Читать книгу Her Playboy's Proposal - Kate Hardy - Страница 11

WHEN ISLA WENT into the staffroom that morning for a mug of tea, Harry was the only one there. He was staring into his mug of coffee as if he was trying to lose himself in it. She knew that feeling well—she’d been there herself only a few months ago, when her life had turned into a living nightmare—and her heart went out to him.

‘Tough shift so far?’ she asked, gently placing her hand on his arm for a moment.

‘No—yes,’ he admitted. Then he grimaced. ‘Never mind. Forget I said anything.’

It wasn’t like Harry Gardiner to be brusque. The doctor she’d got to know over the last month was full of smiles, always seeing the good in the world.

He also hadn’t quite lived up to his heartbreaker reputation, because since Isla had known Harry he hadn’t actually dated anyone. He’d even turned down a couple of offers, which was hardly the act of the Lothario that the hospital rumour mill made him out to be. Maybe he’d told her the truth when he’d said he wasn’t a heartbreaker.

Right now, something had clearly upset him. Though she understood about keeping things to yourself. Since the day that Andrew Gillespie had made that awful accusation and her fiancé had actually believed him, she’d done the same. Keeping your feelings to yourself was the safest way. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But if you want to talk, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’ But Harry still seemed sunk in the depths of gloom. He was still serious when he was working in minors with her, not even summoning up his store of terrible jokes to distract a little boy whose knee he had to suture after Isla had cleaned up the bad cut.

By mid-afternoon, she was really worried about him. To the point of being bossy. ‘Right. I’m pulling rank,’ she said. ‘You need cake, so I’m dragging you off to the canteen.’

‘Yes, Sister McKenna,’ he said. But his eyes were dull rather than gleaming with amusement. And that worried her even more.

Once they were sitting in the canteen—where she’d insisted on buying lemon cake for him—she asked, ‘So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

He said nothing; but she waited, knowing that if you gave someone enough space and time they’d start talking.

Except he didn’t.

‘Harry, either you’ve suddenly become a monk and taken a vow of silence as well as chastity, or something’s wrong.’

He looked at her. ‘How do you know I’m chaste?’

She met his gaze. ‘According to the hospital rumour mill, you haven’t dated in a month and everyone thinks you must be ill.’

‘They ought to mind their own business.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not ill. I just don’t want to date.’

Fair enough. She could understand that; it was how she felt, too.

‘And the silence?’ she asked.

He sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it here.’

So there was something wrong. And she liked Harry. She hated to think of him being miserable. And maybe talking to her would help him. ‘After work, then? Somewhere else, somewhere that people from round here aren’t likely to be hanging round to overhear what you’re saying?’

There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Sister McKenna?’

‘That I’m most definitely not,’ she said crisply. But then she softened. ‘We’re friends, Harry, and friends support each other. You look upset about something and you’ve been a bit serious at work lately, so something’s obviously wrong. If you want to go for a drink with me after work or something and talk, then the offer’s there.’

‘I could use a friend,’ he said. ‘But you never socialise outside work, Isla. And isn’t someone waiting at home for you?’

‘I’m single, as well you know.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Maybe you have a child,’ he explained, ‘or a relative you’re caring for.’

‘Is that what people are saying about me? That because I don’t go on team nights out, I must be a single parent with babysitting problems?’

He winced. ‘People get curious. But I haven’t been gossiping about you.’

Given what he’d said about the hospital rumour mill, she believed him. ‘Just for the record, I don’t have a child, and I don’t look after anyone. There’s just me. And that’s fine.’

‘Not even a goldfish or a cat?’

‘No.’ She would’ve loved a dog, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone all day. Hospital shifts and pets didn’t mix that well, unless you were in a family where you could share the care. Not to mention the clause in the lease of her flat saying that she couldn’t have pets. ‘You know what the old song says about not being able to take a goldfish for a walk.’

‘I guess.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, Isla. I’ll think of somewhere and text you. Shall we meet there?’

She knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. Because, if they travelled to the pub or café together, someone was likely to see them and start speculating about whether they were seeing each other. Harry obviously didn’t want to be the centre of gossip, and neither did she. ‘Deal,’ she said.

After his shift finished, Harry texted Isla the address of the wine bar and directions on how to find it.

Funny, she was the last person he’d expected to take him under her wing. She didn’t date, whereas he had the not-quite-deserved reputation of dating hundreds of women and breaking their hearts. He’d been at the London Victoria for years and she’d been working there for just under a month. And yet she’d been the only one in the department who’d picked up his dark mood; and she’d been the only one who’d offered him a listening ear.

Harry didn’t tend to talk about his family.

But maybe talking to someone who didn’t know him that well—and most certainly didn’t know any of the other people involved—might help. A fresh pair of eyes to help him see the right course of action. Because this wedding was really getting under his skin and Harry didn’t have a clue why it was upsetting him so much. It wasn’t as if his father hadn’t got remarried before. So why, why, why had it got to him so much this time?

Harry was already halfway through his glass of Merlot when Isla walked into the wine bar, looked round and came over to his table. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi. You look lovely. I’ve never seen you wearing normal clothes instead of your nurse’s uniform.’ The words were out before he could stop them and he grimaced. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t hitting on you.’

Much.

Because he had to admit that he was attracted to Isla McKenna. That gorgeous creamy skin, her dark red hair, the curve of her mouth that made her look like the proverbial princess just waiting to be woken from her sleep by love’s first kiss …

He shook himself mentally.

Not now.

If he told Isla what was going through his head right now, she’d walk straight out of the bar. And it would take God knew how long to get their easy working relationship back in place. He didn’t want that to happen.

‘You look odd without a white coat, too,’ she said, to his relief; clearly she hadn’t picked up on his attraction to her and was just responding to his words at face value.

‘Let me get you a drink. What would you like?’ he asked.

‘I’ll join you in whatever you’re having.’ She gestured to his glass.

‘Australian Merlot. OK. Back in a tick.’

Ordering a drink gave him enough time to compose himself. He bought her a glass of wine and walked back to their table, where she looked as if she was checking messages on her phone. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m just texting my mum, my sister and my brother to tell them I’ve had a good day.’

‘You miss your family?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Sometimes the islands feel as far away as Australia.’

‘The islands?’ he asked, not sure what she meant.

‘The Western Isles,’ she said.

So she was from the Outer Hebrides? You couldn’t get much more different from London, he thought: mountains, pretty little villages and the sea, compared to the capital’s urban sprawl and the constant noise of traffic.

‘It isn’t that bad really,’ she said. ‘I can fly from here to Glasgow and then get a flight to Lewis, or get the train from Glasgow to Oban and catch the ferry home.’

But the wistfulness in her tone told him how much she missed her family. Something he couldn’t quite get his head round, because he often felt so disconnected from his own. And how ironic that was, considering the size of his family. Eight siblings, with another one on the way. OK, so he didn’t have much in common with his two youngest half-brothers; but he wasn’t that close to the ones nearest his own age, either. And he always seemed to clash with his middle sister. Guilt made him overprotective, and she ended up rowing with him.

‘But we’re not talking about me,’ she said before he could ask anything else. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You’re very direct,’ he said, playing for time.

‘I find direct is the best way.’

He sighed. ‘Considering how much you clearly miss your family, if I tell you what’s bugging me you’re going to think I’m the most selfish person in the universe.’

She smiled. ‘Apart from the fact that there are usually two sides to every story, I very much doubt you’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met.’

There was a tiny flicker in her expression, as if she was remembering something truly painful. And that made Harry feel bad about bringing those memories back to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, never mind. Let’s just have a drink and talk about—oh, I dunno, the weather.’ Something very English, and very safe.

She laughed. ‘Nice try. Iain—my brother—squirms just like you do if we talk about anything remotely personal.’

‘I guess it’s a guy thing,’ he said, trying to make light of it and wishing he hadn’t started this.

