Clearly, she’d thought precisely that.
Then she raised her head, still flushed but perfectly composed and ready to challenge him. “Let’s see how long it takes to get to the next exit, then decide. So how does bringing the wedding forward benefit you? If you’ve been called home by your mission, you’re here anyway.”
His gut twisted painfully at the reminder of all he didn’t want to think about. How Grandfather pulled his strings, even after death. From prearranging a private burial, to having Matthew called home after the event to step into his shoes at the Trust, the old man still controlled everything.
“My grandfather recently died. That means I now run the mission. Once I take care of necessary administrative issues, I intend to return to my clinic. With the wedding out of the way, I have nothing to hold me here.”
The nagging emptiness hollowing his gut didn’t stem from that statement. He was simply hungry and travel-weary.
Anita’s full lips thinned. “I’m sorry for your loss, but you really can’t expect to jump off the plane and demand James and Beth throw together a quickie wedding so you can get back to work sooner.”
He gave her the look that silenced his staff members whenever they questioned him. Whether it would work with Anita was another matter.
It didn’t. She lifted her chin and stared right back.
“It’s not only my work.…” Frustration and impatience closed his throat. Stopping mid-sentence, he pushed out a hard, aggravated breath.
He knew far more about Lady Tetherton-Hart’s condition than he should. Her oncologist, an old colleague of his, knowing he’d be James’s best man, had emailed him about her case.
Anita loosed a long sigh and twisted to face him. “So it is Portia.” Her effort at a smile wobbled and died.
“I can’t discuss it.” He fought down an unaccustomed urge to reach out and touch her hands, trembling in her lap. His fingers clenched. He wasn’t here to comfort anyone, or to be comforted.
Emotions were weaknesses a man couldn’t afford.
She swivelled to face the line of cars, but not before he caught the glint of tears in her eyes. “At last, it looks like we’re going to move.” Relief echoed in her voice as her raised shoulders dropped.
Relief flooded him, too. He’d softened toward her more than he should. Their mutual friends were marrying, and the wedding required they attend a few events together. That was all.
He needed to treat her like one of his clinic nurses. The idea of her being anything more to him was absurd—almost as absurd as her being a clinic nurse.
The cars ahead accelerated and Anita eased the little car up to its top speed. Slow.
“No need to dump you at the station,” she said. “The delay must have been just volume of traffic.”
“Very different to Mapateresi. One car a day is an event there.”
Anita threw him a quick glance. “I find it hard to imagine living like the people I saw in the film about your mission. So very brave, both the staff and the patients.”
He shrugged. “It’s not so much bravery, as doing what’s necessary to survive. They have no other choice. As for me, it’s the work I’ve trained for all my life. Every Coalbrooke son serves in the family mission trust as a doctor. I have no choice, either. About going there, or now, about being called home.”
The words tasted bitter in his mouth.
He’d been so sure of God’s will for him. Serving in the mission field, then eventually coming home to run the Trust, and raising a Coalbrooke heir to take his place. He hadn’t expected he’d have to take up his duty so soon. Grandfather had been determined to keep his hands on the reins at least another ten years.
Losing the work that gave his life purpose ached like a physical wound, one his medical skills couldn’t heal.
“I still think it’s brave,” she said. “I couldn’t live surrounded by so much pain and suffering and still manage to care for people.”
“It’s different when you’re working to fix it. I’ve trained myself not to feel the pain.”
He’d prided himself on his detachment, but now he wondered. Was being able to switch off his feelings and coolly observe the suffering of others really a good thing?
The topic was too serious to chat about. He frowned, a repressive and forbidding expression designed to discourage her.
It worked. Anita stayed silent as she negotiated the exit for Cambridge, and then several miles down the road.
“If things keep moving like this, I’ll easily get Miss Daisy home before she wakes and wants her dinner. I’ll just need to fill up with petrol on the way. There’s a good place to stop further down this road, cheaper than motorway prices.”
