www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Copyright

THE surgery was modern, purpose-built and a huge improvement on her last place of work. Instead of a tatty, litter-strewn pavement and a door straight off the street, the path from the car park to the entrance led through a landscaped garden filled with carefully tended roses, and the air was heavy with their scent.

In the distance Beth could hear farm machinery—haymaking? Probably not; it was the middle of September. Harvesting, then? She didn’t even know that much about the countryside, and yet here she was, in Barnham Market in Suffolk, about to be interviewed for a part-time temporary job that she wasn’t even sure she wanted.

She stifled a disbelieving laugh. She didn’t really know what she was doing there at all—except that she had no job now, and this would at least give her the chance to find out if she liked living in the country, by no means a foregone conclusion since she had never done it before.

In fact her total contact with the country consisted of a few picnics in the company of a load of townies who knew no more about it than she did!

She sighed and locked the car. Oh, well, she was here now; she might as well have the interview.

The interior of the practice was light, airy and filled with plants, a far cry from the last place with its dreary rooms and scuffed lino floors. Here, rich blue-grey carpet tiles covered the floor in the reception area, and the chairs looked comfortable, grouped around a big table stacked neatly with magazines from Country Living to Farmer’s Weekly. There were two women sitting in the waiting-room, both obviously pregnant, and a toddler under a table chattering happily to a big yellow teapot. There was probably an ante-natal clinic going on.

She went up to the glass hatch into the reception office and smiled at the pretty middle-aged receptionist. ‘Hello, I’m Beth Turner—I’ve got an interview at three with Dr Pendragon.’

Oh, yes—take a seat, would you? Dr Pendragon will be back in a minute—he’s just had to go out on a call. He shouldn’t be long. The nurse’ll be free soon.’

She went obediently and sat down, among the pregnant women and the scattered toys, and pondered her fate.

Could be worse, she thought as she eyed the child. London had been, after all. Nothing, but nothing could be worse than that—the incessant traffic, the noise, the smell—really, she thought, you’d imagine you’d get used to it after all these years, but no. Not her, at any rate. She still loathed the noises, and as for the traffic fumes ——

‘Read.’

She blinked. The toddler pushed the book into her hand, climbed on to her lap and waited expectantly, his grubby cherub’s face turned up to hers. A familiar pang shot through her, but she ruthlessly ignored it.

‘No, darling—–’

She turned to the mother. ‘It’s all right—really. I don’t mind.’

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded, and the little boy pushed the book at her again. ‘Read!’

‘Say please.’

‘Peese.’

She dredged up a smile and opened the book. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Thomas —’

Me Thomas.’

She looked at him. ‘Are you? Isn’t that funny, both of you called Thomas!’

He plopped his thumb in his mouth and nodded, snuggling back down against her, and she turned back to the text again. She was barely started when a nurse appeared at her elbow.

‘Miss Turner? I’m Julie Rudd, the practice nurse. Would you like to come through to my room and we can have a chat?’

Beth slid the reluctant Thomas to the floor, handed him the book and followed her through the big double doors into the corridor outside the surgeries. ‘Sorry Dr Pendragon’s still out—he’s usually very reliable, but things don’t always go according to plan.’

Beth nearly laughed. If things had gone according to plan, she wouldn’t be here now. She smiled her understanding.

‘Cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’

‘We may as well go in Gideon’s office—he’ll be back any time now, I expect. Never mind, perhaps we can get started without him. Here, take a seat for a second, I’ve put the kettle on.’

While she waited for Julie to return, Beth looked round. You could tell a lot about a man from his office, she’d discovered, and Gideon Pendragon was no exception. For one thing he didn’t try and hide his family, she thought with a little twist of almost-forgotten pain. There were pictures on the desk—a boy in his late teens, dark, strikingly good-looking; a girl of about twelve, with the same fine dark looks and superb bone-structure; and a little girl, only three or so, with a moppet of fluffy blonde curls and brilliant blue eyes above a cherub’s smile.

‘Lovely kids.’

Beth jumped and turned. She had been miles away, in London with Matthew and the family he had denied.

‘Yes—yes, they are.’

She took the cup of tea and sat back in the chair, preparing to be grilled. It didn’t happen. Julie asked a few very general questions, flicked through her application and smiled.

‘I can’t think why you want to work here, but as far as I’m concerned you’re heaven-sent,’ she told Beth. ‘Since Stephanie left last week I’ve been rushed off my feet, and you’re available now, aren’t you?’

Beth nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Good. That’s brilliant. When Gideon comes in I’ll tell him to rubber-stamp you.’ She laughed and stood up. ‘Will you excuse me? I’ve got an asthma clinic at four and I really ought to go and prepare some worksheets for the group. He won’t be long—help yourself to more tea.’

She went, pulling the door to behind her, and left Beth alone in the surgery. She didn’t have more tea. For some reason she discovered she was nervous, and another cup would have sat heavily on her butterflies. Perhaps I should, she thought with a soft laugh. Maybe it would drown them.

She looked at the photos again, picking up the one of the baby and tracing the froth of curls thoughtfully with a neat, pink-tipped finger.

Gideon, she thought, rolling the name round on her tongue, tasting it. Gideon Pendragon. Unusual name. A mixture of old Cornish and American mid-west, hard, reliable, yet with a dash of excitement.

She gave a snort of laughter. He was probably short, fat and balding!

He was also late.

She put the photo down and paced across to the window. She was getting irritated. Couldn’t someone else have gone out on the call for him? It really wasn’t good enough. It was nearly four o’clock already!

Oh, well, look on the bright side, she thought; by the time you get back to London the rush-hour will be over.

She heard his voice first, low, deep, a reassuring rumble in the corridor.

There was a muttered expletive, then firm footsteps striding towards the door.

‘Miss Turner? I do apologise.’

She stood up. He was big. It wasn’t just height, although he was certainly tall enough, but there was a solidity, a substance about him that was more than physical. It was deeper than that, something that shouted dependability and inner strength, reliability and utter trustworthiness.

He thrust out his hand—large, square, of a piece with the man himself.

‘I’m sorry to keep you—Gideon Pendragon.’

She placed her hand in his and felt it engulfed in a warm and reassuring grip.

‘Beth Turner,’ she replied, and looked up into his face.

Her smile faltered. It was a striking face, an older version of the boy in the photograph, but it was his eyes that stopped her in her tracks.

Grey-green in colour, they were beautiful, bracketed by wickedly long black lashes. They were also the oldest, most world-weary eyes she had ever seen. Her soft heart reached out to him.

