The Ideal Choice

by Caroline Anderson

  Rhys drove away, his hand still tingling from the contact with Tricia’s soft, full breast. Damn. He had been avoiding her all morning, and his innate honesty challenged his spur-of-the-moment intervention in Stacey’s care.

  He hadn’t been needed. OK, she was his patient, but Tricia had been more than capable of dealing with the admission. He hadn’t been needed at all.

  And yet he had gone, unable to stay away, clutching at an excuse that brought them into contact—and how!

  Lord, she felt good. Soft, full, heavy—his hand had ached to turn and cup that womanly curve, cradle it in the palm of his hand and coax the tender nipple to life.

  It wouldn’t take much, he was sure. Even that kiss last night had provoked them into hard little peaks against her T-shirt.

  Even? What was he thinking about? There had been no ‘even’ about that kiss. It had left him feeling gutted and almost unable to concentrate on his patient. Fortunately it had been an absolutely routine case of tonsillitis and even in the state he’d been in he would have been hard-pushed to misdiagnose it.

  He pulled up outside the house of his next patient and cut the engine, then sat for a moment staring blankly down the road. He’d forgotten what it was like to need a woman. Things had become pretty tame with him and Judy even before Emma’s birth. She had lost interest, and he hadn’t ever been a believer in conjugal rights.

  Things had gone wrong then—an affair he had found out about, a long period of frigid silence and bitter mud-slinging, and then they had gone to counselling and tried again—hence Bibby. Judy’s third pregnancy had given their marriage the final kiss of death.

  So, three years, he thought, since he had felt even an echo of this driving need. No wonder his responses were on a hair-trigger.

  He’d have to avoid her. No way was he falling into Linsey’s trap. Lord, they must have thought he was born yesterday. They were in it together, of course— Linsey with her good-natured interference and Tricia with her Mother Earth instinct and home-making mania. Let’s get good old Rhys out of his shell and give him a good time—and probably, while we’re at it, tie him down again.

  No way!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TRICIA was late to Linsey’s house that night. By the time she had dealt with her evening surgery she was hot and bothered, and she ran a cool bath and wallowed for a while, only to be trapped by her mother on the phone just as she was drying her hair and throwing on something clean and fresh.

  ‘I can’t stop,’ she began, but she might as well have saved her breath. One of her sisters was pregnant, one of her brothers had been promoted, another still hadn’t sold his house, the grandchildren were in a concert at Christmas and it was such a shame that Tricia would be too far away to come, and when was she going to go and see them?

  ‘Mum, I’ve only just started my job!’

  ‘But you’re so close now. You could get here in an hour. How about Sunday lunch? Surely you can manage that? Beth and Toby will be here too, and they’ve finished the harvesting so your father will have time to talk to you for a change—’

  She agreed, as much as anything to get away, and arrived at the cottage ten minutes late.

  ‘Sorry I’m on the drag,’ she apologised with a grin, handing over a bunch of flowers that she had picked up on the way.

  Linsey sniffed the flowers and smiled. ‘Thanks; they’re lovely. We’ve hit a gap in the garden at the moment; the summer stuff’s finished and the autumn stuff hasn’t got organised. And anyway, you aren’t late, are you?’

  ‘Only a few minutes. Mum rang.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Linsey shared a grin with Tricia, then opened the fridge. ‘Let me get you a nice, cold drink and you can sit and tell me all about how you’re getting on with my job while I make the salad.’

  ‘Yes to the drink, no to the salad. I’ll make it. You sit.’

  So Linsey perched on the kitchen table and Tricia chopped and washed and sliced and titivated while she told Linsey about her morning, and about Lisa who had collapsed on the landing, and discussed the reduction of Mrs Jenkins’s warfarin to prevent her bruising.

  Then Matthew came in, pecked Tricia on the cheek, scooped Linsey into his arms for a smacking kiss and then patted her tummy.

  ‘How’s my family tonight?’

  ‘All the better for seeing you. How was work?’

