‘You said they’d go away when they realised they wouldn’t get a story from me.’
She grimaced. ‘They will—but they’ll try their hardest to get their story first.’
‘Then tell them it’s over.’
‘That’s the thing about a newspaper story. “Who, what, where, when and why?” They’ve already got the who, where and when—that’s us, here and now. If we give them a “what”—that we’re not together—that leaves one question unanswered. “Why?” And they won’t rest until they’ve got an answer.’ She spread her hands. ‘So telling them it’s over is only going to make things worse. And it’s also not true anyway.’
‘It’s over,’ Dragan repeated.
‘Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me any more,’ she challenged.
He looked away. ‘I don’t love you any more.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she said softly. ‘Dragan, you’re hurting both of us. I understand you’re angry with me for keeping things from you. I messed up. But how long are you going to make both of us pay for my mistake?’
‘It’s not just that. How do I know you’re not keeping anything else from me?’
‘I’m not.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘So you’re saying you don’t trust me any more?’
‘Right now,’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t know what I feel. Except mixed up. A few days ago everything was simple. Now it’s a minefield. Whatever I do suddenly has all sorts of consequences. I’m in a world where I don’t belong.’
‘I don’t belong there either.’
‘You were born into it,’ he reminded her. ‘That is who you are.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ She sighed. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Dragan, when are you going to see—?’
His mobile phone rang, cutting into her question.
‘I’m on call,’ he reminded her. He glanced at the screen. ‘It’s the surgery.’
‘A patient needs you.’ She frowned. ‘You’d better answer that. We’ll talk about this later, when we have more time. Ciao.’
CHAPTER TEN
DRAGAN didn’t ring Melinda that night. He didn’t want another of those circular arguments; right now he needed some space. Time to think.
Bramble lay at his feet, nose on her paws, staring at the door and clearly waiting for Melinda to appear.
‘I know I’m hurting you, too, and I’m sorry,’ Dragan said ruefully. ‘But she’s not ours any more. I was stupid to let her close to us in the first place—I should’ve learned by now that if you let people too close, you lose them. And somehow we both need to learn to stop loving her.’
The dog blew out a breath, and continued staring at the door.
Melinda didn’t ring him—clearly realising that he needed some time—and Dragan spent most of the night watching the minute hand on his alarm clock drag slowly round. When he got to the surgery the following morning, tiredness meant he wasn’t in the best of tempers.
‘A word,’ Nick said, leaning against the doorjamb.
I’m really not in the mood for you this morning, Dragan thought, but forced himself to smile at the senior partner. ‘What can I do for you, Nick?’
‘All this royal stuff. I’m worried that it’s going to affect the practice.’
‘It’s not going to affect the practice.’ So far today the paparazzi had left the surgery alone. But that might be because they were camping outside the veterinary surgery, he thought wryly.
‘I just want to make sure that nobody’s going to have any problem doing their job.’
The holier-than-thou attitude stuck in Dragan’s throat. And before he could stop himself, he snapped, ‘I’m not the one who affects the practice by screwing up relationships with the staff.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Nick demanded.
‘Get your own house in order before you start trying to organise mine.’ Dragan knew he should shut up, and shut up now—but the pent-up anger of the last few days was too much for him. ‘That girlfriend of yours, Natasha, is upsetting the staff every time she expects them to be her personal secretarial service. And look at the way you behaved towards Ben and Lucy, look at how things were between you and Jack—and I bet they’re not much better between you and Edward. Then there’s the way you never date anyone more than half a dozen times, with the excuse that you don’t want to get close to anyone after you lost Annabel.’ He ignored the fact that he’d made exactly the same decision after losing his family. ‘Do you really think she’d want you to live like this?’ Dragan shook his head. ‘You’re brilliant with patients but your personal life is a complete mess, so don’t you tell me what to do, Nicholas Tremayne.’
Nick’s jaw dropped and he just stood there, clearly lost for words and looking shocked.
Probably because Dragan was always quiet and professional. Well, today he’d had enough of being quiet. He’d had enough, full stop.
‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have patients to see. And we are trying to stick to our ten-minute slots, are we not?’
To Dragan’s relief, Nick took the hint.
Though he also banged Dragan’s door very hard as he left.
The morning surgery calmed Dragan’s temper, and by the end of his session he was feeling thoroughly guilty. He’d overstepped the mark. Big time. He checked on the computer that Nick was free, then walked across the corridor to the consulting room opposite his and knocked quietly on the door.
‘Yes?’ Nick snapped.
Dragan opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. ‘I owe you an apology. What I said was out of order. Your personal life is none of my business.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Nick raised an eyebrow. ‘Though it’s the first time I’ve ever known you lose your temper.’
‘I’m sorry. It was unprofessional of me.’
‘It was human,’ Nick said, surprising him. ‘You’ve been under a hell of a strain these last few days. And you can’t exactly go and punch one of the paparazzi or the pictures will be splashed all over the tabloids.’
‘Sadly, Nick, you’re absolutely right.’ Dragan shrugged. ‘It’ll die down. I’m only sorry that it’s making people’s lives a bit difficult around here.’