‘Problems?’ she said gently.

‘You could say that.’ He gave a short laugh and thrust strong fingers through the unruly strands of his straight, black hair. ‘People never die at a convenient time, do they?’

If she hadn’t seen the eyes, she might have dismissed him as callous. As it was she gave him time to pull himself back into the present and pick up her file. He flicked through it and tossed it back on the desk, dropping into the chair and leaning back, his hands locked behind his head.

‘So, what did Julie say? She’s usually pretty direct.’

Beth’s mouth twitched. ‘She said she’d tell you to rubber-stamp it.’

He smiled then, and his harsh features softened, bringing life to those tired eyes. ‘Good. I only had one real question.’

‘Why a part-time temporary job in the middle of nowhere?’

He grinned. ‘You were expecting it.’

‘Sort of.’ She returned the grin. ‘Because I need to work, but not necessarily flat out for a while. Because I could do with a breathing-space, time to find out what I really want from my career. Because I was ready for a change, and there didn’t seem to be a full-time permanent job that said, “Take me,” written all over it.’

He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Why did you need a breathing space?’

She looked away. He saw too much with those eyes. ‘Let’s just say there was a conflict of interests.’

‘A man?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t enlarge on it. The details were sordid and irrelevant.

‘So, you’re running away.’

‘No.’ She met his eyes again, determined to get the general principle straight, if not the fine print. ‘I don’t run away, Dr Pendragon. Not from anything. I simply decided it was time to move on.’

He chuckled. ‘Touché. So, you’re looking for a bolt-hole to lick your wounds while you decide what you want from life. Well, I won’t pretend we aren’t glad to have you, Miss Turner. Stephanie, our part-timer, has had to stop work rather earlier in her pregnancy than she’d planned, and we’re up a gum tree. You’re like a gift from the gods, frankly, and we aren’t in a position to be choosy about people’s reasons for wanting to take the job. Nurses of your calibre simply aren’t interested, so whatever your motives, welcome.’

That was it. She had the job. Stunned, she reached over the desk and took his outstretched hand. A slow smile touched his lips. ‘When can you start?’

She gave an expressive little shrug. ‘Whenever—Monday?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’ She hesitated, totally taken aback. ‘Well, I suppose I could—I haven’t got anywhere to live, and I’ve got nothing here. I’d have to go back to London tonight and get some things to tide me over till the weekend, but I suppose I could put up in a hotel or something.’

‘I’ve got a flat—over the old coach house. It’s just one room and a bathroom. The idea was that William would have it once he goes away to college next year so it wouldn’t be for very long, but as the job’s only temporary I don’t suppose that would matter. It’s got heating and everything—do you want to have a look?’

She nodded, swept along by the current.

‘Yes—why not? It sounds ideal.’

‘Good—shall we?’

He held the door for her, then led her down the corridor to Reception. ‘I’m just taking Miss Turner home to show her the flat—I won’t be long. Oh, and stick her on the payroll, Molly—she’s starting tomorrow.’

And that was it. Bemused, Beth followed him out of the side door and round into the street. The surgery was just off the market square that dominated the centre of the little town, and they walked along one side of the square and down a narrow little lane that cut through between the houses. They passed the church, built of brick and flint, solid and homely, and then beyond the church they came to a large Georgian house, the mellow cream of old Suffolk bricks, standing four-square in a neatly tended lawn.

‘What a lovely house,’ Beth remarked. ‘Very des-res.’

He laughed softly. ‘I’m glad you like it—sometimes I forget how lucky I am.’

‘It’s yours? I thought it was the vicarage.’

‘It was—until about twenty years ago. The present incumbent lives over there, much more economically!’

He pointed to a very pleasant modern house, much more modest than the sprawling Georgian building Beth had admired. She looked back at Gideon’s house, large and imposing. It suited him.

He turned in through a pair of tall gates and paused by a big brick building, itself larger than the present vicarage. Huge white-painted doors were set in the lower half, and the upper storey had tall arched windows set in the gables and dormers along the roofline. There you are—that’s the coach house. We use the bottom as a garage. When the kids were younger they used to play in the flat, but they’ve outgrown that sort of thing now.’

He sounded regretful, as if their childhood had been a thing of delight for him, and she felt herself warming to him even more. What a lovely, solid, dependable family man he was—such a contrast to the fickle and faithless Matthew.

She dragged her mind back to her surroundings, refusing to waste her mental energy on such a worthless topic.

He was opening a door at the side of the coach house, and she followed him in. There was a hall which reached the full height, and above she could see the old beams stretching across the vaulted ceiling. A black cast-iron spiral staircase led upwards, its lacy treads ringing under her feet as she ran lightly up to the top.

It was wonderful—huge, light and airy, the arched windows at each end looking out over the garden on one side and fields on the other. The crop hadn’t yet been harvested and the tall stalks whispered as the light breeze flowed over them. Nearer to hand she could hear the rustling of the leaves on the trees which edged the garden, and in one of the trees a bird sang, the notes pure and clear. Beth closed her eyes, speechless.

‘I know the furniture’s a bit old-fashioned, but it’s solid and everything’s quite clean. If you wanted we could get something else, I suppose—the mattress is new.’

She opened her eyes and looked around, taking in the contents of the room instead of just its atmosphere.

The walls were white, the carpet a soft, faded brick colour, and everything else blended—the warm old pine of the table and chairs, the heavily carved bed-ends, the natural oak of the beams that spanned the ceiling, and on the comfy old sofa a faded chintz cover in soft peaches and greens. At the far end was a small run of handbuilt pine units housing a little oven, a fridge and a sink unit, and on the other side a door led presumably to the bathroom.

She turned to him, a silly smile lurking on her face. ‘It’s perfect,’ she told him, ‘absolutely perfect. I can’t believe my luck.’

He smiled then, the weary eyes warming, and Beth felt somthing quiver deep inside her.

‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said softly, and she was suddenly aware of him, of his size, his nearness in the room that was suddenly far, far too small.

She turned away, flustered. ‘It’s very homely—your wife must have quite a gift,’ she said, deliberately reminding herself that he was married.

The silence was deafening, and something about its quality made her turn and look searchingly at him.

The weariness was back, and with it a bone-deep sadness.

‘My wife’s dead, Miss Turner. She’s been dead for four years.’

Sophie was refusing to co-operate in the way only a four-year-old could. Gideon hung on to his patience, determined to win the battle, if not the war.

