‘I can’t…’ She stuttered. ‘I’m scared of heights.’
‘Well you should have thought of that before then shouldn’t you?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Look, as I see it you’ve three choices. Stay up there, back down or jump in the general direction of my arms and I’ll try and catch you. The only thing I’d ask is you give me warning before you do either of the last two!’
‘Well that’s not much of an option.’ She grumbled.
He watched her turn around gingerly, both hands curled around the edge of the roof blue with cold. He tried to ignore the shapely leg thrust out in his direction or the way her nightdress rode up over her thighs, but it was difficult. Firstly there was nowhere else to look and secondly – Well he was a hot blooded male and she had the most amazing…
Focused as he was on the curve of her bottom he didn’t see her foot scrabbling against the smooth glass of the window until it was too late. With no firm foot hold her leg and then her body slid backwards. He only had time to put out an arm before she landed on top of him.
He lay back in the snow, the icy cold biting into his head and trickling down his neck as he struggled to catch his breath. He’d taken the full force of her weight and, although slight he needed a couple of seconds to gather his wits together. Pulling his arms out from where they were trapped between them he gently cradled her in his arms. God she was beautiful, beautiful and freezing as he felt the cold skin of her shoulders against his hands. She’d be lucky to escape hypothermia, if not pneumonia for that matter. Sitting up he bent onto his knees before lifting her in his arms and making his way to the back door, shouting for the dog to follow.
Kicking the door shut with his foot he didn’t mess about. He made his way straight for his bedroom and, placing her on the bed wrapped her up in blankets before heading for the bathroom and running the bath. She hadn’t spoken since the fall, but then she wouldn’t – she was cold, far too cold for his liking. He’d scrolled through his memory banks trying to recall what he could remember about hypothermia. He seemed to remember something about foil blankets but as he didn’t have any… The next best thing was a lukewarm bath. He didn’t let himself dwell on what would have happened if he hadn’t regained his sight – it was just too scary for words. Dipping his hand in the bath he turned off the hot water and ran the cold until it was tepid; closing his mind to what came next. He had to remember he was a doctor and, at the moment she was his patient – nothing more. With this statement carefully planted in his brain he went back to his room and found the mutt on the bed licking the side of her face with a gentle whisper.
‘It’s alright chap; I’ll sort her out and then find you some supper.’ He patted his scrawny back and, removing the blanket scooped her up before heading to the bathroom again and lowering her into the bath, nightdress and all.
‘Ow, that’s boiling.’ Her eyes snapping open.
‘Stop moaning woman, I’m trying to save your life here.’
‘Leave me alone, I just want to sleep…’ He watched her dip further into the water, her eyes resolutely shut.
‘No you don’t! There’ll be no drowning on my watch.’
Lacing his hands under her arms he slid her up the bath and staring down was lost as to what to do next. Of course he knew what he wanted to do but that was out of the question. He sighed, his eyes trained on her left elbow just poking out from under the water. There was no harm in looking at her elbow, even if it was a particularly fine example of a synovial joint. What were the bones of the arm again? He frowned, remembering just how long it had been since he’d thought of any part of the body other than the heart. The ulna, radius and humerus were easy; it was all those fiddly bones in the hand he could never remember. Reaching tentatively under the water least his hand touched anything it shouldn’t he pulled the plug out and, grabbing the largest towel he could find bent and carefully lifted her out onto his lap, all the time muttering to himself. Starting from the top he rubbed briskly, not allowing his mind to drift from his given task. There were twenty seven bones in the hand; the fingers being easy of course. He could discount them though being as they were either phalanges or metacarpals. Lifting her wet hair over one shoulder he started on her chest. It was the tiny little bones of the hand that always stumped him and there were seven… He paused briefly in rubbing the soft swell of her abdomen, his eyes moving to his clenched hand and therefore avoiding any sight of creamy white skin just visible on the edge of his peripheral vision. Ah yes, there were only three bones in the thumb. He started rubbing, more vigorously now he was on a roll. Heading further downwards to her legs he balanced her head on his shoulder and continued rubbing as his list continued to form.
