He left her in bed this time, quickly dressing then kissing her softly before running down the stairs. She lay there, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, and wondered why on earth Judy had looked elsewhere when she’d had a man like that at home.
How could she possibly have lost interest? Tricia knew with absolute certainty that, given a lifetime, she could never grow tired of those tender caresses.
If only he would give her that lifetime...
She rang Linsey the following morning to ask if she was free, but got the answering machine. If only she hadn’t been so far from Salisbury she would have visited her parents, but thirty miles through the New Forest on the Saturday of the August bank holiday was not a smart idea.
Still, she had to do something, go somewhere, or she’d go mad in the flat. She was on duty for the next forty-eight hours, so she would have to be at home for the bulk of it.
She went to Lymington, to the market, and bought some fruit and vegetables, then was lured irresistibly by the bric-a-brac. She bought a little lustreware vase, and a picture—a watercolour of a misty morning on a river. It was beautiful but she’d probably paid too much for it.
She dragged herself away before she could do anything else she might regret—not that she regretted it, of course. Not really. It was just that she could commit a similar folly every day without learning her lesson.
She went back to the flat to put her shopping away and decide what to do for the rest of the day. Tim Wilson was just coming out, the morning surgery finished; he was off on the first of a succession of calls.
‘Rhys was here looking for you a few minutes ago,’ he told her.
‘Oh. What did he want?’
Tim shrugged. ‘Pass. He had the kids in tow. Looked like they were off to the beach. He was leaving you a note.’
She ran up to her flat and, sure enough, there was a note in his strong hand propped up on the kitchen table.
Gone to the beach with the children. They insisted I ask you to join us as I had you to myself last night. We’ll be on the beach at the bottom of the steps down from Highcliffe Castle. If you can make it, do come. I could do with a hand! R.
She stared at the last line. Rhys, asking for help? Admitting he couldn’t be all things to all men? Good heavens.
She found her swimsuit and a couple of towels, the sunscreen and her supply of adrenalin and antihistamine. The beaches had been swarming with wasps, she’d heard. Better safe than sorry. You never knew—someone might have cause to be grateful.
She found her way to Highcliffe Castle and parked in the grounds. It wasn’t a castle at all, she discovered, but a house built to resemble a castle and now, in part, open to the public after extensive restoration. She was lucky to get a parking space, the attendant told her. Looking at the traffic queue behind her, she believed him.
She went down the steps—an unbelievable number—winding through the wooded cliff, and there at the bottom was the glorious stretch of sandy beach.
And there, banging in the posts of a windbreak, was Rhys, dressed only in a pair of skimpy trunks that left almost nothing to the imagination.
She dawdled, admiring the view as he turned his back to her and squatted, straightening a towel then dropping to his knees on it and sitting Bibby on his lap to cover her with sunscreen.
The others were several feet away, already playing in the surf, giggling and shrieking as the cold water surged up and rushed around their feet.
Then Emma spotted her and ran over, her face lighting up with welcome. ‘You came! Daddy, look, Dr Page came!’
He looked over his shoulder and their eyes locked.
‘Hi,’ she said softly.
‘Hi. You must be crazy.’
They shared a smile. ‘I love sandy sandwiches and sunburn and salty, sticky hair,’ she lied bravely. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ That, though, was the truth. She wouldn’t have done, because he was here.
Whither thou goest, she thought. Who’d said that? Ruth? Hannah? A woman who loved, at least. Who she was was immaterial. It was why she’d said it that mattered, and love was the answer.
‘Can I have sunscreen?’ Emma was asking. ‘Can Dr Page do it?’
‘Sure. Come here. And my name’s Tricia,’ she told them all.
‘Daddy says we have to call you Dr Page and show proper respect,’ Mark announced.
‘Is that right?’ She set her bags down, pulled her sundress over her head to reveal her costume and knelt down in the sand. ‘Well, I don’t see that calling me Tricia means you don’t respect me, if you aren’t cheeky. How about it?’ she asked Rhys.