‘But sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘it’s better out than in. A problem shared is a problem halved. And—’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘No, I can’t think of any more clichés right now. Over to you.’

Despite his dark mood, Harry found himself smiling. He liked this woman. Really, really liked her. Which was another reason why he had to suppress his attraction to her. He wanted to keep her in his life instead of having to put up barriers, the way he normally did. ‘I can’t, either.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I hate talking about emotional stuff. And it’s easier to talk when you’re stuffed with carbs. They do fantastic pies here, and the butteriest, loveliest mashed potato in the world. Can we talk over dinner?’

‘Pie and mash.’ She groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re planning to make me eat jellied eels or mushy peas as well.’

‘Traditional London fare?’ He laughed. ‘No. For vegetables here I’d recommend the spinach. It’s gloriously garlicky.’

‘Provided we go halves,’ she said, ‘then yes. Let’s have dinner. As friends, not as a date.’

Why was she so adamant about not dating? He guessed that maybe someone had hurt her. But he also had the strongest feeling that if he tried to focus on her or asked about her past, she’d shut the conversation down. ‘Deal.’

Ordering food gave him a little more wriggle room.

But, once their food had been served and she’d agreed with him that the pie was to die for, he was back on the spot.

Eventually, he gave in and told her. Because hadn’t that been the point of meeting her this evening, anyway? ‘My dad’s getting remarried,’ he said.

‘Uh-huh. And it’s a problem why exactly?’

‘Speaking like that makes you sound like Yoda.’

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. ‘Don’t try to change the subject.’

‘You’re a bossy lot, north of the border,’ he muttered.

‘And you Sassenachs have no staying power,’ she said with a grin. ‘Seriously, Harry, what’s wrong? Don’t you like his new wife-to-be?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t really know her that well.’

‘So what is it?’

‘This is going to stay with you?’ he checked.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a gossip. I know you’re not. I don’t …’ He blew out a breath. ‘Well, I don’t tend to talk about my personal life.’

‘And I appreciate that you’re talking to me about it now,’ she said softly.

He sighed. ‘Dad wants me to be his best man.’

‘And you don’t want to do it?’

‘No. It’d be for the third time,’ Harry said. ‘And I really don’t see the point of making such a big song and dance about the wedding, considering that in five years’ time we’ll be going through the exactly same thing all over again.’

She said nothing, just waited for him to finish.

He sighed again. ‘My father—I don’t know. Maybe it’s a triumph of hope over experience. But this will be his seventh marriage, and this time his fiancée is younger than I am.’

His father’s seventh marriage? Seeing that many relationships go wrong would make anyone wary of settling down, Isla thought. ‘Maybe,’ she said softly, ‘your father hasn’t found the right woman for him yet.’

‘So this will be seventh time lucky? That’d go down really well in my best man’s speech. Not.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you or take it out on you.’ He grimaced. ‘My father’s charming—that is, he can be when it suits him. He can be great company. But he has a seriously low boredom threshold. And I can’t understand why none of his wives has ever been able to see the pattern before she actually married him. Well, obviously not my mum, because she was the first. But every single one after that. Get married, have a baby, get bored, have an affair, move on. Nothing lasts for Dad for more than five years—well, his last one was almost seven years, but I think Julie was the one to end it instead of Dad. Or maybe he’s slowing down a bit now he’s in his mid-fifties.’ Harry sighed. ‘I really liked Fliss, his third wife. Considering she had to deal with me as a teenager …’ He shrugged. ‘She was really patient.’

‘Did you live with your dad when you were growing up?’ Isla asked.

Harry shook his head. ‘I stayed with him for the occasional weekends, plus a week or so in the long school holidays. I lived with my mum and my three half-sisters. My mum also has a marriage habit, though at least she’s kept husband number four.’ He paused. ‘Maybe that’s it. Dad only has sons—six of us. Maybe he’s hoping that his new wife is carrying his daughter.’

Isla added it up swiftly. Harry was one of nine children, soon about to be ten? And he’d said something about his mum being his father’s first wife. ‘I take it you’re the oldest?’

