Falling for Her Impossible Boss

by Alison Roberts

  Changes were coming, that was for sure. For both of them. Oliver could also be sure that his mother would fight them every step of the way. Achieving them would be no kind of victory either. Not when each one would be so painful for her to accept, removing more and more of her independence and dignity.

  He summoned a smile for his mother. ‘It’s a glorious day. If you got dressed, I might be able to take you for a ride in a wheelchair when I’ve finished work. It would do you good to get a breath of fresh air.’

  His mother shook her head. He clearly needed to find more of an incentive than fresh air. And quickly. A glance at his watch told him he was running out of time and his registrar would be looking for him in Outpatients.

  ‘We could even find something nice for your dinner.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I happen to know where a fast-food joint is.’ His smile broadened as he took out the big guns and tapped into his mother’s most secret vice. ‘Cheeseburgers,’ he suggested. ‘And French fries.’

  The idea was brilliant. Even with her fingers so stiff and useless, Lady Dorothy might be able to manage that kind of food and it would pack enough calories for even a small amount to be helpful. To his horror, however, his mother’s eyes shone with sudden tears. They were gone by the time she had shaken her head in a negative response but Oliver could feel her anguish. He touched her hand gently.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

  ‘Sophie,’ his mother said, her voice wobbling.

  ‘Who’s Sophie?’

  Was that the name of the clumsy, line-dancing blonde who was masquerading as a nurse? If she’d done something to upset his mother this much then she wouldn’t know what hit her. It occurred to him that defending his mother so vigorously in public might brand him as some kind of mummy’s boy, but there was no way he wouldn’t protect his mother with everything he had. She was the only family he had. The only person that really mattered in his world, come to that. And did he care what a junior nurse with oversized blue eyes thought of him?

  Of course he didn’t. The idea was laughable.

  ‘She’s the occupational therapist,’ Lady Dorothy told him. ‘She came in this morning with the kind of clothes she said were ideal because I’d be able to learn to get dressed by myself.’

  ‘Oh?’ Oliver was assimilating more than the information. Was he relieved that this Sophie wasn’t the nurse and he wouldn’t have to verbally rip her to shreds and watch those ready-to-laugh lips wobble when she began to cry?

  That he wouldn’t be in danger of revealing something as personal and vaguely shameful as the fact that he was a thirty-six-year-old man who still lived with his mother? Well, it could hardly be considered living with his mother when they both had entirely separate wings of the house but he was still living at home, wasn’t he?

  And why was he even thinking about how that might appear to some nurse whose name he didn’t even know? It was bizarre.

  ‘They were…track pants, Oliver. With…an elasticised waist.’

  ‘Oh…’

  Track pants. A kind of symbol that his mother equated with fluffy slippers, going out with a chiffon scarf covering hair curlers and a cigarette dangling from a mouth corner. It wasn’t that his mother was a snob—she had genuine friends from all walks of life—but self-discipline was everything and meeting personal standards was a matter of pride. Wearing track pants would be as degrading as putting Lady Dorothy into a nappy.

  Something had to be done. But what? This was new territory for both Oliver and his mother. He needed to think. In the meantime, he needed to find a way of helping his mother cope somehow.

  ‘How ’bout I bring the burgers and fries in here? Disguised in a plain brown paper bag?’ An old joke for a treat that was deemed illicit.

  The flicker of amusement was only for his benefit. ‘Thanks, darling, but don’t go to any trouble. I don’t expect I’ll be very hungry.’ She had turned her head away very slightly. ‘It really is time we stopped that ridiculously unhealthy habit, don’t you think?’

  Oliver was taken aback by the strong realisation that he didn’t agree with his mother’s suggestion.

  The disturbing awareness that something was happening that might prove to be beyond his control was less than pleasant.

  The occasional foray into the dark side of healthy eating was hardly a habit for either of them. It was a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing, in fact, but it had been a part of their lives for a long, long time. So long that it had become one of his earliest memories. A rare, good memory. One that had bestowed a little pleasure in a life that had often been less than joyful for both himself and his mother.

  OK, maybe it was an ancient ritual associated with childhood and no longer of any significance but losing it would be…

  As sad as seeing his mother like this?

  He heard Lady Dorothy’s intake of breath. A determined, suck-it-up kind of breath.

  ‘Don’t let me take up too much of your time, Oliver. I’m sure you must have far more important things to be doing.’

  ‘I’ve got a clinic to finish, that’s all.’ Oliver could feel his frown steadily deepening. There had to be a way through this. ‘And then a theatre slot this afternoon. And you have to eat, you know that. I’ll be back later.’

  With French fries, at least. He wasn’t ready to let go of the past to that extent. He didn’t think his mother was either. This was just a sign of how miserable she was feeling right now. With a bit of time, she might get over the upsetting episode of the track pants.

  Coming back later was a good idea in more ways than one. If that extraordinarily annoying and probably incompetent nurse was on duty now, she would be due to finish her shift by three p.m.

  There was no chance she would be anywhere in the vicinity if he slipped in quietly this evening with some fast food to try and tempt his mother’s appetite and that suited Oliver very well.

  Very well indeed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘LADY who?’

  Bella was somewhat distracted from what Sally was telling her because she’d spotted Oliver Dawson leaving the ward. He wore the suit very well, she had to admit albeit grudgingly. If only he was a bit…nicer, she would go as far as thinking he was very good looking. OK, gorgeous, then.