  ‘OK. Sorry I’m late; I had to pop in at the hospital on the way. Let me have a quick shower and I’ll come and give you a hand.’

  ‘Give Tricia a hand, you mean. She won’t let me do anything.’

  ‘Good for Tricia. Back in a tick.’

  He opened the door at the foot of the little staircase and ran up. Moments later they could hear water running and the sound of Matthew singing off-key.

  Tricia grinned. ‘Happy?’ she asked.

  Linsey’s face reflected her contentment. ‘Blissful. He’s wonderful.’

  ‘Glad I talked you into the job?’

  She chuckled. ‘Am I ever. I just hope you don’t end up hating me for talking you into yours.’

  Tricia shrugged. ‘I doubt if I will. OK, so Rhys and I managed to have a fight, but I’ve apologised and he’s forgiven me, I think, and that’s the end of it.’

  ‘So I can’t talk you into a raging, red-hot affair with him?’ Linsey wheedled.

  Tricia felt hot colour spill across her skin. ‘Heavens, no,’ she laughed. Grief, how false it sounded. ‘Rhys and I are colleagues, Lins. Just colleagues. If anything we rub each other up the wrong way.’

  What a choice of words! She thought of how she had rubbed up against him last night, and the blush grew fiercer. She kept her back firmly to her friend. ‘So long as I manage to keep out of Rhys’s way and he keeps out of mine, I’m sure we’ll manage to be civilised.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Tricia had heard that note in Linsey’s voice before.

  ‘Oh what?’ she asked, her heart sinking.

  ‘Um—Rhys is coming for supper.’

  Tricia dropped the tomato she was about to slice and turned. ‘What?’

  Linsey lifted her hands in a Gallic shrug. ‘I thought it would help you both to get to know each other on neutral territory. He really can be so nice.’

  Tell me about it, Tricia thought despairingly, thinking yet again of his face as he’d stroked the baby’s cheek—and his hand as it had brushed against her and the heat that had flared in his eyes. Oh, yes, she thought, remembering the kiss, he can be very nice—but can I survive it?

  ‘You’ll survive,’ Linsey said, as if reading her mind. ‘It’s only one evening and Matthew will keep you away from each other’s throats.’

  Tricia nearly laughed. It wasn’t her throat that she was worried about. She’d cheerfully fight with him—it was in that tender, husky, needy mood that he undid her.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lins; we won’t wreck the house,’ she promised, and turned back to the salad.

  Rhys turned into the drive and swore softly. He might have known. Damn those women. He could feel the whisper of the noose settling over his neck even now.

  A panic-stricken part of him wanted to run, but another part—a masochistic part with a much stronger voice—clamoured to stay. He closed the gate behind his car and walked to the door, feeling like a lamb to the slaughter.

  They were in the kitchen clattering crockery and cutlery as he went in, and he was able to hover for a moment undetected. Tricia leant forward and pushed a glass across the table, and her breasts swung softly forward against the fine fabric of her T-shirt.

  No bra tonight? His body reacted instantly to the challenge, but his shorts were tight and the loose shirt he had on was long, and so his insanity remained his secret.

  Then Linsey looked up and her face broke into a smile of welcome.

  ‘Rhys! Come in.’

  She reached up and dropped a kiss on his cheek, and he hugged her gently, her swollen body bringing a lump to his throat. Damn, anything to do with maternity turned hi
m to pulp. He released her gently. ‘How goes?’

  ‘Slowly. I’m sick of being pregnant. The bump gets in the way of everything—I can’t even hug anyone properly any more.’

  He laughed and knuckled her chin. ‘Soon be over, and then you’ll wish it wasn’t.’

  ‘No way. It can’t be more trouble out than it is in.’

  His laugh was rueful. Lord, she had a lot to learn. Still, time would disillusion her, and the rewards were more than adequate compensation.

  At least, they were for most women. He felt the laughter fade from his eyes. Judy’s defection still hurt. He supposed it always would—not for him but for his children. He gritted his teeth and turned to Tricia, trying to keep his eyes above her neckline. ‘Hi there. Can I talk shop for a moment?’