In the end she was bathed and into bed, and Claire had finished her Latin homework and was wrestling with biology. Will was in his room, Dire Straits tearing hell out of the walls and making the windows rattle. He opened the door.

‘William!’ he yelled.

The music was cut drastically.

‘Hi, Dad.’

‘Just going over to the coach house for a minute—the nurse will be here soon and I want to make sure everything’s ready. Watch the girls for me, can you?’

Will did the thumbs-up, and Gideon shut the door on the awful noise and headed for the relative sanctuary of the coach house.

To be honest, he was still trying to work out why he had let her have it. It was his retreat, the oasis of tranquillity he escaped to whenever things got too much and he needed time out from the pressing reality of life as a single parent.

He closed the door behind him and sighed, letting the absolute peace and stillness soak into him.

He must be mad to give it away.

He climbed the stairs and made his way over to the kitchen area, checking that his housekeeper had put a supply of fresh food in the fridge as he had requested, and that the bed was made up and aired and the bathroom in readiness.

On impulse he went back down and picked some roses from beside the house and took them in, standing them in a glass for want of a vase. They were hardly arranged—that sort of thing wasn’t his forte, to say the least, but he wanted to make the gesture—perhaps of atonement?

He had been rather abrupt, but he really hadn’t wanted to get into a discussion of Denise’s death and the events surrounding it.

He set the roses down on the table and dropped into the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him and dropping his head back with a sigh.

Damn, she was pretty.

Soft and warm, like sunshine on a spring morning.

He snorted. Poetry now.

He was conscious of an ache, deep in his chest, and another tightness further down, an awareness, a need that had lain dormant for years.

No, he told himself. She was too sweet, too kind, too innocent to use for the slaking of his thirst.

Hell, she wouldn’t even know the rules.

A car scrunched gravel on the drive, and he went down and opened the door.

She was climbing out of the car and dragging a heavy case behind her. Chivalry bade him take it from her.

‘Anything else?’

Her sweet fragrance drifted against his skin, and the ache intensified.

‘No, that’s all for now. I’ll go back at the weekend.’

He turned without speaking and went back inside, carrying the heavy case ahead of him up the steps.

He set it beside the bed and dusted off his hands.

Oh, roses—how thoughtful,’ she said softly, and he felt colour brush his neck.

‘I asked my housekeeper to get the room ready for you,’ he told her. The romantic little gesture seemed suddenly very foolish, and yet he was glad it had given her pleasure.

The huge room suddenly seemed suffocatingly small.

‘Right, I’ll leave you to get settled in. If there’s anything you need, just come over and shout.’

She turned towards him, her beautiful blue eyes softened by the smile, and his fingers ached to free her hair from the ponytail and spread it over her shoulders. He could almost feel the silky strands sliding through his fingers. It would be like golden rain, fanned over his pillow, cascading across his chest as she raised herself to look down on him, a teasing smile on her lips ——

He yanked himself up short. No, Pendragon. Not this one.

He bade her goodnight and turned, running quickly down the stairs and out into the blessed darkness of the night.

Gideon—Beth found it impossible to think of him as Dr Pendragon—tracked her down the following morning at the surgery.

‘All right?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Fine, thanks. I think I can find everything I’ll need. I’m helping Julie get rid of the backlog and then I’ll start my proper routine from Monday.’

‘Good. Make sure you put in a claim for the extra hours. Oh, by the way, talking about extra hours, do you feel happy about taking over the Stop Smoking clinic? I forgot to mention it at your interview. We run it when necessary, and we had a new group scheduled to start on Monday evening.’

She shook her head. ‘No problem. I’ve run one before. Do you do much with it?’

Oh, yes, it’s a tandem effort. We’ve found it’s very cost-effective because the smokers take up so much of our time and resources, especially in the winter months. It’s just that I’ve got a man coming to see me this morning who’s been referred for bypass surgery and he’s a heavy smoker—he needs to give up, and the surgeon is being less than hopeful about his chances if he doesn’t, so I thought I’d talk him into the clinic.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Sure you don’t mind? I’m sorry I didn’t mention it yesterday.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I think I’m going to find the time hangs on my hands anyway, I’m used to being busy.’

For a moment she thought he was going to say something else, but then he nodded and turned briskly away.

Beth watched him go, the long, lazy stride eating up the ground, the supple movements of his shoulders, the swing of his arms, his movements all graceful and coordinated like a natural athlete.

She had heard gravel scrunch underfoot this morning outside the coach house and had watched as he jogged down the lane past the church and out into the square.

Half an hour later she had heard the scrunch of returning footsteps, and had forced herself to ignore them and not look, however tempted she might be by the long, sleek limbs spangled with dark hair, the breadth of those powerful shoulders over neat, narrow hips and the driving pistons of his legs. One look was enough. After all, she had her sanity to consider, and tangling with all that raw masculine energy wasn’t conducive to mental health.

She busied herself in her room, doing inoculations and well-person checks, dishing out leaflets on breast and testicle self-examination, eating for health and avoiding heart disease.

One elderly lady, Mabel Robinson, came to her for a new dressing on her leg ulcer. Plopping down into the chair with a wheeze, she smiled up at Beth.

‘Hello, dear. Just give me a second and I’ll slip my stocking off for you.’

Beth returned the smile and knelt at her feet. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it. You’ve got to have a dressing changed, is that right?’

‘Yes—perishing leg ulcer. I don’t know, the blessed thing doesn’t seem to want to get better.’

‘Let’s have a look shall we?’ Beth gently rolled the stocking down and slipped it off Mrs Robinson’s foot, then after washing her hands she eased the hydrocolloid dressing away from the wound. ‘Oh, yes, I see what you mean. It’s obviously being a bit naughty, isn’t it? Well, let’s give it a wash and I’ll ask Dr Pendragon to have a look at it.’

She cleaned the wound gently with saline, then rang through to Gideon’s office and asked him to drop in.

He stuck his head round the door a moment later and shot Mrs Robinson a cheeky grin.

‘Hello, Mabel—how’re you doing?’

‘Oh, you know, Doctor—up and down.’

He crouched on the floor beside Beth and bent over the ulcer, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

‘Well, I think it looks better than last time, but it certainly isn’t progressing fast. Perhaps we should try some paste in it. That might help dry it up a little.’

Beth nodded, then redressed the wound, filling the pitting in the leg with Comfeel paste before replacing the colloid dressing with a fresh one. While she worked Mrs Robinson quizzed her openly.

‘You’re new, aren’t you?’

Beth nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s my first day.’

‘Staying with Dr Pendragon, I hear.’

