by Nancy Peach
“Miss Austen,” said Tess, “I am going to have to ask you to absent yourself for a moment. This may prove to be a little too much.”
A path led off to her right, round the back of the building and deep into a wooded copse, where there was a cabin for patients and families to escape the more clinical environment of the hospice. The walking group also used it as a base for a warming drink at a halfway point, but she knew it would be empty at this time of night, and she suspected Edward may have found his way there. She followed the path, like a predator – all of her senses were heightened: she heard the snap of twigs underfoot, the rustle of leaves as she entered the copse, the smell of warm pine from the floor, and the chill of a breeze lifting the hairs on the backs of her arms. The cabin door was ajar and he was sitting outside on the edge of the veranda. She couldn’t see his face clearly but his posture was wretched, his shoulders hunched up round his neck. The desire to relieve some of his pain and suffering, to jolt him back to life, matched her own need for release. He looked up as he heard her approach and went to speak but she shook her head. She could see that the hunger was still in him, battling with the despair. Taking hold of his hand, she led him into the cabin.
Once inside, keeping hold of his hands, she kissed him hard on the mouth. He seemed to understand that no words were required, that to try and explain or rationalise what was about to happen would be impossible. He surrendered to her, his mouth yielding as she pressed hers against him. Her fingers were unbuttoning his shirt and she laid her palms flat across his chest, feeling his heart thudding beneath. They looked at each other for a moment, breathing hard, pausing, checking that they both knew what was happening. And then their bodies were drawn irresistibly back together. She started unbuckling his belt, forcing his clothes down, all the while kissing him and not letting him speak. She didn’t want to think; she just wanted to feel. Feel him. The drive was overwhelming. She was dizzy with the power of it.
She pushed him down onto the bench so he was seated in front of her and slipped off her underwear, climbing up to sit astride him where she could feel how much he wanted her. She guided his hands to her thighs, increasing the pressure down onto him until he was inside her. He drew a sharp intake of breath, but before he could make another sound, she silenced him again by putting her mouth back on his and kissing him feverishly. His hands gripped her tightly and she could feel waves of heat rippling through her body from where she was pressed against him, until at last she was lost, gasping into the beams of moonlight filtering through the window.
She held him like that for a few moments, cradled into her, his face against her chest, her arms around his shoulders, every part of her in contact with him as their breathing slowed and then, without a word, she pulled her clothes back on and slipped out of the cabin. She had no remorse; she was without shame. Their desire had been mutual and equal, she was sure of it. Instead, she felt strong, and so very alert, like an animal woken from hibernation – aware of the blood pumping through her veins, the warm air entering her lungs, every inch of her skin tingling with satisfaction. It was true what they said about sex and death, she reflected as she got into her car. Never had she needed more proof of her own vitality, and here was her body giving her that reminder. You are here. You are alive.
Edward meanwhile made his way home in a daze. The emotional turmoil of the past few hours had tipped him to a point of nervous exhaustion and he was relieved, on returning to the house, to find that Madeleine and the children were already in bed. Maddie had left a note to say that she would do the early shift at the hospice and hopefully accompany their mother home that morning. He poured himself a drink and went to sit out on the terrace, the warmth of the evening sun still radiating back from the flagstones as the bats wheeled in the darkness. He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the rough stone of the house, slowing his breathing. What had happened with Tess? he hardly knew how to frame it into words. And yet, it had seemed at the time to be the most natural thing in the world, as if of course this was where they would end up.
But now he was going to have to put things right. He could not ignore what had happened; he was not one of those men who could breeze in and out of the lives of multiple women, and the prospect of spinning a web of deceit was as exhausting as it was repellent. He knew enough of life to understand that good people did bad things, and that the mark of a man was how he responded in the aftermath. With this in mind, he placed his glass on the floor beside him, pulled out his phone, and dialled Clara’s number.
