‘And this isn’t the best of times?’
She chose not to reply to that. After all there was little she could say. She wasn’t prepared to tell him about Simon and she certainly wasn’t prepared to tell him about after Simon.
She felt his eyes boring down on her as if he was trying to see into her soul. If he succeeded he’d get a shock, and not a happy one at that - but she did like him. Apart from the looks thing she respected him as a man. He’d demonstrated he was both kind and generous. She’d try and return his generosity.
‘Thanks for the lift, I really appreciate it.’ She forced herself to meet his eyes, but only briefly. ‘Freddie’s on lates’ tonight. Did you want to share my supper? It’s not much, only cheesy pasta but you’re very welcome.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Your bike’s skill in the kitchen is probably the same as it is with an ironing board!’
‘I’d love to, but only on one condition.’
She stilled, one hand clutching her bag, the other about to hand him back his helmet, even as the meaning of his words crumbled around her - just five little words; five little words that seemed to follow those three little words ‘I love you.’
Her hand didn’t grab at her throat like a Forties star in a B movie. Her expression didn’t change. In fact if she’d been asked to move a muscle over the next couple of seconds she wouldn’t have been able to. She didn’t see Ruari’s sudden expression of concern; she couldn’t feel the strap of the helmet as it dangled from loose fingers. She couldn’t even smell the sickly sweet scent of warm rubber on hot tarmac. She wasn’t in Dublin any more – she was back in Cork.
‘Grainny,’ he pleaded. ’You’re only being a stupid old stick in the mud, and I’ve put a ring on your finger too - for God’s sake woman what more could you want?’
She stared at him, her eyes huge. Perhaps some respect and sympathy would be good for a start. She didn’t need this kind of pressure. She’d only just buried her grandmother, a granny that had instilled the strictest of ideals into her – ideals that ran deep; sure they were ideals she believed in. She was still wearing her black dress. She could still feel the way the zip pressed into the middle of her back every time she moved. She still had a kitchen full of cups and plates to clear and curly sandwiches to bin. All she wanted was a hand with the washing up along with a cuppa and kindness, not pressure and conditions. And then it came.
‘Look, I’ll make you a deal – if you let me stay here tonight to comfort you, I’ll let you set the date for the wedding.’
Of course she’d finally given in, just like she’d given in on everything else until that last time. She was never giving in, or giving way again.
She raised her face to his, her voice low in her throat. ‘I don’t do conditions Ruari. I’m more than happy to feed you, but that’s all.’
Chapter Five
It was times like this he was glad he’d never opted for contacts. Oh he knew they were a lot easier these days. There was no messing about with having to clean them. All those solutions housed in tiny bottles with even tinier writing that were so easy to get mixed up, especially when you were too short sighted to make out the labels. All you had to do these days was pick up a monthly batch from the Optician. But what would he do with his hands?
He pushed his glasses up his nose and wondered what the hell he was doing standing outside Freddie’s house with someone as bad tempered and, if not exactly bad looking then definitely as plain as no girl deserved to be. She wasn’t a bad girl but he didn’t do plain and he certainly didn’t do bad tempered. No one could have been happier when he’d heard Iris’s latest boyfriend had dumped her, causing her to lose the plot and leave Mabe in the lurch. She’d caused all sorts of problems in the department as a student and it had been his worst fear they’d take her on as a staff nurse. He didn’t care about why Eric had dumped her; he didn’t even care what part of the globe she’d moved to as long as it wasn’t Ireland.
So what was he doing here then, he asked himself throwing a quick look at the mutinous line of her mouth - apparently not about to have supper unless he could think of something witty, or apologetic to say? He was hot and tired, so it would have to be the second option; he was all out of jokes just as he was all out of food in his bachelor pad. It was apologise or brave rush-hour shopping.
‘I didn’t mean anything other than... Sorry, all I meant was I’ll do the washing up.’
