Dear Reader

When I was asked to kick off the latest round of Penhally stories I was delighted—not least because it meant working again with two of my favourite authors, Kate Hardy and Margaret McDonagh, and ‘meeting’ Anne Fraser, who is relatively new to Medical™ Romance. We all worked together really closely on this little collection, because not only were there the interlinking stories in these four books, but also the whole existing infrastructure of Penhally Bay and St Piran, which had over the last year or so become entirely real to those of us involved. It was a chance to revisit old friends, to bring in new ones and to spend more time (sadly only in my head!) in a place I’ve grown to love.

It’s been a pleasure and a privilege to work with people I’ve come to call friends, and a chance to write a really involving and emotionally challenging story. Both Sam and Gemma have suffered life-changing challenges. One drove them apart; the other has brought them back together. But can they really forgive and forget? This is the story of their journey, and I hope you get as much pleasure from reading it as I had writing it. I give it to you with my love and best wishes.

If you’re revisiting Penhally, welcome back, and if this is your first trip, I hope you’ll love being here as much as I do.

Caroline

Caroline Anderson has the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, run her own soft-furnishing business, and now she’s settled on writing. She says, ‘I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realised it was variety, and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends, and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher husband John and I have two beautiful and talented daughters, Sarah and Hannah, umpteen pets, and several acres of Suffolk that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!’ Caroline also writes for the Mills & Boon® Romance series.

Recent titles by the same author:

Medical™ Romance

THE VALTIERI MARRIAGE DEAL

A MUMMY FOR CHRISTMAS

THEIR MIRACLE BABY* CHRISTMAS EVE BABY*

Mills & Boon® Romance

TWO LITTLE MIRACLES

THE SINGLE MUM AND THE TYCOON

HIS PREGNANT HOUSEKEEPER

* Brides of Penhally Bay

THE REBEL OF PENHALLY BAY

BY

CAROLINE ANDERSON

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Clare, who has walked this road, for Dan and the children, who’ve held her hand along the way, and for the countless others who walk it with her. Safe journey.

BRIDES OF PENHALLY BAY

Bachelor doctors become husbands and fathers—

in a place where hearts are made whole.

Look out for these four books set in the picturesque town of Penhally, nestled on the rugged Cornish coast.

This month we’re back in Penhally as bad-boy doc Sam Cavendish tries to win back his long-lost wife… The Rebel of Penhally Bay by Caroline Anderson

Next month midwife Annie meets gorgeous Spanish doctor Dr Raphael Castillo, and one magical night leads to one little miracle… Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife by Anne Fraser

In December there’s a real treat in store as gorgeous high-flying heart surgeon James arrives in Penhally! Falling for the Playboy Millionaire by Kate Hardy

And in January there’s a new GP in town when Italian doctor and single father Luca d’Azzaro brings his twin babies to Penhally A Mother for the Italian’s Twins by Margaret McDonagh

Welcome back to Penhally Bay!

Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance welcomes you back to the picturesque town of Penhally, nestled on the rugged Cornish coast! With sandy beaches and breathtaking landscapes Penhally is a warm, bustling community, cared for by the Penhally Bay Surgery team, led by the distinguished and commanding Dr Nick Tremayne.

We’re bringing you four new books set in

this idyllic coastal town, where fishing boats

bob up and down in the bay, friendly faces line

the cobbled streets and romance flutters on

the Cornish sea breeze! We’ve got gorgeous

Mediterranean heroes, top-notch city surgeons,

and the return of Penhally’s very own

bad-boy rebel! But that’s not all…

We step back into the life of enigmatic,

guarded hero Dr Nick Tremayne, and

nurse Kate Althorpe—the one woman who

has stolen Nick’s heart and the only woman

he won’t allow himself to love! Dr Nick’s

unquestionable professional skill and dedication

to the Penhally Bay Surgery hide his private

pain—his is a story that will pierce your heart.

So turn the page and meet them for yourself…

And if you’ve never visited Penhally before, step right in and enjoy Medical™ Romance’s most popular miniseries. There is a world of romantic treats awaiting you.

PROLOGUE

HE WASN’T concentrating.

If he’d been concentrating, he might have seen it, but he wasn’t. He was miles away, in Cornwall, thanks to his mother and the letter he’d just been handed on his way out of the hospital.

It was all the usual blah.

Hope you’re well, Jamie’s done well in his exams, goodness knows how, he’s so idle, who does that remind you of? Oh, well, if he turns out as well as you he’ll be all right but why you want to bury yourself in Africa, goodness knows. I wish you were here, you could keep him in order…

Fat chance of that. They were like peas in a pod, and the only thing that would keep Jamie in order was Jamie, as Sam very well knew.

But then the letter changed.

I’ve seen Gemma again, by the way, and she asked after you. I can’t believe it’s ten years since you had that fling with her. You’ve hardly been back since, but maybe you’ll come now, with her here. Bit of an incentive for you—more interesting than your boring old mother. She’s a brilliant practice nurse, and still single, though I can’t imagine why when she’s so gorgeous, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around for her and she seemed very keen to hear all about you. You missed a chance there, Sam. Maybe you should come home and take up where you left off…

He hadn’t read the rest. He’d screwed it up, hurled it into the bin and stalked out into the sun. Damn. He’d meant to leave before dawn, but what with one thing and another, and now the bloody letter…

The bike was loaded, stocked up for the run to the makeshift little clinic thirty miles away, and he had enough to do without distractions. He really—really!—didn’t need to be thinking about Gemma, or that summer all those years ago. Ten, for God’s sake. A whole decade. Ten long, lonely years. And he hadn’t missed his chance, he’d had it snatched away from him—

‘Oh, dammit to hell.’

He kicked the starter viciously, dropped the bike forwards off the stand and straddled it while he fastened his helmet. Why the hell was she back in Penhally? And why, more to the point, was she working as a practice nurse? So much for her dedication to medicine—but that was just par for the course, really, wasn’t it? After all, she hadn’t stuck to him, either.

He twisted the throttle, listened to the feeble sound of the little engine and mourned his old bike. Gemma had loved his bike, and they’d gone everywhere on it. They’d been inseparable for a year, every time she’d come down from Bath with her parents to their holiday cottage, and they’d had so much fun.

Not that her parents had approved of him, but, then, they wouldn’t, would they? Not with his bad-boy reputation, and they’d had to do a fair amount of sneaking around to be together. But that second summer she’d come down alone after her final school exams, for the last summer before uni, and instead of it being the end, in a way it was to be the beginning—the beginning of the next phase of their lives. They’d got places at the same medical school in Bristol, and everything was panning out perfectly.

So he’d asked her to marry him and crazily, unbelievably, she’d said yes, so on a glorious day in early August they’d made their vows—vows he’d really meant, vows from the heart—and they’d honeymooned in the tumbledown little wooden shack on the beach that was his home for the summer, a retreat from the demands of home, a haven of tranquillity at first and then, with Gemma, a place of paradise—until her parents had come down from Bath and found them there.

