Читать книгу A Perfect Hero - Caroline Anderson - Страница 6

IT WAS a busy week, and one in which Clare saw frustratingly little of Michael, and that only in brief snatches on the ward.

Two of the boys in ‘Borstal’ went home, to be replaced by one of the lads from ITU—the other had been moved direct to Stoke Mandeville—and another admission, a youth of seventeen who had come off his motorbike and fractured his femur.

He was in traction with a Steinmann pin and was comfortable enough to join in with the general hilarity after twenty-four hours.

Pete Sawyer had had a bone graft taken from his hip and placed in his arm to link the broken ends of his radius, and they were now hoping for some progress.

Tina, on the other hand, showed no progress, and on Thursday Mr Mayhew discussed with her the possibility of fusing her spine so they could start the long process of her rehabilitation.

She was stoical throughout, but Clare sensed her outward calm was just a front. Her mother, however, had no such outward calm, and on Friday Clare had to remove her from Tina’s bedside because she had collapsed in tears.

She took Mrs White into the office and met Michael there, studying case notes. He had been in on the dicussion with Tim Mayhew and the Whites, and the decision-making beforehand, and Clare gratefully handed the distressed woman over to him while she went back to see Tina.

The girl had tears in her eyes, the first real tears Clare had seen, and in a way she was relieved. She drew the curtains quietly round and sat beside her, holding her hand.

‘I don’t want to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life,’ she whispered, and then the great heavy tears came, running down her wan cheeks and trailing into her hair.

There was nothing constructive to say, so Clare held her hand, and gradually the sobs subsided, leaving her weary and shaken.

‘I don’t think I can face my mum again for a while,’ she told Clare, and she nodded.

‘I’ll suggest she goes and has a look round the shops and comes back later, shall I?’

Tina shot her a grateful look. ‘Would you? I just can’t deal with her as well.’

Clare squeezed her hand and went back to the office.

‘How is she? I didn’t mean to upset her, but she’s only seventeen—too young for all this——’ Mrs White buried her face in her hands and sobbed again.

Over her head Clare met Michael’s eyes. He jerked his head towards the door, and Clare nodded.

‘Mrs White, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. You stay here for a minute and I’ll be back.’

She followed Michael out and up to the ward kitchen.

‘How is she?’

‘Tina? Finding her mother hard to deal with,’ Clare told him.

‘I’m not surprised. She can’t cope at all. I think Tim will want to get her transferred to the spinal injuries unit at Stoke Mandeville—they have all the necessary social and emotional back-up as well as state-of-the-art technology for dealing with this sort of thing.’ He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Are you doing anything tonight?’

She was caught off guard by the change of tack, because she had hardly seen anything of him since Monday night. He had been kept on the run by the events of the week, and there had been no opportunity to further their relationship—if indeed they had one, which after such a short time she doubted, but she admitted to herself that she hoped they could have. She met his eyes.

‘Are you planning to jump my bones?’ she said with a twinkle.

He gave a short, surprised laugh. ‘Now that’s a tempting idea!’

She blushed. ‘I didn’t really mean that the way it came out,’ she laughed.

His hand came up and grazed her cheek. ‘What a shame,’ he teased gently. ‘I’ve been invited to a party at the house of one of the consultants, and I hardly know anyone who’ll be going—I’ll be like a fish out of water.’

‘Is it the Hamiltons?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right—they’ve just got married and they’re throwing a party to celebrate. I gather they had a very quiet wedding and this is in lieu of a reception. Well, will you come with me?’

Clare smiled. ‘I’m going anyway—Lizzi invited me. We’re sort of friends—or as close to it as anyone is with her. She’s always been a very private person until now. I can’t believe the change Ross has made in her.’

‘People don’t change other people, they just give them the confidence to be themselves—or take it away.’ He cupped her cheeks. ‘So you’ll come with me?’

She nodded. ‘I’d love to. I wasn’t really looking forward to it because I don’t know all that many people there myself. They’re all a bit exalted, really.’

He laughed. ‘I thought you said there was no hierarchy?’

‘Well, there isn’t really, but most of the people who’ll be there are older than me or married——’

‘Not part of the singles set, you mean?’

She shot him a surprised look. ‘I’m not part of the “singles set”, Michael,’ she said reprovingly.

‘No, of course not, you don’t have a lover and you don’t want one.’

She met his laughing eyes. ‘Are you teasing me?’

He remained deadpan, except for the eyes. ‘Would I?’

‘Yes, you would!’

