Annie shook her head as she watched him go. ‘He’s quite something, isn’t he? Handsome, charming and about as reliable as a fifty-pence watch.’
‘You reckon?’ Helen murmured, seeing Liz frown, then nod, then dissolve into helpless laughter when Mark kissed her soundly on the cheek.
‘Don’t you?’
There was a very decided edge to the junior doctor’s voice, and Helen glanced back at her thoughtfully. She’d never asked—had never thought it was her business to ask—why Annie hadn’t married her son’s father, but now she thought she knew.
‘Annie—’
‘I just hope he doesn’t break too many hearts while he’s here,’ the woman continued. ‘I’d hate to think of somebody getting hurt—really hurt—because they believe all his flattery.’
Well, I don’t, Helen thought firmly, suddenly aware that Annie’s eyes were fixed on her. OK, so maybe my heart keeps doing these funny little back flips whenever he smiles at me, and my legs feel odd and strangely wobbly if I meet him unexpectedly, but that’s just because he’s so darned handsome. It doesn’t mean that I’m starting to fall for his charm. It doesn’t.
It didn’t take Liz long to get Nana Dukakis settled in, and when Mr Dukakis arrived he thankfully turned out to speak considerably better English than his wife, but Helen didn’t envy Mark the task of asking him if he’d be prepared to give some blood samples.
‘At least we can start giving this baby treatment right away if it is born with thalassaemia major,’ Tom said when Helen told him about it later. ‘And the earlier the treatment begins the more chance it will have of surviving.’
Helen nodded as they walked together down the corridor. ‘How’s Mrs Alexander?’
‘Both mum and daughter are doing well. She’ll have to go back on the heparin tomorrow, of course, and keep taking it for at least six weeks, but thankfully the clot looks as though it’s beginning to disperse and she’s going home with a healthy baby girl.’
He should have looked pleased, and yet she thought he looked tired and strained, and she put her hand on his arm.
‘Want to share?’
It was what they’d said to one another when they’d first married, and to her surprise he suddenly drew her gently into his arms and rested his chin on her head with a sigh.
‘Mary Alexander’s clot—Mrs Dukakis’s thalassaemia. So many things can go wrong before, during and after, childbirth, Helen, and this afternoon, when I was holding Mary’s baby, I thought…’
‘What?’ she pressed as his voice trailed away into silence. ‘What did you think?’
‘I found myself remembering the day Emma and John were born.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared. Scared of losing them, of losing you.’
‘You didn’t show it,’ she said, and he smiled.
‘It would have been a terrific confidence-booster for you, wouldn’t it, if I’d suddenly got down on my knees in the delivery room and started to pray while you were huffing and puffing?’
She laughed. ‘I guess so, but why didn’t you tell me afterwards?’
‘You’d have thought I was stupid.’
‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ she protested.
‘Well, I thought I was stupid,’ he declared gruffly. ‘I mean, men are supposed to be strong at a time like that, aren’t they? Not falling apart like I was, wishing it was me going through the pain, not you, and…’ He coloured slightly. ‘I’m not very good at saying things, at putting my feelings into words.’
It was true, he wasn’t. He’d never been able to make flowery speeches—had great difficulty making any kind of speech at all—and she hugged him tightly.
‘Tom Brooke, there are times when you drive me nuts, but I do love you.’
‘And I—’
‘Tom, Haematology’s being a real pain, saying they can’t test the blood samples I’ve taken from Mrs Dukakis really quickly,’ Mark said as he came round the corner. ‘How do I twist their arm?’
‘You can’t,’ Tom replied, then his lips quirked. ‘But Helen could.’
‘Tom, don’t—’
‘Our head of Haematology has been fond of Helen ever since she was a med student,’ he continued, to her acute discomfort. ‘So whatever Helen wants, Helen gets.’
‘Really?’ Mark said. ‘Now, that’s what I’d call a really useful boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she protested. ‘He’s a grandfather of four, and a very nice man.’
‘With impeccable taste.’