He shrugged. ‘Sure—if you’re happy with it. I just didn’t want them getting over-familiar.’
‘I’m sure they won’t.’ Not in a couple of months. He was obviously trying to keep her and his children separate, for fear of them being hurt again. She could understand that. She blotted Emma dry. ‘Hold your hair, sweetheart,’ she said, twisting the pony-tail out of the way, and squirted a dollop of cream on the child’s skinny shoulders, then smoothed it lovingly into her soft, downy skin. Of course Rhys didn’t want his children hurt—who would? She felt the little bones under her hand. How could Judy have left her? Left any of them? Poor little mites.
She put all her love into the spreading of that cream, covering every tiny spot of skin. Rhys was doing the same to Mark, and when he was finished he turned to her. ‘You now. Turn round.’
His hands were warm and supple and sensuous. She was glad her reaction was private. It was definitely X-rated.
His hands slid down her arms, then shackled her wrists. He was so close behind her that she could feel his breath against her nape, ruffling the hair. ‘My turn,’ he said softly.
She turned towards him and met his eyes, which were hot with promise. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she told him a little breathlessly. ‘We’re in the middle of the beach on a bank holiday weekend. The place is heaving. What are we thinking about?’
‘You need me to tell you that?’
She laughed. ‘Um—I don’t think so! Your body’s doing it for you.’
His smile was wry. ‘I think I’d better lie down on my front for a minute. Do my back, could you? Then I think a quick dip in the sea should cool me off.’
He lay flat, presenting her with acres of smooth, supple skin stretched over his big frame, and she spread the sunblock over every inch with the same love and attention that she had given little Emma. How could Judy have done this to him? She pondered. How could she betray him, cheat him, lie to him?
He was such a good man, fair and honest and hardworking—he never shirked his duty at the practice, nearly killed himself to make sure the children didn’t interfere with his job and at the same time were as unaffected by it as possible. He was always there for them whenever he could be, giving them everything he had.
She reached for the cream again, but his hand came out and caught hers, drawing her down beside him.
‘Are the children all right? They know not to go in the water without me and to stay together.’
She glanced across yet again. She had been keeping an eye on them as she put the sunblock on Rhys, without even being aware of it. ‘They’re fine,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry about my name. I didn’t think of it from your point of view.’
‘My point of view?’
‘Keeping me at a distance from them so they don’t get hurt. I think you’re right. I will be going. We need to remember that.’
His eyes were chasing storm-clouds again. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. I really just meant them not to be too familiar.’
‘Are you sure?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No, I’m not sure. It was probably subconscious.’
‘So do you really want me here today?’
His eyes locked with hers. ‘Oh—oh, God, yes. It’s probably not a good idea, but it’s the last time we’ll be on the beach this year and they do love it.’ He reached out and brushed her che
ek lightly with his sandy knuckles. ‘Do your front with cream and put some on your face,’ he ordered. ‘You’ll burn easily with that fair skin.’
‘Yes, sir!’
She sat by his head and he propped himself up on his elbows and watched her as she spread the cream.
‘Can I do that bit?’ he asked huskily as she dipped her fingers inside the neck of her costume.
‘No. Behave.’
His eyes twinkled wickedly. ‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes. How about that swim you were promising yourself? I’ll watch the children.’
He closed his eyes and gave a rueful chuckle. ‘Spoilsport,’ he said, and then he jumped up and ran into the sea with a blood-curdling yell, throwing himself headlong into the waves and splashing the children.
Tricia sighed and went over to them. They were building a sandcastle, but they had started too close to the water and the tide was coming in. At the risk of becoming indispensable, she decided to offer her assistance.
‘Let’s have another go up here,’ she suggested, and they started again, building a heap of sand with towers at each corner, and she explained the principles of sand sculpture and the importance of the right moisture content for maximum sticking power.