They’d gone crazy, and Gemma had been in floods of tears, but she’d stood her ground, told them they were married and he’d shut the door in their faces and held her while she cried.

And then just days later, she’d left a note to say she’d changed her mind about them, and about going to uni. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to read medicine after all, and she was deferring for a year and taking time out to think about things, going travelling—Gemma, who’d already seen the world with her wealthy parents—and going alone. She didn’t want to see him again. And she was gone, she and her parents who’d obviously meant more to her than he had, their holiday home empty, closed up for the winter.

He’d never seen her again. Not a word, in all these years, all the time he’d been at med school in Bristol, keeping an eye on his family from a close distance and waiting and hoping for her to change her mind—he’d even been to see her parents, but they’d told him she didn’t want to see him, and he wasn’t going to beg.

So he’d given up on her and finished his degree, then moved to London, trained as a GP, then done a surgical rotation, and now here he was ten years down the line, working for an aid agency in Africa, and still she was following him in his head, in his heart, eating holes in him like some vile flesh-eating bug that wouldn’t leave him alone. Asking after him, of all things!

How dare she? How dare she ask after him?

And he’d dream about her again tonight, he thought bitterly as he let out the clutch and shot off down the dirt track on the start of his journey. Every time she was mentioned, every time he thought about her, which was pretty much daily, she haunted his sleep, the memory of her laughter, her smile, then those few days and nights they’d had together, so precious, so tender, so absolutely bone-deep right that he’d just known she was the only woman he’d ever love—the memories were enough to drive him mad.

As mad as his mother, if she thought he was ever going back to Penhally to expose himself to that again. No way. It would kill him. But just to see her again—to touch her—to hold her in his arms, to bury his nose in her hair and smell the warm summer fragrance that was Gemma…

So he wasn’t concentrating when he swerved off the road to avoid the broken-down car. He wasn’t thinking that it was strange for the car to be there, that it was possibly a booby trap. He wasn’t looking out for the rebels who’d left it there to trick him into going onto the verge.

He was thinking about his wife, about the soft sighs, the taste of her skin, the sobbing screams as she came apart in his arms.

And then he hit the landmine.

CHAPTER ONE

‘HERE’S trouble.’

Gemma looked up from the paperwork she was sorting and saw old Doris Trefusis jerk her head towards the door. And her heart hiccuped against her ribs, because there could be only one person she was talking about, and she wasn’t ready!

How silly. She’d thought she was prepared, but apparently not, if the pounding of her heart and the shaking of her legs was anything to go by.

Since his mother’s stroke yesterday evening, she’d been psyching herself up for Sam coming down from London, but nothing could have prepared her for the emotional impact of her first sight of him in years. Ten years, nine months, two weeks, three days and four and a half hours, to be exact.

Long, lonely years in which she’d ached for him, hungry for any scrap of news, any snippet that would tell her what he was up to. Then last year his distraught mother had told her he’d been hurt in a stupid bike accident and she’d misunderstood and thought for a fleeting second that he’d died. Not for long, but it had devastated her, the pain of loss slamming through her and bringing home to her just how much she still loved him.

But that was ridiculous, because she didn’t know him, not any more—if she ever really had. They’d been little more than kids, but he wasn’t a kid now. Lord, no.

Not that he’d really been one then, at nineteen, but he certainly wasn’t now, she thought, her heart lurching as he came into view. She was standing in the shadows at the back of Reception and she watched spellbound as he sauntered in, tall and broad, more solid than he had been in his late teens, but every bit as gorgeous. A slight limp was the only sign of his injuries, if anything only adding another layer of attraction, and that cocky smile flickering round his mouth was tearing her composure to shreds. But it wasn’t for her. He hadn’t seen her yet in her shadowy corner, and his smile was for Mrs Trefusis.

‘Morning, Doris!’ he said, and his deep, husky voice, so painfully familiar, made her heart turn over. ‘How are you? Looking as young and gorgeous as ever, I see!’

Their diminutive and elderly cleaner put the magazines she was tidying back in the rack and looked him up and down, her mouth pursed repressively even though her eyes were twinkling. ‘Good morning, Dr Cavendish.’

Gemma saw his mouth twitch and his eyebrows shoot up. ‘Dr Cavendish? Whatever happened to young Samuel? I get the feeling I’m still in trouble with you, Doris—or does it have to be Mrs Trefusis now?’

Doris tutted. ‘You can hardly expect a warm welcome, Samuel. You’ve been gone so long, and your poor mother—’

He snorted. ‘My poor mother has had my support continuously since my father walked out seventeen years ago, as you very well know.’

‘From a distance. You should have been here, Sam,’ she chided gently.

Did his smile lose its sparkle? Maybe, although it didn’t waver as he went on, ‘Well, I’m here now, so you can start by offering me a cup of tea. I’m as dry as a desert.’

Doris sniffed. ‘I’m not sure you deserve one.’

He grinned and gave her a slow, lazy wink. ‘You’re just saying that. You love me really,’ he said, and Gemma watched old Doris Trefusis melt under the megawatt charm.

‘Go away with you,’ she said, blushing and flapping her hand at him. ‘I’ll bring it in—Dr Tremayne’s half expecting you. I might even be able to find you one of Hazel’s fairings if those doctors have left you any. She made an extra batch specially when she knew you were coming home.’

‘What, to help lure me back in?’ he said drily, glancing at Hazel Furse, the practice manager, with a wry smile. Then, as if he’d only just become aware of her presence at the back of Reception, he turned and met Gemma’s eyes, his face suddenly expressionless.

‘Gemma.’

That was all, just the one word, but it stopped her heart in its tracks. Oh, Sam. Were your eyes always so blue? Like a Mediterranean sky at night, cobalt blue, piercing through me.

‘Hello, Sam.’ Her voice sounded forced, and she had to swallow the sudden lump of emotion in her throat. ‘Welcome home.’

His jaw tightened, and he nodded. ‘Thank you. Hopefully it won’t be for too long. Mrs Furse, would you be kind enough to tell Dr T. I’m here, please.’

‘Sam! Good to see you! I saw you drive up. Come on in. Doris, I don’t know if you could rustle up some tea…’

‘It’s all in hand, Dr Tremayne. Kettle’s already on.’

Without another word to her, Sam turned his back on Gemma and limped into Nick’s surgery, the older man’s arm slung round his shoulders, and the door closed behind them.

She let her breath out then, unaware that she’d been holding it ever since he’d come in, holding back a part of herself that was too vulnerable, too tender and delicate and scarred to let him see.

He was back. Sam was back, but not the way she’d always dreamed of, had waited breathlessly for ever since she’d returned to Penhally last year in the hope that he might find out she was here and come back to her. Instead he’d come back for yet another family crisis, another duty visit, another call on his endless good nature and sense of responsibility that nobody else ever seemed to recognise.

But he hadn’t come back for her, and she realised now, after seeing him, after the way he’d looked at her, that he never would. And the pain was devastating…

‘Are you all right?’