‘Perhaps a little.’ His face gentled into a smile. ‘What time shall I pick you up?’

‘I’m on a split, so I won’t be ready to go until after nine—does that matter?’

He shook his head. ‘That’s fine. I don’t imagine it will get off the ground much before then, anyway. Tell you what, I’ll go and get changed when I finish here, and I’ll come up to your flat and wait for you—how’s that?’

Too intimate, she wanted to say, but Sister O’Brien came into the kitchen and smiled cheerily at them.

‘Making coffee for that poor woman?’

Clare flushed guiltily, ‘Yes, I was, Sister.’

Michael winked at her over Mary O’Brien’s frilly cap. ‘We’ll leave it like that, then, Staff,’ he said and sauntered out, giving her no option but to agree.

She was just putting the finishing touches to her make-up when she heard the knock on her door at five past nine. ‘Come in,’ she called, and carried on with her face.

Glancing up in the mirror seconds later, she saw Michael lounging in her bedroom doorway, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his immaculate cream trousers. The cornflower-blue silk shirt he wore was the same shattering colour as his eyes, and in the V at the neck she could see a cluster of golden curls nestling in the hollow of his throat. He looked ruggedly male and devastatingly sexy. She blinked and smudged her mascara.

‘Damn.’ Picking up a tissue, she wiped the offending mascara off her lid and touched up the shadow.

‘Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologised with a grin. Her heart flipped and she had to make a conscious effort to steady her hand.

Giving up, she dropped the eyeshadow brush and stood up, smoothing down the skirt of her cotton lawn dress. It was a splashy floral print in warm pastel shades, the perfect complement to her pale gold hair and English rose complexion, and she loved it.

‘Will I do?’ she asked with a twirl, and was rewarded by the bright flare of interest in his eyes.

‘Oh, yes, you’ll do,’ he said with wry emphasis. ‘My blood-pressure must have gone up to over two hundred in the last thirty seconds. Come on, out of here before I do something you’ll make me regret!’

She scooped up her shawl and bag, and clicked her heels.

‘Ready when you are, sir!’

‘That’s what I like—a woman who knows her place!’

He ushered her out to the car, and all the way to the Hamiltons’ house she was conscious of him as she had never been before.

‘What a fabulous place!’ she breathed as Michael parked the car on the sloping lawn and led her across to the sprawling, split-level house.

‘Gorgeous, isn’t it? He must be stinking rich.’

‘He’s quite old—thirty-eight or -nine.’

‘Oh, ancient!’ Michael said with a laugh. ‘I can assure you I won’t have accumulated this sort of wealth in five years.’

‘Private practice?’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘Too busy with the boat. Maybe later.’

He ushered her through the front door, and they were greeted by their host and hostess, looking wonderfully relaxed and blissfully happy. They made a beautiful couple, Lizzi with her astonishing violet eyes and pale blonde hair, Ross tall and distinguished, his thick, prematurely silver hair a perfect foil for the healthy glow of his skin.

Clare hugged Lizzi warmly. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Hamilton!’ she said, her voice full of emotion.

Lizzi hugged her back. ‘Thanks, Clare. I’m glad you could come. Ross, do you know Clare Stevens? She’s Mary O’Brien’s staff nurse.’

Ross shook her hand, and Clare was struck again by the wealth of warmth and understanding in his gentle grey-green eyes.

‘Take care of her, she’s a super girl,’ Clare admonished him.

‘Oh, I intend to cherish her until she begs for mercy,’ he said with a laugh, but she noticed his eyes met Lizzi’s in a look so intensely private and filled with passionate commitment that she felt almost embarrassed to have witnessed it. He turned to Michael. ‘Hello, Michael. Glad you could make it. Go on through and make yourselves at home. Drinks are in the kitchen—Callum will help you.’

‘Who’s Callum?’ Michael asked as they walked away.

‘Ross’s oldest son. He’s been married before.’

They collected their drinks and made their way out into the garden and down the terrace of steps.

‘Lord, a pool!’

‘Oh, yes—all mod cons! I expect things will deteriorate later and at least one person will end up chucked in—it was Lizzi last time!’

He chuckled. ‘Remind me to keep well out of the way—these shoes wouldn’t survive a dunking. Now,’ he said, tucking his arm round her waist and guiding her away from the crowd, ‘what’s a lovely young thing like you doing all on your own at a party like this?’

‘I’m not,’ she reminded him.