At least she’d changed the subject, though he sensed she was chattering to fill the uncomfortable quiet stretching between them.
“That’s fine.”
Closing his eyes, he pretended to sleep. Wanted to pray, but that well had run dry. He had no words to say to God, and it seemed God had little to say to him.
Even so, he kept his eyes shut and his breathing slow and even until he felt the car stop, heard her scrabbling for her shoes and then clicking the door open.
He got out of the car and moved to the pump. Anita fumbled in her bag.
“It’s Pay at Pump. I need to swipe my card before it will let me fill up.” She pulled out a credit card, but something hinted at anxiety. A shadow in her eyes, the way her small white teeth bit on her lower lip.
He reached out to stop her as she lifted the card to the machine, covering her hand with his. Their fingers tangled. Warmth surged along his arm, surprising him into pulling his hand away.
“No. I’ll pay.” His abrupt words barked out very like an order.
What made him react so strongly and so physically to her? It was his duty to marry, keep the Coalbrooke line going, but Anita Kiernan was hardly an appropriate choice.
A struggle played out on her expressive face. Then she raised her pert chin. “It’s fine. I can cover it.” She giggled nervously. “Anyway, a missionary with a credit card? I thought that the first time you used it. Don’t they pay you guys peanuts?”
“The Trust does pay peanuts. The same as a local doctor would earn, but with free housing and food.” He shrugged. “There isn’t much to spend money on there. My card won’t be declined.”
She threw him a sharp glance, as if he’d suggested hers might be.
That hadn’t been his intent, but explained her anxiety. For a single mother working as a shop assistant, wearing clothes and shoes like hers was an expensive habit. Her credit card could well be stretched to the limit.
“Okay.” He barely heard the muttered word. She glanced toward the car, then back to him, a hint of a flush on her cheeks. “I need to use the bathroom. Would you watch Daisy for me?”
He nodded, then swiped his card through the payment machine and filled the tank.
Her finances were none of his concern. Merely more confirmation of how unsuitable she was. Dangerously appealing, with a quirky charm, yes. But a single mother, and probably in debt.
Eradicating this attraction before it developed any further, the same way he’d treat a parasite infestation, was the only action a sensible man could take. He tore his gaze away from her hip-swaying sashay across the garage forecourt and checked on her child.
Daisy slept, one chubby thumb in her mouth and a pink blanket cuddled close.
Something warm and unexpected swelled in his chest. This child was so loved. As the African babies he’d worked with were, of course. But too many of them died before they grew up.
His chest constricted at the thought of those needless deaths. If he was there, good medical care could prevent at least some of them. The remembered wail of a grieving mother who arrived at the clinic too late echoed in his ears.
He stamped down hard on the memory. Emotion warped a man’s judgment. Merely an unnecessary complication.
So was allowing Ms Kiernan to realise he felt an
y attraction toward her.
As she exited the garage and approached with her confident sway, smiling as if she owned the world, he resolved to be stronger.
No sign of admiration should escape him. He’d had no choice in coming home when the Trust called him back, and he had no choice about spending a certain amount of time with her. The wedding arrangements demanded it.
He did have a choice how he felt and behaved.
Beyond the necessities, he’d make sure they spent as little time together as possible, and remain cool and distant when they did.
“Ready to go?” Anita asked.
He nodded. “Daisy hasn’t stirred.”
Ignoring his assurance, she peered over the back of the driver’s seat to check for herself before climbing into the car. His jaw clenched at the small slight.
As he folded his legs and wedged himself into his seat, he decided something else. He’d find a way to check on Beth, James’s fiancée, before James formally introduced them. He owed it to his old friend to check her suitability.
When he eventually chose a wife, he wouldn’t make the mistake of marrying a fortune hunter, the way his father had. He didn’t intend to see James snared the same way, either.
