weekend?’ Tim asked hopefully.

‘No, I’m sorry, I have to go away next weekend.’

‘And you’re with your father, Tim,’ Jennifer reminded him.

Andrew said, ‘Someday soon, though. We’ll sort something out, perhaps one day after school. OK?’

Tim nodded enthusiastically. ‘Can I feed the hens again?’

Andrew tousled his hair and hugged him to his side briefly. ‘Of course.’ He looked up at Jennifer. ‘Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She nodded and watched him go, her heart full of some indefinable emotion that for no very good reason made her want to cry.

On Monday she popped up to the paediatric surgical ward before clinic to see William. He was doing well, still on tiny amounts of fluids only but his drip was down and he looked brighter even than he had on Friday.

She exchanged a few words with Mrs Griffin, who was full of praise for both Andrew and the surgeon, Ross Hamilton.

‘I’m just so relieved — you have no idea how worried ‘I’ve been!’ she confided in Jennifer.

‘Oh, I have,’ Jennifer, told her. ‘I’ve got a son of seven, so I know just what agonies a mother goes through. Still, he’s looking very good now — I’m sure it won’t be long before he’s driving you mad again!’

They exchanged a laughing goodbye, and she headed for the door just as Andrew swung it open. They exchanged slightly stilted greetings, conscious of the milling crowd of nurses and patients all around them.

‘I came up to see William — he’s looking well.’

‘Isn’t he? Ross did a good job. Have you got Peter’s clinic?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I must go, I don’t want to hold up proceedings. I’ll see you this afternoon.’

He lifted a hand in a wave, and she left him and made her way down to Children’s Outpatients, her day already immeasurably improved for having seen him even so briefly.

He did that to people, though, she realised, because he was always pleased to see them, always had a ready smile and a sympathetic ear.

Even when he was exhausted, which he quite often was, she had never known him lose his temper or get short with anyone. Unlike Nick, who had always been crabby and irritable when he was tired. During his house year she had kept Tim out of his way whenever possible, so that Nick could rest. Now, she wondered if she had done the right thing, because in the end he had accused her of avoiding him, and although she had denied it at the time later she had realised there might have been an element of truth in it. But then, if only Nick had been able to deal with his tiredness in the same way as Andrew, perhaps she wouldn’t have grown to dread his return, and might have been a more willing wife. Who knows? she thought. Perhaps we might still have been together. And the old guilt came seeping back, drowning out her happiness.

It was another busy afternoon clinic, a special care baby unit follow-up with all the attendant crying and screaming and breast-feeding and consequent nappy-changing. While Jennifer ran backwards and forwards undressing and weighing and measuring and trying to orchestrate the timing so that the next patient was ready for Andrew before he needed to see them, he, of course, was in his element.

‘Anybody would think you liked the smelly, leaky little things,’ she teased, and he grinned.

‘At least they aren’t insubordinate! I mentioned a cup of tea hours ago.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ she laughed, and went and found Beattie, repeating his request.

When she took it in he was busy cooing at another baby, and she rolled her eyes and carried on with her weighing.

‘I must get on,’ he told her later as they cleared up after the last patient. ‘I have to go back and feed Mummy-cat and make sure the kittens are all right, and I ought to check in SCBU before I go home.’

Jennifer laughed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured, ‘between the babies and the kittens, you’re just a pushover, aren’t you?’

He shrugged her teasing off with a laugh. ‘That’s my life,’ he said smilingly. ‘Some of us are meant to nurture.’

‘And you do it so beautifully. It’s a shame you aren’t married — all that pampering going to waste.’

‘Are you volunteering?’

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped and looked up at him.

‘Are you serious?’

He looked faintly surprised. ‘Yes, I believe I am.’

She searched his craggy, lived-in face for an endless moment, then a slow smile curved her lips. She could do far worse than to hand herself over to this gentle man’s attentions for the rest of her life. Warmth, comfort, security — it had a lot going for it, and she was sure in his gentle hands their lovemaking would be filled with tenderness, if not the passion of first love. Lord knows that can wane, she thought wryly. There was no mention of love, but at their age there were more important things, like Tim. And he would be a wonderful father, of that she was certain.

She looked up into his eyes. ‘You’re sure?’

He nodded slowly. ‘Yes — oh, yes, I’m sure.’

‘Then yes, I believe I am volunteering.’

‘Perhaps you’d better think about it.’

She shook her head. ‘No. There’s nothing to think about.’

He opened his arms and she stepped into them and found herself wrapped hard against his massive chest.

‘You won’t regret it, I promise you,’ he told her, his voice gruff with emotion. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to make you both happy.’

‘You already have,’ she told him, and, tipping back her head, she sealed the pact with a kiss.

CHAPTER THREE

TUESDAY was one of those chaotic days when children were sick in the clinic and babies screamed endlessly. Jennifer’s staff nurse, Sarah Bright, was off sick and Peter Travers was coping without an SHO because Maggie Bradshaw, plagued by morning sickness, and given up work three months early and her replacement hadn’t yet materialised.

She hadn’t seen Andrew since the end of yesterday’s clinic as his evening had already been totally committed. Now he was on the wards and she didn’t see him until he popped down at lunchtime and cornered her in the kitchen snatching a cup of coffee.

This place is like Piccadilly. I don’t suppose you can get away?’

She laughed mirthlessly. ‘Are you kidding? This is my first cup of coffee all morning.’

He glanced round and smiled. ‘I suppose I am. Look, I know it’s short notice, but could we make dinner tonight? I could bring a takeaway if you can’t get a babysitter.’