She opened her eyes and saw Kate Althorp, one of their midwives, watching her with concern in her all-too-intelligent eyes.

‘I’m fine, Kate.’

‘Are you sure? You look a little pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said again, more firmly, because if Kate didn’t let her go and get on, she was going to do something stupid like burst into tears in Reception. And there was no way she was letting anyone see her show so much as a flicker of emotion.

Even if her heart was being torn in two…

Sam stood at the window and stared back along Harbour Road at the devastation left behind by the flood last autumn, putting Gemma’s face out of his mind. ‘What happened to the Anchor Hotel?’ he asked, although in truth he didn’t care. It and its patrons had never appealed to him, and he was sure it had been mutual.

‘It’s been demolished—the new additions that were never properly built—and they’re rebuilding it. There were a lot of properties damaged around the bottom of Bridge Street and Gull Close. There are lots of people still out of their homes.’

‘It must have been quite something.’

‘It was. It’s a miracle the bridge survived. The noise was tremendous.’

‘I’m sure. I missed all the news, I’m afraid—I was in hospital.’

‘Yes, I know, your mother said you’d had an accident on your bike. I see you’re still limping a bit. How are you?’

‘Really?’ He shrugged. ‘Better. Frustrated by the slow progress, but better. So—I gather your crew are all married now?’ he said, changing the subject to one he was more comfortable with, and Nick smiled, his lean face relaxing slightly.

‘Yes, they are. And Jack and Lucy have both got families. In fact Lucy’s decided she doesn’t want to come back, so there’s a job here if you’re at a loose end…’

Sam snorted softly and shook his head at his old friend and mentor. ‘I owe you a great deal, Dr T., but not that much.’ Not while his wife was working here. ‘Anyway, I’ll be busy.’

‘Yes, of course. How is your mother? She was pretty bad when I saw her yesterday evening, on her way in, but I phoned this morning and they said she’s doing well.’

‘Yes, she is, thanks. They’ve got her in the specialist stroke unit, and they scanned her straight away and put her on mega clot-busters, and she’s improving already.’

‘That’s excellent. We’re lucky to have the stroke unit. It’s a real asset, but she’ll still need some support for a while. Is that going to be a problem for you?’

‘Not really.’ He’d spent the last few months torn between physio and a desk job he loathed, trying to earn his keep at the charity he’d been working for when he’d been blown up and wondering where the hell to go from here. Next to all of that, this further infringement of his personal choice was small potatoes.

But his mother’s life—well, that was certainly going to change, and if she had her way, change his with it. ‘She’s OK,’ he said, trying to sound convincing. ‘It’s her left side, mostly her hand and her face, but that’s just the visible stuff. I have no idea what else might have been affected or what she’ll get back with this intensive treatment. Hopefully she’ll make a full recovery, but I expect the full extent will reveal itself in time. I would have thought there are bound to be some after-effects.’

‘Any idea of the cause?’

He shook his head. ‘Not as yet. They’re looking into it—she’s having an echocardiogram and a carotid scan, and she’s on a monitor, but so far they’ve drawn a blank. Her blood pressure’s dreadful, too, and she’s put on weight. Her diet’s always been atrocious—she’s addicted to chocolate, always has been, and the only reason she isn’t enormous is that she hardly eats anything else. God alone knows what Jamie’s been surviving on, there’s no food in the house to speak of, and she’s obviously depressed.’

‘We’ll sort her out, Sam, once she’s home. Don’t worry. And how’s your brother coping?’

Sam turned away from the window and eased into a chair with a sigh, toying with one of Hazel’s biscuits. ‘By running away from it, I think, but he’s been worrying her for a while. He’s a nightmare. It’s all too familiar, I’m afraid. Been there, done that, as the saying goes. I gather he’s in trouble with the police as well, just to add insult to injury.’

‘He is. He’s got in with a bad crowd—Gary Lovelace amongst others.’

Sam frowned. ‘Lovelace?’

‘Yes—do you remember him? Proper little tearaway as a child, and he’s no better now. He’s a year older than Jamie, I think.’

He trawled his brains. ‘I remember the name—probably the father’s. Always in and out of the slammer for one thing or another. Petty stuff mostly, if I remember. So Gary’s leading my little brother astray, is he? Damn.’

‘I think he’s willing to be led,’ Nick said wryly. ‘I’ve tried, Sam. I can’t get through to him. I don’t know him like I knew you—because my children have all grown up now, I hardly see his generation, whereas you were always in the house—usually in the kitchen eating us out of house and home or getting up to mischief in the garden. I can remember a few spontaneous bonfires…’

He gave Nick a crooked grin over the rim of his mug. ‘Hmm. My “SAS” phase. Sorry about that.’

‘Don’t be sorry. You never really did any harm, and you were always welcome. Annabel had a really soft spot for you, you know.’

He met Nick’s eyes with a pensive smile. ‘I was very fond of her. You must miss her.’

‘I do. She was a good woman. She used to worry about you, you know, and how your mother relied on you so heavily. It was no wonder you went off the rails. You had more than enough on your plate.’

‘Yeah, well, that doesn’t change, does it? I can’t believe I’m back picking up the pieces all over again.’

‘I can. You were a good boy, and you’ve turned into a good man, just as I knew you would.’

‘Oh, that’s just so much bull, Nick, and you know it. I wouldn’t be here at all if I had the slightest damned excuse to get away.’

‘Yes, you would—and your mother needs you. She misses you. Lots of people do.’

He gave a wry snort. ‘Hardly. They all remember me as a hell-raiser. Even Doris Trefusis tore me off a strip on the way in, and I have no doubt Audrey Baxter won’t waste a moment telling me I’m not welcome home.’

‘Ah, no—you’ll be spared that one. Mrs Baxter died in the flood.’

‘Really? Poor woman.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Not that she’d say that about me. She was always horrible to me—she made damn sure everyone knew everything I ever did, to the point that I used to do things in front of her and place bets with myself that my mother would know before I got home.’

‘You were just misunderstood.’

He wasn’t so sure about that. He grunted and looked around, not wanting to get into the past he was so keen to avoid. ‘So—what’s going on here? It looks a bit different to the last time I saw it. I haven’t been in here since I did work experience when your brother was the GP.’

‘Well, it’s certainly changed since then. We reopened it five years ago.’ He paused, his face troubled, and Sam realised he looked suddenly a great deal older. As well he might. Then he seemed to pull himself together and stood up. ‘Come and have a look round. I doubt if you’ll recognise it now. We’ve extended out the back, built a new minor injuries unit and X-ray and plaster rooms, but we’re also planning to build another extension on the side into what used to be Althorps’. The boatyard burned down in September, and it worked in our favour because we were able to buy part of the site—do you remember Kate Althorp? James’s widow?’

‘Vaguely. I know the name and I remember James dying in the storm.’