He nodded. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I like my brothers and sisters well enough, but there’s a whole generation between me and the littlest ones, so we have absolutely nothing in common. I feel more like an uncle than a brother.’ He gave her a thin smile. ‘And let’s just say the best contraception ever is to get a teenager babysitting for their younger siblings. I definitely don’t want kids of my own. Ever.’

‘Remind me to tell my brother Iain how lucky he is that he only had me and Mags tagging around after him,’ she said.

‘You’re the baby of the family?’ he asked.

‘Yes, and I’m thoroughly spoiled.’

He scoffed. ‘You’re far too sensible to be spoiled.’

‘Thank you. I think.’ She paused. ‘Right. So you don’t want to be the best man and you don’t want to go to the wedding. I’m assuming you’re trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings, so you could always say you can’t make the wedding due to pressure of work. That we’re really short-staffed and you just can’t get the time off.’

‘I’ve already tried that one,’ Harry said. ‘Dad says my annual leave is part of my contract—he’s a lawyer, by the way, so I can’t flannel him—and he says they can always find a locum or call in an agency worker to fill in for me. Plus he gave me enough notice that I should’ve been able to swap off-duty with someone months ago to make sure I could be there.’

‘How about a last-minute illness? Say we had norovirus on the ward and you came down with it?’ she suggested.

‘Norovirus in the middle of summer?’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Nope. That one’s not going to fly.’

‘You have other medics in your family, then?’ she asked.

‘One of my sisters is a trainee audiologist. But everyone knows that norovirus tends to be at its worst in the winter. All the newspapers make a big song and dance about emergency departments being on black alert at the peak of the winter vomiting virus season.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve thought about practically nothing else for weeks, and there just isn’t a nice way to let everyone down.’

‘So the kind approach isn’t going to work. Have you tried telling any of your brothers that you don’t want to go?’

He nodded. ‘Jack—he’s the next one down from me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He thinks I should be there to support the old man. So does Fin—he’s the next one down from Jack.’

‘And how old are they?’

‘Dad’s kids are all spaced five years apart. So Jack and Fin are twenty-seven and twenty-two, respectively,’ he explained. ‘The odd one out will be the new baby, who’ll be seven years younger than Evan—he’s the youngest.’

‘OK. So you have to go to the wedding. But what about this best man business? Isn’t there anyone else who could do it? Does your dad have a best friend, a brother—or, hey, he could always be different and have a woman as his best man if he has a sister,’ she suggested.

To her relief, that actually made Harry crack a smile. ‘Best woman? I can’t see Auntie Val agreeing to that. She says Dad’s the male equivalent of a serial Bridezilla.’ He took another sip of Merlot. ‘Uncle Jeff—Dad’s brother—has done the duty twice, and so has Marty, his best friend.’

‘So if the three of you have all done it twice, what about your next brother down? Or the youngest one? Could it be their turn?’

‘I could suggest it.’ He paused. ‘But even if I can be just a normal wedding guest instead of the best man, it still means running the gauntlet of everyone asking me how come I’m not married yet, and saying how I ought to get a move on and settle down because I’m ten years older now than Dad was when he got married the first time, and that means I’m totally on the shelf.’

‘Apart from the fact that men are never described as being on the shelf, you would still’ve been a student medic at twenty-two,’ Isla pointed out. ‘And, with the crazy hours that junior doctors work, you wouldn’t have had the time to get married or even spend that much time with your new wife back then.’

‘But I’m not a student or a junior doctor now. In their view, I have no excuses not to settle down.’

‘Maybe you could take a date to the wedding?’ she suggested.

That would be Harry’s worst nightmare. Taking a date to a family wedding implied that you were serious about taking the relationship further; then, when it was clear you didn’t want to do that, someone would get hurt. But Isla clearly meant well. ‘I guess it would be a start—but it wouldn’t stop the questions for long. They’d want to know how we met, how long we’d been dating, how serious it was, when we were planning to get engaged …’ He rolled his eyes. ‘They never stop.’