Don’t do this to me, she thought unhappily as his eyes caught and held hers. Don’t look at me like you think I’m fascinating, and interesting, and…and desirable, because I might start to believe you mean it, and I don’t want to believe it. It’s too dangerous for me to believe it.
‘I don’t suppose you could possibly pop down to Haematology, could you?’ Mark continued. ‘Bat your lovely eyelashes at the boss and speed up my results?’
‘I’m just going off duty—’
‘It wouldn’t take you a minute, love,’ Tom declared, ‘and it would help Mark.’
It took all of Helen’s self-control not to turn round and hit him. Couldn’t he see that she didn’t want to be useful to Mark, didn’t want anything to do with Mark?
No, he obviously couldn’t, she thought with frustration. He was clearly expecting her to agree, and if she refused he’d wonder what on earth was wrong with her. Might even offer to take her pulse, feel her forehead, then send her home with an aspirin.
And maybe that was what she needed. Not the aspirin, but to go home and pull herself together and stop behaving like an overgrown schoolgirl.
‘I’ll do the best I can,’ she muttered, but before she could move Mark reached out and grasped her hands in his.
‘Helen, you’re a gem. In fact, if you weren’t already married, I’d offer you my hand, my heart and all my worldly goods.’
‘A simple thank you would be quite sufficient,’ she replied stiffly, pulling her hands free. ‘But for the record, don’t ever ask me to do this again—either of you.’
‘She’s just kidding,’ Tom said uncertainly as his wife strode away, her back ramrod stiff, her head high.
‘She looks pretty mad to me,’ Mark observed. ‘Perhaps I should go after her, tell her to forget it…’
‘Helen doesn’t mind,’ Tom protested with more confidence than he actually felt. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’
‘Well, you know your wife better than I do,’ Mark said.
Tom stared after his wife. He’d thought he did. Once upon a time he would quite happily have bet money on the fact that he did, but just lately…
‘How are you settling into your hospital flat?’ he asked, more from a desire to change the subject than from any great desire to know.
Mark shrugged. ‘I’ve been in worse. The main thing I miss is some decent home cooking, but it seems stupid to rent a flat when I’m only going to be here for such a short time.’
‘If it’s decent home cooking you’re after, why don’t you come round to our place tonight for dinner?’ Tom suggested.
Mark looked tempted, then shook his head. ‘I’d better not. It wouldn’t be fair to Helen, turning up at such short notice.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Tom declared. ‘Helen will be only too delighted.’
And she would be, he told himself. She’d been in such a funny mood recently, and maybe what she needed was to do something different for a change, and having Mark round for dinner could be just the change she needed.
‘Oh, Tom, how could you!’ Helen exclaimed, banging the oven door shut.
‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he said defensively. ‘You’re always saying we should entertain more, and it must be pretty wretched for Mark, having to go back to an empty flat every evening.’
‘But couldn’t you at least have invited him for one night next week, given me time to prepare?’
‘Mark isn’t going to expect any fancy
cordon bleu cooking—’
‘Then he won’t mind if I just open up a couple of cans of beans and shove them on toast?’
A faint flush of angry colour appeared on Tom’s cheeks. ‘I don’t know what you’re making all this fuss about. You never bothered when I invited Gideon over for a meal before he and Annie got married.’
‘It’s not the same,’ she protested.
And it wasn’t. For a start, Gideon didn’t have black hair, and emerald green eyes, and a way of looking at her that sent warm shivers down her back. Gideon didn’t make her feel edgy, and confused, and bewildered at the same time.
‘Helen…’
‘The casserole is never going to stretch to five.’
‘Of course it will. You always make too much of everything anyway.’
‘It’s just as well that I do, then, isn’t it? Or we’d all end up having to fill up with biscuits after we’ve eaten,’ she said tartly. ‘Tom, I’m not running a restaurant here.’
‘What are you fighting about?’
She spun round to see John standing in the kitchen doorway, and bit her lip.
‘We’re not fighting,’ she said as evenly as she could. ‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour, so please go and finish your homework.’