‘Ah, but you would have been if I hadn’t turned up in the nick of time. So why? You can’t tell me no one’s offered?’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that if I go to a party with someone, that someone might get the wrong idea——’

‘But you’re here with me. Aren’t you afraid I’ll get the wrong idea?’

‘No.’ She turned to face him and met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘You have the same problem—because you look the way you do, no one will take you seriously. I know you understand,’ she told him frankly.

That doesn’t make me immune to your charms,’ he said softly.

‘Michael, don’t …’

‘OK, OK!’ He held up his hands in laughing surrender. ‘I take the hint. Now, who are all these people?’

They circulated, Clare introducing Michael to those people that she knew, and in turn being introduced herself to others who she knew only by sight. By ten-thirty they had talked themselves hoarse, and there was a welcome interruption when the music was turned down and Oliver Henderson, one of the other consultants, called everyone’s attention from the top of the steps.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I don’t want to bore you with speeches, but I’m sure you would all like me to take this opportunity to thank the Hamiltons for their hospitality tonight, and to wish them every happiness in their marriage. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Ross and Lizzi!’

‘Ross and Lizzi!’ everyone chorused, and then there were yells of ‘Speech!’ from the crowd.

Ross came forward, his arm anchored round Lizzi’s waist, and waved them all down.

‘I don’t want to make any speeches—I hate doing it nearly as much as Oliver does, but we would like to thank you for your good wishes, and the welcome I’ve received since joining the hospital. So much has happened since then that I can hardly believe it’s only been ten weeks, but as all of it’s been good I won’t ask any questions!’ There was a ripple of laughter, and he continued, ‘Anyway, thank you all, and do enjoy yourselves.’

There was a round of enthusiastic applause, and then four young men appeared at Ross’s side.

One of them was Mitch Baker, his registrar, and one was Ross’s son Callum. He grinned at Ross and held up his hand.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, for my favourite stepmother, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’

Then they picked Ross up, ran down the steps and hurled him, yelling wildly, into the swimming pool.

‘Good grief!’ Michael muttered.

Clare was convulsed with laughter.

‘Serves him right,’ she said eventually. ‘At the last party they had, he chucked Lizzi in in her underwear!’

‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘No one knows, but we all have a fair idea!’

The music was turned up again, and as Ross climbed out of the pool and laughingly tossed his sons in over his shoulder, Michael pulled Clare into his arms.

‘Dance with me,’ he murmured.

‘But it’s a fast record!’ she laughed.

‘So halve the beat! Where’s your imagination, Staff Nurse Stevens?’

There was a shriek behind them as Ross reached Lizzi and carried her, kicking and screaming, into the water, but Michael and Clare were oblivious.

The music changed tempo, and in the dimly lit garden Clare’s arms reached up and twined round Michael’s neck. His cheek rested against her hair, and as their bodies swayed gently to the music she relaxed against him and let herself go.

What harm could it do? She’d told him clearly enough that she wasn’t in the market for an affair, and she carefully blanked off the part of her mind that told her things might be changing.

His hands rested lightly against her spine, and for a long time they danced without any conscious thought. Then Michael lifted his head and rested his brow against hers, and eased her closer with a subtle pressure of his hands.

‘I think I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you soon,’ he murmured.

So much for her relaxation! So much for her belief that it couldn’t do any harm! And the worst thing was, she didn’t care any more.

‘Me, too,’ she whispered.

He drew in a sharp breath, and swallowed hard.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

Her heart pounding, she nodded blindly.

‘Any sign of our host and hostess?’ he asked, and she noticed his voice was strained.

‘I don’t think so.’ Heavens, she didn’t sound much better!

‘Let’s just go—they won’t miss us. We’ll thank them next week.’

Her wrap was still in the car, so they were able to make their way around the side of the house and leave without drawing attention to themselves.

All the way back to his cottage her heart was pounding with nerves, and as they pulled up outside, she took a deep, steadying breath before climbing out of the car.

Michael unlocked the front door and ushered her inside, then, leaning on the door, he pulled her gently but firmly back into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.

‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t be. I won’t do anything to hurt you, or anything you don’t want me to do. I just had to be alone with you, without an audience of interested spectators making notes on our every move.’

He let her go, and she stood trembling by the door as he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

‘Coffee?’ he asked, sticking his head back round the door, and then came towards her, a serious but tender expression on his face.

‘Clare, it’s OK. Do you want to go home?’

She shook her head numbly.

‘Just hold me,’ she said unsteadily, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her hard against his chest.