  Linsey laughed. ‘Don’t mind me—I already miss it like mad.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘You’re crazy. Enjoy your time off; it’ll be all too short.’ He turned to Tricia again. ‘I saw Lisa—she’s conscious but groggy. They’ve got her on insulin and they’re hoping to get her back to normal fairly quickly. She’s lost quite a bit of weight but she seems basically fairly well, so they’re hoping it won’t be too long a job to stabilise her. She can’t remember anything about it at all.’

  ‘Poor girl. Thank God Stacey was so vigilant.’

  ‘Oh, is this the girl you found this morning?’ asked Linsey.

  Tricia nodded. ‘Yes. Rhys came over too—I don’t think he trusted me.’

  She was teasing him, he knew it; but although he made some, hopefully, adequate response all he could think of was his real reason for being there—just so he could see her.

  Fat lot of good it had done him. He hadn’t been able to concentrate for the rest of the day after that accidental touch. He sat down at the kitchen table, nursing the glass of ice-cold, alcohol-free beer that Linsey pushed towards him, and watched Tricia. She was laughing, teasing Linsey now about not being able to give up her job, and he was able to study her for a moment. It did him no good. In a teasing mood she was even sexier. if such a thing was possible.

  The evening seemed endless. She was fascinating, like quicksilver, slippery as an eel in an argument, darting from one thing to another. She was opinionated, but he agreed with her on most issues and wrangled playfully with her on others. She was funny, her wit never cruel but often directed at herself, and her use of words fascinated him.

  She was beautiful, he admitted. Her hair was pale gold and slightly curly, cut to chin-length and fluffed out in some way to give it volume. When he had kissed her—Lord, was it only last night?—his fingers had been lost in its cloud-like softness. Her eyes, too, were amazing. Dark blue, like sapphires set in the pale cream of her skin. She had a few freckles sprinkled over her ski-slope nose, and he’d bet his right arm that her nipples were rose-pink.

  He forced himself to concentrate on the conversation, but that was no better. He felt himself drawn to her against his better judgement, watching her even when she wasn’t speaking, unable to look away.

  Once he caught her eye and she hesitated, losing the thread of her argument, and then soft colour brushed her cheeks and she laughed and conceded the point to Linsey, all the while avoiding his eyes.

  Damn, he wanted her. Why avoid it? She was here only for a while. Linsey was already desperate to get back to work, and only had four weeks to go before the baby came. Six weeks after that her maternity leave finished—ten weeks. Just over two months.

  Perfect. Long enough to slake himself, too short to get involved. And it wasn’t as if he were out stalking an innocent victim. It was her idea, after all—hers and Linsey’s. He was so sure of that that it didn’t even occur to him to question Tricia’s part in it. Of course she was involved.

  And maybe she’d get her way after all...

  By Sunday morning Tricia was glad that she was having lunch with her parents near Salisbury. She had spent the whole of Friday night trying to figure out Rhys’s attitude to her, and then Saturday had been taken up with more of the same.

  She came up empty every time.

  Was he interested in her? Sure, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her the whole evening, but he hadn’t said anything flirtatious or tried to touch her, he hadn’t contacted her—just confused her.

  He’d been sitting opposite her, watching her like a hawk with those hooded, piercing grey eyes that had never left her face. He’d put her off once, making her forget what she was saying, and then Linsey’s knowing look had brought the colour to her cheeks. Well, it had been that or the fire in his eyes. Even the memory of it made her body heat.

  She knew he was attracted to her. She would have had to be blind, deaf and of another species not to have recognised the signs. What she didn’t know was what, if anything, he intended to do about it.

  And that, she discovered, was very unsettling. She hoped in a way that he would do nothing, but as the weekend wore on she had to admit her disappointment.

  What had she expected, though? A full-blown declaration of love? Hardly, after so few days. A straightforward proposition—‘We both know the score so let’s get on with it’—that sort of thing?