‘It sounded like you were fighting,’ he observed. ‘In fact—’
‘Mummy and I are not fighting,’ Tom interrupted. ‘We…we’re simply having a discussion.’
‘If Emma and I were shouting as loudly as you and Mum were, you’d say we were fighting.’
‘Go finish your homework, John.’
They’d spoken in unison, and their son gave them a very hard stare, then trailed away.
‘Helen, listen to me—’
‘What time did you tell Mark to come round?’
‘About eight.’
Oh, brilliant, she thought, really brilliant. Mark would be here in half an hour, and all she had to offer him was a miserable portion of beef casserole and some ice cream and fruit for dessert because it was too late to defrost anything else. And by the time she’d peeled more potatoes and put on extra vegetables, she’d have no time to shower or change her clothes.
‘Look, is there anything I can do?’ Tom asked.
For a second she was tempted—sorely tempted—to tell him exactly what he could do, but instead she said grimly, ‘Go tidy the sitting room.’
‘I don’t know how you do it, Helen.’ Mark smiled as he leant back in his seat with a contented sigh. ‘Full-time SHO, wife, mother, and after a day like today you can still manage to create a superb meal.’
Tom shot her a look across the kitchen table which said, Told you that you were worrying needlessly, didn’t I? Helen got to her feet.
‘Emma, John—you’ve got homework to do.’
‘Oh, Mum!’
‘Now,’ she insisted, retrieving their pudding bowls.
‘You’re not leaving right away, are you, Mark?’ Emma asked, sliding reluctantly down from her seat. ‘Only you haven’t finished telling us about the wombats and koalas—’
‘And I want to hear more about the time you went to Ayres Rock,’ John chipped in, his grey eyes hopeful. ‘Is it really as red as it looks in the pictures? And what about—?’
‘Homework,’ Tom interrupted firmly. ‘Mark isn’t going to run away, you know,’ he added as his son and daughter groaned. ‘And the quicker you get your homework done, the more time you’ll have to badger him before bedtime.’
Mark laughed as the twins shot out of the kitchen. ‘You’ve got a pair of really great kids there. You must be very proud of them.’
I am, Helen thought as she switched on the percolator, but did the children have to make it so obvious they thought he was Mr Wonderful?
Petty, Helen, a little voice whispered at the back of her mind. You’re being petty. You’re the one who taught them to welcome visitors, so you can’t really carp when they do it.
No, but I just wish they hadn’t been so clearly charmed by him, she thought as she ran some water into the sink. I wish they hadn’t hung on his every word like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.
‘You must let me help with the dishes,’ Mark declared, springing to his feet when she reached for the washing-up liquid.
‘No, really,’ she said quickly. ‘I can manage.’
‘And we wouldn’t feel right, asking a guest to help with the dishes,’ Tom said firmly, to her relief. ‘I’ll show you through to the sitting room—’
‘Dad, what do you know about the Aztecs?’
Emma had reappeared at the kitchen door, and Tom frowned.
‘As far as I can remember they were one of the earliest of the Mayan people of Central America.’
‘But I need to know more than that,’ Emma protested. ‘I’m supposed to write four hundred words about them for tomorrow.’
‘Then why don’t you look them up in one of your encyclopaedias?’ Helen suggested. ‘That’s what they’re there for.’
‘But I’ve maths to do for tomorrow as well, and English,’ Emma said plaintively. ‘Dad, can’t you help me? I know I should have started earlier, and I promise I won’t ever ask for help again, but couldn’t you help me just this once?’
Emma’s eyes were huge and beseeching, and Helen shook her head. Emma could always twist Tom round her little finger, and at any other time she might have laughed, but not tonight.
‘Emma, it’s your homework, not your father’s,’ she declared, only to see Mark grin.
‘Oh, give the kid a break, Helen. Let Tom help her just this once, and I’ll help you with the dishes.’