He worked quickly all the time conscious that she’d fallen to sleep on him, a deep unnatural sleep. Unless he could think of something he’d be in deep trouble here. He was already in deep trouble, his mind getting stuck on that last bone, the one at the base of the thumb – the one he could never remember, his eyes of their own accord tracing the curve of her cheek, the arch of her neck relaxed in sleep, the line of her shoulder as it dipped to join the top of her arm, the… scaphoid, that was the little bugger. He pulled the towel tight around her, mummy style and with her head still in the crook of his neck carried her into her room and laid her in the centre of her bed.
Looking down at the intense pallor staining her cheeks and at her blue tinged lips he knew he still had work to do. He’d managed to remove the nighty when he was drying her, his mind tangled up in trapeziums and trapezoids but now he’d reached the end of the line - that is as far as the arm went.
He frowned at the thin mud brown blanket, her head and feet the only parts visible, cursing his lack of pyjamas as obviously her taste in nighties didn’t run to flannelette. His eyes, roaming the room for inspiration landed on her suitcase perched forlornly on top of a battered chest of drawers by the window.
Lifting the lid he gently started rummaging through piles of neatly folded summer dresses, more barely there nighties and brand new bikini’s. Holding up a minimalist hot pink number his frown turned to a scowl. Just who in their right mind packed summer stuff when visiting winter Wales was beyond him unless… His eyes fell on a tube of suntan cream and what looked like the corner of a passport - unless they hadn’t planned on coming to Wales at all?
Utterly confused he unceremoniously tipped the suitcase upside down, not bothering now about her feelings – at the end of the day he could always blame the dog! There was a mystery here and he wanted to know just who the university had foisted on him. He shoved the passport back first as it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know, instead continuing to riffle through skimpy tops and shorts. It looked like Mabel had been heading somewhere hot, not cold and by the skimpy nature of her nightwear not alone either. There were no other clues and nothing else of interest though excepting the latest Valerie Keogh novel. Flipping over to the back cover of Such Bitter Business his mind scrolled back to the last one of hers he’d read, or should that be listened to as he’d had to resort to borrowing the audio book from the library. It looked like it was going to be a very long night and reading about the latest antics of psychopathic murdering nurse Nicola Connelly seemed like very apt material, because that’s what he felt like just now – murder, and of one nurse in particular!
Flinging the rest of her clothes back any old how he pulled out a pair of leggings and a long sleeved t-shirt at random. They were the only things suitable so would have to do. Shaking them out his hands paused, his eyes following the fluttering cream petals as they flew around the room just like… confetti. Glancing again at the suitcase his gaze lit on the skimpy white lacy bras and pants, not to mention the pile of sexy nighties and everything fell into place. Just moments before he’d felt like murdering her - for what? He ran both hands across his face ruthlessly. For planning a week away with a boyfriend, a lover, a husband even? And now, what did he feel now – sadness, shame, concern even?
He scrabbled around the roo
m picking up all the petals he could find and, apart from one stuffed them right at the bottom before hastily closing the lid and throwing a smile across at the dog sitting watching everything with a tilt of his head.
‘It’s all right boy, I’ll do the same for you someday.’ He said patting the top of his curly head, reminiscent of a perm gone wrong before starting the mammoth task of getting her dressed and warm.
Beginning at her feet he manoeuvred the leggings half way up, which was as far as he could go without unwrapping her. Instead he headed for the top and, pulling the t-shirt over her head and through her arms started thinking about the bones of the foot.
With a sigh of relief at the sight of her fully clothed he unceremoniously rolled her off the blanket before tucking her underneath.
