Читать книгу The Midwife's One-Night Fling - Sue MacKay, Carol Marinelli - Страница 18

CHAPTER SEVEN

UH-OH!

Freya woke to a very un-lumpy mattress—in fact, she felt as if she was wrapped in cotton wool. And then she heard Richard speaking into the phone.

Her one and only one-night stand was over.

And, instead of regretting it, she smiled as she lay there, recalling last night.

They had arrived back at his gorgeous apartment and he’d poured them a drink and headed off for a shower.

She’d ended up in there with him.

And then they’d taken their drinks to bed.

Oh, it had been bliss.

She lay there listening to his lovely deep voice.

‘No, I’m away until Tuesday, so I can’t,’ he said. ‘How is Mrs Eames?’

As soon as the call ended, his phone went again.

‘No,’ he said, very brusquely. ‘You cannot come and stay.’

Freya wondered if it was an ex, trying to get her toes back past the bedroom door, but she blinked when he spoke again.

‘Mother, I have a friend staying at the flat while I’m away.’ Pause. ‘I do. Currently she’s living in a terrible rental and I’ve loaned her the place for a few days. So, no, you can’t come and stay. If you need a break from your fiancé then I suggest that perhaps you actually speak to him about that fact, rather than go away.’

Another pause and Freya rolled over and looked at him, not even politely attempting to pretend she was asleep.

‘What do you mean, you don’t believe me?’ he said. ‘Freya, would you tell my mother that my place is yours for a few days?’

Gosh, what a way to meet the parents, Freya thought as he handed her his phone.

‘Hello, Mrs...’ Freya didn’t know what to call her, given she had divorced Mr Lewis three husbands ago.

‘Amanda,’ the woman said for her. ‘So you’re staying at Richard’s?’

‘Just for a wee while,’ Freya said. ‘While my landlord’s sorting...’

‘Pardon?’ his mother said.

Richard took back the phone.

‘So you see there is no spare room at the inn. I’ll talk to you when I’m back from Moscow.’

He ended the call and his phone rang yet again.

‘Work,’ he muttered, and Freya didn’t blame him a bit when he turned it off.

‘Thanks for that!’ Freya said with an edge, more than a little annoyed to have been put in that position and at his jab about her home.

‘I never said you were my lover,’ he pointed out, ‘just that my apartment wasn’t free. Anyway, she can afford a hotel.’

‘Fair enough.’ Freya said, but she was still sulking a little.

‘I am so tired of her dramas.’

Freya said nothing.

‘Can you see why I’ve been put off relationships for life?’

‘I think so.’ Freya nodded. He was almost forgiven. ‘How’s Louise?’ she asked.

‘Mrs Eames?’ he checked. ‘She’s made it through the night and is holding her own. She’s a lot better than yesterday at least.’ He looked over. ‘Do you want some breakfast or are you still cross?’

‘Still cross,’ Freya said and told him why. ‘My flat isn’t terrible.’

‘I just said that as an excuse to my mother. She’s hardly going to drop in and see it.’

‘I guess...’

She let it go, and she decided he was completely forgiven when he got out of bed and returned with coffee, and toast topped with grapefruit marmalade.

Or was it the fact that she simply had to know more about this man?

‘Were she and your father ever happy?’ Freya asked as they ate their breakfast and got crumbs in his gorgeous bed.

‘I think so. But she wanted a livelier social life and he is rather wedded to his job. She gave him an ultimatum and it backfired, I fear, because he chose work.’

‘Your father married again?’

‘Yes—his housekeeper. Or rather the woman who had been their housekeeper, so you can imagine how well that went down. My mother was convinced there had been something going on all along...’ He rolled his eyes and then, putting his plate down, moved to take her mug. ‘Can we talk about our sex-life instead, please?’

‘But your parents’ sex-life is so much more interesting!’

‘Then I must be losing my touch.’

They made each other laugh and then, to Freya’s surprise, and seemingly to Richard’s, instead of taking her mug he lay back on the pillows and told her some more.

‘She walked out when I was fifteen—a couple of days after their twentieth wedding anniversary. My father wasn’t giving her the attention she felt she deserved. He had a terminally ill patient and had had to cancel their anniversary trip. I felt terrible for my father after the break-up—he just moped around. Then, just when I was starting my “A” Levels, he announced he was marrying Vera.’

