Читать книгу Nurse In Need - Алисон Робертс - Страница 8

THE nudge from Jennifer Bowman’s elbow was none too gentle.

‘What is that, might I ask?’

Amy’s smile was embarrassed. ‘It’s a string quartet,’ she admitted.

‘And where is it?’

‘In the conservatory.’

‘And where is Noel?’ Jennifer asked pointedly.

‘I’m not sure.’ Amy cast a hopeful glance at the new faces appearing in the crowded drawing room. ‘He’ll be here very soon, I expect.’

‘He’d better be,’ Jennifer muttered darkly. She, too, glanced at the gathering of people. ‘This is even worse than I expected. Look—half of them are drinking sherry.’

‘I see you found the champagne, though.’

‘Of course. Where’s yours?’

‘I finished it already.’ Amy bit her lip. ‘I think I was a bit nervous.’

‘So? Have another one.’ Jennifer signalled a waiter who arrived at her side bearing a tray of crystal flutes, the pale gold liquid they contained fizzing discreetly. Jen winked at Amy. ‘I could get used to this. I’m even beginning to understand the attraction of Nigel Wesley.’

‘Shh. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.’ Amy took a sip from her glass. ‘I’m supposed to be in the foyer with Nigel, greeting the new arrivals. He’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long in the bathroom.’

‘Let him wonder,’ Jennifer advised. ‘Every woman needs a mystery or two.’

‘Where did you disappear to when I was in the bathroom?’

‘I was checking out the conservatory.’ Jennifer waved vaguely behind her then grinned at Amy. ‘You’ll never believe this, but I met a vampire.’

‘Oh, sure.’ Amy took another sip of champagne. Thank goodness Jen had agreed to come to this party. She could almost pretend she was enjoying herself despite the fact that they were being largely ignored by the people around them.

‘I’m not kidding. There was this tall, tall woman with dead white skin and jet black hair, all scraped back into a net thing. She had blood red lips and matching nails.’

Amy couldn’t stifle her smile. ‘I think you just met Lorraine.’

‘Who’s Lorraine?’

‘Nigel’s mother.’

‘No!’ Jen breathed. ‘How old is she?’

‘I don’t know. Must be in her sixties, I guess.’

Jen looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe scraping your hair back tightly enough has the same effect as a face lift. She doesn’t look that old.’ Jennifer leaned closer to Amy. ‘Then again,’ she whispered, ‘being unable to go out in daylight might work quite well, too.’

Amy giggled with genuine amusement but the pleasure died swiftly as the subject of their conversation appeared beside her.

‘I’m delighted to see you enjoying yourself, Amy.’ Lorraine Wesley didn’t look particularly delighted. Her gaze swept over Jennifer briefly with an ill-concealed flicker of distaste. Amy’s hackles rose. Jennifer might have overdone things just a little, with her black mini-skirt, tight-fitting top and the number of earrings she had chosen to wear, but she looked stunning in Amy’s opinion. She had always envied her friend’s figure.

Maybe Lorraine Wesley was envious as well. The elegant black sheath dress her prospective mother-in-law was wearing revealed a body lacking any feminine curves. Lorraine’s sharp glance landed on Amy again.

‘Shouldn’t you be with Nigel at the moment?’

‘I’m on my way, Mrs Wesley,’ Amy said quickly. ‘Have you met my friend, Jennifer?’

‘Ah!’ Lorraine Wesley made it sound as though a mystery had been finally solved. She nodded with deliberate graciousness at Jennifer.

‘Jen’s my flatmate,’ Amy said defensively. ‘It’s thanks to her I had something to wear tonight. She lent me her ballgown.’ She smoothed a nervous hand over the full skirt of the floor-length, midnight blue gown.

‘Ah!’ Lorraine repeated meaningfully. ‘No wonder the bodice looks a little big for you, my dear.’ Sculptured eyebrows creased a fraction. ‘What have you got on your feet?’

Amy didn’t dare look at Jen’s expression. She took a long swallow of her champagne before poking her foot further out from the folds of the dress. ‘What’s wrong with my shoes?’

‘Nothing at all, dear,’ Lorraine assured her. ‘Except they’re flat. One should never wear flat shoes with evening dress.’ Lorraine Wesley laughed tolerantly. ‘In fact, one should probably avoid wearing flat shoes at any time.’ The older woman was turning away as she spoke. ‘Ah, Rodney! How fabulous to see you again.’

