‘Drops off?’ Dee echoed in scathing tones. ‘Tell me, Doctor, is that some new medical term? Sounds very technical.’
‘You want an exact prognosis?’ he bit back.
‘No,’ she snapped in reply, ‘because I wouldn’t believe that either.’
They both forgot they had an audience until Cat Macdonald intoned, ‘Seconds out. Round over. Back to your corners, please… And let’s decide this by more rational means, perhaps?’ she appealed, glancing from one angry face to another.
Her brother gave her a dark look for interfering, but said, ‘You tell her, then. She’s too pig-headed to listen to me. She has to give the knee a chance to heal unless she wants to end up with a permanent limp.’
‘Did you catch that?’ Cat directed at Dee.
‘Yes,’ Dee snapped. ‘And could you please tell your brother that it’s none of his business? He isn’t my doctor and I don’t want his phoney concern.’
‘Okay,’ Cat nodded. ‘She says—’
‘I heard!’ Baxter cut across her. ‘And it’s just as well I’m not her doctor, because I know no cure for terminal stupidity!’
It was his parting shot as he turned on his heel and went through the door, slamming it behind him. The two women were left to stare in his wake.
Cat was more intrigued than disturbed. ‘You certainly know how to make my brother lose his cool.’
‘I suppose you’re on his side,’ Dee said, feeling sorry for herself.
‘Normally,’ Cat agreed. ‘But on this one I think I’ll stay on neutral ground… That said, maybe you should rest that leg. I can finish the dishes before I go.’
‘Yes, all right.’ Dee didn’t want to argue with the other woman. ‘Perhaps I’ll have an early night.’
‘Good idea,’ Cat smiled. ‘Things will seem clearer in the morning, but if you need someone to talk to give me a call and I’ll come over.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine,’ she declared, to herself as much as Cat Macdonald. ‘I’ll just ignore him.’
‘You do that,’ Cat echoed as Dee limped out of the door.
Ignore him. It sounded impossible, but it turned out to be relatively simple. She went up to bed, tossed and turned for a few hours, then slept like the dead. By the time she woke, Baxter was gone.
She knew she was alone in the tower even before she found his note in the kitchen. No ‘Dear Dee’. No ‘Dear anything’. Just short and to the point: Gone to the university. Back in the evening. Help yourself. B.
Help herself to what? Dee wondered. The key on the table? The food in the fridge? The money laid out in full view on a work-surface? What?
She fingered the five twenty-pound notes. Enough for some new clothes. But also enough for a rail ticket. The choice was hers.
So she chose to leave the money where it was, and instead gave herself the grand tour of her new ‘squat’, first letting Henry out for a mooch around.
There wasn’t much in the way of a garden, just rough grass that someone had cut, but it would have needed more attention to look healthy. A path at the back led to out-buildings. The first was a garage, now empty but presumably where he kept his car. The next was locked. She peered in through the window and saw what had to be a small sailing boat covered by a green tarpaulin. The final building was a store for garden tools, mower and work bench.
She returned to the house and decided to explore the ground floor. She pushed open a door that was obviously little used, because it creaked as it gave, and found herself standing in a large, resounding stone hall that had probably never been living quarters but rather a place for the storage of weapons or animals in more feudal days.
It had yet to be restored, and in places the inner walls had crumbled. She walked to the far end and discovered a chamber leading off. In the centre was a square man-sized hole with steps leading downwards. Dee craned her neck inside and saw the steps disappear into a room almost too low to stand in. She realised this must be the tower’s dungeon, a black hole cut into the earth, with no ventilation to relieve the inevitable claustrophobia. The cruelty of past ages made her shiver, and she didn’t dwell long in the room.
She knew both rooms on the next floor—the surprisingly modern kitchen and the great hall which he used as dining and living room. She looked round the latter again, appraising his choice of furniture—heavy oak pieces to suit its austere stone walls, dark rich velvet furnishings to offer some comfort. It was a very masculine room, no woman’s touch anywhere.