‘The housekeeper?’

‘Yes. And the following summer my mother married an old friend of my father’s. A more glamorous version of him, really.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘She left him after five years, and after that I kind of tuned out. Now all I know is that she’s engaged to Roger.’

‘Have you met him?’

‘Yes—a couple of dinners. He’s a cosmetic dentist.’ He pulled a face.

‘What’s wrong with being a cosmetic dentist?’

‘Nothing. I just feel his eyes on my mouth every time we speak. I think he’s trying to work out if I’ve got crowns. In my line of work we just ask!’

He looked over to Freya and gave her a very nice smile that showed stunningly even teeth.

‘And do you have crowns?’

‘Two—thanks to rugby.’

She looked right back at him, and as she did so she thought about him asking his patients about their dental work before he put them under. She looked into his eyes and Freya understood why patients so clearly trusted him.

Because she trusted him.

Of course she didn’t know him very well yet, but that much she knew. And, Freya thought as they stared at each other, if she were terrified and scared for her life, or her baby’s, his would be the eyes she would want to see.

No, she would never regret this. In the twelve hours since their lips had first met she had come alive to her body in a way she never had before.

She wanted to put down her mug and reach for his kiss. Or at the very least to ask him what day he’d get back from his trip, in the hope that she could see him. But then she recalled their rules, and peeled back the sheet rather than leaning in to his embrace.

‘I’d better go. I have a train to catch.’

‘What time?’

‘Ten.’

‘Then there’s plenty of time.’

‘No, I need to get back to mine to pack.’

‘Fair enough,’ Richard said.

He lay there with his hands behind his head as she dressed. He kept his mouth firmly closed.

It was deliberate, because a long weekend in Scotland with Freya sounded tempting—rather than flying to Moscow by himself and cramming in some sightseeing.

‘Have a great trip,’ Freya said.

‘I will.’ He put out his hand and she came and sat down on the bed.

‘And good luck with your lunch,’ she added.

‘Thanks.’

It wasn’t awkward when she left. More, it felt...unfinished.

* * *

Freya thought about him more than she ought as her train slid its way northwards.

It was packed, and there were no seats in the quiet carriage, so Freya put in her earbuds and tried to listen to music—but every song sounded as if it had been written about them. So she gave up with the music and chatted to the woman in the seat beside her.

She was a fellow Scot, so neither had to say sorry, or I beg your pardon once, and Freya found out from her that on weekends and public holidays you could sometimes get a cheap upgrade to First Class.

‘I’ll remember that,’ Freya said, and then gazed out of the window and watched the rolling countryside. The clouds gathered and right on cue, as they crossed the border at Berwick-upon-Tweed, she saw grey skies and rain,

It made her smile.

The train travelled the rugged Scottish coastline, eating up the miles until they reached Edinburgh Castle. It was dark and powerful and towering over them, and her first glimpse of it in what felt like a long time caused Freya’s heart to swell.

The train pulled into Waverley Station and it felt very good to be home. The station was busy as she checked the board for the next train to Cromayr Bay and saw that she had half an hour to kill.

Freya decided to buy some flowers for her little cottage, to brighten things up. As she was paying she could hear her phone beeping, and assumed it was Alison, or her mother, checking on what time her train would get in.

She nearly dropped the phone when she saw that it was Richard.

Lunch went well. I’ll have my phone off for a few days now, but just wanted to say that I hope you have a nice break.

No kisses or fun little emojis. No clues to anything, really—but even getting a text was more than she had expected.

Freya hadn’t expected anything. She’d hoped that she might see him again—of course she had—but this simple text... Well, it confused her. This didn’t fit with how he had said it would be.

She honestly didn’t know how to respond.

A part of her wanted to fire back smiley faces and pictures of tartan berets and Russian hats—just to keep it all light and breezy. Yet light and breezy wasn’t how she felt when it came to Richard.

And so, when most women would be firing off a rapid response to a text from Richard Lewis, Freya—because she didn’t know how to respond—instead sent the promised text to Alison, and then stuffed her phone back in her bag.

