Читать книгу Second Thoughts - Caroline Anderson - Страница 5

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

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

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

‘Jennifer?’

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

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

‘Morning,’ she mumbled.

‘Morning. Did you sleep all right?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Jennifer? Are you feeling all right?’

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

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

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

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

‘Is he all right?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Penny for them.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This is beautiful,’ she murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

This is lovely — what is it?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What is it?’ she asked softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No, love, stop,’ he pleaded gruffly.

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

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

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

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

‘No ——’

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

‘Neither did I, but it has…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Next weekend?’ Tim asked hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Are you volunteering?’

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

‘Are you serious?’

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

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

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

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

‘Then yes, I believe I am volunteering.’

‘Perhaps you’d better think about it.’

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

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

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

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