‘In the coach house flat,’ Beth filled in hastily. No point in letting that rumour run away with itself! But it seemed her patient was better informed than that.

‘‘Oh, I know that, dear,’ she said. ‘Wonderful now, isn’t it? Met the children yet?’

Beth shook her head. ‘No—no, I haven’t.

‘Lovely children—such a shame about the mother.’

‘Mmm.’ Beth was deliberately non-committal, not wishing to get into a discussion about Gideon with this sweet but congenitally nosy old dear—and particularly not about his wife. She had already floundered in there where angels with any sense would fear to tread. ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.

‘Better. Thank you so much, dear.’

Beth showed her out, holding the door for the fragile little woman, and as she watched her go she wondered how far the old lady had to come.

‘Mrs Robinson?’ she called, running after her. ‘Would it help you if the district nurse came to do your dressing?’

Bright eyes sparkled up at Beth. ‘Oh, no, dear—I’d miss all the gossip! Besides, I only live next door.’

Beth smiled and let her go. The exercise and change of scene was probably good for her, anyway.

David Hendry, Gideon’s smoking heart bypass patient, walked past her as she was about to go back in. She knew it was him because as he passed her he paused to speak, then raised his hand to his mouth and coughed, and Beth could hear the damage he was doing in the bronchitic rattle from his chest.

‘Nasty cough you’ve got there,’ she said conversationally. ‘Bad cold?’

‘Nah—damn fags cause that. The dreaded weed.’

She smiled sympathetically. ‘Tough giving up, isn’t it? I used to smoke myself when I was training, but I gave up when I became a staff nurse! I still remember how hard it was.’

Her patient snorted. ‘You’re telling me. I’ve tried—God knows I’ve tried, but this time it’s got to work. There’s just too much at stake.’ He met her eyes, his own pleading. ‘I gather you’re running the Stop Smoking clinic with Dr Pendragon.’

‘That’s right.’

His mouth twisted. ‘Well, I wish you luck with me. I can’t do it on my own, but I really must make it stick this time.’

She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. ‘We’ll get you there, Mr Hendry, don’t you worry. You’ll do it this time. I won’t let you fail.’

He met her eyes, and she could see doubt and scepticism mingled with hope in their depths.

‘I’ll see you Monday, then.’

She watched him go, a relatively young man whom lack of exercise, family history and years of self-abuse had threatened with an untimely end. Could she save him? Not alone, of course, but would her contribution make any difference to the final outcome?

She didn’t know, but one thing she was sure of— she’d have a damn good try.

Friday, and the end of the week. Beth dropped the patient records back into Reception and smiled at Molly.

‘All done?’

She nodded. ‘I hope so. I’ve got to sort some things out for the Stop Smoking clinic on Monday, but otherwise I think I’ve done everything.’

‘Good.’ Molly glanced up at her. ‘Settling in all right at the Rectory?’

‘Oh, yes—it’s lovely,’ Beth told her honestly, genuinely delighted by her accommodation. She was less sure about her boss, though. Other than strictly professional exchanges, he had been very distant since the first night—really, since she had made that remark about his wife.

How was she to know, though? The man didn’t have a brand on his forehead that proclaimed him a widower. She felt bad that she’d hurt him, even so, especially after he had bent over backwards to make her welcome.

His desperation had certainly been justified, she acknowledged. She had worked full-time these past two days to help Julie catch up with her backlog, and then from Monday would be working just the mornings and Tuesday afternoon, as planned, with the smoking cessation clinic on Monday evenings some of the time.

For someone used to working full-time, it wasn’t much. She would have to find something to fill her leisure hours. Maybe one of her elderly patients had a dog that needed walking, or perhaps she could do some shopping for one of them. She’d ask—but not now. Now, she wanted to find a shop in the square and buy something to eat tonight, and then go back and cook it and eat it in front of the television, curled up on that unbelievably comfortable sofa.

Maybe she’d take up patchwork or tapestry or something to while away the long winter evenings.

It was only September, but already the nights were drawing in and there was a chill in the air.

She said goodnight to Molly and headed for the door.

Spaghetti, perhaps, or maybe a couple of those wonderful cheeses from the specialist food shop that lurked innocently on one side of the square.

She went in and bought some dolcelatte and a slice of a sheep’s milk roulé, and then on impulse picked up a bottle of Chianti.

‘Celebrating something?’

He didn’t mean to speak to her, but it was difficult to avoid her all the time and he didn’t want to be conspicuously churlish.

She turned and smiled, the wine in her hand. ‘Not really—it just looked appealing.’

‘You shouldn’t drink alone,’ he found himself saying.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t, as a rule, but—well, I thought tonight…’

She looked suddenly wistful, and he found himself asking her to join them for supper. ‘Nothing fancy—just spaghetti bolognese, I think, tonight. It’s Will’s turn, and he always does spaghetti.’

She nearly laughed. ‘I was going to cook that for myself.’

‘So will you come?’ He found himself waiting for her reply.

‘Thank you, yes, I will. I’ll bring the cheeses—we can have them afterwards.’

Her smile brushed her eyes with gold, and he felt the ache start again, low down. Damn. Now what had he done?

‘Fine,’ he said tersely. ‘Seven o’clock?’

‘That would be lovely—if you’re sure?’

‘Quite sure,’ he lied. ‘We’ll see you then—I’ll leave the lights on.’

IN FACT it was still fairly light at seven o’clock although dusk was creeping in, but the lights made the big house seem even more welcoming as Beth scrunched up the gravel drive and rang the doorbell.

She waited for a moment, then rang it again. She could hardly hear it in the distance, over the music—at least two sorts, if not three—and the screaming of a child.

She smiled. That would be the small girl, in a paddy if she was any judge. She opened the door and walked into a scene of utter pandemonium.

The little girl was lying on the floor screaming, there was steam billowing out of the kitchen, and from the depths of the steam something with a heavy bass-line throbbed and wailed at full blast. The television was blaring forth from another room, and something else filtered down from upstairs.

She closed her eyes and tried not to laugh. Poor man, no wonder he hadn’t heard the doorbell!

She went into the kitchen and found it empty except for a pan of boiling water and the music. Both needed switching off—she went for the music first. Then she found the TV in the breakfast-room next door and switched that off.

The silence was shattering. Even the little girl stopped screaming to listen to it.

She went back out into the hall, now quiet except for the music emanating from an upstairs room.

‘Hello,’ she said to the child, and she sat up and eyed Beth warily.

‘‘I?.’