Freya had no intention of telling people about Richard. Certainly she wouldn’t be telling her parents. While Freya adored them, her mother Jean loved ‘a wee natter’, and—as Freya well knew—nothing stayed a secret in Cromayr Bay for very long.

Alison was a different matter. And she was there waiting when Freya got out at Cromayr Bay.

The clouds had parted and the sky was high and blue, and Alison was smiling widely as she waved to her.

‘Look at you!’ Freya smiled, because in the weeks that Freya had been away Alison had changed and was now sporting a lovely little bump.

‘I know!’ Her friend smiled back. ‘Betty said that you can sometimes show a lot more quickly the second time around.’

Betty had clearly said easily what Freya hadn’t been able to. And still Freya did not know why.

She had been dwelling on it for months now, and had even discussed it with Richard, but still she had a huge block when it came to speaking about the loss with her friend.

‘I booked us a table at the Tavern for tonight,’ Alison said as she drove her home.

‘In the restaurant?’ Freya checked, because usually they went for a curry, or just to the Tavern’s bar. The restaurant was pricey, and rather grand, but she had heard right.

‘Yes, it’s closing for renovations next week. They’re going to put a function room in at the top, and they’re refurbishing the restaurant.’

Freya didn’t like the sound of that—she loved it as it was.

‘The bar’s staying open, as well as the hotel, but I thought you might want to see the restaurant as it is one more time.’

Oh, she really did.

They took the hilly street approach and, rarely for summer, there was a parking spot close to Freya’s cottage. They pulled in behind her little purple car.

‘Do you want to come in?’ Freya offered, but Alison shook her head.

‘I’ve got to go and do a shop—I’ll meet you in the Tavern bar at seven.’

‘I’ll see you there, then.’

‘It’s good to have you home, Freya.’

It was good to be here, Freya thought as she pushed open the door.

The drapes had been closed by Mrs Hunt after the last tenants, and Freya went around opening them up and letting in the late-afternoon sun. Then she turned on the hot water and caught up on her mail while she waited for it to warm.

And she did all she could not to think too much of Richard and what had happened last night.

She wouldn’t be telling Alison. At least she didn’t know whether or not to tell her.

Alison and Callum had been childhood sweethearts. And Freya wasn’t sure her friend would understand.

Freya herself didn’t understand.

She liked it that there was no risk of getting overly involved with Richard.

The break-up with Malcolm had been tricky. He’d kept messaging and coming round, turning up wherever she went, wanting to talk, to see if they could give it another go.

Well, she wouldn’t be having that problem with Richard!

It was rather freeing.

* * *

It was nice to dress up and go out. She hadn’t brought much with her, but she had a nice copper-coloured dress, and with heels it was dressy enough. Her hair was still rather wild from going to bed with it damp last night, so Freya wore it up and then added a dash of lipstick.

She glanced at her phone as she put the lipstick back in her bag, and then decided she’d do well to leave the phone at home, to prevent herself from replying to Richard.

She had no idea what she would say anyway.

Freya headed to the Tavern bar, and she felt herself tense a little as she walked inside. It was Friday night in Cromayr Bay, and that meant there was a fair chance Malcolm would be there. But thankfully there was no sign of him, and a moment or two later Alison arrived.

The Tavern really was gorgeous—a boutique hotel just off the main street, it was set high on a hill and offered a stunning version of Freya’s favourite view of the Firth.

They climbed the steps to the restaurant and were shown to their seats by a waitress. Then Gordon, the owner, came over.

‘Are you two here for a last trip down memory lane?’

‘Something like that.’ Freya smiled.

‘I remember you coming here when you passed your midwifery exams—och, and for your eighteenth too...’

‘I’m going to miss the old place.’ Alison sighed.

‘Well, hopefully you’ll love the new one just as much,’ Gordon said, and then he talked them through the menu.

They made their choices—which was tough, because there was lobster brought in from the pots just that afternoon, and there was Dornoch lamb, as well as Freya’s favourite, game pie. But she’d had that the last time she was here...

‘I’m going to have the lamb, please,’ Freya said.

‘And I’ll have the spelt and mushroom risotto,’ Alison said.