No, Helen thought desperately as Tom gazed at their daughter, clearly torn. Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me alone with Mark. I don’t want to be left alone with him. But to her dismay Tom ruffled their daughter’s blonde hair affectionately.
‘All right, then, but in future you do your own homework, OK?’
He and Emma were gone before she could protest, and her heart sank as she turned to find Mark smiling at her. That smile which she was beginning to know only too well. That smile which managed to do the oddest things to her heart rate.
‘Your daughter’s going to be a real heartbreaker when she grows up,’ he observed. ‘Did you see the way she wrapped Tom round her little finger?’
She lifted some of the plates she’d stacked and thrust them into the soapy water. ‘He’s too soft with her.’
‘Father’s usually are with daughters. Not that I’ve any personal experience, of course.’
‘No,’ she said dampeningly.
He shot her a quizzical glance. ‘She’s very like you. The same blonde hair, the same brown eyes.’
‘John takes after his father.’
‘They’re both handsome children but, then, I’d have expected them to be when you’re their mother.’
His voice was low, husky, and she took a deep breath, only to immediately wish she hadn’t. Tom’s aftershave was sharp, tangy, like mountain pine trees, but Mark’s was something else. Something sweet, enticing and tantalisingly different. Different enough for her to wonder what it was. Different enough to make her want to lean towards him to inhale it more deeply, so she reached for a dishcloth and began washing the plates as though her life depended on it.
‘Helen—’
‘You really don’t have to help, you know,’ she said brightly, too brightly. ‘There’s not many dishes, and—’
‘You know, you’re a very attractive woman, Helen.’
Don’t do this to me, she thought, staring fixedly at the plate in her hand. Don’t flirt with me because I don’t know how to flirt—never learned how—and I can’t cope with it.
‘I’m not attractive,’ she replied with a laugh that didn’t quite come off. ‘Sonia in Paediatrics is attractive. Grace in Men’s Surgical is stunning—’
‘But I’m not interested in Sonia, or Grace. I’m interested in you.’
He was joking—he had to be joking—but as she f
orced herself to look up, to meet his gaze, she knew that he wasn’t, that he meant it, and her heart rate went into over-drive.
‘Mark—’
‘You’re gorgeous, witty, clever—’
‘And I’m married, Mark,’ she interrupted. ‘Married to a man who was your best friend at med school in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he murmured, ‘but I hadn’t realised Tom had branded you with a sign saying, NO COMPILMENTS ALLOWED.’
‘He didn’t—he hasn’t—’
‘So why can’t I say I find you lovely?’
‘Because…because I don’t like it,’ she floundered, and his eyebrows rose.
‘You don’t?’
‘No, No, I don’t,’ she said as firmly as she could, and he shook his head.
‘You’re a lousy liar, Helen.’
‘Mark, please…’
‘I think you and I could have something very special together. I sensed it the minute I met you, and I know you feel it, too.’
‘And I’m married,’ she exclaimed desperately. ‘Tom’s my husband, and there’s such a thing as fidelity, loyalty, between couples.’
‘Not love?’
‘Of course, love,’ she protested.
‘Strange you should mention it third.’ He smiled. ‘Fidelity, loyalty and then love.’
She stared at him impotently. ‘What are you trying to prove—that you’re cleverer at word games than I am, smarter? OK, I concede, you’re cleverer, but I don’t play games—of any kind—and I’ve had enough of this conversation.’
‘Helen—’
‘Well, that’s the Aztecs taken care of.’ Tom smiled as he strode into the kitchen. He came to a halt and glanced curiously from her to Mark. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Not a thing,’ Mark replied smoothly. ‘But I think I’ll pass on the coffee if you don’t mind. I’ve already taken up more than enough of your time, and I’ve things to do back at the flat.’
‘Nonsense,’ Tom protested. ‘He can’t possibly run away now, can he, Helen? For one thing, the twins will never forgive him.’
She didn’t say anything—couldn’t—and a hint of a smile appeared on Mark’s lips. ‘All right I’ll stay, but just for a little while.’
The Surgeon's Marriage Page 5
