Читать книгу A Man of Honour - Caroline Anderson - Страница 6

HELEN didn’t stay long. She found Tom’s presence altogether too disturbing in that little room, and after finishing her tea she made some excuse and fled.

During the course of that night she spent a great deal of time telling herself that her reaction to him was fifty per cent imagination and fifty per cent the result of her solitary and loveless existence. By the morning she almost believed it, but ten minutes on duty threw a hefty spanner in those works.

She was just welcoming a very subdued Ron Church to the ward and beginning the process of admitting him when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and Tom strolled into view, more casually dressed than the previous day in lightweight trousers and a white coat, and doing unspeakable things to her blood-pressure.

‘Morning, Sister, morning, Mr Church,’ he murmured, and with a fleeting smile he hitched one leg up and perched on the other side of the bed. ‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked the patient.

Mr Church sighed heavily. ‘Resigned—scared, a bit.’

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, it’s all a bit of an unknown quantity, isn’t it? Don’t worry. Let Sister Cooper get all the paperwork out of the way and I’ll come and have a long chat and see if I can set your mind at rest, all right?’

He moved away, going into the side-ward where Judy Fulcher had spent a fairly uncomfortable night following her burst appendix.

After Helen had finished with Mr Church she followed Tom in there and found him just covering Judy up again.

That looks fine,’ he said with a quick lift of his lips, and Judy gave him a wan smile in return.

‘I feel awful,’ she said.

‘I’m sure. You’ve been brewing this for some time, though, so you’re bound to feel rough for a few days until the antibiotics can get to grips with things. Still, you should be over the worst by now. We’ll get you up later today and get you moving, and that should help to get you on the mend more quickly.’

She groaned with the thought, and Tom patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take it very slowly. Just a few minutes in a chair at first, and then later perhaps a walk round the bed.’

They left the room, and he flashed a smile at Helen. ‘Mr Church ready for me?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he is. He’s very scared, Tom.’

‘I’m sure. I would be, but then I know more than he does. I need to discuss him with you as well—perhaps we can do that first?’

She took him into the office and Tom explained that they were going to start by building him up a little. He would need blood transfusions to overcome the anaemia caused by prolonged blood loss from his ulcerated bowel before he would be fit enough for surgery. In the meantime he would be starved and his bowel emptied as far as possible to create as clean a field as they could for the operation.

Initially they would open him up to see if they could establish the extent of the tumour. Then they would remove as much as was necessary, depending on the progress of the growth. If it was too far advanced to hope for a cure, they would perform a palliative operation designed to minimise pain and distress in his remaining months. If they felt there was any hope of saving him, they would perform probably much more radical surgery including the removal of all of the descending colon, the rectum and anus and any affected lymph glands, in the hope that this more drastic approach would remove all the malignant cells.

Tom, however, was not optimistic.

‘It looked too far gone, Helen. We’ll do what we can, but —’ He shook his head. ‘Still, we can only try. Right, I’ll go and have a chat to him.’

Tom’s pessimism was well founded. When they finally opened Mr Church up on Thursday, they found the cancer had spread too far to hope for a cure, with metastases in the lymph nodes and invasion of surrounding organs, including his liver.

Ross felt that any surgical intervention should be aimed at causing as little distress as possible, and so they removed part of the descending colon and rectum and rejoined the ends, thus removing any immediate danger of obstruction and leaving the man his dignity for the short time he had left.

Tom found Helen after he came out of Theatre, and filled her in.

‘What a damn shame,’ she said sadly. ‘He’s such a nice man.’

‘A least his wife will know what to expect,’ he said enigmatically, and left her, puzzled, while he went to snatch some lunch before his clinic in the afternoon.

Ross came up during the afternoon and spoke to Mrs Church, and then Helen had the unenviable task of dealing with the shattered woman.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said over and over again. ‘I thought he had piles. I kept telling him not to make such a fuss, and now it turns out he’s dying!’ She pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the sobs, but to no avail. Helen put her arm round her and let her cry, and after a few minutes she tried to pull herself together. Helen gave her a cup of tea, and Mrs Church was halfway through it before the tears got the better of her again.