‘I’m Beth.’

‘I’m Sophie.’

She sat on the floor beside the child. ‘What’s wrong, Sophie?’

‘Nothing,’ she mumbled mutinously. ‘I can’t find Daddy. I called him.’

Beth shot a glance at the kitchen. ‘I don’t suppose he could hear you. Shall we see if we can find him?’

‘Who turned that off?’ a voice yelled over the banisters, and a youth vaulted over the top rail on to the middle of the first flight and bounded down to the hall.

‘I did.’

‘Ah.’ He skidded to a halt at her feet and peered down at her. ‘Um—is Sophie all right?’

She looked up at a younger version of Gideon, thinner and still a little gangly, but filling out fast. The eyes were identical.

‘I think so—I imagine she was just trying to make herself heard,’ she said drily.

He flushed. ‘You must be the nurse.’ He held down his hand and hauled her to her feet with a grin. ‘I’m William.’

She returned the grin. ‘I’m Beth. I turned off your hot water, as well, but there wasn’t much left.’

There was a tug at her hand. ‘Find Daddy,’ Sophie demanded.

William scooped her up into his arms. ‘Daddy’s in the shower.’ He looked over Sophie to Beth. ‘He sends his apologies—he won’t be a sec. He’s had a bit of a crisis in the bathroom. You couldn’t help me get Sophie into bed so I can get the spaghetti on, could you? The sauce is made.’

‘I want ‘ghetti.’

‘You’ve had yours—go on, Tuppence, don’t be a pain.’ He kissed her and handed her over to Beth. ‘Top of the stairs, turn sharp right. You can’t miss her room—it’s got pink furry things all over the floor.’ Sophie giggled. ‘He means My Little Ponies. Want to see?’

Beth smiled at her, her heart twisting. She was such a cherub. ‘Love to. Shall we?’

She set her down and they walked together up the stairs, hand in hand, while Beth wondered what sort of a crisis Gideon could possibly have had in the bathroom. She didn’t have to wonder for long.

‘I had a bath,’ Sophie told Beth seriously as they mounted the stairs. ‘A big one.’

‘Oh,’ Beth replied just as seriously. ‘Very big?’

Sophie nodded. ‘Too big—all the water fell over the top, and all the bubbles. Daddy threw a mega.’

She caught the laugh just in time. That expression just had to be straight out of her big brother’s or sister’s mouth. Lips twitching, she turned the corner at the top of the stairs just in time to see Gideon cross the landing clad only in a towelling robe belted loosely on his hips.

‘Beth!’

She smiled uncertainly. ‘Um—Sophie was yelling for you. William asked me to put her to bed…’

‘That boy—OK, Tuppence, come on, let’s tuck you up —’

She hid her hands firmly behind her back.

‘Beth do it.’

‘No, Daddy do it—‘

‘No.’ The chin stuck out, the cherub lips pursed in a determined little pout.

‘Really, I don’t mind ——’

‘Sophie ——’

‘Please, Daddy, please?’

They stood looking down at the little minx, and Beth had a sudden pang in the region of her heart that just wouldn’t be denied. ‘I would like to—may I? I could read her a story while you get changed.’

He glanced down, as if he had suddenly realised he was hardly dressed for the occasion, and a slow, rueful smile crawled across his face.

‘Be my guest,’ he said gruffly, and turned away from her. ‘Ten minutes, Sophie, all right?’

‘All right,’ she piped, and, taking Beth’s hand, she led her into her room.

It was a lovely evening. Claire, the middle child, was quiet and watchful at first, but having established Beth was not a threat she opened up and was quite charming. Will was good fun, Beth decided, despite the shatteringly loud music, and Sophie—well, she had fallen in love with Sophie sitting on the hall floor and nothing had happened to change that. Gideon was a bit of an enigma, though, quiet and watchful like Claire but without opening up.

Maybe he never did. The children didn’t seem to think there was anything unusual in his behaviour, and he was perfectly polite. It was just that he was withdrawn, almost as if he regretted issuing the invitation, and when she said she ought to be going he leapt to his feet with alacrity.

‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said firmly, and so she said goodnight to the children, thanked William for cooking the meal and allowed Gideon to hustle her out of the door.

He didn’t really, it was just that she was being oversensitive—or perhaps just picking up accurately on something he had meant to keep to himself.

They walked back to the coach house with only the sound of gravel underfoot to break the silence, glad now of the outside lights that dispelled the shadows of the trees and drove the spooks away.

‘I’m sorry about the chaos when you arrived,’ he said finally as they arrived at her door.

She shot him a wry grin. ‘I should imagine it’s like that in most families in the evening,’ she replied, unaware of the slight wistfulness in her voice.

He tipped his head, watching her thoughtfully. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

She nearly laughed. ‘No,’ she told him instead. ‘Once was enough for my parents. I disrupted the even tenor of their peaceful academia quite sufficiently without them making a habit of it.’

‘You sound bitter.’

‘Do I? I’m sorry, I would have thought by now I’d got over that. I have, really. It’s just—well, tonight—you’re a very lucky man, Gideon. A very lucky man.’

His laugh was low and hollow. ‘It doesn’t always seem like that.’

‘When you’re mopping the bathroom floor, for instance?’

He snorted. ‘Exactly. Oh, well. Thank you for your help with Sophie, by the way. She can be a real treasure when she’s not arguing.’

‘I noticed.’

A silence fell between them, a silence heavy with awareness and tension. He reached behind her and opened the door, pushing it wide.

‘You’d better go in before you get cold,’ he muttered, his voice husky.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘My pleasure. Goodnight.’ He turned and walked away, his footsteps crunching. She shut the door. Had he been about to kiss her?

She wouldn’t like to bet on it either way, but she rather thought…

Nonsense. She ran up the stairs, unable to resist looking out of the window towards the house. He was standing by the door and waved before turning to go in.

Waiting for her, to see if she would look at him?

God knows, she thought. She whipped the curtains shut. Involvement with another family man was the last thing she needed right now, even if he was widowed and his tiny daughter had felt so absolutely right in her achingly empty arms…

She spent the weekend moving things up from London and writing endless letters changing her address. The flat was rented, so she gathered all her meagre belongings and took them to Suffolk, storing them easily in the huge cupboards in the coach house flat.

At six o’clock, just as she realised she was starving and was wondering what she could find to eat, she heard footsteps on the gravel and her doorbell rang.

She went down to find William there, lounging casually against the wall, a lazy grin on his face.

