by Anne Fraser
‘Caroline and I struggle to find things to talk about,’ he continued. ‘She seems to have taken to you, though. In fact, it was her who suggested I invite you. She is worried that she was a little offhand with you last night after your kindness to her.’
Julie’s heart sank. So it had been Caroline’s idea? How could she have been so stupid to have thought—even for a moment—that it was Pierre who wanted her company?
‘It would make dinner—how do you say?—less…’ He seemed to struggle to find the right word. ‘Uncomfortable if you were there.’ He looked at Julie almost pleadingly. Something in the blue eyes and the self-deprecating grin was melting Julie’s resolve. But she really didn’t feel up to spending more time in this man’s company. Not when he made her feel so…what was the word she was looking for? Hundreds sprang to mind. Out of her depth, breathless, dizzy, inexperienced, gauche, edgy—the list was endless, she thought wryly.
Noticing her hesitation, he went on. ‘We can go over recent cases after dinner, if you like.’ He was almost pleading Julie thought, wondering.
She felt herself weaken. She could just about resist Dr Favatier the playboy, but this Pierre, the one who seemed to need her help, that was more difficult.
Besides, there was something about Caroline that had struck a chord with her. In Caroline, she recognised the same aching loneliness that she had felt since her parents had died. She missed being part of a family and knew Caroline would be feeling the same. However much she wanted to keep her distance from Pierre, she knew she couldn’t ignore the teenager’s silent plea for help.
‘Where and when?’ she asked, capitulating.
He looked relieved. ‘The house—you remember where it is?’ At Julie’s nod he continued, ‘D’accord. I’m cooking. If you come about half past seven, that should give us both enough time.’
CHAPTER THREE
KIM lounged on Julie’s bed as Julie put the finishing touches to her make-up.
‘Dinner at the gorgeous Dr Favatier’s home?’ her friend teased. ‘Do you know how many women would kill to be in your shoes?’
Julie peered at her reflection in the mirror. If she applied any more foundation to her face, she’d look like someone made up for a pantomime. She took a tissue and started scrubbing it off.
‘It’s not a date,’ Julie insisted. ‘The only reason I’ve been invited is because of his niece. Don’t think for one minute he wants me there for any other purpose.’
‘C’mon, Julie, you’re so obsessed with that scar you forget that you are a beautiful woman. The scar’s hardly noticeable—I keep telling you but you won’t believe me. What’s more, anyone would kill for your cheekbones. And as for those lips—Julia Roberts, watch out!’
It was the second time in as many days that Julie had been called beautiful. She stared at her image in the mirror. Large, solemn grey eyes stared back. Her eyes were probably her best feature, Julie admitted—that and her chestnut-coloured hair. All the better for hiding behind, she thought grimly. And as for her mouth, she had always considered it too large. No. She wasn’t and never had been beautiful. Not even before the accident. But it was kind of her friend to try and make her feel better.
‘Mmm, so you say. But you have to admit I haven’t exactly had men beating a path to my door,’ Julie protested.
‘What about Dave? And Robert? And Bob?’
‘They weren’t my type. And I don’t call being asked out by three men in three years having men beat a path to the door,’ Julie replied.
‘Only because you wouldn’t have it any other way. You are so fussy. And I’m sure you’d be asked out by hundreds more if you just encouraged them, instead of frightening them off with one I’m-not-available-to you look.’
Julie snorted in disbelief. ‘I do not!’
But Kim hadn’t finished. ‘What is even worse for us shorties are those legs that go up to your armpits. So unfair.’
Julie had to laugh at her friend’s aggrieved expression. ‘Hey, you aren’t bad looking yourself!’ It was a blatant understatement. Kim, olive skin, luxuriant dark hair and vivacious personality, attracted the opposite sex like bees to a honey pot. However, Julie knew she only had eyes for her husband and she envied their deep love for each other.
Nevertheless, Kim stood and surveyed herself critically in the mirror. ‘At least, John likes a few curves. At least he says he does. Just as well. I don’t think I could give up chocolate. Even for him.’