It was nearly five and time for Helen to hand over to her staff nurse for the evening before Mrs Church finally left, and as a consequence Helen had a mountain of paperwork to wrestle with before she could leave.

She was just coming to the end of it when Ross and Tom came in headed for the coffee-pot.

‘How’s Mr Church?’

‘Asleep—he was very dopey. Ruth’s specialling him.’

Ross nodded. ‘I’ll pop in and have a chat before I go home tonight, if he’s awake enough. Otherwise I’ll see him in the morning. What about Judy Fulcher?’

‘She’s doing well—her peritonitis is settling and she seems to be responding well to the antibiotics. Alex Carter came and saw her yesterday and confirmed a generalised gynae infection—he wants to keep an eye on her. Seems she’s got gonorrhoea, chlamydia and candida among other things.’

Tom wrinkled his nose. ‘Delightful. I thought she was married?’

‘She is,’ Helen told them. ‘Perhaps her husband brought the bugs home?’

‘How thoughtful,’ Ross commented drily. ‘Some people have all the luck.’

Tom chuckled and put his cup down. ‘Well, if it’s all the same to you I’m going to stick my nose in a book. I’ve got my viva coming up altogether too quickly.’

‘You’ll walk it,’ Ross said with a yawn. ‘Oh, God, I’m tired. Think I’ll go home to bed. Oh, before you go Tom, Lizzi and I are having a barbecue on Saturday—all very informal, just a swim and a burger in a bun. Lizzi ordered me to make sure you come. She says it’s high time she met you.’

Tom smiled slightly. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. I’ll look forward to it.’

Ross turned to Helen. ‘What about you—any chance you can make it?’

‘Yes—super. Thanks, Ross.’

‘I tell you what—why don’t you come together? Very ecologically sound—and there won’t be so many cars on my grass!’

Tom gave a short laugh. ‘Fine—provided Helen doesn’t mind?’

She met his eyes—those strange, haunting blue eyes—and thought of spending all that time alone in a car with him. ‘No—no, I don’t mind,’ she said quickly, and her voice was slightly breathless, like an eager girl’s, she thought in disgust.

Ross shot her a keen look, but simply said, ‘Good. That’s fine. Any time after three.’

Then she was alone, with the prospect of spending Saturday afternoon and evening with Tom, and wondering what on earth she had let herself in for.

‘Wow.’

Helen glanced across at Ross’s house, sprawling down the hillside like a Spanish villa, and then at Tom, who looked faintly thunderstruck.

‘It is a bit, isn’t it? Look, park over there by those others under the trees.’

‘Lord—a cast of thousands,’ Tom said softly. He swung his Sierra off the drive on to the broad sweep of lawn that was covered in cars and pulled up beside a big dark grey Mercedes estate. ‘I’m going to lower the tone a bit in this,’ he joked, and tipped his head towards the Mercedes. ‘Oliver’s?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘He’s on call, but I guess his registrar will be doing it this afternoon.’

‘Surprise, surprise,’ Tom muttered under his breath. ‘The joys of being a registrar.’

Helen chuckled. ‘Poor old boy—you look really hard done by.’

He had the grace to laugh. ‘Yes, I’m really badly treated, aren’t I?’

‘The trouble with Ross,’ she told him as she gathered her things and climbed out of the car, ‘is that he is incapable of delegating. That’s why he’s always so tired. He flings himself whole-heartedly into his job, and insists on doing the best for his patients. If that means he does the operation, so be it.’

Tom regarded her thoughtfully over the top of the car. ‘But is it always the best for his patients? If he’s tired, will he perform well?’

‘The curse of the houseman. I think Ross perhaps hasn’t realised that he’s grown up!’

Tom chuckled. ‘No, I think he feels the rest of us haven’t—that’s why he mothers and spoon-feeds us! Where do we go?’

‘Follow the noise—and you’re wrong, you know. He’s been very complimentary about your operating—says you’re good—and from Ross, believe me, that’s high praise indeed.’