Freya had wine, and Alison a mocktail, and they chatted about Freya’s move to London.

‘So, have you made any friends there yet?’ Alison asked.

‘Not really,’ Freya admitted. ‘They’re very cliquey...’ she started. Only that wasn’t quite right. They were all very nice. ‘I don’t know what it is. I try, I just don’t seem to fit in. Richard says I’m too subtle.’

‘Richard?’

‘A friend,’ Freya said.

‘So you have made one.’

‘A temporary one.’ Freya said. ‘He’s being interviewed for a plum new job in a private hospital.’

‘In London?’ Alison checked.

Freya nodded. ‘And he’ll get it—he’s brilliant.’

‘Well, if it’s in London that doesn’t have to stop you from being friends. So you do have one.’

‘I guess...’

Alison smirked, because she knew Freya well, and from the little flush on her cheeks it was clear to her he was more than just a friend.

‘It’s just a temporary thing,’ said Freya.

‘Why?’

‘Because temporary is all he does.’

‘But that’s not like you.’ Alison frowned.

‘Well, maybe it is. Look, we’ve been out a couple of times, and both of us know that it won’t be going any further, and that actually suits me just fine.’

‘Why?’ Alison asked again.

‘It just does,’ Freya said, and gave an uncomfortable shrug.

She wasn’t ready to tell Alison she was thinking of coming home for good once her contract was up, but thankfully then their meals arrived.

The lamb was delectable and the conversation became easier. Alison chatted about her and Callum’s tenth wedding anniversary, which was soon coming up.

‘Can you believe it?’

‘Not really.’ Freya laughed. ‘It feels like just a couple of years ago that I was your bridesmaid.’

‘Are you coming home for your thirtieth?’ Alison asked.

‘I think so,’ Freya said. ‘Though I’m doing all I can not to think about that.’

They had a wonderful night catching up. Although not about the things that hurt.

As Freya walked down the hill for home the air was salty, and despite the late hour the sky was still dusky. It was so much lighter here than in London. But autumn would soon close in.

It was one of the reasons she’d come home.

Tomorrow she had to speak to the estate agent about house prices and things, as soon the families renting for summer breaks would fade away and her little slice of potential heaven would be going on the market.

It would be a relief, Freya told herself. The rentals covered the mortgage, but there was a lot of work to be done on her home.

A lot.

She let herself in and smiled at the pretty flowers she’d set by the window. Then she made herself a hot chocolate, frothing the milk in her coffee machine, and took herself to bed.

Freya rarely closed the curtains. There was nothing between her little cottage and the water, and the sight of the bridges always had her in awe. They were miles away, of course, but it looked as if fairy lights had been expertly strung in the sky, and the new Queensferry Crossing was magnificent.

Tomorrow she was catching up with a few friends, and then there was a huge Sunday dinner at her parents’ house to look forward to.

And then she thought about Alison and what she’d said about ‘temporary’ not usually suiting her. Perhaps now it did.

She took out her phone and read again the text he had sent.

Freya liked Richard.

A lot.

From the moment she had first seen him he had captivated her.

Yet she wanted to keep things breezy and light.

Or rather, she had to.

And not just because Richard Lewis had told her that it was the only way they could be. It was also because this place was home. Not London.

Freya had made up her mind now—she would not be selling her home.

* * *

He’d noticed her lack of response to his text.

Of course he had.

Richard had been moving through Security at Heathrow when he’d fired it off, and had regretted the simple message the second after he’d hit ‘send’.

He did not report in to anyone—certainly not about things like interviews—and, furthermore, he loathed the cascade of texts that all too often came when he was seeing someone.

When he’d collected his phone on the other side of Security he’d seen that she hadn’t responded.

Good, he’d told himself. A mistake had been made, but a lesson had been learnt, he’d decided as he had boarded the plane.

‘Phones to be turned off now, please,’ the steward said, but Richard had checked his again before he did so.

Four hours later, as he stood at Moscow airport, even though the very reason for his trip was to get away from the constant buzz of pagers and phones, he found himself turning it on.

No, she had not replied.

Freya could not have known the effect on him.

It made him want her more.

And that did not sit well with Richard.