~*~
Despite his resolve to ignore the inappropriate attraction, thoughts of Anita crept unwanted and unbidden into Matthew’s mind after she dropped him off at his college in Cambridge. Her offbeat beauty. Her obvious love for her child. Her feisty response to his undoubted discourtesy.
Thoughts of her haunted him as he unpacked in his room, sparse as a monastic cell. As he ate in the great hall. As he tried to sleep.
He still thought of her the following morning as he walked into the boardroom of the Coalbrooke Mission Trust. David Jackson, chairman of the Trust board, met him with a welcoming smile.
Matthew had no intention of sharing his wayward thoughts with David. Once before, he’d used his status as godfather to justify asking about Matthew’s plans for marriage, implying a wife might soften him, make his mission work more effective.
He’d be unlikely to make the mistake of asking again. Matthew had been clear. He didn’t want or need to be softened, and he was highly effective where it counted most.
Saving lives.
He’d leave the feel-good, happy-clappy stuff to someone else.
“Good to see you.” David gripped his hand in a hearty clasp. “I’m sorry you missed Henry’s funeral. His express orders—he wanted no one there, apart from the vicar. I’m sure he had his reasons.”
Matthew swallowed against a sudden blockage in his throat. If he’d had the chance to say goodbye to the old man, what would he have said? His relationship with the man who’d raised him had never been close. His lopsided smile faltered. “Possibly stubborn insistence on having the last say, as always.”
David nodded and smiled slightly. “Possibly. Anyway, thank you for coming home.”
Raising his eyebrows, Matthew gestured to the boardroom table, covered with files and papers. “Duty demanded I come back. Let’s see what we can do to sort out the situation he’s left us with.”
An hour later, he stared up at the huge portrait of his grandfather, last of the Coalbrooke ancestors lining the boardroom walls. His hands compressed into fists, and his shoulders tightened.
I need patience, Lord, and I need it right now. It’s time the old man stopped running my life.
Showing his anger wouldn’t help. He dragged in a deep breath and deliberately loosened his tense muscles. “A Coalbrooke family member has always headed the Trust, yes. My grandfather directed the Trust for over forty years and set up the current rules. But if my father hadn’t died, he’d be managing things now, and I’d be staying out in the mission field.”
David nodded. “Yes.”
Matthew pushed back from the table and paced the length of the room in long frustrated strides. “Unlike my grandfather, I have neither the skills nor the inclination to manage the Trust. It’s illogical to insist a Coalbrooke must be here to sign everything off. The management board can handle the day-to-day administration and the publicity. I only need to be involved in the big decisions. I can do that from Africa.”
He looked across the table at David, gauging his response. His grandfather stacked the board with people he knew would obey his commands. People who were still obeying his commands.
The older man shook his head. “The board can only carry out the direct orders of a Coalbrooke, on even the smallest issues.” His rueful smile offered little humour. “Your grandfather sewed up the Trust regulations so that without a Coalbrooke here, the mission will cease to function.”
Matthew’s lips tightened. “He never considered what might happen if the one remaining Coalbrooke wanted something different. Or what might happen if I died, childless.”
Of course, the old man designed the rules to give himself total control. Few people ever disobeyed him. Matthew’s father did once, marrying a woman Grandfather disapproved of. He couldn’t recall when he ever had. Fear of displeasing the old man, coupled with an ingrained sense of duty and Coalbrooke pride.
He’d been taught disobeying Grandfather was the same as disobeying God, a sure route to hellfire.
For the first time, he’d take that chance.
Straightening his shoulders, he laid his palms flat on the table in front of him with a decisive thump. “It’s time to change the rules. Ask the mission’s lawyer to look into it. I’m the Coalbrooke in charge now.”
Chapter 5
Back at work in Pettett and Mayfields department store the afternoon after picking up Matthew, Anita braced herself for Beth’s inevitable questions.
Their floor had been busy all morning, so they’d had no chance to chat. But with only a few customers wandering around after lunch, dealt with competently by her assistant, Josie, she had no plausible excuse to avoid the discussion.