They strolled together across the grass and round the side of the house to the pool area, and Helen tried to ignore the long, lean, hair-strewn legs that ate up the ground so easily, and the snug fit of the tailored shorts that emphasised his narrow hips below the trim waist and wide, strong shoulders. She felt more than ever attracted to him, and was sure it must show in her eyes. She just wished she had the nerve to ask him if he was married or had a girlfriend, but she didn’t really want to know. She might not get the answer she wanted, after all!

They turned the corner and Tom stopped in his tracks. ‘Good God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many babies out of a maternity unit!’

Helen laughed. ‘Oh, well, they’re all at it. There’s Lizzi—come and meet her.’

They picked their way through the bodies strewn over the lawn to a slender, quietly pretty woman bent over a tiny toddler.

‘Lizzi?’

She straightened, hitching the baby up on to her hip, and her face broke into a smile.

‘Helen! I’m so glad you could come—and you must be Tom. Lovely to meet you. Welcome to the madhouse. Go and find yourselves a drink in the kitchen and come and have a chat.’

They made their way up the broad flight of steps leading to the house, and Tom shook his head slightly. ‘Wow, again. What a house. I could almost forgive it for being modern, it does it so well!’

Helen chuckled. ‘I take it you like old houses?’

‘Oh, ideally, but I’m not having a lot of joy finding anything I like. Nothing lives up to the estate agent’s blurb!’

They went into the house and found Ross in the kitchen piling burgers and sausages and chicken legs on to big plates. He was dressed only in a pair of scanty swimming-trunks, and looked disgustingly healthy and youthful.

‘Just in time,’ he told Tom with a grin, and handed him two of the plates. Take them down by the pool to the barbecue, and come back for the next lot. Right, Helen, what can I get you to drink? Hot, cold, with or without alcohol?’

‘Cold without, please.’

‘Fruit juice and fizzy water?’

‘Lovely.’

He handed her the ice-cold glass and then carried on unwrapping food.

‘Are you expecting an army?’ she asked quizzically, eyeing the mountain of burgers.

‘We’ve got the army already,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Ah, Tom, well done. Help yourself to a drink.’

He pulled the ring on a can of beer and propped his hips against the worktop beside Helen, but Ross didn’t let him linger.

‘Go and enjoy yourselves,’ they were told. ‘Here, give that to Helen to carry and take this lot down to the barbecue on your way—oh, and could you tell Lizzi I could do with a hand with the salad?’

They found his wife sitting on the grass with her sleepy daughter on her lap, talking to Bron Henderson and Clare Barrington, both obviously pregnant.

Helen introduced them to Tom and gave Lizzi Ross’s message, then Tom escaped to put the food down and talk to Oliver while Helen chatted to Bron and Clare.

‘Lizzi looks tired,’ Helen said thoughtfully, watching her as she made her way slowly up the steps.

‘She is—this pregnancy’s making her feel very sick and I think Sarah’s giving them the run-around at night,’ Bron commented with a wry laugh. ‘Dear God, do I know the feeling! Jamie’s being a holy terror at the moment, and heaven knows what it’ll be like when this one comes along. Still, Liwy will be at school in September so it won’t be so bad then.’

Helen grinned at Clare. ‘Just think, you’ve got all this to look forward to!’

Clare chuckled. ‘Yes, there are times when I think even sailing the Atlantic again couldn’t be as bad as motherhood! Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

She looked across the pool to where Michael was standing talking to Oliver and Tom, and the loving expression on her face brought a lump to Helen’s throat. How wonderful it must be to feel like that for someone and know it was returned, she thought wistfully, and found her eyes drawn to Tom.

He was laughing with the others, but at that moment he turned his head and caught her eye, and her heart turned over.

‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’

Helen turned back to Clare. ‘Hmm?’

‘Tom—he’s gorgeous—if you like dark-haired men, which of course I don’t!’

The girls all laughed, and Helen found her eyes drawn back to Tom again. Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was something else, some deeper quality that drew her against her better judgement.

She had found herself overpoweringly aware of him all week, almost to the point of being unable to concentrate on her job on occasions, and yet he had given her no hint that he returned her interest.