A quick frown flitted across Nick’s brow. ‘Yes. Well, her brother-in-law wanted to sell up, and without the income Kate’s half was redundant, so they cashed in on the insurance and sold the site. We bought enough land at the side of the surgery to extend it further, and to provide some more consulting rooms so we can extend the facilities offered by the MIU, which will give us a much better use of our space here. Come and see. You’ll be impressed, I hope.’

He was—but he wasn’t fooled. Nick was angling, but Sam wasn’t biting. Under any other circumstances—but they weren’t. They were what they were, and what they were was too damned hard to contemplate. They were standing at the top of the stairs discussing Nick’s vision for the future of the surgery as a multi-disciplinary health centre with dental and osteopathy services when Nick was called to the phone, and he left Sam there and went into a consulting room to take the call.

And Gemma, who’d been the one to find Nick and tell him he was wanted on the phone, was left standing there with Sam, her soft grey-blue eyes wary, her body language defensive. As if he was in some way a threat.

That was a laugh. She was far more of a threat to him than he would ever be to her. She was the one who’d walked away.

He held her eyes, hardening himself to the expression in them, refusing to be drawn in. ‘My mother said you were back.’

‘Yes, I’ve been working here for a year now. How is she, Sam? Nick said she was improving.’

‘Doing really well. Rather shocked, I think. We all are. She’s only fifty-seven.’

‘I know, but she’s had high blood pressure for years, and her diet’s a bit lacking.’

‘What, in anything other than chocolate?’ he said with a wry grin, and then felt his heart turn over when she smiled back. Oh, God, he wanted her—wanted to haul her into his arms, up against his chest and bury his nose in that thick, soft waterfall of hair, to breathe her in and see if she still smelled the same.

‘She said you’re still single,’ he told her with an edge to his voice, and the smile faded instantly as she looked away.

‘Well, we both know that’s not true,’ she said under her breath.

‘I never could work it out. All this time, and you haven’t asked for a divorce. And I wonder why not.’

‘Well, you haven’t, either.’

‘No. It’s not really been an issue. I’ve been busy.’ Busy trying to forget her, busy pretending to himself that he didn’t need a social life, that his marriage was just on hold and one day…

‘I gathered. In Africa, saving the world. So how did you fall off this bike?’

‘Oh, you know me—always taking risks, pushing my luck, playing the fool.’

‘You’re thirty, Sam. Isn’t it time you grew up and stopped worrying your mother sick?’

He swallowed. Oh, he was grown up. He’d grown up the day he’d come home late from work with a bunch of flowers for her and found her letter.

Nick returned from taking his call. ‘Sorry about that. Right, where were we?’

‘I’ll leave you to it. Send Linda my love,’ Gemma said, and fled back into her room, her heart pounding, her legs like jelly and her stupid, stupid hormones racing through her body and dragging it from an eleven-year slumber into vibrant, screaming wakefulness…

‘So—what do you think of the set-up?’

Nick had concluded his guided tour after a walk through the minor injuries suite downstairs and a quick chat with Lauren, the physio, a local girl whom Sam vaguely remembered, and they were back in Reception when Nick asked the question, his expression hopeful despite the simple words.

Except of course there was nothing simple about them, and it didn’t take a genius to read the subtext.

‘Excellent—but I’m not falling for it, Nick,’ Sam said softly. ‘I don’t want to work here.’ Not with Gemma.

‘Why? You need a job, we need a doctor. Your mother and brother need you and, frankly, looking at you, I reckon you need us. Can’t I talk you into it—at least for a few weeks until we can get someone to take over? We’d be hugely grateful, and it would give you something productive to do while your mother recovers.’

‘I’ve got plenty to do. The garden can’t have been touched for years—’

‘Gardening leave?’ Nick said softly, his eyes mocking. ‘At least think about it. Maybe it’s time to come home, Sam.’

But then Gemma came downstairs again, and their eyes locked and pain lanced through him.

‘I don’t think so,’ he muttered, and, turning on his heel, he crossed the reception area in two strides and slapped the swing door out of his way.

Then and only then did he breathe again…

She didn’t know how she got through the rest of the day.

Sam had left the building, but his aura hung in the air, his presence filling every corner and bringing a huge lump to her throat every time she allowed herself the luxury of thinking of him.

Not that she had much time, because she had a busy afternoon surgery and afterwards she was due to go up to the high school for a careers evening. And on her way home to change, of course, she had to drive past his mother’s house, and his car was on the drive. At least she assumed it was his car, because it had a hire-car logo in the window.

Oh, why was she so fixated on him? She couldn’t afford to let herself do this. He was passing through, doing what he’d done over and over again, coming back only for long enough to do what was necessary and this time, just for good measure, tearing the scab off her wounded heart.

If she let him. She didn’t have to, of course. She could keep him firmly at a distance. She’d heard Nick ask him to stay, seen him leave the building as if it were on fire.

Sam wouldn’t be staying.

And she wouldn’t be letting him into her heart.

‘Sam! Hello, darling, I hoped you’d come.’

‘Hiya. How are you? You sound better—your speech is much clearer. That’s fantastic.’ He brushed a kiss over his mother’s drooping cheek—was it less noticeable?—and eased himself down into the chair beside her bed. ‘I’ve brought you some grapes.’

‘Not chocolate?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘No, Mum, not chocolate. Grapes are good for you and, besides, I like them.’ He helped himself to a handful and settled back in the chair, one foot crossed over the other knee. ‘Anyway, I want to talk to you. About Jamie.’

‘Oh, Sam, where is he?’ she slurred, her eyes welling. ‘I thought you’d bring him.’

‘No, sorry, I had to walk the dog, and when I got back he’d gone out—he sent me a text, though. He had to be at school, he said.’

‘He doesn’t want to see me.’

He didn’t tell her that the thought had occurred to him, too. ‘No, it’s legit. I rang the school—it’s a careers evening and he’s apparently volunteered to help out. I’m going over there as soon as I leave you to make sure he’s there and talk to the staff.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said ruefully.

‘Mmm. I’m sure they’ll have lots to say, but so have I. Don’t worry, I’ll sort Jamie out. You just concentrate on getting better.’

She gave a funny little laugh, then her face creased. ‘How’s Digger? Does he miss me?’

Sam smiled. ‘I think he does, but he’s enjoying his walks. We had a lovely run on the beach this morning at dawn.’ Down to the other beach, to sit on the stumps of the old cabin and torture himself with the memories…

‘Don’t let him off the lead. He’ll go down a hole.’

Sam laughed softly. ‘I do remember you telling me how he got his name. I’ll keep him on the lead, don’t worry.’

‘So—did you go to the surgery?’ she asked after the slightest pause, and he braced himself for the inevitable questions.

‘Yes, I saw Nick.’

‘And Gemma?’

He felt his mouth tighten and consciously relaxed it. ‘Yes, I saw Gemma. She sends her love. She seems to know you quite well.’

‘Oh, she does. She runs the cont…’

She trailed off, exasperated by her uncooperative tongue, and Sam put in, ‘The continuing care clinic?’

‘Mmm. She does my blood pressure. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Pretty girl.’