‘I should have told her I have flat feet,’ Amy muttered rebelliously. ‘And I need the shoes to match.’

Jennifer was looking unusually serious. ‘Doesn’t she know why you wear flat shoes?’

‘Of course not.’ Amy looked uncomfortable. ‘I’d better go and find Nigel. Excuse me.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Jennifer was following her. ‘I want to know something, Amy Brooks.’

‘What?’ Amy stopped near the string quartet. The music covered their voices.

‘Has Nigel ever tried to take you dancing on one of these weekly dates you’ve been having?’

‘No. We usually have dinner or go to a concert or movie. Or both. You know that.’

‘Has he ever seen you in a short skirt?’

‘Do I ever wear short skirts?’ Amy countered.

‘Exactly.’ Jennifer lowered her voice. ‘Have you slept with Nigel Wesley, Amy?’

‘Jen!’ Amy looked quickly over her shoulder.

‘Have you?’ Jen persisted.

‘Not exactly,’ Amy admitted reluctantly.

Jennifer sighed with exasperation. ‘Amy, how could you even think of marrying a man who doesn’t even know about something that significant in your life?’

‘He knows about my leg,’ Amy muttered. ‘He just hasn’t seen it. It’s not that significant, anyway. Or it shouldn’t be.’

‘But it is,’ Jennifer contradicted. ‘You know it is, Amy. It was the reason you broke up with what’s-his-name—that chap you were almost engaged to before you moved to Christchurch.’ Jennifer sounded desperate. ‘Amy, you can’t marry Nigel Wesley.’

‘Yes, I can,’ Amy said quietly. ‘It’s my choice. He asked me and I said yes.’

‘But why?’ Jennifer wailed softly.

‘Because I want a family,’ Amy said sincerely. ‘I want children. So does Nigel. He’ll be a good father. He takes his responsibilities very seriously.’

‘That’s not enough,’ Jen told her.

‘He loves me,’ Amy said firmly. ‘And I love him.’

‘Do you?’ Jennifer’s mouth twisted doubtfully. ‘Do you really love him?’

‘I think so,’ Amy replied. ‘Who really knows for sure?’

‘I would,’ Jennifer said with conviction. ‘And so should you. This isn’t good enough.’

‘It’s all that’s on offer.’ Amy drained her glass and set it down on a side table. ‘And I’m not going to lose the only chance I might ever get.’ She could see Nigel approaching. So could Jen.

‘He looks just like his mother,’ Jennifer observed casually. ‘Except she hasn’t got the beard…yet.’

Amy had to smile, she couldn’t help herself. Nigel was tall, slim and dark like his mother. His hair was swept back to sit neatly on his head. Everything about Nigel was neat. His black dinner suit fitted perfectly. The bow tie sat perfectly straight. His beard and moustache were trimmed with military precision. The impression of intolerance to anything stepping out of line was undermined only by the charming smile he directed at Amy.

‘I thought I’d lost you, darling,’ he said. ‘Come on. There’s someone I really want to introduce you to. Stuart Latimer is visiting from London.’ He linked Amy’s arm through his, gave Jennifer an apologetic inclination of his head and pulled Amy away. ‘You haven’t got a drink yet,’ he observed in surprise. ‘Let me find you a glass of champagne.’

Stuart Latimer was a large man, currently in conversation with Lorraine Wesley. He was clearly very impressed by the canapés being offered. One hand was covered by a serviette on which several small savouries nestled.

‘Delicious,’ he explained to Amy after they had been introduced. ‘Never tasted anything so good.’

‘They’re not too bad, are they?’ Lorraine looked satisfied. ‘I expect we’ll use these caterers for the wedding.’

‘When’s that going to be?’ Stuart enquired. He winked at Amy. ‘You’re a lucky girl, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, I’m the lucky one, Stuart,’ Nigel put in quickly. He slid an arm around Amy’s waist, which reminded her of her encounter with Patrick Moore earlier that day. She took a gulp of champagne.

‘October, we thought.’ Lorraine was eager to respond to Stuart’s question. ‘In a month or so.’

‘Did we?’ Amy was startled.

‘In the garden,’ Lorraine added.

‘Really?’ Amy twisted to look at Nigel. ‘I don’t remember discussing this.’

Nigel and Lorraine exchanged a glance. ‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ Lorraine apologised. ‘After all, we haven’t even announced the engagement.’

‘Any chance of some more nibbles?’