She sighed softly and turned back to the others, determined to ignore Tom and get him out of her system.

‘Sold the cottage yet?’ Bron was asking, but Clare shook her head.

‘No—we haven’t really had time to think about it. Michael only started at Ipswich last weekend, and we’ve been too busy sorting things out to worry about putting it on the market. I suppose I’d better do that next week.’

Helen’s interest was immediately caught. ‘Look, I’ve got an idea. Tom’s looking for a place, and I know he wants something old. Why don’t you ask him if he’d like to see it?’

Clare looked across at him. ‘Do you think he’d be interested?’

Helen shrugged. ‘Might be. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.’ Clare waved them over, and the three men strolled across.

‘What’s with the royal summons? Drinks run out or something?’ Michael asked as they approached.

‘No, no—Tom! Helen says you’re looking for a house, and we’ve got a cottage to sell. It’s only tiny, so it wouldn’t be any use if you’ve got a wife and six children tucked away somewhere, but it is quite lovely, miles from anywhere and beautifully done up —’

‘This is the soft sell, you notice,’ Michael interrupted, and Clare blushed and giggled.

‘Well, you know what I mean. It is lovely, Michael. I shall miss it.’

‘No, you won’t. My grandfather won’t give you time to miss it, and once the bump comes along you certainly won’t have time to mope. Anyway, Tom, as she says, the cottage isn’t big, but you’re more than welcome to have a look if you want.’

Tom nodded. ‘Please. It sounds wonderful, and size isn’t a problem, I’m on my own. When can I look at it?’

Clare and Michael exchanged glances. ‘Tomorrow morning?’

‘Fine. Can you give me directions?’

Helen saw Clare glance at her, then back to Tom. ‘Why don’t you get Helen to come with you? She knows the way, and it’s a bit tricky to find the first time.’

‘Helen?’

She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘Fine. No problem.’

‘Ten o’clock at the cottage?’

They all agreed, and then the conversation moved on, leaving Helen free to absorb Tom’s admission that he was on his own. That didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in her, of course, but it did mean he was free to pursue her if he wanted to. She would just have to wait and see if he did want to.

Lizzi joined them, followed by a trail of tiny children, with Ross bringing up the rear.

‘It’s like the National Childbirth Trust round here. Hoo-hoo-haaaah,’ he huffed, and they all chuckled.

Tom looked quizzically at Helen.

‘Breathing exercises for labour,’ she told him, and he nodded blankly.

Ross chuckled. ‘Not quite in your league, is it?’ he said. ‘Go and help yourselves to food—there’s a stack of cooked bits and pieces, rolls, salad, et cetera. Eat plenty, for God’s sake. There’s always masses left over.’

Tom pulled Helen to her feet and they wandered over to the groaning table beside the barbecue.

‘Oh, terrific—I’m starving!’ Tom confessed, and after they piled their plates up he led Helen away down the garden to a little orchard at the end. Then he lowered himself to the grass under the trees and patted the ground. ‘Sit down and tell me all about the Barringtons’ cottage.’

She settled herself beside him, taking a bite of her burger to distract herself from the sight of his hair-roughened thigh only inches from her knees. ‘Well, it’s called Rose Cottage, and it’s got roses climbing up it and a thatched roof and little latticed windows, and it’s absolutely enchanting. If I could afford to, I’d buy it, but I just don’t earn enough.’

‘Not fair, is it?’ Tom said quietly. ‘You work hard enough, God knows. It’s lovely to see you relaxing; you’ve been rushing about all week. Every time I’ve seen you you’ve been either bent over a patient or buried under a mountain of paperwork.’

She sighed. ‘Well, it’s been a bit hectic. You’ve been busy too.’

‘Mmm. Still, I’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for all the help.’

She turned her head slightly and looked at him. ‘You’re welcome.’

His eyes locked with hers, and for an endless moment they stared at each other, then he turned away and bit into his roll, and she found she could breathe again.

They ate in silence for a while, then Helen put her plate down and lay back on the sweetly scented grass.