Then Rhys came up, dripping freezing water on them all, and knelt in the sand between Mark and Bibby and joined in. Tricia watched his big hands take Bibby’s tiny ones and help her pat the sand into place, and they used his hand as a mould for the tunnel into the central courtyard, and then set him to work as a digger to excavate the moat.
It was fun, but even in the midst of it Rhys never forgot his duty. ‘Kids, go and get your T-shirts and put them on, and, girls, let me take out your hair-bands so your necks don’t get sore bent over like this.’
‘What about my neck?’ Mark asked.
‘It’s like mine,’ Rhys told him. ‘We’ll just have to remember to put lots of suncream on that bit.’
‘Did you?’
Rhys ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘Of course.’
Soon the sandcastle was finished, but then the children were bored and hungry. ‘Can we have a lolly?’ Emma asked.
‘In a while. Let’s go for a walk first.’ Rhys got to his feet and brushed the sand off his knees. ‘I’ll get my wallet—want your handbag?’
‘Just my purse,’ said Tricia.
She pulled on her sundress and slipped her purse into the pocket, then they fell into step on the hard sand at the edge of the surf. The children ran backwards and forwards and they both watched them instinctively.
They found shells galore, of course, and Tricia, with her pockets, was the lucky recipient. As they were all presents for her, of course, she was unable to refuse them. Anyway, she wouldn’t have dreamt of it. Her shelves at home were a mass of little shells and pebbles that her brothers and sisters had given her over the years on just such expeditions.
Compulsive tidier she might have been. She was also compulsively sentimental. The two had often been in conflict in her youth, but she thought these gifts would be the most carefully treasured of her life.
‘Just drop them,’ Rhys told her with a smile.
She shook her head, inexplicably close to tears. ‘No. It’s OK. I don’t mind.’
‘We’ve got to get back yet.’
They shared a smile of understanding, but still she received their gifts with genuine delight.
‘See!’ Bibby said proudly. ‘A big shell!’
‘Mine’s bigger,’ Mark said.
‘They’re both lovely. Thank you.’
She put them in her pocket, then found Bibby’s hand in hers, slipped trustingly there almost by instinct.
The lump in her throat grew to the size of a grapefruit. She was just wondering if she would disgrace herself by bursting into tears when a woman began to scream up ahead.
Rhys’s head whipped up and his eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. ‘I wonder what’s wrong with her?’
‘Help! Somebody help! He can’t breathe!’
Tricia’s blood ran cold. Sweeping up Bibby, she ran towards the woman and found her kneeling beside a man.
He was hunched over on the ground, clutching his throat, and he was clearly fighting for breath.
‘What happened?’ Rhys asked quickly.
‘He had a drink. A wasp stung him, I think. It must have been in the can. Then a few seconds later he started to say his tongue felt thick, and now—’
‘How long ago was he stung?’
‘A minute? Two, maybe?’
Rhys swore. ‘He needs urgent medical attention—have you got a mobile phone?’
‘Rhys, I’ve got adrenalin with me. I’ll get it—take Bibby.’
‘I’ll go; I can run faster. Whereabouts?’
‘In my handbag. Just bring the bag; it’s in the cool-box.’
He left them, his long legs eating up the beach, and Tricia handed Bibby to a bystander, asked the woman to keep an eye on the other two and turned to the man.
‘What’s his name?’ she asked the frantic woman.
‘Brian.’
‘Brian? Listen to me; I’m a doctor. I’ve got the antidote to the sting—Dr Williams has just gone to get it. He’ll be back in a moment. Now, listen, I want you to lie down on your back and we’ll lift your legs up, OK? Someone put something under his legs—that beach bag will do, just to lift them. Thanks. Now, Brian, breathe as slowly and quietly as you can, all right? Nice, steady breaths and try not to waste energy. That’s better; well done.’
For a moment he was quieter, then she felt the terror building in him and seized his hands, gripping them firmly for reassurance. He clung to her, almost crushing her fingers, and started to thrash his head backwards and forwards. ‘No, don’t panic; you’ll be all right. Can you hear me? You’re going to be fine. You’ll have an injection in a moment and you’ll soon feel much better. Now try and relax as much as possible.’