Jennifer shook her head regretfully. ‘No, sorry. Tim has Cubs and it’s impossible to get him organised and fed and into bed at a decent hour. How about tomorrow?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m giving a lecture — oh, damn. Thursday? No, I’m on call again.’

‘The weekend?’ she suggested hopefully. Tim is away with his father…’

Andrew closed his eyes and let out a harsh sigh. ‘I’ve got to go to a conference. Next Monday?’

‘You’re on call again.’

Oh, hell. This is ridiculous.’

She laughed softly. ‘You’ll forget what I look like soon.’

‘No chance,’ he said softly, and his voice held a wealth of warmth and emotion. ‘Marry me soon, Jennifer. Then maybe between midnight and six in the morning we might get time to say hello when we aren’t surrounded by people.’

She chuckled. ‘Do you suppose we can find the time to do the deed?’

‘We’ll make time,’ he growled softly. ‘I must go, you’ve got work to do.’ He leant over and brushed her lips with his, then, turning on his heel, he strode out through the department, exchanging greetings with the secretary on the way past.

She didn’t see him again until the following day, at the paediatric diabetic clinic.

As usual they were rushed off their feet, but at least the load was shared by the dietician.

They had a new patient, a little boy of five who had been admitted in a diabetic coma four weeks previously. He had presented with a history of increased thirst, weight loss and listlessness which his mother had put down to the heat and nerves about returning to school, until the morning she found she couldn’t rouse him. He had been stabilised and was now on insulin and coming back for his first check-up.

‘How are you getting on with Paul’s injections, Mrs Downing?’ Andrew asked his mother.

Oh, not so bad, I suppose. He doesn’t like it very much, but I think we’ve got round it now. If he’s a good boy, I give him a sweetie, don’t I, darling?’

Paul nodded.

‘Um — what sort of sweet, Mrs Downing?’ Andrew asked her.

‘Well, that depends what’s around,’ she said innocently. ‘This morning it was a few squares of chocolate.’

‘Ordinary chocolate?’

‘Yes — well, we tried the diabetic chocolate but it gave him terrible diarrhoea.’

Andrew sighed. ‘Mrs Downing, your son really mustn’t have sweets, they’re very bad for him. In order to keep him stable, he has to have sensible, high-fibre foods that will deliver the calories he needs gradually over a period of a few hours, not a sudden shock of sugar then nothing.’

‘Oh, but I still give him the other food as well,’ she assured him.

‘And how’s his blood-sugar level been?’

For the first time she looked vaguely uncomfortable. ‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s been all right.’

‘Do you test it before every injection?’

She shifted awkwardly. ‘No, not every injection. Well, he hates it so when I prick his little finger, but surely I can tell just by looking at him? I mean, he hasn’t gone funny or anything…’ She trailed off and flushed. ‘Well, you try doing it when he’s screaming blue murder and won’t co-operate!’

Jennifer could see Andrew’s frustration as he turned to her. ‘Sister, would you, please? We’ll need bloods anyway for HbA1.’

‘Of course. Paul, could you roll up your sleeve for me, darling, so I can put this strap on? That’s lovely. Right, you hold this little bottle for me and see if you can turn it round and round while I just have a look at your arm here. Oh, that’s lovely! You’ve got very clever veins, haven’t you? What a good boy. Just a little tickle and it’ll soon be over — well done. Keep the bottle turning — that’s lovely. Good lad. All right, now,’ she released the strap, laid a swab over the puncture and withdrew the needle. ‘Could you hold that on there for me, nice and tight? Well done. There’s a good boy.’ She gave him a bright smile, ruffled his hair and winked.

While she waited for the result from the blood analyser, she bottled and labelled the blood for the lab, and disposed of the used syringe in the sharps bin, then put a plaster on Paul’s arm.

‘Well?’

She turned to Andrew and shook her head. ‘Sky high. The urine was, too.’

She told him the result and he frowned. ‘Mrs Downing, if you can’t manage the finger prick each time, you must test his urine. It’s not as accurate, of course, but it’s better than nothing, and if you find it’s high, then you must test his blood as well. Do you understand? Especially in the early stages until he’s stable. If you can’t manage that, I’m afraid we’ll have to have him in and do it for you here, and we don’t want to do that, but you really must understand that high blood sugar can lead to all sorts of problems for Paul later in life, like heart disease, kidney problems, eye trouble — sometimes we just have to be cruel to be kind, and the last thing you must do is bribe him with sweets.’

‘Well, what would you suggest?’ she asked defensively.

‘You could perhaps offer him a treat — a day out at the weekend if he’s been good about his diet and treatment, taking him to the cinema or the zoo, buying him something he particularly wants, but don’t let him hold you to ransom. It’s a part of his life from now on, and if you’re firm he’ll very quickly grow used to it and accept it. If he feels he can wind you round his little finger, he’ll do it. They’re great psychologists.’

He jotted down something in the notes, and handed them to Jennifer. ‘Could you take Mrs Downing and Paul through to the dietician please, Sister? And I’ll see you again in two weeks, Mrs Downing, to see how you’re getting on.’

‘Thank you, Dr Barrett,’ she replied, somewhat stiffly. She was obviously chastened and didn’t like the feel of it.

Jennifer schooled her expression, and held out her hand to Paul. ‘Come on then, Paul,’ she said with a smile, and he put down the aeroplane he was playing with and slipped his hand into hers. ‘Let’s go and talk about what you can have to eat, shall we?’

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