Beth chose a quiet moment as Anita unpacked and polished a new range of arty designer teapots. She’d negotiated with the pottery and got the store exclusive rights. Now she had to sell the things, to justify the expense.
That was far more important than what she thought of Matthew.
“Dr Coalbrooke is James’s choice as best man. My opinion isn’t really relevant.” She scrunched her mouth and nose. She didn’t want to upset Beth with too much honesty. “You know, there are so many less contentious things to talk about. Politics. The tense situation in the Middle East. Mrs Pettett’s latest scheme for the store. How busy I’ll be helping look after Daisy while Jen is in hospital.”
Maybe even how Lady Portia’s appointment went, though the puffiness around Beth’s eyes not quite covered by concealer suggested they hadn’t heard good news.
Beth chuckled. “You got on that well, huh? Shame. I kinda hoped…”
Anita rolled her eyes and held up a hand to stop her friend saying any more. “What is it with people in love, always wanting everyone else to fall in love too? So maybe I was getting a thing for him before we met. The stupid video made him look like Dr Dreamy personified.”
“Not so dreamy in real life?” Beth teased.
Anita sighed, drooping a little, and then lifted her head. She’d been an idiot getting all girly and fluttery over him after a three-minute film clip. “Nowhere near. Try Dr Bluebeard. He’s arrogant, bossy, and judgmental. I’d rather not spend a moment more with him than I have to, apart from the necessary wedding arrangements, of course.”
“You sound like a heroine in a Regency novel.” Beth laughed again. “They always end up married to the man they initially detest. Think of Elizabeth and Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.”
“Not this heroine.” Her vigorous headshake dislodged a red curl from her updo, leaving it dangling over one eye. Impatient, she pushed it back behind her ear, before picking up another teapot and unwrapping it. “Think of a different Jane Austen heroine, Emma. ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ The doctor napped most of the trip. When he was awake, apa
rt from about five minutes where he unbent enough to seem actually human, I could have been sitting next to Mr Spock. He’s nothing like Darcy. Nothing like your darling James, either. He’s a hero without a heart.”
Recalling Matthew’s gentleness with Daisy, she felt honour bound to confess, “Daisy liked him, and he was kind to her. I will give him points there. But romantic hero, no.”
“Pity. James and I have arranged a few group outings we hoped you’d enjoy.”
“Forget trying to throw us together, Beth. I wouldn’t have him if he begged me on bended knee. I’d rather take my chances on Christian Match-Up again.”
Beth gave an unladylike snort, nothing like her usual quiet manner. “But every meeting you’ve had from the dating site has been a disaster. Remember the last one?”
Struggling to keep a straight face, Anita tried for a dignified reply. “I hope I’m not shallow enough to think less of Doug because he still lives with his mother and calls stamp collecting an exciting hobby. But subtracting fifteen years from his age and using a photo from 1998 in his profile when he claimed to be looking for a ‘beautiful and honest relationship’ maybe wasn’t the best start.” Her attempt at a solemn face cracked, and she burst into laughter, quickly putting down the £300 teapot before she dropped it. “Okay, I am that shallow.”
Beth laughed too, so hard tears came to her eyes. When she finally got her laughter under control, sadness lurked in her face. “Ah, I needed that. Portia got bad news.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to run. My three o’clock appointment is a Bridezilla, with a mother to match. I need to have everything perfect for them.”
As she reached out to hug her friend, Anita’s heart ached. Once James’s estranged mother received the cancer diagnosis, she’d worked hard to be the mother she should have been, including treating Beth like a daughter. Now it seemed Portia was running out of time.
Exactly what she’d resented Matthew for implying yesterday.
Shaking her head, she hurried over to help Josie with a sudden rush of customers, seeking the items the new BBC cake baking series recommended.
Teapots & Tiaras: A sweet and clean Christian romance in London and Cambridge (Love In Store Book 5) Page 4