‘Come on boy, your turn.’ He lifted up the brown dog and feeling his weight sighed at the cruelty of people for he wasn’t a puppy at all - just half-starved and totally unloved. He returned within minutes the dog, now full of bread soaked in warm milk tucked under his arm and placed him at the end of the bed. He knew that’s where he’d end up anyway so he might as well save him the trouble of having to jump up.
Brushing her hair off her forehead he was startled to note the temperature of her skin – icicles would have been warmer. Peeling off his dressing gown he slipped under the sheets and shivered as he enveloped her with the warmth of his own body. Having run out of bones he was more than glad at the sight of Such Bitter Business on the bedside table and, picking up the book tried to ignore the feel of her back pushing up next to him. Turning to page one he started to read.
‘Nicola Connelly stood naked at the floor to ceiling window of her apartment staring out at the sea.’
It was going to be a very long night.
Chapter Sixteen
He watched her from the chair under the window; he had nothing better to do. Despite the early morning light winking at him through the gap in the curtains his eyes never wavered from her face, motionless in sleep. He wondered her dreams, were they happy or, as he feared sad.
He didn’t know why he thought them sad, his eyes flickering to her hands resting on top of the blanket. She had pretty hands; his eyes now back on her face. She had pretty everything; all pretty useless now she was well and truly married. He’d known she was married, his eyes now on the suitcase before returning to her face. He’d known she was married, but had thought it unimportant – unimportant to her that is.
Marriage to him meant his parents’ marriage - only fifteen years, but fifteen years of mutual love and respect. Yes – there’d been harsh words and arguments, what two people pushed together could ever live in complete harmony? But he didn’t remember those. What he remembered were the little things. The twelve red roses bought every year, not on Valentine’s Day, but to commemorate the first day he’d set eyes on her. The crisp ironed white shirts piled up each weekend when his mother despised ironing above all things. He wanted that. He wanted that with her, but not at the expense of some poor bloke she’d left behind – not at the expense of some poor bloke she’d left at the altar, because in the cold light of day that’s what it looked like to him. She’d run away – she’d run away and he’d found her. What a complete mess!
Shoeing away his thoughts with a sigh he headed out of the room and back downstairs. There was the wood burner to clean and lay, the dog to feed and breakfast to make – all chores he’d have balked at, but now he could see he relished the independence sight had given back to him. He’d do the chores happily. He’d make her breakfast and then… and then he’d make her tell him about the petals.
‘You can see!’ Her voice accusatory, as she wandered into the kitchen and sat in the chair he’d held out for her. He couldn’t begin to guess at the reason behind it - until he remembered yesterday and the roof. Hiding a smile was difficult, but he managed – after all it was more than his life’s worth for her to know the truth. He’d never be able to look at her hands again without recalling the names of all those bloody bones. He turned back to the hob to dish up and to hide the grin he couldn’t quite suppress, despite the questions queuing in his brain like bullets.
‘Well, sort of.’ He replied, placing a full English breakfast in front of her. ‘I don’t have 20:20 vision or anything like it but…’
‘But it’s a darn sight better than yesterday.’ She ended, lifting her fork to spear her sausage before dipping it in the tomato ketchup he’d kindly remembered to squirt on the side. ‘So, last night on the roof when I…’
He lifted his head from deboning a chicken drumstick. He’d decided earlier that complete honesty was the only option; complete honesty, but the edited version – she’d boot him out into the cold snow if she ever found out about the X-rated one.
‘You remember? I wasn’t sure…’
‘I remember everything, including the boiling bath you flung me in and…’ Her eyes stapled to his, ‘the fact I went to sleep wearing a nighty and awoke wearing…’ She blushed then. She looked pretty when she blushed, no – she looked beautiful. ‘Well when I awoke there was no nighty,’ her voice trailing off to silence.