After a minute she relaxed, and he eased away from her, dropping a light kiss on her brow. ‘Go and sit down, and I’ll bring the coffee through. How do you take yours?’

‘White, no sugar,’ she told him, and moved mechanically into the sitting-room.

He joined her a few minutes later, sat down on the settee and patted the cushion beside him.

‘Come and sit with me.’

His tone was gentle, persuasive, and quite unthreatening. Clare did as she was told, perching on the edge, longing to lean back against his side and at the same time ready to run if necessary.

His hand reached out and brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck.

‘Please don’t be afraid of me,’ he murmured.

‘I—I’m not. I think I’m afraid of myself.’

‘Don’t be. I’ll take care of you. Come here.’

He took her shoulders in his hands and eased her slowly back against him, so that she half sat, half lay across his lap. Then with one arm under her shoulders, he cradled her against his chest and sighed with contentment.

After a moment, in which she realised he was not about to make any demands of her, she slipped off her shoes and lifted her feet up on to the settee, snuggling closer to him.

‘OK?’

‘Mmm.’ She moved her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating steadily, slowly and evenly.

‘You must be very fit,’ she murmured.

He chuckled. ‘Why?’

‘Your heart beats very slowly—about fifty-five a minute—like an athlete’s.’

‘I jog some mornings, and windsurf, and I also play squash three times a week and tennis in the summer. When I’m not doing any of those things, I’m sailing. I suppose that keeps me fit. What about you?’

‘Me? I’m lazy,’ she said with a sigh of contentment.

‘Like the cat.’

‘Where is your cat?’

‘Around. He’s having a fantastic time exploring. He’ll be in in a while for a bit of TLC, then off out again hunting. He’s a bit of an alley cat, really, but he’s an old softie underneath. His name’s O’Malley, from the cat in The Aristocats.’

Right on cue, she heard a loud miaow and something heavy landed on her stomach. Her lids flew up and she peered, startled, straight into pair of bright blue eyes.

‘He’s a Siamese!’

‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you that?’

O’Malley squawked and stepped delicately over her shoulder, taking up residence around Michael’s neck.

‘He thinks he’s a collar,’ Michael said in resignation.

Clare laughed and swivelled round so that her feet were back on the floor. ‘He’s very beautiful.’

‘He’s a rogue,’ Michael said affectionately, and scratched his ears. The cat squawked again, and began to purr loudly.

They drank their coffee in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of O’Malley’s tongue rasping over his paws. After a while he detached himself from Michael’s neck and stalked out of the door, tail held high.

‘He’s off on the razzle again. More coffee?’

She shook her head. Somehow, without O’Malley’s unwitting guardianship, she felt much more alone with Michael again.

‘Do you want me to take you home?’ he asked with gentle insight.

She looked up, startled. ‘But I thought …’

‘What?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

His fingers traced the outline of her jaw, and threaded under her hair to knead the tense muscles of her neck.

‘I want to make love to you, Clare, but there’s more than that with us, isn’t there?’

She met his eyes, surprised by his admission. ‘Is there? For you, I mean?’

‘Oh, yes …’ His fingers closed around her shoulder and eased her gently back against him. ‘Oh, yes, my love, there’s much more. I think we could have something really special, and I think it deserves to be given time to flourish.’ His lips brushed hers briefly, and with a sigh he hugged her and then let her go.

‘Come on, I’d better take you home before you undermine my good intentions and I do something unspeakably wicked to you on the carpet.’

Clare giggled. ‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Is that a dare?’

She shook her head, suddenly breathless, because for all the lightness of his tone his eyes were deadly serious. ‘No. Take me home, Michael.’

With a wry grin, he helped her to her feet and led her to the car.

Once they had set off he found her hand in the darkness and rested it on his thigh, holding it there except when he needed to change gear. When they reached the hospital, he pulled up in the car park outside the nurses’ residence and turned to face her.

‘How about spending the day with me tomorrow on the boat?’

‘I might be working,’ she teased.

‘But you’re not—I checked the rota. If you don’t want to, you can always say no, Clare.’

She was struck by the uncertainty in his voice, and squeezed his hand. ‘Of course I want to. It would be lovely.’

‘Can you be ready by eight?’

‘Yes, that’s fine. What shall I wear?’

‘Something scruffy and fairly warm, and bring shorts and a swimsuit.’ He leant over and kissed her firmly but briefly, then pushed open the door. ‘I won’t come in with you—I’m not sure I could resist the temptation. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, my love.’