‘Dad says would you like to join us for supper? He’s got something he wants to ask you about. He would have come but he’s had a bit of a crisis with the Yorkshire puds and Sophie’s spilt the gravy all over the table.’

She controlled the smile, but apparently not well enough.

‘I should get that out of your system here,’ Will told her with a grin. ‘He’s like Queen Victoria at the moment—definitely not amused.’

She laughed. ‘Poor Gideon. Yes, I’d love to join you—am I OK or should I change?’

Will ran an eye over her jeans and sweatshirt, and raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll do fine. Dad’s probably changed, but then he had gravy down his front, so he didn’t have a choice.’

She ran back up for her keys, flicked off the lights and followed William back to the house. They went in through the back door this time, straight into the heart of the chaos.

It was a quieter sort of chaos this time, Beth realised, but still fairly hectic.

The vegetables were boiling over, and while William dealt with them Beth scooped Sophie off the worktop just as she tried to reach the top cupboard.

‘I want a biscuit!’ the indignant child yelled, but Beth was not impressed.

‘No. It’s supper-time, you’ll spoil your appetite. Let’s go and see if we can help Daddy.’

‘He doesn’t want to see me in there again until I’ve learned not to be a windmill,’ she told Beth dolefully.

She just managed to stop her lips from twitching. ‘Oh, dear. Never mind, you come with me and keep your hands down and you’ll be all right.’

She went out into the hall and found Claire sitting on the floor, the flex of the phone wound round her arm and hand, rolling her eyes. ‘Well, don’t do it, then! I can’t believe how you let them rule your life. Tell them no, you don’t want to practise—oh, Annie, what do you mean you can’t?’

Beth walked past her into the dining-room just as Gideon walked out yelling to Claire to put the damn phone down.

They both slammed to a halt, nose to nose, and Gideon ran his fingers through well-tousled hair and shot her a fraught grin. ‘Hi, Beth. Glad you could make it—I could do with a little sanity round here.’

She smiled back. ‘Anything I can do?’

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s as good as it’s going to get. Let’s eat and forget it.’

Together they brought the last of the food through and Beth watched as he deftly slivered the rare beef and piled it on the plates.

He might have had the odd crisis en route, but there was nothing wrong with the end product at all—if one discounted the absence of Yorkshire puddings and the small amount of gravy that had escaped Sophie’s wind-milling arms.

They all tucked in, and after it was finished and they had cleaned up a huge chocolate gâteau from the bakery in the village, Gideon sent Beth into the drawing-room while he put Sophie to bed and William and Claire cleared up the kitchen.

A few minutes later he reappeared, two mugs of coffee in his hands, and pushed the door shut behind him with his hip.

‘Peace,’ he said with a sigh, and dumping the coffee on the table, he dropped into the other end of the settee and smiled weakly. ‘Sorry it’s always so chaotic when you come round.’

‘It must be very difficult coping,’ she told him honestly, and he laughed.

Oh, God, you aren’t joking! Actually, that’s one reason I wanted to see you. My housekeeper’s not well—she’s got angina, and she’s been getting worse gradually over the past few months. She had a TIA, a transient ischaemic attack, like a temporary stroke, over the weekend, and I think the time’s come for her to stop. And that, as you can imagine, leaves me with a problem.’

‘Gosh, yes, I can imagine it does!’

His next words caught her completely by surprise.

‘I don’t suppose you’d consider helping out? Just a couple of hours every afternoon after Sophie comes out of school until I get back? The odd bit of shopping—I can do most of it at the weekend or one evening, but I can’t expect Will or Claire to cook a meal or look after Sophie when they’ve got homework of their own to do. I’d pay you what I pay you at the surgery—we could offset the rent against it or something, and of course you’d eat with us.’

He fell silent, and she stared at her feet, unsure what to say.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled into the silence. ‘Of course you don’t want to do it—I don’t know what possessed me to ask you.’

‘No—no, please—can I think about it? I mean, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to look for another job, but I was wondering what I could do to fill in the time. I hate being idle—can I let you know?’

He looked relieved, she thought, that she hadn’t given him an outright refusal. She wasn’t sure, in fact, why she hadn’t, because she was very torn. The trouble was, she realised later as she lay in bed thinking it over, she wanted to do it too badly.

Sophie had carved a little niche in her heart, and watching Will and Claire with Gideon just made her aware of how much she had missed with her own parents.

So working for him would be very bitter-sweet.

Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea after all.

Which was ridiculous, because she had nothing better to do, and some frightful creature might end up looking after Sophie and she could become very unhappy as a result.

No, she would do it, she decided—and refuse house-room to the mocking voice that questioned her motives. Of course she wasn’t doing it to be near Gideon! After all, she was near him all day at work!

But it wasn’t quite the same, and in her heart she knew it.

Monday dawned bright and clear, one of those lovely late September days that made you wonder why you lit the fire the night before.

Beth dressed carefully in her uniform, made her bed and let herself out of the flat. A brisk two-minute walk was just what she needed to blow away the cobwebs.

A scrunch of gravel behind her made her turn her head in time to see Gideon coming down the drive towards her.

She waited for him, deciding to give him her decision straight away.

His smile was distracted.

‘Problems?’ she asked.

‘Claire—she said she wasn’t feeling very well and refused to go to school.’

Oh. Well, if it helps I’ll go over as soon as I finish and see how she is.’

He shot her a curious look. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve given my suggestion any further thought, have you?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes—I’ve decided I’ll do it, but only in return for the rent. I don’t want to be paid—not if I’m eating with you as well, and it would make sense to do that if you’re sure?’

He stopped in his tracks, turning to her, his grey-green eyes filled with relief. Oh, Beth, I don’t know how to thank you ——’

She gave a dry laugh. ‘You haven’t tasted my cooking yet!’

He chuckled. ‘It can’t be worse than Mrs Archer’s.’

‘Hmm. I should reserve judgement, if I were you.’

They walked the rest of the way mostly in silence, with Gideon putting in the odd comment about routine while Beth wondered if it was really going to be such a good idea spending any more time than was strictly necessary in the company of this very attractive man.

The first session of the Stop Smoking clinic was a delight for Beth. She found that she agreed wholeheartedly with everything Gideon said, and that the videos, leaflets and advice he exposed the patients to followed almost exactly the routine she had been using.

She then talked to the patients about why they wanted to give up, and what made them smoke in the first place. They were then given a diary, and asked to set a date for giving up.