‘Of course, Stuart.’ Lorraine looked relieved. ‘Come with me and we’ll find someone to look after you.’

Nigel steered Amy towards another knot of people. ‘I haven’t told you how gorgeous you’re looking tonight. Just perfect. You must wear your hair loose like that more often.’

‘I’ve got flat shoes,’ Amy confessed.

‘Of course you do. High heels wouldn’t be very practical for you, would they?’

‘Your mother thinks flat shoes should never be worn.’

Nigel smiled. ‘Don’t listen to my mother.’ He bent his head close to Amy’s. ‘She can be a bit overbearing at times.’ Nigel’s breath tickled Amy’s ear. ‘We’ll make our own decisions, Amy. You and me.’

Amy took a relieved swallow of her drink. She had nothing to worry about. Nigel could handle his mother. They would choose their own wedding arrangements. She would get married in a church, just to go against Lorraine’s wishes. They would have it catered by a restaurant. And Amy would wear completely flat shoes. Amy smiled brilliantly at Nigel before turning to the man beside him.

‘You know Murray Brownlie, don’t you, Amy?’

‘Yes.’ Amy’s smile was now shy. She had seen the eminent head of general surgery on many occasions but never on a social basis. Amy listened to the rest of the introductions and then caught the surgeon’s eye.

‘Did you operate on Daniel Lever earlier today?’

‘The young man whose car had the argument with a truck?’ Murray Brownlie nodded. ‘Indeed I did. He was lucky to survive.’

‘I hear he needed a splenectomy,’ Amy said. ‘Was that the main source of the abdominal bleeding?’

‘Hard to say whether the spleen or the liver was winning in the blood loss stakes. We ran through twelve units of whole blood before we had things finally sorted. We used autologous blood as well.’

‘That’s where you collect the patient’s own blood and give it back to them, isn’t it?’ Amy asked with interest.

The surgeon nodded. ‘You aspirate clean blood from the abdomen, anticoagulate it and return it to the patient via an IV cannula with a “cell saver” system.’

‘I’ve never seen it used,’ Amy confessed. ‘Daniel must have had some massive bleeding going on.’

‘One of the biggest liver lacerations I’ve tackled in quite a while, actually.’ Murray Brownlie glanced over his shoulder and then gave Amy the ghost of a wink as he lowered his voice. ‘My wife hates me talking shop,’ he told her. ‘Whereas I simply can’t resist.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Anyway, we sutured and ligated all the bleeding points we could find on young Daniel’s liver and then drained it all, but we still couldn’t get control. It was rather frustrating.’

‘What did you do?’ Amy was listening avidly.

‘Well, we achieved temporary control by clamping the free edge of the lesser omentum.’ Murray eyed Amy cautiously. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

Amy nodded. ‘The omentum is a fold of the peritoneum that extends from the stomach to adjacent abdominal organs. The lesser omentum connects to the liver.’

The surgeon looked impressed. ‘Precisely. We considered putting in an omental pack and suturing it in place, but it wasn’t going to work so we ended up doing a hepatic lobectomy. Took quite a chunk of the lad’s liver out but it’s an amazing organ. Young Daniel should be functioning again quite normally in no time.’ Murray Brownlie smiled at Amy kindly. ‘This really does interest you, doesn’t it?’

Amy nodded. ‘I love everything about my job. I only wish I could follow the patients up more sometimes.’

‘Feel free to come and observe in Theatre any time,’ the surgeon invited. ‘Or come and visit the wards on your days off.’

‘Oh, I’d love to do that,’ Amy said. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled excitedly at Nigel who had just finished his own conversation. Amy was keenly aware of a feeling of gratitude towards Nigel as well as the head of general surgery. Nigel’s respected position at the hospital was opening all sorts of doors for her. It was rather a heady sensation, being taken seriously by someone like Murray Brownlie.

Murray turned to Nigel. ‘If this young lady is half as keen on you as she is on her job, then you’re a lucky man.’

‘I am lucky,’ Nigel agreed, smiling. ‘But I don’t think I need to compete with a job, do I, Amy?’

‘Of course not,’ Amy said obligingly. She didn’t quite follow Nigel’s meaning but dismissed the puzzle in favour of sipping her drink. A waiter appeared with a magnum wrapped in a snowy white linen cloth. He topped up her glass as an elegant woman joined them.

‘Have you met my wife, Nigel?’ Murray enquired. ‘This is Helen.’

‘Hello Nigel.’ Helen smiled. ‘I do hope my husband’s not being a bore and talking shop. This is a stunning party.’