‘You too. Thanks for a lovely evening.’

She touched his cheek with her hand, and then climbed out of the car and shut the door, watching until his tail-lights disappeared from view.

Then she let herself back inside and prepared for bed, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. So he thought they could have something really special, something that deserved time to flourish. She wondered where it would lead—to heartache, or to a lifetime of happiness? Maybe neither. Only time would tell.

She snuggled down in bed, her head crowded with images of Michael, and fell asleep in seconds.

Oh, Michael, she’s lovely!’

Clare stood on the quayside and gazed in admiration at the little sloop. Built on traditional, classic lines, she was sleek and graceful, and Clare fell in love on the spot.

Michael slammed the boot of the Volvo and strolled to her side, a confident, cocky grin on his face. ‘Isn’t she great? I know every inch of her, inside and out—I helped my grandfather build her the year I was ten. She handles beautifully—he really knew what he was doing. Come on, let’s get all this stuff stowed and take her out.’

He led Clare on to the pontoon that ran out like a finger into the marina, with little branches off it at intervals to which boats were moored in orderly profusion.

‘I may be biased, but I think she’s the prettiest,’ Clare told him as they arrived at the Henrietta and she got her first close look at the boat.

‘I’m biased too, but I happen to agree with you!’ He shot her a cheeky grin. ‘Here, hold this lot.’ He handed her some bags and hopped nimbly aboard, uncovering the cockpit and stowing the cover neatly under the seat in the stern.

Then he took the bags from her, dropped them into the cockpit and held out his hands. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said, and as she leapt forward he caught her under her arms and swung her on to the deck.

She fell against him, laughing, and as she straightened his head came down and he kissed her lingeringly.

‘Good morning,’ he said huskily.

‘Good morning yourself,’ she replied, suddenly breathless. ‘What can I do?’

He waved a hand at the bags. ‘Get all this lot stowed away in the cabin and come back and keep me company.’

She scrambled somewhat inelegantly over the high step of the hatchway, down the two rungs of the companionway into the main cabin, and took a deep breath.

Oh, yes. Varnish, and seawater, and diesel, and the unmistakable smell of the bilges. Clare hadn’t realised how much she had missed messing about in boats until she had caught that evocative smell. Heavens, it took her right back to her childhood! Suddenly light-hearted, she looked around her.

On her right was a desk next to a bank of navigational equipment, charts, radio and so on, and on her left a little galley, with a gimballed stove designed to remain stable as the boat tilted from side to side. In front of her was the main seating area, with two long benches down either side that would convert to berths, one L-shaped, with a fixed table in front of it that would collapse to make a double berth.

There was a door directly opposite her that led, she imagined, to another little cabin in the bows, and the ‘head’, that ghastly contraption that passed for a loo on board small boats.

She looked around her at the cabin, and a little smile touched her mouth. This was Michael.

There were a few books—Nicholas Monsarrat, Neville Shute, Hammond Innes—a couple of bottles of wine and one of brandy, two jars of coffee and some powdered milk, a few tins of staples—everything a man like him would need for a quick getaway.

She heard his light tread behind her and turned.

‘Are you a loner?’

He looked startled for a second, and then smiled. ‘No, not really, but I do need to escape every now and again and top up. Will that worry you?’

There he goes again, talking as if we have a future, she thought with a soaring heart.

‘No, it won’t worry me at all. We all need solitude periodically.’

He gave her a brief hug. ‘What do you think of her?’

‘Oh, she’s lovely—just right. All wooden fittings and personal touches—not at all like a modern boat.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t sound as if you approve of modern boats!’

‘Well, they have their place, I suppose, but they’re characterless by comparison.’

‘Thank you,’ he said simply, and hugged her again. After a moment he eased away from her with a reluctant sigh and headed for the hatch. ‘We need to get under way if we’re going to catch the tide up the Deben. There’s a sand-spit across the mouth of the river that closes it off at low tide, but if we go now we should make it just about right.’

She found a picnic in one of the bags and wedged it in the corner of the galley, and dropped the other bag, full of towels and sweaters, on the quarter bunk under the cockpit. Then she clambered back over the hatch to join Michael.

There’s a light breeze picking up—just do us nicely,’ he said, and pressed the starter button. The engine turned, coughed, and fired immediately. He cast off, jumped nimbly back on board and steered her carefully over to the lock. The top gates were open, and the lads working the lock made her fast and stood by to steady the boat as she lowered.

Tide’s only just coming in now, so we’ve got quite a long way to go. Will it worry you?’