She continued upstairs, by-passing Joseph’s still unoccupied room and her own, climbing the flight to the top floor. It had only been partially renovated. She opened a door into a bedroom with plastered walls, stained where water had once penetrated from the roof above. It was furnished with odds and ends, including a single bed that someone had roughly made.
She sat down on it to find the bed dipped in the middle. She stretched out and found it short by a few inches. She was tall but Baxter was taller, so it must be even shorter for him. She told herself that no one had asked him to give up his room, but felt guilty all the same.
She made up his bed properly—a skill she’d learned at boarding school—and tidied up the clothes he’d left scattered round the room, before considering how wise that was. She’d offered to clean for him, but maybe he would wonder if she’d been prying.
On the same floor she found another attic bedroom, and a study housing a desk that could barely be seen for the papers scattered on top. She went no further than the door of the study as that really would have been invading his privacy.
Out on the landing again, she climbed a final set of steps, narrow and airless and dark, ending at an overhead hatch. She slid back a heavy bolt, pushed open the hatch and scrambled out onto the flat roof and top ramparts of the tower. With a good head for heights, she stayed up there for a while, enjoying the sun on her face and the quite breath-catching view.
She wondered if he had bought or inherited the tower. It certainly fell into the category of unusual places to live. But then there wasn’t anything particularly usual about Baxter Ross. She supposed its isolation suited him, although, from what his sister had said, he didn’t shun society altogether.
Dee again considered the kind of women he might like. Fellow world-savers? Career women? Intellectuals? Or was the primary qualification that they’d been alive for the first moon walk?
She had no feelings for these faceless women. She couldn’t imagine he’d loved any, or they would be still here. She couldn’t imagine him loving full stop. He was too contained, too remote, needing no one to survive.
He didn’t expect love, didn’t want it. And even if he had Dee was probably as far from his choice as any woman could be.
Dee told herself all this, but it made no difference.
When she heard a step on the stair late that afternoon, her heart was already in her mouth just waiting for the sight of him. When the kitchen door opened, her face fell.
‘Do not be afraid.’ The young man in the doorway misread her expression. ‘I am Joseph Olungu. I am a friend of Dr Baxter.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Dee assured him. ‘I wasn’t scared. I just thought you were going to be someone else.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said with measured politeness. ‘Perhaps I should have rung the bell.’
‘Don’t be silly, you live here.’ Dee was the intruder, not this handsome young African. ‘Baxter’s gone to Edinburgh. He should be back in the evening.’
The boy nodded, perhaps already aware of this. ‘I have been staying at a friend’s. The doctor left message that he is home. I come quickly.’
He gave ‘the doctor’ capitals, his respect for Baxter Ross evident.
‘I hope not that he is angry,’ he concluded.
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Dee volunteered, although she wasn’t sure if she qualified as an expert on the subject. ‘I’m Dee, by the way. Perhaps Baxter’s mentioned me…?’
Joseph shook his head. ‘You now stay here also?’
‘For a little while,’ she confirmed.
‘That is good,’ he replied, face solemn. ‘The doctor works very hard. He needs a woman in his house.’
Dee frowned, wondering what was meant by this. Clearly Joseph didn’t know that she’d been lined up as his woman, not Baxter’s.
‘I have brought food for African dish—’ he held up a bag of groceries ‘—Dr Baxter likes. You wish to cook, perhaps?’
‘Not me!’ Dee declared emphatically. ‘I don’t cook— African or otherwise.’
This drew a puzzled look from Joseph. Possibly all women cooked in his country.
‘And I’m not Baxter’s woman,’ she added, for the record. ‘He’s letting me stay here because I’ve hurt my leg, that’s all.’
‘Yes, that is Baxter,’ he declared in admiration. ‘He is very great man. In Kirundi he is called “Le Médecin du Ciel”.’
It took Dee a moment to realise it was French, not Kirundian, he was speaking, then she translated for herself.