He saw a blush stain her face, the colour almost pretty against her bright hair. Well well, perhaps she wasn’t as self-assured as he’d thought. The jury was still out on her looks though. In her skinny jeans and t-shirt, that’s all she looked – skinny!
‘So where do you reckon I leave my bike then?’
‘Oh, there’s a little alley around the side that leads into the garden.’ She started rooting around in her rucksack. ‘I’ll open the back door for you.’
Ten minutes later found them ensconced in the kitchen both searching for the garlic bread that Grainne could have sworn she’d seen earlier.
‘It’s all right, we can do without.’ He held a large bag of dried spaghetti over his head. ‘There’s loads of food, the only problem being there doesn’t appear to be loads of wine?’
She stopped grating and smiled. ‘You doctors are all the same. There’s lager in the fridge and a whole cupboard of red in the lounge, just under the iPlayer.’
‘Lager or wine then?’ He flung over his shoulder as he made his way through the arch that led to a minuscule sitting room.
‘Wine please.’ Her voice muffled from the back of the larder cupboard.
‘Anything I can do to help?’ He asked, setting the wine down on the small Formica table in the corner before leaning against the door jamb watching as she threw flour into a large bowl.
‘If you could grab the milk and butter from the fridge, and there’s a little bottle of lemon juice, or at least I hope there is.’
He got the ingredients and continued to watch as she started throwing everything else into the bowl.
‘I’m no cook, but even I know you don’t need lemon juice to make cheesy pasta?’ He raised both eyebrows. ‘I thought all you needed was cheese and pasta, or have I been making it wrong all these years?’
‘I don’t know, have you?’ She grinned. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m starving and soda bread takes no time.’
He watched as she threw the lump of dough onto the floured surface before moulding it into a flat circle. Choosing a sharp knife from the pile jammed into the earthenware pot in front of her she scored a deep cross on top before putting it in the middle shelf of the oven. ‘While its cooking would you like a glass of wine in the garden?’
‘Now you’re talking - just point me in the right direction.’
Settling on moss stained chairs with wine glasses balanced on their laps they watched as slow moving water tracked its way along the edge of the path.
‘It’s so peaceful here.’ Grainne’s voice interrupted the silence, her tone so soft he had to strain to hear it. ‘It reminds me of home.’
‘Cork, right?’
‘Mm, we had a quaint little cottage just by the….’ She threw him a glance. ‘Nothing special – just two up two down, but with one of those old style gardens - You know the type: Where weeds and flowers work together in a happy muddle.’
Unlike here, you mean.’ He said on a laugh, looking around at the brown patchy grass surrounded by a brown patchy hedge. ‘So you lived with your...’ He paused deliberately. He really wanted to know. He really wanted to know about the faded mark even now staining her finger pale against the ragged edge of her cut offs, just as he really wanted to know about the hint of sadness that clung to her like an unwelcome friend. He wasn’t nosy by nature, but there was something about her left unsaid, something just out of his field of vision that intrigued him enough to question.
‘Oh, my gran.’ She raised me after my mum died.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to be, it
was a very long time ago. My gran raised me from little more than a toddler.’
‘More like a mum then. She must miss you – being so far from home and all.’
‘She died too.’ Grainne took a sip of her wine before standing up. ‘I’m just going to check on the bread.’ But when he tried to get up too she stopped him with a shake of her head. ‘I won’t be long.’
Well that went well – not, he told himself, his eyes tracking her racing up the garden, an army of invisible demons nipping at her heels. If he wasn’t very much mistaken the soda bread was going to be extra salty tonight. He turned away from his thoughts and back to just watching the world go by.
God it was peaceful here, just lying back and looking across at the canal. The sun was warm and the wine was better than expected. In fact it would be the perfect evening if only he was in perfect company. It would be perfect if he didn’t have to watch every word that came out of his mouth. Wasn’t she the touchy one? Every time he’d spoken to her he’d either upset or annoyed her. Of course it wasn’t surprising, he reminded himself. She was probably still grieving. What was surprising though was her running all the way up to Dublin; his eyes widening as they snagged on a small plastic box floating idly along.