Clare shook her head. ‘Must make it tricky if you get back too late,’ she said. ‘Do you have to find another mooring outside overnight?’

‘Oh, no—they have a motto here, “Lock around the Clock”—you can come and go whenever you please. Just as well—when I got her here from the Scillies it was nearly midnight.’

‘Isn’t that a bit hair-raising in the dark, in strange waters?’

He laughed. ‘Hardly strange! She’s been moored near here for fifteen years—my grandfather lives in Holbrook. I know this coast like the back of my hand.’

As the lock gates opened and Michael manoeuvred the boat out into the estuary, Clare sat back and relaxed. There was nothing she could usefully do, and Michael was clearly competent. She might as well give herself a treat and watch him at work.

And it was a treat, she admitted to herself some time later. He had changed into ragged cut-off jeans and abandoned his T-shirt, and she watched the smooth play of muscle in his back as he hoisted the mainsail and unfurled the foresail, tightening the sheets and bringing the head round into the wind.

‘OK?’

She nodded. ‘Super. I’d forgotten how much I love it!’

He laughed in sheer enjoyment. ‘Great, isn’t it? I’d die if I couldn’t do this!’

After a while he offered her the helm, and stood behind her, his hands steady on hers, his chest brushing lightly against her back. She leant back against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and made a small sound of contentment in her throat.

‘Happy?’

‘Oh, Michael, you have no idea …’

His lips nuzzled her neck. ‘You taste wonderful—fresh and clean and delicious. Mind the ferry.’

‘What ferry?’

He laughed. ‘Just testing. Want to take her round the point?’

She let out a breath. ‘I’ll try—just don’t go away.’

‘I won’t. Take your time.’

She took a steadying breath, let out the port sheet, spun the wheel and hauled in the starboard sheet. Henrietta yawed wildly for a second or two, then the sails filled with a slap and she settled down on the new course.

‘Well done.’

She laughed breathlessly. ‘It was awful!’

He chuckled, his arms wrapping round her waist to pull her back against him. ‘It wasn’t perfect, but it was fine. You’ll do, with practice.’

‘Hmm. Maybe another time. Over to you, Cap’n Bligh.’

She slid under his arm and sat in the cockpit, her feet propped on the other seat, and mopped up the sunshine. After a few minutes she started to overheat, and went below to put on her shorts and T-shirt. There was a cooling breeze off the sea, but it was going to be a gloriously hot June day nevertheless.

Michael’s eyes ran appreciatively over her legs as she climbed over the hatch, and he gave a gusty sigh.

‘How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off you when you look like that?’

‘Well, ditto!’

Their eyes met.

‘Oh, dear God, Clare—I want you,’ he whispered.

She swallowed. ‘Can we talk about this later? You’re going to run us aground on the sand-spit if you don’t concentrate!’

He swore softly under his breath, and then gave a rueful chuckle. ‘It’s a deal. Just sit down and don’t fidget about, or I won’t stand a chance of thinking straight!’

It was a wonderful day. They tacked up the river towards Woodbridge, ate their picnic in sight of the Tide Mill, and dropped back down with the tide, rounding the point off Felixstowe at four o’clock. By five they were back in the marina, mooring Henrietta and packing up their things.

By the time they left, Clare’s nerves were at screaming pitch. Every touch of his hand, every brush of his body against hers as they manoeuvred round each other in the little cabin had left her senses reeling.

They drove back to the cottage in a potent silence, and when they arrived back, he stilled her hand as he moved to unload the car.

‘Leave that lot. I want to make love to you. I’ve been watching you bending around in those tiny little shorts for hours, and I really don’t think I can stand much more of it.’

Her heart was pounding as she followed him into the cottage and up the stairs. In his bedroom he turned to her, his hands cupping her shoulders lightly. His eyes searched her face, his expression serious. ‘Is this what you want, Clare?’

She nodded, beyond speech.

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded again. ‘I’m terrified—I’ve never done it before, and I don’t really know what to expect, and I’ll probably be a dreadful disappointment to you, but yes—I’m sure.’

‘Oh, my love …’

He was so gentle, so careful with her, his hands tender, his voice coaxing her softly. And it was easy—much easier than she had imagined, and so—beautiful wasn’t the word, it was too earthy, too positive for that, but as she reached the crest, something deep inside her shattered and she felt freer than she had ever felt before.

Dear God, I love him! she thought, and clung to him as his body quivered under her hands and he cried her name.