‘I didn’t notice,’ he lied. ‘I was a bit busy.’

God, it was a wonder his nose wasn’t longer than Pinocchio’s! He put the grapes back on his mother’s bed table before he crushed them all inadvertently, moved her newspaper and picked up her weakened left hand. ‘Come on, let’s do some physio. We need to keep these fingers moving.’

She shook her head. ‘They just won’t.’

‘They will. Keep trying. Here, come on, I’ll help you,’ he said, and, taking her fingers in his, he started working on them, giving himself something to do apart from conjuring Gemma’s image into his crazed mind.

But it didn’t work, her image was still there larger than life, her soft, wounded, wary eyes torturing him, so after a few minutes he put his mother’s hand down and stood up. ‘Right, I’m off to the school to sort out young Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good.’

‘What else?’ she said sadly, and her eyes filled again, ripping at his conscience. ‘Bring him—come for longer. I miss you, Sam. You don’t know…’

His conscience stabbed him again, and he sighed softly. ‘I do. You tell me often enough. But my life’s not here, Mum.’

‘Could be.’

‘No. No, it couldn’t. Just the moment you’re better and I’m given the all-clear by the physios, I’m going back to Africa.’

Her fingers tightened on his, her right hand clutching at him in desperation. ‘No, Sam! Don’t! You can’t go back!’

That was probably true, although not the way she meant it, but he wasn’t giving in. Not yet. ‘Mum, I have to go,’ he repeated, and, freeing his hand, he dropped a swift kiss on her cheek and walked out.

‘Sam! I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s the last place!’

‘Well, ditto,’ he said, and his smile looked strained. ‘Have you seen Jamie?’

‘He’s here somewhere,’ Gemma said, trying to control her see-sawing emotions. ‘Doing the name badges and the drinks for the parents? He will have done the careers thing last year, so he’s only helping. I don’t like to be unkind, but it doesn’t sound like him.’

‘Maybe it was just a reason not to go and see Mum. He hasn’t been in yet. I think he’s scared, but while I’m here I need to speak to his teachers and find out what I can about him hanging around with Gary Lovelace.’

‘Well, Lachlan D’Ancey’s here, he’ll fill you in. He’s Chief Constable now, but he just comes to support the school and sell the police force. Nick Tremayne’s here, too. If Lachlan’s busy I expect Nick could use some help, there are always lots of people thinking of studying medicine.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t think the school would be interested in my support. I wasn’t exactly their star pupil.’

‘That’s rubbish, Sam, you got four As at A level!’

‘Only because I was constantly being grounded.’

She smiled slightly, remembering the tales of how rebellious he’d been, how he’d pushed everyone to the limit of their patience, worried his mother senseless and alienated half of the town.

Which, of course, had only made him even more attractive.

She dragged her eyes from Sam and looked at the girl who was hovering behind him. ‘Hi. Did you want to see me?’

‘Um—yes, please. I’m thinking of going into nursing, and I wondered if you could tell me about it.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sam lift his hand in farewell as he walked away, and she stifled a sigh of regret.

Foolish, foolish woman. It’s over. Forget it.

But she couldn’t, and for the rest of the evening her eyes were constantly searching for him, and every time they found him, her silly, stupid heart would lurch against her ribs.

It might be over, but apparently she couldn’t forget it. Not for the last nearly eleven years, and certainly not now, with Sam right here under her nose, his presence reminding her of everything she’d lost…

CHAPTER TWO

‘SAM—good to see you.’

He stifled a wry grin at the blatant lie from the man who’d had altogether too much to do with him in his youth. ‘Hello, Lachlan. How are you?’

‘Very well. Great, actually. Married again.’

Sam hadn’t known he’d got unmarried, but he wasn’t surprised that yet another thing had happened in Penhally without him knowing. He’d done his best to distance himself, so it was hardly rocket science, and he made some trite and socially acceptable remark and then Lachlan brought the conversation, not unexpectedly, around to Jamie.

‘Your brother’s getting himself in a bit of bother these days,’ he murmured. ‘You want to have a word with him. He’s going to end up with a criminal record if he goes on like this, and it’s a crying shame because he’s a good lad really. Sharp as a tack, which is half his trouble, of course, like it was yours. What he needs is a good role model.’

‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Sam said with a low laugh. ‘I’m the last person to give him advice.’

‘I disagree. You’re just the person—he reminds me a lot of you.’

‘What—loud and unruly?’

‘No—lost,’ he said, and Sam looked away, uncomfortable with Lachlan’s all too accurate interpretation of his youthful emotions. ‘You need to get him out of the influence of that young Gary Lovelace. He’s a nasty piece of work—God alone knows what Jamie sees in him, but he’s leading your little brother into all sorts of mischief.’

Sam straightened. ‘Not drugs?’

‘Not that we know of, but I shouldn’t be surprised. But Gary’s a thief, and a bully, like his father and his little brother, and you need to get Jamie away from him before something bad happens.’

Sam sighed inwardly. This was the last thing he needed.

‘So how’s your mother? I was sorry to hear about her stroke—she seems far too young.’

‘Yes. But strokes can happen to anyone, from tiny babies upwards. She’s making great progress, but we just need to know why it happened to stop it happening again.’

‘You ought to speak to Gemma. It was Gemma who found her. She went round after work and checked up on her because she was worried.’

‘Did she?’ he said softly, wondering why Gemma hadn’t mentioned it. Because she didn’t want to talk to him any more than she had to? Very likely. He didn’t really want to talk to her, either, and so far all their exchanges had been carefully contained, with all hell breaking loose just under the surface—at least, on his side. But if Gemma had found his mother, she could easily have been responsible for saving her life, and at the very least he ought to thank her. Not even he was that churlish.

‘I’ll go and have a word. Thanks, Lachlan—and if you hear anything I need to know about Jamie, let me know.’

‘Will do. And you do the same.’

‘Sure.’

He went back towards Gemma, but there was a crowd of young girls around her, so he wandered over to the desk where Jamie was handing out name tags and soft drinks to parents.

‘Checking up on me?’ Jamie said, his mouth set in a defiant line, and Sam just smiled.

‘No. I don’t need to, I’ve got the rest of Penhally doing that, by all accounts. How long are you going to be here?’

‘Another few minutes, then I’m going out with my friends.’

Sam frowned. ‘Why? It’s a school night. You’ve got your exams in a few weeks, you should be working.’

‘Nah. I’ve got it all under control, Sam. You don’t have to come home and play the heavy brother with me.’

‘That’s not what I’m hearing.’

‘Well, tough. What do they know?’

‘Well, I gather Mr D’Ancey knows quite a lot about you—probably rather more than is healthy.’

Jamie’s eyes slid away and his face took on a defensive cast. ‘Whatever. I’m out tonight. My work’s up to date, I’ve got nothing outstanding—and don’t even think about suggesting I tidy my bedroom. All I hear from Mum is that I’m just like you.’

Sam stifled a smile and gave up—for now. ‘OK. But not late. Ten.’

‘Ten-thirty.’