‘Hazel told me one of them had been in here the other day, giving her a hard time—and you sorted it out. Thank you.’
‘It’s my job,’ Dragan said. He wondered if Hazel had also let slip about Kate’s reaction to Natasha—a reaction that had made Dragan wonder just what the midwife’s feelings were about Dr Nicholas Tremayne.
‘Even so. I should’ve been here.’
‘You weren’t on call,’ Dragan pointed out. ‘And you were busy with, um…’ He just about managed to stop himself using Kate’s nickname for the woman—or the one he’d bestowed himself, Cruella De Vil.
‘Going to lecture me again?’ Nick asked.
‘No. All I will say is that families are important. And I don’t think someone that shallow and self-centred will fit in with Lucy and Ben or Jack, Alison and Freddie.’
Nick didn’t correct him, Dragan noticed. So clearly he knew what Natasha Wakefield was really like. He looked thoughtful. ‘Anyone would think you have someone else in mind for me.’
Someone like Kate with her warmth and her calm, common-sense attitude towards life. Though Nick would probably deem her not glamorous enough. And it wasn’t any of his business anyway. Dragan shook his head ruefully. ‘With the mess I’ve made of my own personal life, I’m in no position to give advice.’
‘I think,’ Nick said wryly, ‘you were right about what you said this morning. I’m not giving advice either. Except I could do with a pint and a spot of lunch—and you look as if you could do with one, too. Smugglers Inn?’
‘I have house calls this afternoon,’ Dragan said.
‘They sell non-alcoholic beer.’
It was an olive branch. Probably one he didn’t deserve. So, despite the fact it was something he wouldn’t normally do—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had lun
ch with Nick—Dragan nodded. ‘You’re on.’
‘We’ll look out to sea and set the world to rights. Without the complication of women,’ Nick said.
Melinda stared at the computer screen in dismay.
Bramble was on her list of patients for the late afternoon surgery.
And although she adored the dog—she’d been the one to rescue the flatcoat retriever in the first place—right now she had a major problem with the dog’s owner. He was being so pig-headed, and even though she could understand why he was behaving that way, it drove her crazy. Half a dozen times the previous night she’d picked up the phone and started to punch in his number. But every time she’d stopped part way through and replaced the receiver. Pushing him would only make him more determined. Maybe he needed time to miss her as much as she missed him—so much that it physically hurt. He’d talk to her when he was ready.
She just about managed to get through the first three cases on her list. Check-up and first vaccination for a kitten, followed by an annual booster and a check-up for a springer spaniel called Rusty who had a slight heart murmur.
‘I can hear it,’ she said when she removed the stethoscope from her ears, ‘so I think it’s upgraded to a three rather than a two, as it was last time.’ Heart murmurs fell into six classifications: anything up to three was fine, but more than that needed medication.
The owner looked dismayed. ‘But he hasn’t seemed ill. I would’ve brought him in if I’d noticed anything different. He pants a bit in the evenings, but no more than he used to.’
‘Any coughing?’ Melinda asked.
‘No.’
‘OK. Just keep an eye on him—if he’s panting more or he starts coughing, then we know he’s struggling. You can help relieve some of the strain on his heart by keeping him on the lean side.’
‘I know our last spaniel was overweight, but we’ve been careful not to give Rusty any snacks between meals.’
‘You’re doing fine,’ Melinda said. ‘He’s not overweight at all. But being a little tiny bit lighter—say a kilogram—will make it a lot easier on his heart.’ She checked the dog’s teeth and ears, then made a fuss of him. ‘Well, Mr Beautiful. You can take your owner home now.’ She smiled up at the owner. ‘You’re doing a great job with him. He’s a lovely, lovely dog.’
Next up was a dog who’d been limping. She showed the owner the claw that had almost curved back into the pad of the dog’s foot.
‘What’s happened here is that this tendon doesn’t work properly, so his toe’s lifted up and the claw doesn’t come into contact with the ground when he walks,’ Melinda explained. ‘You’ll need to keep an eye on the toe and either bring him here for clipping, or do it yourself when you check his dew-claws.’
‘Is it going to hurt?’ the owner asked.
‘No, it’s like clipping your own fingernails—though obviously if you go too far you’ll hurt him. Most of them don’t like it, so I’d suggest it’s a two-person job. And give him lots of praise and a reward afterwards.’ She talked the owner through the procedure. ‘Slip the nail into the opening here, keep reassuring him, try to distract him a bit, and—there. Done. He might limp for a day or two, but that’s because he’s sore from the claw going into his pad—having the nail clipped hasn’t hurt him. But if you don’t like the idea of doing it yourself, you can always bring him in. Just keep an eye on the claw because it needs cutting before it starts to touch the pad.’
‘Thank you so much.’
And then she had to face Dragan and Bramble.
It was a real effort to be professional when all she wanted to do was run into his arms and tell him how much she missed him, how much she wanted him back.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Fine.’ There was a pause. ‘You?’
‘What do you think?’
He didn’t answer, but he looked incredibly embarrassed. Obviously he realised she was ‘fine’ in the same way that he was. As in not. Melinda wasn’t sleeping, she wasn’t eating, and she was as miserable as hell.