Chapter Thirty
Kath was already asleep when Tess got home that night and for once she was relieved, feeling that she wanted to get what had happened straight in her mind before sharing any of it. She felt invincible as she lay in bed. It was as if a fire had been ignited deep within her. She wanted to be with Edward again. She was not used to feeling out of control, and it was not a sensation she had ever sought, but her body had seemed to act on impulse alone. Emotionally and physically exhausted, she slipped into a deep, heavy sleep and that night she dreamed of him – his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin.
She woke the next morning drenched in sweat, tangled in her sheets, and feeling utterly wretched. The euphoria had drained away and the enormity of what she had done hit her hard; a fistful of guilt punched into her stomach. She was not remotely surprised to find the first voice in her ear was the television host.
“Tess!” he crowed. “What. Have. You. Done? You naughty girl! You’ve scared old Jazza off, you know. She’s still having an attack of the vapours. Most unimpressed at the indelicate situation you’ve put yourself in. And don’t think it’s been easy for me either. I’ve had to reschedule an entire week for this. The, ‘I banned my prostitute sister from our grandmother’s funeral because she’s a thief’ episode is on hold.” He was barely able to contain his joy at this, her most recent – and perhaps worst – fall from grace. “But really, SO great to have you back on the show. Give Tess a warm welcome everyone!”
The applause was deafening but this time was also accompanied by jeering and taunts. The baying mob turning nasty.
“What about Simon? Lovely, kind, attentive Simon?” he hissed. “How could you do this to him? When he’s been so understanding about your reluctance to ‘get too physical’? Didn’t see you having any qualms about getting too physical last night!” The audience booed. “And what about Clara? I mean, we all know she was a chilly bitch, but did she deserve this?”
He was right. She hadn’t been fair to Simon, and as for Clara, it didn’t matter that her only encounters with the woman had shown her to be cold and snooty. Tess had certainly never liked her, but she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of a betrayal. Nobody did. She lay for a few moments as the remorse caught up with the memory of last night, the strong emotional re-connection she had felt with Edward gradually tainted by the shame of her actions. She cried quietly to herself, the tears running in tiny rivers and pooling in her ears and her hair. She realised that she wanted him even now, wanted him here in her bed, to hold her and tell her she wasn’t a bad person after all.
But she was; the cold, hard facts were that she had been prepared to destroy someone else’s relationship to get what she wanted. This in itself disgusted her. She was not a selfish person. She was not that woman – was she?
She got up and dragged herself around the house, getting reading for work, having no idea what she was going to say when she next saw Edward. She was torn between wanting desperately to be in his physical presence and anxiety about how they could behave normally after what had happened. The guilt pressed in on her from all sides as she approached the hospice building, suffocating her, making her want to take strangers to one side and confide in them, just to relieve herself of the burden. But when she arrived, there was no sign of him, and the realisation resulted in a combined sensation of disappointment and relief. She saw that Madeleine was there instead, sitting in the foyer waiting for the ambulance to arrive to collect M
ary and take her home. She saw Tess and smiled but her attention was elsewhere, and Tess was grateful to be able to slip away without having to maintain a brittle veneer of composure.
Mary Russell left the hospice for the last time at ten o’clock on that sunny Thursday morning. Many of the staff came to wave her off, all aware that they were unlikely to see her again. People had become accustomed to her gentle good manners, and her kindly attentions to those who were looking after her. She knew the names of every nurse, cleaner, porter, and doctor in the building, and for many she knew important little details about their lives that had made a difference to their day as well as hers. Most patients spent only a brief time at the hospice and whilst every effort was made not to have favourites, those who were regulars were bound to have a closer attachment to the staff than those whose stay was fleeting. Dave came out of the kitchen, Janice waved from reception, and Farida gave Mary’s hand a squeeze as she said goodbye.
As the trolley was wheeled out by Bill, the same paramedic who had first brought Mary into the hospice five months ago on that cold February day, Tess, who had been waiting by the sliding doors, asked if they could stop for a moment. She bent to kiss Mary on the cheek. “Goodbye,” she said, smoothing the wispy strands of Mary’s remaining hair back from her forehead. They shared a look; there was nothing more to say.