‘Thanks.’ Nigel allowed Helen to kiss him on both cheeks.

‘I’ve just heard about Sydney. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks,’ Nigel said again. He touched Amy’s arm. ‘I must introduce you to some more people.’ He excused them from the Brownlies’ group.

‘What’s happening in Sydney?’ Amy asked.

‘Chair of Orthopaedic Surgery,’ Nigel said proudly. ‘It’s just been announced.’ He smiled at Amy. ‘They chose me.’

‘I didn’t know you’d applied.’ Amy stopped, feeling suddenly bewildered.

‘I didn’t want to disappoint you if I missed out.’ Amy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. ‘Are you planning to live in Sydney?’

‘Of course. It’s fantastic, isn’t it? I was intending to surprise you with the news later.’

‘Oh.’ Amy felt a wave of dizziness. ‘I’m surprised, Nigel.’

‘You don’t look very excited.’

‘Where am I supposed to live, Nigel? While you’re living in Sydney?’

Nigel’s smile was contrite. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Amy. You didn’t think I was planning to leave you behind, did you? I have no intention of going until after the wedding, don’t worry. We won’t have to be separated for any length of time.’

‘And this wedding is going to be in October, right?’

‘If that’s what you’d like.’ Nigel was still smiling, pleased at having sorted out the misunderstanding.

‘You mean I get a say in this after all?’

Nigel now looked disconcerted. ‘Maybe we should talk about this later, Amy.’

‘Maybe we should,’ Amy agreed. Maybe it wasn’t just Nigel’s mother who was autocratic and overbearing. Amy felt confused. There was too much she needed to think about and her brain wasn’t functioning nearly as clearly as it had been before that last glass of champagne. ‘Excuse me, Nigel, but I really need to go to the bathroom.’

‘Again?’

Amy took pleasure in ignoring Nigel’s vaguely disapproving tone. She walked out of the drawing room, through the conservatory where she helped herself to a bottle of champagne waiting on the side table. Then she let herself out of the French doors onto a verandah that overlooked the garden. Stepping carefully, Amy negotiated the steps and turned onto a path that she knew led to the summer house.

‘What does he expect?’ Amy muttered to herself. ‘He clicks his fingers and I give up my job and trot off to Sydney?’ She paused to drink champagne and top up her glass. ‘What am I supposed to be? Robo-Wife?’

Maybe Jennifer was right and she shouldn’t marry Nigel. What did he have going for him, apart from being single, successful, usually charming and apparently madly in love with her?

‘Oh, hell.’ Amy took another mouthful of wine. He had quite a lot going for him, really. Was she going to throw it all away because she felt miffed that Nigel hadn’t asked what she’d wanted before letting his mother plan the wedding?

The floodlighting hadn’t been turned on at the summer house but the white paintwork was easy enough to see in the dark. A mossy statue to one side of the garden structure was also just visible. A sort of large garden nymph holding garlands of foliage.

‘Why is it?’ Amy asked the statue, ‘that the things that really matter to me don’t seem to be important to anyone else?’

To Amy’s astonishment, the statue answered her. ‘You tell me,’ it said.

‘It’s because I was never quite good enough,’ Amy told the statue sadly. ‘I was supposed to have been a boy, you know.’

‘Really?’ The statue seemed very interested.

‘Yes.’ Amy drained her glass. ‘My father never got over the disappointment.’

‘Well, he was a bloody idiot, then, wasn’t he?’ The statue was moving. Amy gasped in horror as the figure stepped from the shadows. Even in this dim light she recognised him. He was still wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket. Amy’s gaze travelled up to meet his. She felt that odd physical buzz again. The only eye contact in existence with the ability to caress. There could be no doubt at all, even in her fuzzy state. It was definitely the same man.

‘You’ve been following me around all day,’ Amy said accusingly. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I heard there was a party.’

Amy eyed his clothing suspiciously. ‘Were you invited, then?’

The man grinned. ‘No. I’m gatecrashing.’

Amy narrowed her gaze. ‘So why are you out here hiding in the garden, then?’

‘I’m still trying to decide whether I want to go in or not.’ He stepped closer. ‘Do you think I should?’

‘No.’ Amy tilted the bottle towards her glass. ‘It’s not much fun.’ The slosh of champagne missed her glass and foamed over her hand.