‘Ten-fifteen—and if you’re so much as thirty seconds late, you’re grounded for a week.’

‘What? Where do you get off—?’

‘Suit yourself. Ten-fifteen or you’re grounded. I’ll see you later.’

And without giving his brother a chance to argue any further, he walked away. Gemma was free now, and he crossed to her quickly before another wannabe nurse appeared. ‘Can we talk?’

Her eyes widened with alarm, and he realised she’d misunderstood. Or maybe she hadn’t, not really, but he wasn’t getting into all that now. He could barely keep a lid on his emotions as it was. The last thing he needed was to have a deeply personal conversation in public with the woman who’d shredded his heart. ‘About my mother,’ he added, and saw the alarm recede.

‘Sure. When are you thinking of?’

‘After you finish? I haven’t eaten yet, I don’t know if you have, but I thought we could go up to the Smugglers’ and have something there while we talk.’

She nodded slowly. ‘That would be fine. Give me another few minutes, and if nobody else comes, we can go.’

‘Fine.’ He gave her a brisk nod, and walked off to find Nick.

‘Ah, Sam, just the man. This is Dr Cavendish—he’s been working in Africa with an aid agency—was it Doctors Without Borders?’

‘No, but it’s similar,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Young David here is considering medicine and wants to work in that field. Can you give him some advice?’

He dredged up a smile for the youngster. ‘Sure. What do you want to know?’

‘Sorry about that, I got caught up.’ ‘So did I. Nick found me a young lad with a death wish. He wants to work in Africa—he’s talking about doing a gap year with an aid agency before he goes to med school.’

‘So what did you say?’

‘Don’t do it. Are you all done now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s get out of here—have you got your car?’

‘Yes. Shall I meet you up at the pub?’

‘Good idea.’

He followed her down past the surgery to the harbour and turned right along Harbour Road past the shrouded site of the Anchor Hotel, over the River Lanson at the bottom of Bridge Street and along to the end, past Nick Tremayne’s house and his mother’s house next door, then up the hill, past the little church on the left with the lighthouse beyond it on the headland, and then over the rise to the Smugglers’ Inn.

The place was doing well, if the number of cars outside on a week night was anything to go by, and he parked in the last space and got out, breathing deeply and drawing the fresh sea air into his lungs.

God, that smelt good. It was one of the few things about Penhally that he missed—apart from Gemma, who was walking towards him now, her eyes unreadable in the dimly lit car park. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her coat, and she looked wary and uncertain, as if she was regretting saying yes.

She didn’t need to. He wasn’t a threat to her. He had no intention of getting into any personal territory at all. Not even slightly.

‘Lots of cars,’ he said, aiming for something neutral. ‘Do you think we’ll get a seat?’

She looked round and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We could always sit outside on the terrace,’ she said doubtfully.

Hell, no. They’d spent whole evenings on that terrace, and it was the last place he wanted to go. ‘It’s not warm enough, the food might get cold.’

‘There might be room inside.’

‘We’ll see.’ Oh, God, endless pleasantries, and all he really wanted to do was touch her, thread her hair through his fingers, feel her body soft against his…

He yanked open the door of the pub and ushered her in, and as they walked into the bar, a hush fell.

‘Well, by all the saints, young Samuel. Come home to cause havoc, have ‘e, lad?’

‘Ignore him,’ Gemma muttered, but he went over to old Fred Spencer and shook his hand.

‘How are you, Mr Spencer?’

‘Better’n you, by all accounts. Why you limpin’?’

‘Fell off my bike,’ he said economically. ‘And don’t say it.’

‘Well, I ‘spect it was your fault.’

‘Why not? It always was, wasn’t it?’

The old man cracked a laugh and turned back to his companions. ‘Always had to have the last word, young Sam.’

Only not always. Not with Gemma. There’d been no chance to have the last word, to talk things through, to get to the bottom of it—and he wasn’t starting now.

Leaving Fred with his mates, they went over to the bar and ordered drinks and scanned the specials board.

‘The steak’s still good,’ Gemma said. ‘I think I’ll have that—just the small one.’

‘Rare?’

She nodded, surprised and yet not that he would have remembered. They’d always had the steak frites in here, and it had always been good, and she’d always had it rare.

Listen to her! Always, indeed. What was she thinking? It had only been—what? Ten, maybe twelve times in all, over more than a year? But it was all the time they’d had together, and it had been precious, every last second of it.

He ordered the steak for her, but to her surprise he ordered beef Stroganoff for himself—just in case she thought it was all too cosy down Memory Lane? She wasn’t sure, not sure at all, about any of it, and she didn’t really have any idea what she was doing here with him, tearing herself apart, when she could have been safely tucked up at home.

‘Ah, there’s a table here,’ he said, and led her across the room to where a couple were just leaving. He held the chair for her to sit down, and as he did so, his hand brushed her arm.

Dear God, he thought, desperately resisting the need to touch her again, to reach out and let his fingers linger over that soft, slender arm, to run them over her shoulder, to slide the lightweight jersey top aside and press his lips to her skin…

He retreated to the safety of the other side of the table and sat down opposite her, flicking his eyes over the menu even though he’d already ordered, staring out of the window as she shuffled in her seat, organising her bag, placing her drink carefully in the centre of the beer mat with great precision.

And then, once they were settled and there was nothing left to fidget with, there was a silence that was so full of unspoken words it was like a roar in his head. And he had to break it or go mad.

‘So—you came back to Penhally,’ he said, trying to find something neutral to talk about and failing dismally at the first hurdle.

She glanced away, but not before he’d seen a shadow in her eyes. ‘Yes. I love it here.’

Especially when he wasn’t there. His mouth tipped in a mocking smile. ‘I thought it was too small for you? Too pedestrian. Too provincial. Wasn’t that why you left to see the world and didn’t come back?’

Hardly. It was the place where her heart was, where she’d found a love she’d thought would last forever, but she couldn’t tell him that or she’d have to tell him why she’d gone, so she just gave him a level look and lied in her teeth.

‘You know why I left—to go travelling while I considered my career options. And you can talk about leaving to see the world, Sam. It’s me who’s living here now. You’ve hardly been home.’

‘Et tu, Brute? Isn’t this where you tell me that I’ve failed my mother and failed my brother and ought to move home like a good little boy? Well, news flash, Gemma. I’ve got a life now, and it’s not here. And it never will be.’ Thanks to her. His jaw tightened, and she felt a stab of pain for him, and for herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘It’s none of my business. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you should come home for your mother or your brother. You did more than enough for them, Sam, and you’ve got two sisters who don’t live a million miles away who could be putting more into this than they are. But maybe you should think about coming home for you.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, what is it about Penhally and everyone telling me what to do?’

‘I wasn’t telling you—’

‘Weren’t you? Well, it sounded like it from where I’m sitting.’

Or maybe that was his conscience, he thought, guilt racking him yet again for the hurt look he’d put in her eyes.