‘The Doctor from Heaven?’ she said in some doubt.
‘From the sky,’ Joseph amended, then grinned. ‘Though some think he come from heaven, too, when he arrives in helicopter… My family, we know better, of course. We are educated. My uncle was in government, and my father doctor, too,’ he claimed proudly.
Snap, Dee almost said, but didn’t think his English was up to such colloquialisms. French was obviously his second language—she knew Kirundi was an ex-colony of France or Belgium.
She smiled instead, then crossed to pick up the cafetière of fresh coffee she’d made.
‘Want one?’ she offered.
‘If you please,’ he agreed with Gallic formality, and sat where she placed his cup on the breakfast bar.
Dee took the seat opposite, saying, ‘Would you prefer to speak French? I’m a little out of practice, but I studied it at school.’
‘No, thank you.’ He acknowledged the offer with another smile. ‘I must practise my English in case I am permitted to study here.’
‘What would you like to study?’
‘Medicine.’
Dee was hardly surprised. With his father and his mentor both doctors, it seemed inevitable.
‘But maybe I do not get to stay,’ he concluded, grave once more.
Maybe he’d get deported, Dee added silently to herself. ‘What will you do if you have to go back?’
His face clouded over. ‘It is difficult. I think I will have no choice but to fight.’
Difficult wasn’t the word for it. Dee listened as Joseph went on to tell her something of the civil war tearing apart what had once been a relatively prosperous African nation. No wonder Baxter wanted to keep him here.
Her own problems paled into insignificance. In fact, she began to question if she really had any. She had a roof over her head and food to eat. She had a job of sorts, too. And Baxter Ross? Well, what feeling she had for him was surely a delusion.
She reminded herself of that later, when Baxter returned to the feast Joseph had prepared with her help. Her heart might be racing like a train, her pulse in overdrive, but nerves could do that.
She watched the two men greet each other with wide smiles and a hug that might have been between father and son.
She waited for him to turn to her with a hard face that would stop the train.
Only he didn’t. Last night had evidently been forgotten or forgiven. When he finally looked at her, it was with a gaze of concern.
‘You okay?’ he asked in quiet tones.
‘Fine,’ she nodded.
Fine, she lied, and stood there, eyes fixed on his beautiful face, as the train went faster and faster. She saw the crash coming, but didn’t want to jump off.
It was just a delusion, so why did it seem so real, so painful, this feeling she had for him?
CHAPTER TEN
DEE sat in the bow of the boat, her fingers trailing in the water. They’d caught the breeze and were now skimming across the firth, Baxter at the tiller.
It had surprised her when he’d first asked her to join him sailing. She’d assumed he wanted solitude. He’d asked Joseph, too, but Joseph couldn’t swim and hadn’t been keen.
Dee hadn’t been sure herself. Not scared, just concerned she would do something stupid and annoy him. She’d quickly taken to it, however, and over that summer had developed a passion for it quite separate from her desire for his company.
Whenever he asked her, it was offhand. ‘I’m going out on the boat. Want to come?’
Her answer was always equally casual. ‘Sure. Why not?’ But her heart sang a different tune.
The tune varied. Sometimes it was a song full of bright hope as he smiled at her and laughed with her and gave every sign of liking having her around. Other times it was a sad lament, when he seemed so remote she wondered who she was kidding—only herself?
‘Do you want to navigate for a while?’ he asked, now catching her eyes on him.
No, she wanted to look at him. But she could hardly say so.
‘Yes, okay.’
Carefully they changed positions in the boat.
She took the tiller and concentrated on steering. It was he who watched her then, and she blushed on finding his cool blue eyes on her.
But his interest was purely professional.
‘Are you still taking the iron tablets Alan prescribed?’ he enquired.
‘Yes,’ she replied shortly.
Alan was the local GP, and an old schoolfriend of Baxter’s. He’d turned up on the second evening of Dee’s stay to give her a check-up. He’d drained the knee again, stressing how essential it was to rest it. He’d also put her on a course of iron supplements to combat anaemia.