‘Here, let me.’ The man took the bottle from her hand and held the glass as he filled it. Then he took a long swallow before setting both the bottle and glass down on the white wrought-iron table. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he took hold of Amy’s hand and wiped it.

‘I’m sorry you’re not having fun,’ he commiserated.

‘So am I,’ Amy agreed wistfully. She looked at her hand. It was dry now but was still being held. Looking up, she found his gaze fixed firmly on her face. His eyes were brown. A lovely, warm, velvety brown. Comforting but disturbing at the same time. ‘Why are you staring at me?’

‘You’re a very attractive woman.’

‘You’ve been staring at me all day.’

‘You’ve been very attractive all day.’

Amy smiled. He didn’t miss a beat. A smooth talker. He was probably very good at kissing, too. Her gaze slid down involuntarily to assess his lips.

‘I’ve been thinking about that myself.’

‘About what?’ Amy murmured. She wasn’t ready to be distracted.

‘About this.’ Smoothly, he moved closer. Bent his head and touched his lips to hers. And there was Amy Brooks, absent without leave from her own engagement party, kissing a total stranger in the summer house. And she had been right. He was very good. Very, very good. Amy didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t care about breathing any more. Who needed air when you had this?

But he did stop. He drew back from her lips slowly. Maybe he didn’t really want to stop either.

‘Sent from heaven is right,’ he said in awed tones. The soft brown gaze was locked on Amy again. ‘You are an angel.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Must be something in the air. I hear that Nigel is announcing his engagement to some poor woman tonight.’

The observation had all the effect of a cold shower. ‘He is,’ Amy confirmed curtly. ‘And I’m the poor woman.’

The man let go of her as if he’d been burnt. He took a step back. ‘What the hell were you kissing me for, then?’

‘I wasn’t,’ Amy denied hotly. ‘You were kissing me.’

‘You let me.’

‘So it’s all my fault?’ Amy queried sweetly. ‘Typical!’

‘You must be mad,’ the man told her.

‘Why, because I let you kiss me? I might be inclined to agree with you there, mate.’

‘Because you’re planning to marry Nigel Wesley.’ The gaze, still fixed on Amy, darkened. He actually looked angry. ‘What’s the attraction?’ he asked unpleasantly. ‘Money?’

‘Of course not,’ Amy snapped. ‘And it’s none of your business.’ He wasn’t the only one who could get angry. ‘Just what gives you the right to express opinions on something you know absolutely nothing about?’ Amy snorted incredulously. ‘What is it about me? Even a perfect stranger thinks he can tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.’ Amy snatched up the bottle of champagne and her glass.

‘Stay out of it,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘And stop…’ She glanced over her shoulder, causing her progress down the path to weave quite dramatically. ‘Stop staring at me.’

Amy sailed back into the house, through the conservatory towards the drawing room. Jennifer was standing in the breakfast nook near the entrance to the kitchen. A waiter stood beside her holding a large silver tray covered with bite-sized savouries.

‘What’s in the little round ones?’ Jennifer was asking.

‘Satay chicken.’ The waiter seemed to be enjoying the attention.

‘And the triangles?’

‘Sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese and olives.’

‘Have you found Noel yet?’ Amy asked Jennifer.

‘No, but I forgive you anyway, Amy. These things are delicious. Have some satay chicken.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Amy stated. She eyed the mass of humanity visible through the double doors of the drawing room. Nigel’s face appeared. He frowned at Amy. Amy sighed loudly.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jennifer spoke around a mouthful of filo pastry. She grabbed another savoury from the platter as the waiter moved towards the door. He nearly collided with Nigel.

‘Amy, where on earth have you been? Lorraine’s waiting to make the announcement.’

‘I’m sure she can wait a bit longer,’ Amy said evenly. ‘Or is it getting a bit close to dawn?’

Jennifer sputtered over the remains of her pastry. Nigel’s frown deepened.

‘What?’ His expression changed to one of calculation. ‘How much have you had to drink tonight, Amy?’

‘Not much,’ Amy lied. ‘In fact, I think I’ll have some more.’ She reached out and collected a full crystal flute from the silver tray another waiter was taking into the gathering. Goodness knows what she’d done with the bottle and glass she’d been holding a few minutes ago.

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ Nigel told her.

‘Amy’s quite capable of deciding when she’s had enough to drink,’ Jennifer informed Nigel.

‘That’s right.’ Amy nodded. ‘To tell the truth, I’m getting a little bit fed up with other people deciding things on my behalf.’