Oh, Lord, now he was slipping into unconsciousness, his grip loosening. Please don’t arrest, she thought. Not with the children watching.
Dear God, where was Rhys? How far had they walked? If he wasn’t here within a very few moments, it would be too late—oh, why hadn’t she brought her bag with her?
She saw him in the distance, running as if the hounds of hell were after him, and moments later he arrived with her bag in his hand and threw himself down beside them.
‘Here,’ he gasped, the breath tearing in and out of his heaving lungs, and with trembling hands she found the syringe and drew up the adrenalin.
‘Find me a vein,’ she told Rhys, but he was already doing it, gripping the man’s upper arm and rubbing the inside of his elbow back towards his heart to draw blood into the vein.
‘It’s hopeless—can you find it?’
‘I’d better or I’ll have to use the jugular. I’ll try.’
She slid the needle in and eased back the plunger, and was delighted to see the dark blood seep into the syringe. ‘Bingo. Let go.’
Rhys released the vein but held the man’s arm steady in case he came round. ‘Hold still, old man,’ he said reassuringly, in case Brian could hear. ‘That’s it. Soon be better. Good man.’
As the adrenalin seeped into Brian’s system, so the effects of shock began to wear off slightly and his breathing gradually became easier. He was still very critical, though, and hadn’t regained consciousness.
Rhys felt for a radial pulse and found nothing.
‘Try the neck.’ Tricia suggested, but his fingers were already there.
‘It’s picking up now,’ he reported. ‘Thank God for that.’
A man approached them cautiously. ‘I’ve called an ambulance—was that right?’
‘Thank you. Did you tell them what was wrong?’
‘I thought—is it anaphylactic shock?’
‘Yes.’
‘I saw it on the telly—that’s how I knew.’
Tricia threw him a quick smile. ‘Thanks for calling them. Did they say how lon
g?’
‘I told them—well, that it was pretty urgent.’
Rhys nodded. ‘How about giving him some air, everyone?’ he suggested, and the crowd melted back a little. Not too far, though. They didn’t want to miss anything.
Rhys turned and winked reassuringly at his children. ‘OK, kids?’
They nodded solemnly. ‘Is he dead?’ Emma asked clearly.
Brian’s wife sobbed, her fingers pressed to her mouth.
‘No,’ Rhys said firmly. ‘He’s not dead. He’s just very sick, but he’ll be all right.’ He turned back to Tricia. ‘I wish we could measure his blood pressure.’
She laughed under her breath. ‘I’m glad we can’t. I’m not sure I want to know how low it is.’
‘Damn all over zero. Can we lift his arms too?’
They were trying to pool the blood around his brain and vital organs, because one effect of anaphylactic shock was a sudden complete dilation of all blood vessels. As the vessel walls relaxed, so the blood drained away from the vital areas. It was the same in any case of physical shock, the reason people fainted and felt dizzy, but taken to extremes.
‘Thank God you had the adrenalin,’ Rhys said to her in an undertone. ‘What made you carry it?’
‘The number of stings I saw on Tuesday night. It just seemed only a matter of time before this happened.’
‘Well, it’s a damn good job you thought of it, because without it we would have lost our friend here. I wonder how long the ambulance will be?’
Then they heard the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter, and the crowd turned as one to wave frantically, pointing at the man on the ground.
‘Stand in an H,’ Rhys yelled over the noise of the rotors. They did, and then moments later the crowd was scattering, running from the sand that was billowing up in clouds as the machine hovered, the message understood.
A paramedic dropped from the lowered harness and ran over to them, and the helicopter retreated out to sea a little way while the crowd cleared a space on the beach for the machine to land.
Rhys and Tricia filled the paramedic in with details of their treatment to the patient so far, and he nodded.
‘Damn good job you were here. He’s pretty rough. He’ll be OK now. Thanks.’
The Ideal Choice Page 12