‘No woman should have to give up chocolate for any man,’ Julie agreed, smiling broadly.
‘So what gives, then? Why precisely are you going to have dinner with Pierre? Tell me again exactly what he said,’ Kim persisted.
‘Just that Caroline would like me to come over and have dinner with them. I gather the relationship with his niece isn’t the easiest, and I think he imagines having someone there to act as a buffer will help. She’s still grieving for her parents. You should see her, Kim—she’s like a lost soul. She reminds me so much of myself when I was her age.’
‘You could never resist a person in trouble, could you?’ Kim teased. ‘You’re always collecting them.’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘Richard, Lexy, now Caroline. And that’s just for starters.’
‘That is so not true!’ Julie disagreed hotly. ‘I like Richard—he’s good fun. And as for Lexy—I need her more than she needs me. She’s more like a mother than a friend. I guess they’ve all become my family. Between them, you and my work, I am happy.’ Impulsively Julie hugged her. ‘I don’t need a man in my life.’
‘So you keep saying. I think it’s more to do with not wanting to risk being hurt again.’ Kim’s face grew serious. ‘But you can’t hide away from life for ever, Julie.’
Julie scowled at her friend, warning her to change the subject. But it seemed Kim wasn’t about to stop yet. ‘How old do you think the delectable Pierre is?’
‘Thirty-something? He’d have to be at least that to be in the position he is now,’ Julie replied, resigned.
‘They say he’s well known throughout the medical world. Not to mention extremely rich. Not married either, as far as we can tell. So he’s perfect for you, Jules.’
‘It sounds as if the gossips are having a field day,’ Julie said disapprovingly. ‘And how many times do I have to tell you I am the last person he’d be interested in? More to the point—he’s not my type either.’
‘Oh?’ Kim stopped rummaging through Julie’s wardrobe. ‘Here, put this on. It shows off your legs.’ She tossed a shift dress towards Julie. Despite its plainness, it was beautifully cut and Kim was right—it did show off her figure. She caught the dress just before it hit the floor. ‘And why exactly is he not your type? What is there not to like? You can hardly call him immature,’ her friend persisted.
Julie slipped on the dress. It was one of her favourites. And it was simple enough for it not to look as if she was dressing up.
‘One. You say he’s rich. Okay, so how did he make his money? Probably by encouraging women to have surgery they don’t need. Two. He’s unattached. I wonder why that should be? As you pointed out, it’s unlikely that it’s down to lack of choice. Three…I’m sure there must be a third. I just can’t think of it at the moment.’ All the same, Julie wondered if she was being truthful with herself. The main reason she didn’t want to think of Pierre in that way was because she knew deep in her heart it was pointless. She had had her heart broken once before by someone she’d thought had loved her unconditionally. And if Luke hadn’t been able to accept the way she looked, no man, least of all Dr Pierre Favatier, would ever be interested in her. And if the knowledge caused her heart to tighten, well, she had accepted marriage and children were not for her. Hadn’t she?
On the way to her dinner engagement, Julie called in at St Margaret’s Hospice. Although some people might have found it depressing, Julie found it quite the opposite. The building itself was warm and cosy and the staff fantastic—all of them, but in particular the head nurse, Audrey, wh
om Julie had come to know well and admired enormously.
The last few weeks of her mother’s life had been spent at St Margaret’s. Julie had wanted to keep her mother at home, to look after her herself, but her mother had insisted that it was too much for Julie and her father, particularly with the hours Julie had to put in at the hospital. It had been at the hospice that Julie had met Richard and got to know Lexy.
She found who she was looking for in one of the side rooms. Lexy Dunlop had been a code breaker at Bletchley Park during the war. Despite her advanced years and her illness, she had a lively sense of humour and a keen interest in the lives of everyone around her. In the months since Julie had come to know her, she had come love her. She made a determined effort to visit a least a couple of times a week.