That’s what she was doing. She was running away, but from what or indeed whom was nobody’s business – certainly not his. He had no idea why he was here. He should have opted for the rush hour supermarket shop instead of trying to make small talk with someone with more hang-ups than a washing line. Everything he’d said up to now had either upset her, made her angry or lead to tears. He couldn’t understand it, his eyes still fixed on the canal ahead. He’d always commended himself on his sensitivity towards the fairer sex. In fact he couldn’t remember a single instance where he’d booted a girl out, without ensuring they had the price of a taxi tucked away in their purse first.
He took a large sip of wine even as he wondered what was taking her so long. Surely it only took a couple of minutes to check on bread? His eyes, lazily following the only eyesore on the canal narrowed. Leaning forward he squinted to get a better view of the box. It was an ice cream container if he wasn’t very much mistaken: A chocolate ice cream container – no, Neapolitan, his eyes snagging on the pink and yellow stripes. Bloody kids - it would be the perfect idyllic spot apart from the trash floating on its surface. He’d bet most of his wages that if they drained it they’d find an assortment of bicycles, pushchairs and shopping trolleys.
It was no good, that box would have to go and as there was no one else to do it….. He set his glass carefully on the ground and, looking around for a stick headed towards the canal.
Chapter Six
‘Hey Freddie, you’re back early.’
‘Yeah, well the last two patients cancelled so here I am.’ She said, picking up a glass from the shelf and pouring herself a large glass of wine. ‘So who owns that gorgeous Ducati bike in the back garden then, and more to the point where have you stashed him – the bedroom?’
Grainne tapped her across the back of her knuckles with her wooden spoon. ‘Behave yourself; no one would ever believe you’re a vicar’s daughter. Ruari ended up giving me a lift.’
She could feel Freddie’s eyes boring into her. She was probably wondering what he saw in someone like her – someone that could turn a pikestaff into a thing of beauty. She’d never been pretty, even as a child. She’d never been called good looking or even passable come to think of it. Part of her had always wondered what Simon had seen in her, but of course he’d seen nothing in her.
‘Really! You do know you’ve probably upset half the female staff by managing to pull the elusive Dr Roar? No one’s gotten past first base with him in years.’
‘Oh for God’s sake he was only giving me a lift home, and anyway if it wasn’t for the pigs…..’
‘The pigs….. What?’ She shook her head, a look of pure confusion stamped across her face. ‘So why’s his bike still outside then if he was only giving you a lift? Hmm tell me that?’ She added, strolling to the window to gaze out across the canal.
‘I offered to cook him supper, alright - anymore questions while you’re about it?’
‘Er, yes.’ She turned, a huge grin splitting her face in two. ‘So why exactly is the delectable Dr Roar doing a Fitzwilliam Darcy in my front garden then?’
‘Pardon?’ Grainne joined her at the window with a frown. ‘A Fitzwilliam what?’
‘Mother of God, would you just look at the bod on that, there should be a government health warning on such sexy packaging. I knew he was buff but bloody Nora!’
And then she saw him. She saw him stalking up the garden in his boxers and nothing else. She saw water streaming down his face and down onto his chest in deep rivulets, his dense musculature frame bursting with health and vitality. He seemed to be clutching something to his chest but from this distance she couldn’t quite see and, to be truthful there were much better things she wanted to look at first.
Of course she knew he was tall, dark and handsome, but she’d never thought any more about it. She was off men for the foreseeable future – a man looking like the centrefold for Greek God Monthly wasn’t going to change that. However that didn’t stop her pulse from beating a little faster or her breath catching in the back of her throat. With Dr Roar in town, Mr Darcy was going to be out of a job.
She put out a hand to switch off the oven. Supper would be delayed that’s for sure.