‘Don’t think of it as giving up—that implies self-sacrifice,’ Gideon told them. Think of it instead as taking control of your life again, instead of allowing tobacco to rule your actions. Note down in the diary when you smoke, and why. There will be some cigarettes that are harder to give up than others. Note which ones you think they will be.’

When the patients left, she could see some of them already looked discouraged.

They always want a miracle,’ Gideon said on the way home. They seem to think we’re going to wave a wand and it will all come right. Zap! No more cravings, no more addiction, just “I’m a non-smoker”. What they don’t realise is that they will always be smokers now, they just won’t be doing it.’

‘Unless they fail,’ Beth said drily.

Oh, yes—and lots of them will. I think we’ll lose at least one by next week.’

‘Not David Hendry, though.’

‘No—no, not Hendry. He’s determined. He’s already cut down from sixty to thirty. I don’t know when he finds the time!’

Beth laughed. ‘He needs an occupation that uses his hands—he wouldn’t be able to then.’

‘Huh! They just stick one in their mouths and breathe round it! It really is the biggest curse of our society, I think—worse than Hep B or HIV or alcohol, even. The trouble is it’s acceptable.’

‘Is it?’ Beth asked. ‘Not to me it isn’t. I resent having to breathe other people’s stale smoke.’

Gideon gave a grunt of agreement. The trouble is, once started it’s so hard to stop. I feel sorry for them.’

‘Did you notice how many of them have started smoking just by chance?’ she said.

‘Yes—and that’s why I’m making damn sure that my kids know how dangerous and anti-social it is, because it only takes one cigarette and a lifetime’s habit can be started.’ He turned his head towards her. ‘You did well.’ She returned the compliment, ignoring the kick of her heart against her ribs. ‘So did you.’

They shared a smile, and Beth felt herself falling further into what could only be a disastrous attraction. Damn, why did she have to find him so attractive? And it wasn’t just a physical thing, that was what was so dangerous. Sex appeal she could put in its proper place, but this was so much more complex, so much more insidious.

She suddenly began to wonder if sitting down at the table every evening with him and his children would actually be less harmful than starving!

Claire was on the hall floor when they went in, tangled in the phone flex as usual, lying on her back with her legs up the wall and giggling.

She looked the picture of health and fitness, and Gideon told her to get off the phone and take her feet off the wallpaper.

Beth followed him through to the kitchen, noting his scowl. ‘Um—I did a casserole—the children have all had theirs.’

He looked blankly at her, then sighed. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. That girl ——’

‘—is just like any other teenager. She’s fine.’

‘That,’ he growled, ‘is precisely my point. There’s nothing at all wrong with the little skiver. I’m starving.’

Beth stifled a grin. ‘Where do you want to eat?’

‘In here,’ he told her, and opening a cupboard, he retrieved a couple of wine glases. ‘Join me?’

Oh—thanks, yes, I will.’

While she took the casserole out of the oven and dished up, he opened a bottle and poured the wine, then handed her a glass. He raised his to her.

‘Here’s celebrating my cleverness for finding such a treasure.’

She flushed and laughed uncomfortably. ‘You haven’t tried the food yet.’

‘It smells wonderful.’ His eyes were still locked with hers, and her breath lodged in her throat. She looked quickly away.

‘Um—let’s eat.’

‘Good idea,’ he said easily, and she found he was holding the chair for her in a display of old-fashioned good manners she had forgotten existed.

As he moved away his hand brushed her shoulder, and fire shot down her arm and across her back, leaving a tingling in its wake.

This was going to be next to impossible.

Beth dropped with a sigh on to the sofa in her flat, eased off her shoes and tucked her feet under her bottom. Her first full, proper week both at the surgery and as Gideon’s housekeeper was over.

And she found, to her surprise, that far from being a trial it had been a pleasure. Everyone at the surgery, from Andrew Jones and Judith Wight, Gideon’s partners, Julie Rudd the other nurse, Molly the receptionist and Jean Rivers the practice manager, to Mrs Horrell, the cleaner, had all been universally welcoming and friendly, and as for her other job—well!

Sophie was an angel—mostly—and Claire and Will were helpful to a point. She found the intimacy of caring for Gideon’s house and family strange at first, but she soon got into the swing of it.

There was no cleaning to do, as such, because Mrs Horrell who did the surgery also did the house, and so all that Beth had to manage was the laundry, the cooking and Sophie after school.

Gideon wouldn’t let her clear up after the meal, so she made sure as much as possible was loaded into the dishwasher or dealt with before he got home.

That, of course, was when her problems really started, she thought now, snuggling deeper into the sofa.

Gideon.

Tall, strong, shouldering all his responsibilities without a murmur, so grateful for her help.

She wondered how grateful he would be if he could see into her mind as she ironed his shirts and folded his underwear.

It was just playing house, helping to pass the time, she told herself, but it was more insidious than that.

She was playing his wife, and she knew it. Every time she took Sophie in her arms for a hug, or hung a shirt up in the wardrobe in his bedroom, she allowed herself to imagine that any minute he would come home and sweep her into his arms and kiss her.

That was where the danger lay. Not in anything Gideon himself had done, but in what she had allowed herself to dream.

That evening he had finished surgery earlier than usual, and Beth was in his bedroom hanging shirts in the wardrobe when he arrived.

Well, she wasn’t really hanging shirts up, rather standing with them in her arms, gazing at the huge mahogany four-poster that dominated his bedroom and trying to imagine how it would feel to lie there in his arms.

When he walked in, her eyes turned to him and she froze. He had already wrenched off his tie and undone the buttons on his shirt, and she stood transfixed, mesmerised by the broad expanse of hair-strewn chest exposed to her startled gaze.

‘Sorry—I was putting away your washing,’ she said weakly, and then lifted her eyes to his.

Something deep and dark shifted in them, and then he reached out his hand. ‘Is that a clean shirt?’

Wordlessly she gave it to him and he laid it on the bed, stripping off the one he was wearing and tossing it at the laundry basket. He reached for his zip and she swallowed.

‘Give me five minutes in the shower, could you, and I’ll be down for supper.’

She mumbled something incoherent and left, picking up his shirt as she went.

Mistake. It was still warm from his body, the subtle scent of his skin lingering on the fine cotton, and she buried her nose in it and breathed deeply.

Desire, hot and sharp, darted through her leaving her weak and trembling.

Angry with herself for such foolishness, she ran downstairs, threw the shirt into the washing machine ready for the next load and got the plates out, banging them on the table.

Idiot. What did she think she was doing? He was oblivious to her—quite oblivious. She meant nothing to him except in her capacity as nurse and housekeeper.