‘Ah, it’s Dr McKenzie come to see me,’ Lexy said, looking delighted to see Julie. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘And all dressed up and looking hot! So who’s the lucky man, then?’
Julie grinned at her elderly friend’s terminology. Beside her bed lay her latest acquisition—her mobile phone. She always insisted that getting old was no reason not to stay up to date—or ‘with it’, as she insisted on saying. Julie perched on the bed.
‘What makes you think I’m dressed up for a man?’ she asked
‘Because, my dear, I have lived too long not to recognise a twinkle in a girl’s eye when I see it! Besides, in all the time you’ve come to see me, you’ve never looked as animated as you do now. Come on, spill the beans. Who has made you light up like a Christmas tree?’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not a date. I’m going to dinner with my boss and his niece. And it was her who invited me,’ she said defensively. Why was everyone so determined to get her paired off?
Lexy narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘But, correct me if I’m wrong, your boss is good looking and unattached?’
Julie blushed.
‘Okay, I admit he’s good looking—I’m not so sure about the unattached bit. But he’s not my type and I am certainly not his.’
‘Is he some kind of ogre? Is that why he’s not your type?’
Julie laughed. ‘I’ve just had this conversation with my friend Kim. No, he’s not a monster. He’s a terrific doctor who seems to really care about his patients.’
‘Then what is the problem?
‘Dr Favatier is the type of man who has a different woman on his arm every week. Your typical playboy. He’d never look twice at me,’ Julie said forlornly. ‘Not that I’d want him to,’ she added hastily, wagging her finger at Lexy. ‘So I don’t want you getting any ideas.’
‘And why do you think he wouldn’t find you attractive? I keep telling you that scar you keep going on about is hardly noticeable. It doesn’t stop anyone from seeing the stunning woman you are.’
‘I wish people would stop saying that,’ Julie said hotly. ‘I know they’re just trying to be kind. But it doesn’t help. Why does everyone talk to me as if they know what is best for me?’ She was thinking back to what Pierre had said about operating on her face. As if only perfection would do. ‘Why can’t everyone accept I’m happy with my life just the way it is?’
‘People say it because it is true,’ Lexy said quietly. ‘Perhaps its time you believed them. And, no,’ she continued, ‘when I look into your eyes and see the sadness that is always lurking just below the surface, however much you try to disguise it, I cannot believe you are happy. However much I want to.’
‘You are wrong, Lexy. I have everything I need in my life. I have you for a start, my work, my friends.’ Julie leaned down and kissed the old lady’s cheek. ‘Oh, Lexy, what would I do without you? But can we please change the subject?’
Lexy patted her hand. ‘And me without you,’ she said quietly. ‘I know you have your own very busy life without taking time out to visit an old, sick lady.’
‘I’m the lucky one,’ Julie insisted. Glancing at her watch, she was horrified to find it was after seven. She stood. ‘But I’m going to have to go if I’m not to be late. I’ll see you soon.’
At half past seven on the dot Julie arrived outside Caroline’s house. A light dusting of snow had begun to fall and Julie felt a pang of longing for the mountains in the north. On the slopes was really the only time she felt free and totally unselfconscious. The skiing would be fantastic now, she knew. It would be her weekend off, so perhaps she should leave on Friday night for the mountains? Book into the B&B she used whenever she was on her own? She’d have all day Saturday and maybe even Sunday morning to ski.
When Pierre opened the door to her Julie caught her breath. He looked annoyingly, jaw-droppingly handsome, dressed in a tight-fitting V neck sweater and faded blue jeans, which emphasised his lean, muscular frame. His thick black hair was still damp from his shower and as Julie squeezed past him she caught a whiff of expensive aftershave. Although she had taken time over her appearance, combing her hair over to one side in a futile attempt to hide her scar, she felt gauche and plain next to his easy assurance.
Pierre smiled at her and her heart missed a beat. Get a grip, girl, she told herself. You are here for a purpose—not a date.
