Fever Cure

by Phillipa Ashley

  “I shouldn’t. I need to go home. I’ve got loads of marking to do.”

  “You always use that excuse, and it won’t wash anymore. At least have lunch with me. Please. I’ve got something special in.”

  She almost melted. Almost. “Tom—don’t look at me like that. It won’t work.”

  “Please, Miss Grayson.”

  “Now you’re overdoing it.”

  “Pretty please,” he wheedled.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” As she swiped at him with a cushion, Tom dodged.

  “Stay,” he said simply.

  “Okay. But only because you’ve got something special planned,” she replied. “It had better be good.”

  He smiled back, a very grown-up smile that made her breasts tingle. “I think I can promise you that.”

  It was good. For a beginner, she thought with a smile as she sat in the dining room, staring at a mahogany table laid for two with fine china, silver cutlery and linen napkins.

  She heard a call from the kitchen. “Won’t be long. Just getting the roast potatoes out of the oven.”

  Her stomach rumbled. All morning she’d been twitching to help, flicking idly through an old copy of Country Life as enticing sounds and smells wafted in from the kitchen. Tom had forbidden her even to go into the hallway in case she saw what he was cooking. Now, seated at the mahogany table in the dining room, she noticed the debris stacked at one end. Rucksacks, hiking boots, medical textbooks, a net-thing that she could only guess was for mosquitoes… All patiently waiting for the time when they’d be needed again. The half-packed rucksack seemed to be mocking her. “When I’m full,” it whispered spitefully, “I’m going with him, and you’re staying here.”

  “Dinner is served!”

  Tearing her eyes from the half-packed bags, she found Tom proudly bearing a platter of cooked meat. It looked like roast beef to her, slightly overdone but still edible.

  “Your beef.”

  Keira sniffed. “Thank you, Carew, but next time, don’t take so much time about it.”

  He bowed low. “Profuse apologies. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn right it won’t.” She giggled. “Otherwise you’ll be sacked.”

  “Don’t spoil it,” he warned on his way back to the kitchen. “Even the likes of minions have feelings, you know.”

  They were both playing games. He knew it, she knew it. Playing silly beggars to hide the awkwardness they felt. He returned with a dish of roast potatoes, which she eyed critically. Hmm, they looked okay and they smelled good too. When a tureen of steaming vegetables and a platter of Yorkshire puddings arrived, she was tempted to applaud but decided it wasn’t dignified. Besides, his puddings looked sadly deflated.

  As Tom handed her the plate, a tea towel dangling from one arm, he appeared pathetically pleased with himself.

  “Well?”

  “Looks great,” she said, nodding in approval, “What happened to the Yorkshire puddings?”

  He sat at the table. “I really have no idea.”

  “I bet you didn’t have the oven hot enough.”

  He feigned a hurt expression. “Hey, I can’t be good at everything,”

  “You’re not.” She smiled. “But don’t worry about it.”

  “I won’t,” he said imperiously and cut into the beef.

  More games, thought Keira, as he dipped a forkful of meat into a small mountain of horseradish and she winced. He took a bite of the beef, chewed and sighed. “By God, that’s good, even if I say so myself. I know it’s a cliché. This is one thing I do miss about England.”

  “What? The Sunday roast? I’d have thought you’d have far more exotic fare to miss than that. Is that all you miss?” she added casually.

  “Of course not. Obviously I miss other things. Warm beer, traffic wardens, outdoor concerts in the pouring rain, England losing the cricket. All the usual stuff.”

  “That sounds cynical. What about friends? Charlie? Your mum?”

  “Of course, though I haven’t seen her for years. She lives on some monumentally huge ranch in Argentina. As for Charlie…” He laughed bitterly. “He’s got Gareth to entertain him and the estate to run.”

  “Now I know you’re being cynical. I know he misses you.” She was about to say he told me as much, but thought better of it. “And when you’re here, do you miss your friends out there?”

  “Of course,” he said, offering her a bowl of vegetables. “It’s human nature, isn’t it?”

  So. He’d turned the question neatly back to her without elaborating any further.

  She thought carefully about her reply.

  “I’ve never been that far away to miss anyone.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I’ve had the odd week in Spain, and then I bummed around Europe a bit when I’d finished university. I’ve been to some really dangerous places like Paris and Venice, you know the kind of thing,” she said, spooning peas and carrots carefully onto the plate.

  “No Thailand or Australia?”

  She laughed. “No way. Couldn’t afford it, and even if I’d had the cash, Mum needed me. Now can we eat?”

  “Of course.”

  He’d eased off on the interrogation, but it was temporary. As she pushed her plate away, begging him not to add more Yorkshires to it, he threw another question at her out of the blue.

  “Your mum’s very special to you, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is. I guess it’s the same with all only children, and she brought me up alone.”

  “Was that because your father left you?”

  “You’re sounding like this is a consultation.”

  “Sorry. It goes with the territory. But I do want to know, Keira.”

  “You know he left us. Well, that’s not strictly true. There was no ‘us’ to leave back then. You see, he got Mum pregnant and made himself scarce before I was even born.”