‘Good for you, Amy,’ Jennifer said encouragingly.

‘Yes, good for you,’ a voice echoed.

Amy swivelled sharply. There he was again! In the kitchen!

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Nigel queried coldly.

‘That’s just what I was going to ask,’ Amy said in surprise.

‘Shut up, Amy.’ Nigel was glaring at the intruder.

‘I beg your pardon? You can’t speak to me like that, Nigel.’

The man nodded calmly. ‘Damned right he can’t. You tell him, Amy.’

Jennifer grinned at the stranger. ‘I think I like you,’ she announced.

The catering staff had all paused in their tasks. They were staring openly at the scene unfolding before them in the breakfast room.

Nigel took hold of Amy’s arm. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered curtly.

‘No,’ Amy protested but her legs were too wobbly to cooperate. She found herself being pulled across the hallway and into the throng of guests. Her support team had vanished. She was in enemy territory again. Gaps appeared in the crowd as Nigel moved purposefully forward. Greetings and conversational openings were acknowledged merely by a brisk nod from Nigel. Then the progress halted abruptly. Nigel’s registrar, Noel Fenton, was standing in front of them.

‘Noel,’ Amy said happily. ‘Jen’s been looking for you.’

‘Jen? Who’s Jen?’

‘Never mind,’ Nigel snapped. ‘Listen, Noel. Amy needs to go home. She’s over-indulged a little. Can I leave it to you to—?’

‘Jennifer Bowman, my flatmate,’ Amy told Noel earnestly. ‘She’s very keen to meet you and I promised—’

‘Amy!’ Nigel gave her arm a shake.

Amy jerked away from his hand. ‘Don’t shake me, Nigel,’ she warned sharply. ‘And don’t tell me to shut up again either.’

Lorraine glided into view. Her voice was deceptively light. ‘Goodness me! What is going on?’

‘I’ll tell you,’ Amy volunteered. ‘Nigel thinks I’m a sort of puppet. He can shake me and I’ll do whatever he thinks I should do.’

‘Nigel?’ Lorraine’s tone carried a distinct ‘please explain’ message. Amy was delighted to see the composure crack.

‘Nigel thinks I’m going to live in Sydney,’ she told Lorraine. ‘He thinks my job doesn’t matter a damn and I’ll just give it up. Just like that!’ Amy tried to click her fingers but the result was unsatisfyingly muted. She tried again.

Lorraine glanced around them. Several nearby people had fallen silent and were pretending not to be watching. She gave an apologetic laugh. ‘Really, Amy. I think you might be overreacting.’

‘You would think that,’ Amy agreed. ‘But you’re just as bad as he is. You’ve even got my wedding all planned and you didn’t bother talking to me about it, did you?’

More people were listening. The first group had given up any pretence of not being fascinated. They had been joined by Jennifer and the stranger in the leather jacket.

‘I have an announcement to make.’ Amy took a breath, hoping that the loud buzzing in her head might dissipate. She handed her glass to Noel who looked like he was trying his best not to smile.

‘I’m not going to marry you, Nigel,’ Amy said loudly. ‘I’d rather…’ She paused as a wave of dizziness threatened her upright posture.

‘Go, Amy!’ Jen crowed.

Amy smiled lopsidedly. ‘I’d rather go home and stick needles in my eyes,’ she told Nigel.

‘Definitely preferable,’ the stranger agreed. He and Jen exchanged a grin.

‘Going home is certainly a good idea,’ Nigel said coldly. ‘I’ll drive you myself.’

‘No way!’ Amy wagged a finger at Nigel. ‘You’re not doing anything for me, Nigel Wesley.’ She could feel herself swaying. ‘You know what I think you should do, Nigel?’ Amy didn’t wait for a response. Her voice rose triumphantly and she enunciated with dramatic deliberation. ‘I think you should marry your mother!’

Only Amy seemed to find this funny. The silence in the room was now absolute. Even the string quartet in the conservatory had stopped providing any background music. Jennifer and her companion exchanged another glance. Then the man stepped forward.

‘Time to go, Amy,’ he suggested firmly.

Before she could make any kind of protest, Amy found herself swept up in the man’s arms. He turned and strode out of the room. For the first time Amy became aware of the amount of attention she had drawn to herself. Shocked and disapproving faces seemed to be turned on her from every direction.

‘Oh, no!’ Amy moaned. She buried her face in the leather-covered shoulder, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck to make her defensive position more secure.

‘What have I done?’