She forced herself to be professional. Bramble was, after all, her patient. ‘How’s Bramble? I see she’s not limping as badly.’
‘No.’
‘Still lifting her?’
‘To be on the safe side.’
Bramble’s leg had been slow to heal, and then the dog had chased after a rabbit. When Dragan had called her back, she’d skidded, twisted slightly, and then had been in such obvious pain that Melinda had X-rayed the dog and discovered the movement had loosened the pins in her leg and the bone had cracked again.
‘Would you like to lift her up onto the table?’
He did so, and Melinda felt the dog’s leg. ‘No flinching or guarding—that’s good. And the wound has healed nicely.’
Bramble licked Melinda’s face, and Melinda swallowed hard. ‘Ah, bella ragazza, I miss you, too. I miss going for walks along the harbour with you. I miss having you curled on the sofa with me while a certain person is doing paperwork. I miss feeding you scraps of chicken in the kitchen when I’m cooking and he can’t see me sneaking you a treat.’ She gently stroked the dog’s head. ‘I wonder, does he miss it, too? Does he find the bed’s way too wide, that the seconds drag, that the sun’s stopped shining?’
‘Melinda.’ Dragan’s voice sounded tortured. ‘Don’t do this.’ So he missed her, too.
Good.
With any luck, he’d come to his senses soon and stop making both of them so miserable.
‘One more X-ray, I think,’ she said. She ruffled Bramble’s fur. ‘I know you hate needles, carissima, but this is just one tiny, tiny one to sedate you for the X-ray and make you comfortable.’
A second later it was done. She carried Bramble over to the X-ray area. ‘I’ll have the results back tomorrow.’ And it was a brilliant excuse to talk to him.
‘Hopefully she’ll be fine and the next time you see her will be for her booster vaccination,’ Dragan said.
‘The next time I see her in a professional capacity, you mean.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. ‘Sorry. But I miss her.’ And she missed him. ‘Dragan. We really need to talk about this.’
‘Not here. You have a queue of patients building up.’
‘After surgery, then. Are you on call tonight?’
‘No. Are you?’
‘Yes.’ She walked over to her desk and pressed it hard. ‘But, touch wood, we’ll have at least some time to talk. Is half past seven good for you?’
He nodded. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘Neither. Let’s escape from the paparazzi. You know that little pub we used to go to?’ The one just outside Penhally where they’d met up in the early days of their relationship, when they had still been keeping things quiet from the village grapevine.
‘OK. We’d better take separate cars,’ he said. ‘In case you’re called out.’
‘And if we both take different routes, it should put the paparazzi off our trail.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you then.’
For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her goodbye. He even swayed towards her. But then he pulled back without touching her. ‘Thank you for seeing Bramble.’
‘Prego.’ She bit back her disappointment. She couldn’t expect too much, too soon. But maybe tonight, when she’d talked to him, he’d understand. He’d hold her. And they could start taking those important steps back towards each other.
As soon as Melinda pulled into the car park that evening, she saw Dragan. He’d opened the boot of his car and was sitting on the bumper, making a fuss of Bramble.
The man she loved.
The man she wanted to be her family.
Her heart felt as if it was doing a back flip when she saw him smile at the dog. Please, please, let him smile at her again. Let things go back to how they’d been before Raffi had died.
‘What can I get you?’ he asked.
‘In a moment. Let’s walk on the beach first.’
They walked down the rocky path to the bay; once, Melinda stumbled, and Dragan automatically put a hand out to steady her. She wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but then they were holding hands. And it felt so good, she wanted to cry with relief. Maybe they still had a chance. Maybe she hadn’t wrecked this completely.
She didn’t say a word, not wanting to break the spell and make him pull his hand away from hers. And, to her relief, the beach was deserted. Everyone was probably having their evening meal in the pub.
They stood in silence near the edge of the lapping waves, looking out to sea. When Bramble flopped onto the sand, Melinda smiled and dropped to a sitting position, tugging Dragan down with her.
Although in some respects she didn’t want to break the silence, she knew they had to get this out in the open before they could move on. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said softly. ‘I know you think I have a duty to go back. And I know you think I’m being selfish.’
‘Aren’t you?’
She turned to face him. ‘Dragan, I know you’d give anything for the chance to be able to go home and help your family. That they came first with you. But the difference is, your family loved you right back. And they wouldn’t have expected you to give up being a doctor for them.’
‘I was going to be a lawyer,’ he reminded her. ‘And then manage the family firm.’
‘But supposing you’d hated boats? Supposing you’d discovered…oh, say, that you were a brilliant artist? Your family would’ve encouraged you to follow your dreams. To follow your vocation, yes?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘There’s the difference. My parents never did. They only ever noticed me when they wanted me to do something for them. Right from when I was very small, I wanted to work with animals. I wanted to be a vet. And I’ve worked hard to make it happen.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘Only my nonna understood that. Remember I told you that my parents didn’t even come to my graduation? They treat me as if I’m a spoiled child who’s just playing dress-up—that this is some kind of hobby for me.’
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