He led her through to the sitting room. Someone with fantastic taste had furnished the room, Julie thought appreciatively, noting the fine rosewood antiques and comfortable sofas. An open fire blazed in the hearth and instinctively Julie went over to warm her hands. She let her eyes linger on a landscape by a Scottish artist that she had admired but never been able to afford.
‘I love that artist—Iona McGruther, isn’t it?’ Julie crossed over to the painting and admired the artist’s sure strokes and vibrant choice of colours.
‘I’m glad you like it. Iona is…’ His mouth twisted and a shadow crossed his features. ‘Was Caroline’s mother,’ Pierre said quietly.
Julie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry—I had no idea.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘She was a fantastic artist. What a loss to the art world.’
‘Caroline told you, then?’ he said.
‘She only said that her parents had died recently and that you had come to Scotland to be with her.’
Pierre came to stand beside her. His eyes clouded over as he studied the painting with her.
‘Iona worked mainly as an interior designer and she was only just gaining recognition in the art world,’ he said softly, his voice underscored with traces of pain. ‘Although she’d been painting for years—long before Caroline was born. Before she met my brother even.’
Julie glanced at Pierre.
‘What happened?’ Julie probed gently.
He shook his head and lowered his lids as if he did not want her to read the expression in his eyes. Absent-mindedly, he walked away from her and picked up a photograph from one of the side tables. He stood studying it for a moment. All traces of the flirtatious self-assured surgeon were gone. In its place stood a man who looked as if his heart had been broken. The loss of his brother and sister-in-law had obviously devastated him.
‘A plane crash. My brother was piloting the plane. They’d been to France to visit me and were returning home. The weather changed suddenly but, even so, no one knows exactly what caused the accident.’ He looked into the distance, his eyes bleak.
‘May I?’ Julie took the photograph from his unresisting fingers. It was a close-up of a woman in her early thirties and a man a few years older. Pierre’s brother was smiling down at the woman as if she held the secret to his universe. In turn the woman was gazing up at her companion with unabashed adoration. Immediately Julie could see the resemblance to Caroline in the straight, aquiline nose, high cheekbones and wide mouth.
‘I can see Caroline has inherited her looks from both her parents. They were an extraordinarily beautiful couple,’ she said softly. ‘Caroline must have been heart-broken,’ Julie continued. ‘To lose both, not just one parent. And so suddenly.’
‘Yes, Caroline, she is in pain, I know that,’ he said bleakly. ‘I wish there was something I could do to help her. So
metimes it hurts me to look at her. She reminds me so much of—’ He broke off and removed the photograph from Julie’s hands. ‘As you can see, Caroline’s very like both her parents. Inside, too. She has her mother’s strong will and her father’s joie de vivre. One day she will be a remarkable young woman. I only wish she wasn’t so sad and angry all the time.’
‘Time will help. If she’s as strong as you say, she’ll come out of this.’
‘Merde, I—’ Abruptly he broke off. ‘Anyway, enough sadness for now,’ Pierre continued, replacing the photograph on the table. ‘I don’t know about you, but I am starving. Allons-y. Let’s go through to the kitchen.’
Julie could have squeezed the whole of her flat into the kitchen of Caroline’s family home. An enormous professionallooking cooker dominated one side of the room and a central work station divided the rest of the room from an eating area. Evidence of Pierre’s efforts lay on the chopping board and as Julie sniffed aromas of garlic and tomato, suddenly she too was ravenous.
‘I thought we’d eat in here,’ Pierre said, indicating the farm-sized table which had been set with silver candlessticks and off-white roses. Catching Julie’s look of surprise at the rather romantic table setting, he added hastily, ‘Caroline set the table. She says it’s how her mother used to do it.’
Julie cringed inwardly. Obviously he wanted to make sure she wasn’t under the mistaken impression that the flickering candles and flowers were for her benefit.
‘Where is Caroline?’ she asked.
‘Upstairs. She should be down shortly. Can I get you something to drink? White wine? Red?’