Madeleine, who was walking alongside the trolley carrying Mary’s suitcase, embraced Tess quickly. “Thank you so much,” she said. “We’ll keep you posted.” She said a louder thank-you to the others assembled, and then they were gone.
Again, Tess was grateful for a busy shift that day and ward work kept her occupied until the early afternoon when things began to settle down. She was sorting through paperwork at the desk when she recognised an elegant woman walking purposefully towards her. Something about the set of Clara’s jaw made her skin prickle with anxiety.
“Dr Carter,” Clara began in a neutral voice. “I was wondering if I might have a word?”
Tess’s throat tightened. The guilt was suddenly as crippling as it had been when she had woken that morning. She felt as though she may as well have been wearing a banner that said “I slept with your boyfriend – I am an appalling individual.” She tried to keep her face and tone impassive to match Clara’s. “Miss Delaney, of course. What can I do for—”
“I was hoping to speak to you about how you tried to seduce my boyfriend last night?”
Tess gave a sharp intake of breath and prepared for the verbal assault.
“Particularly about the appropriateness of the attempted seduction taking place here,” Clara gestured around the building, “in a hospice!”
Tess’s heart thudded against her chest painfully. She felt sick. Surely no more drama today?
“Miss Delaney.” Her voice carried none of the gravitas she had hoped. “I wonder if we could discuss this elsewhere?”
“I don’t think so. This seems ideal. After all, if it’s a good enough venue to conduct your tawdry affairs then I’m sure it’s perfectly suitable for a pleasant little chat between us girls?”
“Please. This is not an appropriate venue for this kind of conversation. Could we just move into the relatives’ room or the office for a—?”
“Not appropriate? Really?” Clara was obviously furious but, looking closely, Tess could see that her eyes were tinged red and she had clearly been crying. “I’ll tell you what’s not appropriate, shall I? Insinuating your way into the lives of grieving families to tap into their money.”
“I beg your pardon?” Tess’s surprise at the comment was evident.
“And while we’re on the topic, how appropriate is it for a medical professional to be rolling around town drunk, dressed like some streetwalker? Or responding with completely unnecessary hostility to a patient’s relatives when they try to engage you in polite conversation?”
“Dressed like what?” She spluttered the words, incredulous.
“Sniffing out wealth and ingratiating yourself with a grieving son who just happens to be due to inherit a whole pile of money when his mother dies, and she just happens to be dying under your care! What could be less bloody appropriate than that?”
“I didn’t… I’m sorry, what…?”
Tess’s tongue felt like it was stuck in the back of her throat and her mouth simply wouldn’t form the shapes needed to articulate coherent sentences. She was trying to remain professional but the combination of guilt and shock made it incredibly difficult in the face of such a barrage of personal insults, and Clara wasn’t finished yet.
“Don’t think I don’t know how this works, doctor.” She spat the word out in disgust. “I’m a lawyer. I know about probity and the regulations regarding professional behaviour. I think the GMC would be interested to know that you’ve been accepting expensive gifts from patients, don’t you?”
“Gifts? Sorry?” Now Tess was genuinely confused. She had been prepared for a confrontation but this didn’t make any sense. “What? Nobody has given me any gifts!”
“Don’t play the innocent with me. I’m talking about the thousands of pounds of vet’s bills you conned out of Edward. He admitted it all to me last night.”
“Thousands? Oh my God.”
“Yes, thousands of pounds. Don’t pretend this is all such a shock. He explained that he felt responsible for upsetting you, the argument you had, the time you were trying to persuade him to let his wealthy mother die – you recall?”
“I didn’t try to persuade—”
“That’s what led to all of this: he felt guilty; he was worried he had caused you tremendous offence, and he must have felt the need to make up for it by stepping in to help when you got yourself into a predicament.”
She paused, watching the effect her words were having. Tess was so riddled with self-loathing already that she appeared to be incapable of defending herself against the unrelated accusations now coming her way.