  “That’s tough. It must have been incredibly hard for your mother.”

  “It was. It was the seventies then. I mean, my gran and granddad supported her. She was only nineteen and living at home But still, the…”

  “…neighbours talked about her?” he said softly, laying his knife and fork together, side by side, on his plate.

  “Yes. Of course, even now it would still be tough, bringing up a baby on your own. Not much changes. Tough then, tough now.”

  Keira’s breath caught as the unthinkable forced its way into her mind. It would be more than tough. She knew that as well as anyone, after her mother’s experience.

  “I don’t believe in the good old days,” he said. “I believe in making the most of the moment.”

  Rising to his feet, he dumped his crumpled napkin on the table. “Now, if you’ve finished, come over and sit with me.”

  He waited for her to go through the door first, then followed, shutting the mess away. Flopping down on the sofa, he settled against her body.

  “Tell me all about your mother, then. I know how close you are.”

  “Extra close and special,” said Keira. “She had a lump removed from her breast earlier this year, and she’s on the mend now, but I’m still worried.”

  Tom stayed silent, holding her, waiting for her to speak. She squeezed his hand.

  “It scares you,” she went on. “Rocks your world to think that life isn’t infinite. That this is it, all we have. She’s okay, that’s what matters. Lots of people don’t have the happy ending.” She felt his arm tighten protectively around her and wanted to cry. “You must think I’m being a wimp after what you see every day.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” he murmured against her hair. “I haven’t got so hardened—no doctor ever does—to forget what it means to see someone you love in pain, or worse, to actually lose them.”

  “And it must be different when it’s someone close. You must feel the same as anyone else, even though you’re a doctor.”

  “Maybe worse, because sometimes there isn�
�t a damn thing you can do. And you feel helpless and hopeless, believe me. You feel sick and wretched.”

  She twisted round to look at him. “Has it happened to you, then?”

  Tom regarded her for a moment, then dropped a kiss on her forehead. “More often than you would believe, Keira.” His voice tailed off, and she felt his breath against the back of her neck. She waited for him to go on, to tell her his story. Instead, he pushed her away from him, firmly but gently, and got to his feet. “Now. Enough of this doom and gloom. Can I get you a coffee or a chocolate truffle? Or did you get enough of those off Gareth last night?”

  Licking her lips dramatically, Keira shot him a teasing look. “Tom, I do believe you’re a tiny bit jealous.”

  “Of a gay rugby player? I think not.”

  She narrowed her eyes, pretending she didn’t believe him. “I’ll make the coffee,” she said, patting him on the head indulgently. “I do it so much better than you.”

  In the kitchen, waiting by the machine, she smiled to herself. She was now the mistress of its permutations. It had so many options it probably even did your highlights and the laundry while it brewed your espresso.

  She stopped suddenly, reality slamming into her with the force of a truck.

  In a matter of weeks, Tom would leave for Papua, and here she was eating Sunday lunch with him as if they’d been together for years, and it was all a sham.

  “Keira? Are you okay in there? Has the machine swallowed you whole?”

  She picked up the cups and tried to stop her hands from shaking as Tom’s bulk appeared in the door frame.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, crossing over to her.

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “That phrase always means the opposite, in my experience. I hear it at least three times a day in the surgery.”

  “Nothing we can talk about.”

  “You mean nothing we agreed to talk about.”

  “It’s beyond the terms of the arrangement.”

  “Ah.” Tom hid his distaste for the word with an ironic smile. Did she have to put it quite like that? An arrangement sounded like business, cold and clinical. Like an exchange of goods or services. Tom was surprised how much he didn’t like that.

  “I need to get back when we’ve had these.”

  “If you must. Call me if you need to about anything, and shall I see you in the week?”

  “Yes, and when we…”

  “Shhh.” He placed a finger on her lips. “Save it until the last possible moment.”

  After he’d given her a lift home in his ridiculous sports car, after he’d insisted on coming up to the flat and asking if he should stay overnight, and after being turned down, he went home and called her.

  “I only want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Fine.”

  “Keira?”

  “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I’ll call you later in the week.”

  “Wait, please.”

  “Good night, Tom.”

  Tom fought the urge to snap back. He contemplated going round, even though it would be nearly midnight when he got there. As he lay awake long into the night, his mind ran wild with confusion. The clock showed three a.m. before he finally fell asleep with his brother’s words turning over and over in his brain. Maybe Charlie was right—maybe he was running away…from everything.

  Chapter Twelve

  Keira’s stomach did a backflip as she changed gear too late to avoid a hedge-hop over the speed bump on the estate. She cursed herself for letting it take her by surprise. Surely by now she ought to be familiar with every pothole, curve and nuance of the road to Carew Lodge?

  Then again she didn’t have her mind on the road tonight. All week, she’d had a horrible creeping sense that tonight might be the last time she saw Tom. In fact, the scenario that might be played out had occupied her mind almost 24/7. Yes, even during lessons when she should have given all her attention to her students. But what could you do? It was way too late for regrets now.