‘Oh, heaven. I think I’ve eaten too much.’

‘Rubbish. That’s why you’re so skinny. Do you want the rest of this burger?’

She shook her head, and watched, fascinated, as Tom picked it up and bit into it. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she found the sight of his Adam’s apple rising and falling absolutely riveting.

She made herself look away. Let him make the first move, she thought, and closed her eyes.

Seconds later his breath whispered against her cheek.

‘You’ve caught the sun,’ he said softly, and his finger trailed down her nose.

‘Freckles,’ she said unnecessarily, and he counted them.

‘Fifteen.’

‘Are you sure? There were twelve this morning.’

He chuckled softly. ‘Is that a fact? I told you you’d caught the sun.’

She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into his, just bare inches from her face. Her lips parted involuntarily on his name, and for an endless moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

Then he rolled away and stood up. ‘I’m going for a dip—coming?’

‘You shouldn’t swim so soon after eating,’ she told him mechanically.

‘Tough,’ he replied, and there was an edge of hardness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.

She watched him walk away, his long legs eating up the grass in great strides, and wondered what she’d done wrong.

He fell in love with the Barringtons’ cottage on the spot, and Helen strolled round the pretty garden while they agreed a price and decided on a completion date. He had apparently sold his house in Oxford to a cash buyer, and was able to go ahead as quickly as Clare and Michael were willing to.

Helen was very pleased for them all. Tom was so clearly thrilled with the cottage, and on the way home afterwards he positively bubbled with enthusiasm. It was the most animated she had ever seen him, and Helen was secretly delighted. He looked so sad for much of the time, and to see him like this, brimming over with excitement and plans, was a real joy.

It was also infectious, and she found herself laughing as she hadn’t laughed in ages.

And then suddenly, without warning, his mood changed again.

Afterwards she found it difficult to put her finger on exactly what had happened. They were talking about when he was to move in, and he said he’d have to buy furniture. Then she asked how come he’d owned a house and didn’t have any furniture, and that was when he went funny.

‘It was all borrowed,’ he said shortly, ‘and anyway, it’s time for a change.’

And after that he hardly said a word all the way back, and dropped her off outside her flat without even a smile. She was bitterly disappointed, because they had been getting on so well and she’d hoped he would suggest they go somewhere for lunch together—instead of which he had driven off with a stony face and left her alone again.

She let herself into her flat and made a sandwich, then sat by the window looking out into the concrete back yard, relieved only by a sorry-looking lilac that struggled for existence in a crack in the paving.

It was such a contrast to Rose Cottage and Ross’s house that she indulged in a moment of self-pity before changing into tatty old jeans and a T-shirt and picking up the keys of her sensible, middle-of-the-road little car.

‘God, I’m so bored!’ she said savagely as she banged the door of the car. ‘Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!’

She headed out into the country and found herself in a little village with a winding stream that gurgled under an old brick bridge. Parking the car in a lay-by, she locked it and set off on a hike along the stream.

It was a gorgeous day—a day to share, she thought crossly, and felt suddenly very lonely and sad.

‘There was no guarantee he felt anything for you,’ she told herself firmly as she walked. ‘He’s just as entitled to be as picky as you are—and he’s obviously decided not to pick you. God knows he gave you enough warning—he was hardly all over you. And yesterday—he could have kissed you so easily, but he didn’t. And still you expect miracles!’

‘Pardon?’

She looked up, startled, to find a woman with a dog regarding her strangely. ‘Are you all right, dear?’

She blushed and laughed. ‘Sorry—yes, I’m fine. I was just telling myself off.’

‘On a lovely day like this? What a shame.’ The woman smiled, and Helen smiled back, suddenly happier.

‘Yes, you’re right. It’s much too nice a day to be cross.’

They parted company, the woman and her dog going on the way Helen had come, Helen following the track beside the stream.

She was right, it was a beautiful day, and being cross and ungracious was just a waste of it. She would put Tom out of her mind, and forget him.

Easier said than done, she acknowledged the following morning.