‘I don’t want to go into this. I brought you here to talk about my mother’s stroke, not me,’ he said after a moment in which they’d both taken a deep breath and regrouped. ‘I gather you found her last night?’

She met his eyes squarely, her own still reproachful. ‘Yes—she came in the day before yesterday to see me for a routine blood-pressure check, and she mentioned that she’d noticed her heart doing something funny in the evening a couple of times. I had a word with Adam—Adam Donnelly, one of our doctors—and he suggested we should do an ECG and then refer her to St Piran for some tests.’

‘And?’

‘I did the ECG yesterday, and there was nothing out of the ordinary at all, but I was just a bit worried about her. Her blood pressure was up again, and—I don’t know, she just didn’t seem right. And she looked a bit strained around the eyes. So after work I popped in. There was no reply to the doorbell, so I went round the back and opened the door because I could hear Digger whining, and I found her at the kitchen table, looking chalky grey and sweaty and feeling terrible. And she had a killer headache, apparently, and she said she’d had some kind of convulsion, but I noticed her mouth was drooping a bit and then she just lost her speech. It was a classic stroke, so I called Nick and got the ambulance on its way, and alerted the specialist unit, and—well, I don’t know how she is now. I went in with her last night because Jamie wasn’t around and I didn’t want her to be alone, but I haven’t had time to get up there again. I was going to go and see her in my lunch break but I thought you might be there, and then there was the careers evening so I just haven’t had a chance. So how is she? Really? She must have been so frightened.’

He nodded slowly. ‘I think so. But who wouldn’t be? It’s a really big thing, isn’t it, and it could have been so much worse if you hadn’t checked on her. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t. It sounds as if your prompt action’s made a huge difference to the impact of her stroke, and if you hadn’t gone in—well, talking to the staff it’s clear that without immediate help she could easily have died, so thank you. She sends you her love, by the way. She seems very fond of you.’

Gemma gave a soft, wry little laugh. ‘I can’t imagine why. I bully her dreadfully.’

‘She needs it. So—about this heart thing…’

‘Mmm. I mean, obviously it hasn’t been investigated properly yet, but I was wondering—do you think she could have some kind of AF?’

‘Atrial fibrillation? Could well be. It would fit. I just can’t understand how she hasn’t felt it in her chest before, if she’s got AF and it’s sustained enough that she’s forming clots. You’d think you’d feel it if your heart’s not beating right.’

‘Not everyone does feel it, though, and atrial fibrillation is notoriously tricky to control.’

‘Especially if you OD on stimulants like tea and coffee and very dark chocolate. It’s always given her the odd palpitation, and maybe it’s just accustomed her to a funny heartbeat from time to time, and then the AF doesn’t feel so very different—’

‘Steak frites and beef Stroganoff?’

‘Thanks, Tony,’ Sam said, leaning back so the landlord could put their plates down. He paused to welcome Sam back.

‘Good to see you again. How are things? Sorry about your mother.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, feeling a little awkward because clearly everyone knew about her, recognised him and also recognised the fact that he’d been notable by his absence. Then he chatted to Gemma for a few moments, and while he listened to them, Sam watched her, her face attentive, her eyes crinkling with humour when Tony made a joke, and all the time her lips were moving, soft and warm, bare of lipstick but moist from the occasional flick of her tongue, and it was getting increasingly difficult to sit there and pretend that he felt nothing for her, this woman who’d torn his heart apart.

His wife, for heaven’s sake.

Then Tony moved away, and he turned his attention to his food, and for a while they were both silent. Then she lifted her head and said, ‘You know you made that remark about David having a death wish because he wanted to go to Africa? What did you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘It was just a joke.’

‘No. You meant something, and you said you’d told him not to go, and when you were talking to Fred just now about the accident—what happened, Sam?’ she asked softly. ‘Did you really just fall off your bike?’

He sighed and set down his fork. ‘Really? In a manner of speaking,’ he said, and then bluntly, because he still wanted to lash out, he went on, ‘I hit a landmine.’

Her face bleached of colour, and he caught her glass just as it slipped through her fingers. ‘Careful, anybody would think you still cared, and we all know that’s not true,’ he said with bitter irony.

She sat back, her eyes filling, and closed them quickly, but not quickly enough because a single tear slipped down her cheek and that old guilt thing kicked in again. ‘Actually I was thinking of your mother—how she would have coped if…’

‘If I’d died?’ he prompted, trying not to look at the tear, and she sucked in a tiny breath.

‘Don’t.’ She swallowed and opened her eyes, reaching for her glass. He still had it in his hand, and as he passed it to her, their fingers met and he felt the shock race through him again.

Damn. Still, after all these years…

She took a sip and put it down, then met his eyes again. ‘So what really happened, Sam? With the landmine?’

He made himself concentrate on something other than the little trail the tear had made on her cheek. ‘There was a booby trap—a car in the road. I swerved round it, not paying attention, and the back wheel caught the anti-personnel mine and it hurled the back of the bike up into the air. Luckily the panniers were rammed with equipment, which protected me from the blast, but the force of the explosion threw me forwards onto the ground.’

‘And?’

‘And I broke my collar bone and my ankle,’ he told her, grossly oversimplifying it. ‘Oh, and tore the rotator cuff in my left shoulder.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I’ve noticed you don’t use your left hand very much.’

‘Got out of the habit,’ he lied, and turned his attention back to his food, leaving her sitting there in silence, struggling with the image of him being hurled through the air and smashed into the ground.

She felt sick. It could have been so much worse, she thought, and set down her knife and fork, unable to eat while her emotions churned round inside her and the man she loved was just a foot away, his eyes fixed on his plate, obviously in a hurry now to finish his meal and leave. He’d only wanted to thank her for finding his mother, and he’d done that, and now he just wanted to go.

Fair enough. So did she, and she was about to get up and leave when Tony stopped by their table.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked, and she nodded and smiled at him and picked up her knife and fork again, forcing herself to finish her food before it was not only the flavour of sawdust, but stone cold with it.

‘So how long will she be in?’ he asked the registrar the next day.

‘Just a few days. We want to get her anticoagulation sorted and then she can be discharged.’

He felt a flicker of fear, the tightening of the noose of responsibility, and consciously slowed his breathing down.

‘Surely she can’t come home until she’s able to look after herself?’

‘But I gather you’re at home now, so that’s not a problem, is it?’

He arched a brow. ‘You want me to look after my mother? Attend to her personal care?’

‘Why not? You’re a doctor.’

But she’s my mother! he wanted to scream, but it was pointless. She would have done the same for him, and it was only because it made him feel trapped that he was so desperate to get away. And last night, with Gemma—well, it had been an emotional minefield every bit as dangerous to his health as the one he’d encountered on the bike, and he hadn’t been able to get away from the pub quick enough.

He’d used Digger as an excuse, and he’d gone back to the house, collected the dog and taken him for a long walk along the beach in the moonlight, right down to the far end and back while he thought about Gemma and how he still wanted her so badly it was tearing holes in him.