He’d reached the door now and they both stepped back to give him space.
‘Well girls I hope you like animals because you’re now the proud owners of this little lady.’ He said, gently opening his hands to reveal a tiny black kitten, fur glued to her skin.
‘Be Jaysus, Roar you’ll catch your death dressed like that and what the neighbours will say I’ve no idea. Her in number two nearly had a canary when I hung my underwear on the line last week and here’s you wandering about in the noddy.’
‘What about these then?’ He said, pinging his boxers against his hip with a smile.
‘And very nice too - you do realise you’re going to have to go ‘Commando’ don’t you? There’s no way you’ll fit into anything of ours, even if wearing ladies underwear IS your thing.’
He just glared at her. ‘Shut up Mabel and get me a towel, there’s a good girl.’
Perched on the edge of the table he started to dry and examine the skinny little body. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s not hurt - just scared, cold and hungry.’ He paused ‘Let’s try her with some milk and see what happens.’
‘Here, I’ll take her.’ Grainne held out her hands and, lifting the kitten placed her in front of the little saucer of milk she’d just poured from the fridge.
‘Hello little one, welcome to the family – you’re just what’s needed you know.’ She heard the catch in her voice and, pinning her eyes on the animal waited until they heard Freddie clomping down the stairs. She daren’t lift her eyes anyway; Ruari naked and close had set her heart bumping around her chest in a set of arrhythmias more suitable for the cardiac unit.
‘There’s a shower in Grainne’s room,’ Freddie interrupting her thoughts like a welcome bucket of water. ‘It’s first on the left at the top of the stairs. I suggest you use it - you’ll be lucky if you don’t end up needing a course of antibiotics after that dip.’
‘Yes Mam!’ He touched Grainne’s shoulder with the tip of his finger. ‘That is if you don’t mind – you only invited me to supper after all?’
‘No that’s fine.’ She met his eyes briefly ‘We’ll leave your clothes on the end of the bed.’
As soon as he’d left the room she turned back to Freddie. ‘Here, can you take her and I’ll finish off supper. He’s bound to be starving after his little adventure.’
‘Well there’s a lot of him to feed – did you notice what he keeps in his boxers?’
‘I didn’t look.’
‘Yeah, right.’ But she took the kitten all the same. ‘I’ve been meaning to get a cat you k
now. We always had one at the vicarage and it’ll be a good excuse to get the coal fire going – cats and coal fires sort of go together don’t they?’
‘Mm we always had a real fire back home. It sort of makes a house a home.’
‘Exactly, and it does help when you’re fiancé’s best friend just happens to own Crumlin’s Coal Merchants.’
Grainne watched Freddie sit on the squashy sofa, one hand scratching the sleepy kitten on the back of her ears. Picking up her forgotten wine glass she handed it to her with a smile. ‘So what do we call her then?’
They looked at each other, laughter building up and exploding around the room. ‘There’s only one choice now isn’t there?’
Chapter Seven
Ruari heard the laughter as the bedroom door whispered to a close and smiled. It was good to hear the sound of her laugh. It was good to hear them both giggling like teenagers, even as a little part of him worried as to the reason for their mirth.
There were many possible reasons like the weather or indeed the state of the Irish economy. However, throwing a quick glance at his near naked body he had the sneaky suspicion it was him they were falling about giggling over. He knew all those sessions pounding the streets at five am were for something, and now he knew what. So whatever they were laughing about he could be rest assured his body was in the best shape possible - that is for an overworked doctor with less free time than a workaholic insomniac.
Thank the Lord, his black boxers were brand new and not the scruffy faded pairs he favoured. Comfort always preceded fashion in his book and there was nothing worse than a pair of boxers that weren’t up to the mark – for up to the mark read worn in. He didn’t give a fig what they looked like as long as they didn’t occupy that dark crevice he couldn’t very well retrieve them from during the middle of a patient examination.
Girl Descending (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 2) Page 4