How he had managed it in so short a time she didn’t know, but Tom Russell had winkled his way into her heart in a big way, and it would take more than a little determination to get him out again.

He was quiet and withdrawn when she saw him, but they were so busy that she hardly had time to chat anyway.

Judy Fulcher, the patient with the burst appendix and peritonitis, was making slow but steady progress, althought she was still unable to take anything by mouth. As a result oral care was a very important part of her nursing, and Helen took the opportunity, to sponge off her caked lips and tongue and clean her teeth as a training exercise for Carol, one of the student nurses who had started with her that day.

Judy’s gratitude was touching, and Helen wished she had time to do it better and more often.

However she didn’t, and she was busy with the pre-ops who were due to go up to Tom in Theatre that afternoon.

Trailing her students, she prepared the patients for Theatre, including passing a Ryle’s tube into one man who found the whole experience intolerable and panicked himself into a frenzy.

‘Look, Mr Blackstone,’ she explained for the second time, ‘it really doesn’t hurt. All you have to do is relax as much as possible, take little sips of water and swallow gently, and I’ll just slip the tube down your throat bit by bit. It’s really not that bad.’

He snorted and put his hand over his face. ‘I’m not having no bloody tube poked down my throat!’ he mumbled.

‘Please let me try,’ she coaxed. After a few more minutes he lowered his hand, and, taking the lubricated tube, she lifted it towards his nose.

‘No,’ he moaned, and covered his face again.

Tom arrived just as she was soothing the man down for the third time, and with his help she managed to calm him sufficiently to try again.

This time she actually succeeded, much to her relief, and afterwards, when the tube was taped in place and the man’s stomach had been aspirated and he was settled, Tom drew Helen aside.

‘You were wonderful with him,’ he said gently, and the sun came out for her again.

Foolish heart, she chided herself, and tugged off her gloves. Her smile was coolly impersonal.

‘He’s just a big baby. What can I do for you?’

He sighed quietly. ‘Could we go round the pre-ops? Do you have time? I wanted a last word with them.’

Her heart sank. She had thought—oh, never mind what she had thought. She forced another smile. ‘Of course. Susan, clear up the trolley could you, please? And then start the lunches. Carol can give you a hand. Oh, and Susan?’

‘Don’t forget to read the menu list,’ the third-year student said with a grin. ‘OK, Sister.’

Helen watched her go. ‘Scatty as the day is long, but willing. Right, where were we?’

The rest of the day was hectic, and that suited Helen just fine, because the last thing she needed was time to think about Tom. She felt she had come within an ace of making a complete fool of herself over him, and he so clearly wasn’t interested.

Oh, well.

She was just going off duty at five when she heard a commotion in Judy Fulcher’s room.

The door was shut, most unusually, and when she opened it she saw to her horror that Judy’s husband was sprawled across the bed, his trousers round his ankles, and Judy was sobbing and pleading with him as he dragged her nightdress up.

For a second Helen was so stunned she did nothing, but then she leant on the bell over the bed and seized his shoulders.

He shrugged her off, and she stumbled back, steadying herself on the locker.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she asked furiously, and grabbed hold of him again, determined to drag him off. He flung her aside and she landed on the floor with a crash, shaken but not seriously hurt. She was more worried about Judy, still struggling with her half-crazed husband.

As she crawled to the door for help, so Tom appeared in the doorway and with one look at the scene stepped over her and hauled the man off, slamming him up against the wall.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he roared. ‘She’s ill, for God’s sake!’

‘She’s always ill!’ he snarled. ‘Always got some damn excuse or other. I’ve got rights, you know, and I haven’t had it for months!’

‘What about her rights?’ Tom yelled into his face. ‘What kind of an animal are you that she’s lying there after a major abdominal operation and all you can think about is getting your leg over?’

Helen tried not to smile. Tom was so furious with the man it would be a miracle if the latter survived intact!

She stood up, dusted herself down and went to make sure that Judy was all right.

Ruth Warnes had heard the bell and come to help, and between them they settled Judy down again and made sure her drip hadn’t become dislodged, while Tom hauled up the man’s trousers with more vigour than was strictly necessary and dragged him off to the office.