  Unlikely. If Linsey was right and he’d had no personal relationships with women since his wife had walked out, he was probably out of practice. Maybe he didn’t know where to begin.

  And maybe she was assuming rather a lot. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind dallying with her physically but had too much strength of will to give in to such weakness.

  It would be a good job if one of them did.

  Going out for the day suddenly seemed a very good idea after all.

  The routine of her job—or Linsey’s job, as her friend never ceased to remind her—fortunately kept her mind occupied during the weekdays. Sometimes, with some of the patients, she thought about them at night as well. She supposed it was inevitable because she was alone in the evenings and there was nothing to distract her, nothing else to think about, nothing else to do.

  Then, on those evenings, it was a toss-up between thinking about Rhys and thinking about a patient. For the sake of her sanity she often chose to think about the patient. It was at the end of her second week that the two were brought together, and her skilful plans to avoid him were laid to waste because she had to seek him out and talk to him.

  The patient in question was one of his—a young woman of twenty-eight, married but without children. As soon as she walked through the door Tricia knew that it was going to be a long consultation, because the woman was tense and serious, although quite calm.

  Tricia gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  ‘Mrs Long? Do take a seat. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Is it all right to see you? I’m a patient of Dr Williams really, but I wanted to see a woman.’

  Tricia shook her head. ‘That’s fine—no problem. Please, sit down and tell me how I can help.’

  The woman settled herself, took a death-grip on her handbag and met Tricia’s eyes without flinching. ‘I want a mastectomy—well, two, in fact.’

  Tricia put her pen down and leant back. That was a new one on her. ‘OK,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Suppose you tell me why?’

  ‘Every woman in my family has breast cancer. Most of them can’t be cured.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  She nodded. ‘My mother died of it when she was thirty-four. My aunt was thirty-eight when it was discovered, and she’s still alive but she has secondaries now and is very ill. Their mother was in her forties, her mother in her twenties when they died. My older sister is undergoing treatment but she’s just found another lump, and my cousin’s just been diagnosed.’

  She leant forwards, her eyes full of desperation. ‘Dr Page, I don’t want to die. I want to have children and live to see them grow up. I want to get the chance to be a grandmother. I want to have to care for my health because I’ll still be around in forty years—and I want to go to bed at night and be able to sleep properly, without waking up in the morning and
immediately feeling to see if I’ve got a lump yet.’

  ‘Is that what it’s like?’

  The young woman nodded. ‘Yes. It haunts me, day and night. The fear, the worry is never very far from my mind.’

  Tricia could see that in her eyes, in the lines that framed her face, etched deep from years of hideous suspense. ‘You’re very young to take such drastic action,’ she said, trying to sound out her attitude to surgery.

  Mrs Long smiled wryly. ‘It’s not that drastic. It’s a damn sight less drastic than it would be with radiotherapy and chemotherapy.’

  ‘You could be screened regularly.’

  ‘I am—so was my sister. So was my cousin. It’s just too rapid a form, our cancer. By the time it shows, it seems it’s too late.’

  Tricia picked up her pen and doodled on the blotter. ‘Have you talked it over with your husband?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He says it’s my body. He loves me; he doesn’t want to lose me. He wouldn’t dream of asking me not to have the operation just so I could remain intact for his pleasure—his words, not mine. Anyway, there’s no pleasure. Every time he touches me, I wonder if he’ll find a lump. How can I concentrate on making love when all I can think about is dying?’

  It would have been so easy to spout platitudes, to tell her that there were still a few more years before she needed to worry, but Tricia didn’t want to. So far she’d agreed with everything the woman had said.

  ‘Do you want a referral to a consultant?’

  Mrs Long’s jaw almost dropped. ‘You agree?’

  ‘Yes. I think you’ve got a very strong case. In your position I would feel exactly the same.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Her shoulders sagged and suddenly, without warning, she burst into tears. Tricia let her cry, then when she sniffed and lifted her head Tricia pushed a box of tissues towards her. ‘I thought you’d say no. I thought you’d think I was being silly.’