He couldn’t do it—couldn’t stay here. He just wanted to get away, to go back to Africa and lick his wounds in peace. Well, not peace, exactly, but anonymity, at least, without the benefit of the residents of Penhally telling him he’d deserted his mother and let his brother run wild and failed them both, with Gemma in the background reminding him that he’d failed her, too, or why the hell else would she have left him when everything between them had seemed so incredibly perfect?

But he couldn’t go back to Africa, because he couldn’t operate, because his collar bone hadn’t just broken, it had shredded his left brachial plexus and damaged the sensory nerves to his left hand, and his shoulder was still weak from the tear to his rotator cuff when he’d landed on it, and his leg—well, his ankle would heal slowly and improve with time, unlike his hand, but in the meantime he’d struggle to stand for hours operating, even if he could feel what he was doing with his hand, which he couldn’t, and he couldn’t ride a bike, not with his left arm so compromised and his ankle inflexible, so it was pointless thinking about it and tormenting himself.

And his mother aside, there was the problem of Jamie, who had come in last night at seventeen minutes past ten. Late, but not so late that he was going to say anything, and so they’d established an uneasy truce.

But the need to get away was overwhelming, and after he left the hospital he drove up onto Bodmin Moor and walked for hours with Digger over the rough grass and heather until his ankle was screaming and he wasn’t sure how he’d get back, his mind tortured with memories of Gemma, lying there with him in the heather and kissing him back for hour after hour until he thought he’d die of frustration.

Huh. No way. He’d discovered through painful and bitter experience that you didn’t die of frustration, you just wished you could, because that would bring an end to it at last.

He sat down on a granite outcrop with the panting Jack Russell at his feet and stared out over the barren, wild landscape while he waited for the pain in his ankle to subside. He could see a few sturdy little ponies grazing and, in the distance, a small herd of Devon Red bullocks turned out for fattening on the spring grass. But apart from that and the inevitable sheep dotted about like cotton-wool balls in the heather, there was nothing there but the wide-open skies and the magical, liquid sound of the curlews.

And gradually, as the warmth of the spring sun seeped into his bones and the bleak, familiar landscape welcomed him home, he accepted what he had to do—what he’d known, ever since he’d had the phone call about her stroke, that he would have to do.

He didn’t like it—he didn’t like it one bit—but he had no choice, and he would do it, because that was who he was. He would stay at home and look after his mother until she was better, he’d get his brother back on the rails, and then he’d look at his future.

Always assuming he could get off this damned moorland without calling out the Air Ambulance!

‘Lauren?’

The physiotherapist looked up and smiled at him a little warily. ‘Oh, hi, Sam. How are you?’

He pulled a wry face. ‘Sore—that was what I wanted to see you about. I don’t suppose I can book myself in for some physio with you, can I? I overdid it up on Bodmin this afternoon and I could do with a good workout. Maybe after you finish one evening?’

Her face clouded. ‘Oh. Um—evenings aren’t good for me. I’ve got RP—retinitis pigmentosa…’

She was going blind? ‘Hell, I’m sorry, I had no idea.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s fine, Sam. It’s progressing slowly, but I’ll take it as it comes and in the meantime—well, I can still do practically everything I did before, but I only work daylight hours now. I can’t see very well when the light fades, but I’m more than happy to fit you in at lunchtime—or if Gabriel’s not working late so he can get home for the dog, I can do it then if you don’t mind giving me a lift home?’

‘Of course not—but lunchtime’s fine if it suits you best. It’s just my ankle.’

‘Not your hand and arm?’

He hesitated, glancing down at it and wondering if it was so damned obvious to everyone.

‘I noticed you don’t use it,’ she said gently, ‘and you don’t use your shoulder much, either, but it’s not obvious, Sam. It’s myjob—I ought to be able to tell. But it doesn’t matter now. Just come and we’ll go through it all then, see what I need to do for you. Say—one tomorrow?’

He gave her a fleeting smile. ‘That would be great.’

‘Can’t you keep away, Sam?’

He straightened up and stepped back out of Lauren’s doorway, and met the older man’s eyes. ‘Hi, Nick.’

‘So, have you changed your mind? I sincerely hope so. We’re so damned busy it’s ridiculous. Dragan’s out today because the baby was ill and Melinda’s had a foul cold and he thinks he’s going down with it, too, just to add insult to injury, and everyone in Penhally seems to have realised it’s coming up to the spring bank holiday weekend so they’re trying to get in quick, and I’m desperately trying to find time to organise the lifeboat barbeque for Saturday. So if you want a job…?’

‘Organising the barbeque?’ he asked, surprised, but Nick gave a short laugh.

‘No, you don’t get off that lightly—the locum job.’

He sighed and rammed a hand through his hair. ‘Nick, I—’

‘Please?’

‘I’m out of touch.’

‘Rubbish. What the hell do you think you’ve been doing in Africa?’

He laughed. ‘Taking out an appendix under local? Trying to rehydrate a tiny child with boiled river water with some salt flung in it? Lancing an abscess the size of a football? Not juggling someone’s drugs to get the best result from their blood-pressure medication, or advising some spoilt middle-aged woman to drink more water, get off her backside and take some exercise if she wants to get rid of her constipation, that’s for sure! Hell, Nick, I can’t do this any more.’

‘Of course you can. Compared to Africa it’ll be a walk in the park.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want this, Nick. Don’t ask me, please.’

‘Why not? It’s a great practice, and if you wanted to come back permanently, with Lucy gone I’m sure we can find a slot for you here.’ His voice changed, becoming deeper, huskier, and he looked exhausted. ‘We’re desperate, Sam. We’ve been struggling without Lucy for weeks, keeping the job open for her because we couldn’t get a locum, but now—well, we need to advertise the post and that takes time, and frankly we’re all at the end of our rope. We need you.’

Them and everyone else, it seemed. He sighed again and turned away, but there was nowhere to go, because Jamie was running wild and his mother was in hospital and needed him for weeks, if not months, and he couldn’t just sit on his backside and watch the world go to hell while he twiddled his thumbs, it just wasn’t in his nature. But…

‘The people here don’t want me, Nick. I was a nightmare.’

‘You were a boy. You’re a man now. And people forget.’

‘Not in Penhally, they don’t. They’re all bloody elephants.’

Nick chuckled, but his face was still hopeful and he could feel the staff behind the reception desk all holding their breath for his reply.

He shook his head slowly, feeling the ground crumbling beneath his feet. ‘OK. I’ll help you out—but just the odd day here and there. Nothing drastic. And don’t go getting ideas about me coming back in a full-time, permanent post or anything like that, because it just won’t happen.’

Nick smiled, slapped him on the shoulder and led him over to Reception. ‘Of course not. Hazel, sign him up for locum duty, please. And start booking him in for as much as you can talk him into. I haven’t had a day off in four weeks and I’m tired. He can cover Dragan’s surgeries tomorrow. Oh, and schedule a practice meeting for the morning—I’ll introduce you to everyone, Sam. I’m sure they’ll all be delighted you’ve agreed to join us.’

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