Supper was the usual chaotic event, and Beth’s quietness went unremarked. In fact had she been able to get a word in edgeways it would have been more remarkable.

As she watched Gideon in action with his children, the ache round her heart intensified. If only, she thought, but she had given up hoping long ago. Happiness would never come her way. She had always been on the outside looking in, from her childhood onwards. She had never belonged, never been wanted for herself.

Once she had thought she was truly loved, but it had been a foolish dream, and she should know better now than to indulge those dreams.

Dreams, after all, like hope, were easily shattered.

She washed up her cup and made her way to bed, snuggling under the quilt and blocking out all thoughts of Gideon. She thought instead of her job, of the people she had met and the lovely town which had made her so welcome.

Gradually she relaxed into sleep, but the dreams came then, dreams of her and Gideon and a huge old bed, of murmured sighs and soft caresses, of lightning heat and tender cries of love…

Gideon lay staring at the ceiling. Nothing he did would banish her. Even his shirt when he had taken it from her earlier held the lingering trace of her scent where she had held it against those small, soft breasts.

His body tautened, desire stabbing him, and he rolled on to his front, burying his face in a pillow.

Damn her. No, damn himself. She had done nothing. She was sweet and innocent, her face transparent.

The hunger he had seen on it was echoed now in his body, stalking his loins, making him ache for the release only Beth could give him.

Except she couldn’t, because he wouldn’t let her. He couldn’t. Damn it, she was nearer to Will’s age than his. What would she want with him?

And besides, the whole idea was fruitless. Beth was a forever person, a happy-ever-after and roses-round-the-door sort of girl. There was neither time nor emotion left in his life for the sort of loving she deserved.

Try telling his body that.

With a ragged groan he thumped the pillow and turned on to his side and made an effort to relax.

Slowly sleep came, but with it dreams—dreams of Beth, her slender limbs entwined around him, her mouth soft and warm against his skin, her eyes luminous with love.

He woke abruptly, his heart pounding, his body screaming for release. Unable to sleep, unable to tolerate the frustration and unwilling to examine the wash of loneliness that had hit him as he realised he was alone, he threw off the bedclothes, dragged on his clothes and went down to the study.

If he was going to be awake, he might as well be doing something useful.

MABEL ROBINSON came back on Monday to have her ulcer dressing changed. She had been instructed to return for a new dressing when the old one became transparent, and had phoned in the morning to ask if she could come in.

She had asked for Beth by name, and the feeling of pride and satisfaction that gave Beth was out of all proportion to the scale of the request.

She went into the waiting-room and smiled at her patient.

‘Would you like to come through now, Mrs Robinson?’

The elderly lady eased herself to her feet and shuffled across the room to Beth, a smile flickering in her rheumy eyes.

‘Morning, dear. Lovely day today.’

‘Isn’t it. How’s the leg been?’

‘Oh, well, you know, I think maybe it’s a little better.’

Beth opened the door of her surgery and showed Mrs Robinson in, helping her into the chair.

‘There, now, let’s have a look, shall we?’

She peeled down the stocking and eased off the dressing, then washed her hands and opened the saline pack. After she had carefully cleaned the ulcer, she sat back on her heels and studied it.

Yes, it was definitely better. The necrotic edges had been debrided by the action of the paste, and the wound was considerably cleaner than before.

Oh, it looks quite red!’ Mrs Robinson said warily, peering at the ulcer.

‘That’s because all the dead tissue has been absorbed by the paste and it’s cleaned the skin up. It should heal much better now.’

She carefully dried the skin around the edges of the wound, filled the deeper pits with paste and firmly smoothed a new dressing over the top.

‘There, that should do you until the middle of next week, I think. Keep an eye on it, though, and come back sooner if you’re worried or it’s uncomfy. OK?’

Mrs Robinson nodded, fastened her suspenders and got unsteadily to her feet,

‘Thank you, dear, that feels lovely,’ she said, and headed out of the door.

Good grief, Beth thought, I got away without a grilling on my relationship with Gideon!

She followed Mrs Robinson down the hall and was just about to open the waiting-room door when the woman craned her neck and looked up at her.

‘I gather you’ve taken Kay Archer’s job.’

Beth frowned in puzzlement. She thought the nurse had been called Stephanie.

‘At Dr Pendragon’s house,’ Mrs Robinson continued. ‘Mind you don’t work too hard, my dear—that’s a great big place to keep, and those children aren’t the easiest, for all they’re such lovely mites.’

The thought of Will being described as a lovely mite made Beth want to laugh. However, she concentrated on answering Mrs Robinson sensibly.

‘Don’t you worry about me—it’s a pleasure working there. I love the house, and the children are fun.’

Mrs Robinson eyed her thoughtfully, and Beth had a horrible sinking feeling that the old lady was a lot more astute than she appeared.

She gave a non-committal grunt, and Beth opened the door and watched her go. Would it be all round the little town by lunchtime that Beth Turner was in love with Gideon Pendragon?

The thought hit her with a jolt.

In love? Where had that come from?

Surely not…

The Stop Smoking clinic that evening was the first time she had seen Gideon since after supper on Friday. As she prepared the waiting-room she wondered how she would manage to face him in the light of her new discovery.

Did it show in her eyes? She checked quickly in the mirror on the wall by the door, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Her blue eyes looked—well, blue, really. Nothing striking, no lightning zig-zagging across them, no neons flashing or LED lights running round her lashes!

No, it was all hidden carefully inside, and that was the way it was going to stay.

She got out the patients’ cards, the leaflets and tipsheets on diversionary tactics, and a whole host of little toys and gimmicks—stress-balls, squidgy rubbery balls that could be squeezed and squashed almost beyond recognition; chewing-gum—not nicotine gum but the ordinary sort that would help by giving the mouth a task without sustaining the need for nicotine, because some supposed ex-smokers had been reported to be still using the nicotine replacements a year later.

She also set out some nicotine patches which although they were also tobacco replacements at least gave a smaller, more sustained dose of nicotine and removed the mouth and hands from the habit, so that the level of the drug and the activities of the body became unrelated, helping to break the habit. They were easier to give up, too.

As she was setting out the last of the things Gideon appeared at her side.

Of course none of it will work without a bit of self-control and will-power,’ he said, and tossed one of the stress-balls in the air. ‘I read of a GP in Essex who advocates juggling among other things—as he said, it’s difficult to smoke and keep three balls in the air at the same time!’

Beth chuckled, and watched as he attempted to juggle with the balls.

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