Judy was crying, and Helen left Ruth comforting her and went to phone the hospital security. Just as she got through there was a crash from her office, and she put the phone down after begging the security officer to hurry and ran into the office, to find Mr Fulcher pinned to the floor, Tom with blood running down his face and glass everywhere.

‘Security’s coming,’ she said briefly, and Tom nodded.

‘Fine. Just so long as they’re quick, before I’m tempted to run this bloke through with a scalpel.’

‘He threatened me!’ Fulcher mumbled against the floor. ‘Did you hear that? Threatened me, he did.’

‘I shouldn’t let it worry you,’ Helen said drily, eyeing Tom’s bleeding eyebrow. ‘He’s the one running with blood. Are you going to press charges, Tom?’

‘If I don’t bleed to death first,’ he muttered. ‘Where the hell are they?’

Just then the security staff came running in and Tom stood up, handing his charge over to the uniformed officials.

‘Lock him up till the police get here,’ he said shortly.

‘Right, sir,’ one of them muttered, and then they hauled the man to his feet and marched him out of the office.

Helen shut the door and turned to Tom. He was pale, trembling slightly with reaction, and the cut over his eye was still welling blood.

‘You look awful—sit down and let me look at that.’

He tipped the broken glass off the chair and sat down obediently, tipping his head back so that she could examine the cut.

‘What on earth did he hit you with?’ she asked incredulously.

‘The coffee-jug—ouch!’

‘Sorry. It’s a good job it was empty.’ She probed again, and he flinched. ‘There’s a bit of glass left in there, and it’ll need a stitch. Do you want to go down to A and E?’

He peered up at her from under his eyebrows. ‘Can’t you do it?’

She looked doubtful. ‘I can, but—I might leave a scar.’

‘Shame,’ he said softly. ‘Just stitch it, Helen.’

She took him into the treatment-room and made him get on the couch.

‘Don’t bother with the lignocaine,’ he told her as she picked up the syringe. ‘If it’s only one stitch it’ll hurt less just to do it.’

She shrugged and washed her hands, then opened the suture pack, swabs and antiseptic before pulling on gloves. It was his head, she reasoned. If he wanted it stitched without a local, so be it. And anyway, he was probably right, a local anaesthetic did hurt.

She lifted out the glass and swabbed the cut with antiseptic, and he winced and flinched.

‘Sorry—that’s probably the worst bit.’

‘God, I hope so,’ he said with a weak attempt at humour. ‘It brings the tears to your eyes.’

‘Just tough it out, cowboy,’ she told him firmly. ‘You wanted it this way—OK, hang on, here it comes.’

He didn’t move a millimetre, but she could see the muscle jumping in his jaw and knew it was hurting him.

‘OK, all done,’ she said seconds later, and snipped the suture.

He sagged back against the couch and shot her a weak smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Sadist.’

She snorted and wiped the skin around the cut dry before putting on a couple of butterfly sutures each side of the stitch. ‘It was your idea to play the hero,’ she told him laughingly.

‘Hmm. Remind me next time not to bother,’ he said with a smile, and her stupid heart went into overdrive again.

She turned away, clearing up the debris from her suturing, and he was so quiet she thought he’d fallen asleep. Then his hand rested lightly on her arm and turned her towards him.

‘About yesterday…’

She forced herself to meet his eyes.

‘What about it?’

‘I’m sorry I got ratty. It’s just—the furniture was a bit of an issue in the past. You just hit a nerve. I’m sorry I was short with you.’

All the lectures she had given herself over the past twenty-four hours went out of the window at a stroke. She knew the smile must have lit up her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about it.

‘Forget it,’ she told him. ‘I thought it must be something I’d said or done to irritate you ——’

‘No. No, Helen, it was nothing to do with you. You’ve been marvellous.’

He sat up and swung his legs over the side, and his mouth quirked into that fleeting smile again.

‘Forgive me?’

‘Of course I forgive you,’ she said softly, and wondered if her heart would stand the strain of that wretched smile.