Clara lowered her voice a fraction. “Whilst I obviously don’t think you arranged to get your cat run over, it’s a neat coincidence that it ended up being treated in a state-of-the-art facility, while you plead poverty. Edward said it was terribly awkward. He felt he had little option but to offer to pay, and of course that would have just confirmed your suspicions, wouldn’t it? Easy money.”
“No! I—”
“And you then just happen to stumble across the Russell estate on the same day.”
“That was just… Henry had said—”
“Bit of a step up, I expect? Thought you’d try and get yourself a piece of that, did you? That’s why you kissed him. Here of all places.” She gestured again around the room.
“How could you do that?” Her voice cracked. “I suppose you were desperate, weren’t you? Knowing that his mother was leaving today, last night would have been your one remaining chance to snare him. Well, your little plan didn’t work.”
“There was no plan. Miss Delaney, I never meant to… I’m so sorry.”
“You disgust me. Just a nasty gold-digger. Abusing your position, targeting vulnerable people for your own ends. Well, it’s over. You are in all likelihood getting struck off, if I have anything to do with it. I will be writing to your medical director and the GMC later today.”
“What? No. Really, please—”
“I will be suggesting that you are suspended immediately pending an investigation, and that you are never allowed back into a position where you can take advantage of susceptible patients and families again.”
She smiled thinly, but a tear had escaped from the corner of her eye and Tess watched it trickle down her cheek as if mesmerised. “Good day, Dr Carter.”
Clara smoothed down the barely rumpled sides of her jacket, tilting her chin upward and turning to walk with poise and precision across the foyer and back out of the doors to the car park without a backward glance, leaving Tess reeling in shock.
An hour later she had a call from Dr Fielding. He was very apologetic, but clearly Clara had been as good as her
word and had contacted him already, outlining her concerns and making what Dr Fielding described as “significant allegations”. He suggested that he came in to cover the rest of Tess’s shift and, while he made no reference to active suspension, he did mention that the timing was somewhat fortuitous given that she had annual leave already booked. He recommended that she gather her things, take the rest of the day off and contact her medical defence union.
Tess sat in the car and tried to steady her breathing and her shaking hands.
“For once, even I’m speechless,” said the television host. Of course, he wasn’t. Far from it. “He can’t have thought much of you, can he? That Edward. Sold you down the river, hasn’t he?” He paused, contemplating. “What do you think, Tess? After all, you’re a clever girl. Did you wonder if… he might’ve actually had feelings for you? I mean, it’s not as if you haven’t made that mistake before! Seems there’s no limit to the number of times you can make a fool of yourself with this man. Maybe you should just face facts: he doesn’t care about you at all.”
Tess screwed her eyes up and put her hands over her ears but she couldn’t block him out. “It’s gotta hurt, hasn’t it?” His tone was sorrowful. “He’s played away but keeps the girlfriend and you’re the one who might lose her job. But you’ve got to learn, Tess. There’s no white knight coming to rescue you. You’re stuck down here in the murk and the shit with the rest of us. And you always will be…”
As she began to cry, the host returned to presenter mode. “Now! Coming up after the break, we speak to Clara and Edward, and learn how infidelity has made their relationship stronger than ever…” The opening chords of Tammy Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man” could be heard in the background.
She drove home in a daze, trying to process the events and the implications of what Clara had said. As it was, the knowledge of what she had done twisted like a knife in her guts, but prior to seeing Clara, her main concern had been guilt about sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Now she realised that there were potentially much wider repercussions. Was it true? Could she be struck off for not having declared the vet’s bills? Who should she have declared them to? It probably did look like a gift. It was a gift, and it was a significant amount of money – thousands of pounds, Clara had said. It could look like she had been taking advantage. Clara was right. Had she actually made it awkward for Edward to say no? Had she put him in an unreasonable position? Her memories of that morning at his house were so jumbled that now she wasn’t sure.