  Climbing out of the car, she flicked the auto-lock, then made her way into the porch. Gravel crunched under her feet, and her breath misted in the night air as she reached the house. She didn’t bother to knock. Flipping over a stone in the porch, she found the spare key and was already closing the door as Tom entered the hall.

  His greeting was unusually curt and there was no kiss. “You didn’t answer your mobile,” he said, helping her out of her coat.

  “I left you a message. I’ve had tons of marking, reports, Christmas, Diwali celebrations.”

  “Of course,” he said gruffly. “I should have realised.”

  The truth was, she had just needed time on her own, which was ironic when time was the last thing they had. Knowing that the moment would come all too soon for them to say good-bye, she almost wanted to be put out of her misery now.

  Almost.

  As Tom hung her coat on the rack and led the way to the drawing room. Keira tried to keep her tone light and uncontentious. “Don’t look so fed up, Tom. I simply couldn’t make it until tonight, and besides, it was Mum’s birthday yesterday. We went out to Bertorelli’s and had the spaghetti.”

  “Was it up to the same standard?”

  “Not quite, but we enjoyed it.”

  He watched her closely as she sat on the chaise longue and tucked her legs under her to make room for him. Choosing not to fill the space, he flopped back in an armchair, watching her through slightly narrowed eyes. Maybe she was right to be worried; he was behaving strangely. Then again, what was normal for him? She may know every inch of his body, but as for the man himself, he was still a mystery to her in so many ways.

  “Have you told your mother about us?” he asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t think she approves of what we’re doing. Of me and my dishonourable intentions, I mean.”

  She giggled with nerves but knew it sounded like amusement.

  “For goodness’ sake, I’m not a helpless virgin and you’re not an evil seducer. I knew—know—exactly what I’m doing, and you’d be surprised. My mum is a modern woman. She knows two adults can have sex together without it being some big lurve thing.”

  Taking in the confident, laughing young woman opposite, Tom felt as if the ground under him had somehow suddenly tilted. “Some big lurve thing…” he echoed slowly. “Hmm, I bet she thinks I’m Mr. Wonderful. What else have you told her?”

  “The truth. What else is there to tell?”

  The surprise in Keira’s voice made him feel strangely depressed and confused.

  “I’ve made it clear that this is just fun. That we both know and have always known the score, and it can’t be anything else. It’s just been a great adventure in a big life, and then we’ll shake hands and say good-bye. You’ll move on, and so will I.”

  Tom couldn’t think of a single word in reply. He got up and walked to the fireplace, where his appointment letter still rested accusingly behind the ormolu clock. A sick dread threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he had no right to expect Keira to feel anything for him beyond desire, or affection maybe, but hearing her dismiss their relationship felt like salt in a wound.

  Worse, it was a wound he didn’t even know he’d sustained.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked. “You look pale.”

  Seeing her curled up on his sofa like she belonged there, he felt a wrench of yearning and need that threatened to overpower him. Her skin seemed luminous and her eyes bluer than the midday sky above the village in Papua where he’d worked. Right now, that village felt like it was at the other end of the universe, and he wanted it to stay there.

  “Absolutely fine,” he said, holding out his hands. “Come here.”

  Later, after dinner, as she led him up the stairs and into his bedroom, he forced himself to face the question that had been hovering at the edge of his conscience for so long now. What had he become? Taking solace from the woman he’d trea
ted as no more than a…a…he fought for the word…a mistress. Like some lord-of-the-bloody-manor claiming his droits de seigneur.

  What had he done to deserve this beautiful, fresh woman? No matter how much he tried to deny it, he now felt far more than he ever had a right to do. As they slid together under the sheets, he told himself again that if she felt so little in return, wasn’t it his own fault?

  Even though he knew it was hopeless, Tom carried on trying to pound Sarah’s heart back into life with his fist and force breath into her lungs with his mouth. He stopped for a second, thinking he’d heard or felt something flutter and stir. He cried out in frustration, realizing it was only his heart pounding, his breathing that he heard in that quiet, still space. Finally, when he’d checked one last time that she had no vital signs of any kind, he’d had to close her eyes and give up.

  Keira felt as if a spectre had crept into their bedroom and injected ice into her veins. She dared not move a muscle, hardly even dared to breathe as she lay next to Tom. Moonlight slanted in through the sash window, throwing distorted shadows that crept across the floor and onto the bed.

  Tom, by contrast, was sweating, shaking and mumbling the same sound over and over again, a mix of a word and a cry of anguish. Keira strained her ears but found it impossible to make out what he was saying.

  All she knew was that he was in great pain.

  As he flung out an arm, her knees shot up to her chest, and she hugged them to her. If she hadn’t already been perched on the farthest part of the bed, he might have accidentally hit her. She curled into a ball, trying to appear as small and insignificant as she could, scared almost to breathe.

  Should she call out to him or reach out her hand to touch and comfort him? Should she even try to wake him? Would it make things worse, frighten him? Inch by inch, she uncurled and lifted back the cover as he lay lost in a world she couldn’t comprehend and calling out one name over and over again.

  “Tom…” Her hand inched towards his tightly clenched fingers.