He continued stripping flakes of meat from the bone before cutting them up into the smallest of pieces and placing the plate down in front of the silent dog at his feet. He knew the dog couldn’t believe his luck, his eyes raking across his face waiting for what – a nod, a word, a smack before tucking in. Bending down he caught the permed head in his hands and, eye to eye spoke. ‘You’re safe here little one. There’s no need to be afraid anymore – we’ll,’ his voice pausing.’ I’ll never do anything to hurt you.’ Lifting his head he spoke directly to her, his hand still resting on top of the dog’s head. ‘I didn’t see anything, Mabel. In truth I wasn’t looking. I had more important things to do like saving you from hypothermia – do you have any idea just how cold you were?’
He watched her shift her eyes back to her plate, the blush receding. ‘No. I really didn’t think about…’ She glanced down at the dog, now licking his plate clean. ‘I was more worried about the dog.’
‘And so was I!’ He heaved a sigh, thankful she was willing to let him off the hook like that. ‘He’s certainly an unusual specimen. I reckon a cross between a Basset Hound and a poodle, although I don’t know where the curly tail comes into it.’
‘I’m not up on dogs – there’s a cat at the manse but that’s about all.’
‘A vicar’s daughter, Mabel - well I never would have believed it!’ He teased.
‘Why ever not?’ Her eyes suddenly bright.
‘Well, your taste in nighties for a start – I always thought vicar’s daughters went in for…’
‘For what – Victorian garb, pyjamas, flannelette?’ She said, pushing her half full plate away. ‘This is the Twenty First Century Derry, not the Nineteenth – I wear what I like!’
‘Indeed,’ plonking a mug of tea down before sliding the plate back in front of her. ‘Although I do wonder why you thought you’d need to bring bikinis and suntan cream with you.’
‘You went through my bag! You had no right…’
‘Mabel, shut up a minute and think. You were freezing to death and I had to dress you in something other than your nightdress, which was soaking anyway – I am a doctor remember, or had you forgotten? I had more important things to do than have any impure thoughts,’ he paused, trying to think up something to add that would make it alright. ‘And anyway you’re not my type.’
‘That’s not what you said last night.’ She idly picked up a mushroom and popped it into her mouth.
‘Last night was different. Last night...’ His eyes met hers and he decided again that truth was the best option, or at least part of it. ‘Last night I was a very scared blind man seeking comfort and today…’
‘Today you’re not!’ She grabbed her plate and mug and, walking over to the dog added left over bacon and sausage to his plate. ‘It’s good to know where I stand. In fact…’ She turned back to him, clutching a bottle of fa
iry liquid in her hand. ‘You won’t be needing me now so I might as well pack and be on my way.’
‘Er, have you happened to look out of the window Mabel, you’re not going anywhere unless it’s on ski’s.’
‘Surely the trains…’
‘Not a chance in this weather; everything’s closed.’ He smiled at her expression. ‘We’re stuck with each other. So what do you want to do with your day then? I think my uncle has a chess board somewhere.’
‘Not a chance! What about the dog?’
‘I can try, but I’ve never heard of a dog liking chess, they’re more into ball games aren’t they?’
She threw him a speaking glance. ‘We can’t very well go on calling him dog now can we?’
‘Well, with all those curls going on and those huge ears it should be something regal. We are in the land of Welsh princes after all.’
‘I was thinking more on the lines of chocolate, with all those brown curls and melting eyes,’ her eyes straying to her bag and the pile of chocolate bars still hiding inside. ‘What about Curly Wurly?’
Chapter Seventeen
Brushing her hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand she continued washing the dishes all the time aware of him sitting at the table watching her. She supposed it was natural for him to wonder about the person who’d been looking after him but she was rarely the focus of a man’s attention - even Henry’s and she didn’t like it. Folding the tea towel and draping it over the rail beside the sink she switched on the kettle. She didn’t really want another drink but it was something to do. Something told her he was sitting there marshalling his words - he’d been rummaging in her suitcase so there’d be lots of questions.
With the snow still beating down outside she was well and truly trapped with nowhere to go – she might as well make the most of it.
Unhappy Ever After Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 3) Page 9