‘You certainly look healthier,’ added Baxter.
If it was a compliment, Dee didn’t let it go to her head. It was so doctorish. Not prettier, sexier, more interesting—merely healthier.
‘Perhaps you’ll be able to stop taking the tablets soon,’ he suggested.
And leave? Dee’s eyes flew to his. Was that the next item on the agenda? Mend leg, raise blood count, then goodbye—was that the final goal?
Of course it was!
Baxter watched her expression cloud over. ‘Something wrong?’
‘No,’ Dee denied. Nothing wrong. What else could she expect? Pride told her to jump before she was pushed. ‘I was just thinking it’s time I moved on.’
‘What?’ He seemed surprised.
Dee wished she could take back the words. ‘I—I…’
‘If it’s what you want, I can’t stop you.’
She’d imagined it was what he wanted.
‘Have you somewhere in mind?’ he pursued.
‘Nowhere specific,’ she admitted. ‘A bedsit in Edinburgh, maybe.’
‘With Henry in tow?’ He arched a brow, suggesting she hadn’t thought very hard about this. ‘And what will you do for money?’
Dee shot him a resentful look, in no mood for this inquisition, then fixed her eyes ahead and, rather late, saw the cruiser cutting through the water towards them.
‘Help! Which way?’ She gripped the tiller hard.
‘Port,’ he instructed briskly, at the same time dropping the sail to kill their speed.
‘Port?’ She froze for a moment.
He reached over to show her, but she was already jerking the tiller across. The rest followed as inevitably as day followed night. The boom swung. He ducked. The boat rocked. He looked ready to fall. She stood to save him. They both fell.
She was under the water maybe thirty seconds before she came up, gasping for breath and grasping at the boat. She didn’t have time to get scared. Baxter was there at her side, strong arm on her waist.
‘You’re all right. I’ve got you,’ he assured her, and quelled any notion of panic.
She nodded and muttered through chattering teeth, ‘Sorry.’
She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but she knew it had been her fault.
‘H
appens,’ he dismissed, then worried eyes searched her face for any sign of injury before he said, ‘Let’s get you out of the water.’
Dee didn’t argue, but gratefully let him boost her aboard before he climbed in himself.
Then reaction set in as she watched him empty each of his deck shoes in turn, and she started to laugh.
Fortunately he saw the funny side, too, and they laughed together, regardless of their dripping hair and wet-through clothes—they would dry in the sun, anyway.
It didn’t put Dee off sailing either, though it rained hard the next time they went out, and they ended up almost as wet as the time they’d fallen in.
Baxter admired her hardiness, while his sister declared them both mad.
At any rate, there was no further mention of her leaving. Perhaps the arrangement suited him, too. Cat joked that he was keeping Dee around to ward off past girlfriends who might hear he was now available on a full-time basis. It was possible. A woman had rung a few times in the first fortnight of his return, but, to Dee’s knowledge, he hadn’t dated anyone.
Their lives gradually fell into a pattern. Baxter drove to Edinburgh in his battered old Range Rover most week days for his research job at the university. Joseph sometimes accompanied him, and sometimes went by moped if he was to spend the evening with friends he’d made at his summer school. Dee stayed at home with Henry, cleaning to earn her keep, walking in the hills now her leg was better, and sometimes minding Morag while Cat went for her antenatal visits or into Edinburgh for shopping.
It wasn’t a bad life. In fact, it was a great life compared to the one she’d had over the last couple of years. Though the tower was isolated, it was peaceful rather than lonely. She played the flute for her own enjoyment, read copiously and spent some of the time studying various prospectuses for local and city colleges.
As she had already done a year’s work for A levels in English literature, French and history, it made sense to follow similar courses for the coming academic year. She was not prepared, however, to accept Baxter’s offer to pay her fees for a sixth form at one of the prestigious Edinburgh schools. Money aside, she felt too old to play the role of schoolgirl any more.
Bride Required Page 15