  ‘Lady Dorothy,’ Sally said.

  ‘Doesn’t she have a last name?’

  ‘Of course she does, but nobody uses it. And she’s a very well-known personality who doesn’t want her admission to hospital being broadcast so it’s important that you’re discreet.’ Sally frowned at Bella. ‘Can you be discreet?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ Bella straightened her back. She was being given a new responsibility here. Never mind that it probably had something to do with the ward being even more short-staffed than usual. Bella wanted to prove herself. Partly because she was finding the work here far more enjoyable than she had anticipated but it was also the sight of Oliver Dawson’s retreating back that was firing her new ambition.

  She was good at her job. Maybe now people around here would have the chance to find that out.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘She’s due for a BGL test. We’ll hold off on her insulin until I’ve talked to her doctor. That’s more of an excuse to get you into her room, though.’ Sally hesitated for a moment and then spoke quietly. ‘Lady Dorothy’s pretty down at the moment and nobody has been able to get her motivated about the rehab she needs to get started on urgently.’ The charge nurse gave her new recruit a thoughtful glance. ‘You might be just the person to manage it. I mean, anyone that can get Wally up and dancing has got to have an approach that’s drastically different. Just…tread carefully, OK?’

  With that rather odd warning echoing in her head, Bella set off for the private room she’d been curious about ever since she’d arrived. The closed door and curtains ha
d fuelled her overactive imagination and she’d decided there was somebody in the room who had some terrible disfigurement they didn’t want anybody to see. She’d told her Aunt Kate that she thought it was probably the hunchback of Notre Dame in there.

  It was a bit of a disappointment to find it was an elderly woman. An extraordinarily beautiful woman, in fact, with skin that looked like it belonged on a peach and the most amazing silver hair Bella had ever seen. She kept stealing glances as she went through the routine of finger pricking and collecting a drop of blood to put on the end of the testing strip that was fitted into the glucometer. She did the job as gently as possible. Poor Lady Dorothy had a very nasty case of arthritis affecting both hands. Her joints were red and swollen and it looked as though she couldn’t move her fingers at all.

  Her patient wasn’t talking either. As the glances added up, Bella could see the sadness and her heart went out to the old lady. A real lady, no less.

  ‘Why do you keep looking at me like that?’

  Bella jumped. ‘Sorry, was I being rude? It’s just that I love your hair. If you could bottle a colour like that, you could make a fortune.’

  ‘It’s just grey.’

  ‘Oh, no…’ Bella shook her head emphatically. ‘It’s pure silver. And it sparkles. I had a pair of Lycra dance tights that were just that colour. I loved them, too.’

  But Lady Dorothy had lapsed back into silence. She was just sitting there, against her pillows, staring into space. Bella moved around the room, tidying things here and there. Heavens, it was hardly going to impress Sally if she didn’t get anything more than a disparaging comment about hair

  colour as a response when she was supposed to be cheering this patient up.

  The huge vase of fresh flowers probably needed some water but when Bella walked towards them, she caught her foot on a chair leg and sent something flying.

  Thank goodness Mr Dawson wasn’t around to witness her clumsiness. She could almost hear his voice saying something scathing like how typical of her that was.

  With an exasperated huff, Bella reached down to scoop up the bright pink object. Why on earth should she even care what he thought of her anyway? She wasn’t going to go back to being a theatre nurse. He’d put her off for life.

  The huff became a gasp as she realised what she was holding.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ She held up the thick, fleecy track pants with the wide elasticised waistband and viewed the item of clothing with horror. And then she felt her cheeks getting hot and whirled around to face the woman in the bed. ‘I do apologise, Lady Dorothy,’ she said. ‘These must be yours.’

  The look she got was pure ice. ‘They most certainly are not mine.’

  ‘Oh…thank God for that.’

  Lady Dorothy was still glaring at her. Bella tried a tentative smile.

  ‘I shouldn’t say that because it’s no joke that my grandfather murdered my grandmother, but you know what?’

  Lady Dorothy continued to stare but her eyebrows were moving slowly. In an upward direction. ‘What?’ The query was understandably wary.

  Bella lowered her voice to a confidential tone. ‘If she’d been wearing pink track pants like this it could well have been a motive.’ Her lips twitched. ‘If I’d been on the jury and these were exhibit A then I’d certainly consider them to be an exonerating factor.’

  Finally, there was a response from the elderly lady. A lip twitch that mirrored Bella’s. She unceremoniously rolled up the offending pants and put them back on the chair.

  ‘So, if they’re not yours, what are they doing in here? Shall I get rid of them for you?’

  ‘Best not, dear.’

  ‘How come?’

  Lady Dorothy’s sigh was weary. ‘The occupational therapist brought them. I’m supposed to wear them because I’ll be able to put them on by myself.’

  ‘What? Is she trying to drive you to drink or something? What’s wrong with the kind of pants you usually wear? Oh…’ Bella grimaced. ‘Sorry, I’m putting my foot in it again. You probably don’t wear trousers at all. I’d imagine you wearing beautiful skirts and jackets or elegant dresses.’

  ‘I do wear trousers. I was wearing my favourite pair when I came in here. They’re hanging in the wardrobe.’

  Bella opened the small closet. A pair of crisply pressed, pale grey linen pants could be seen. She lifted out the hanger and eyed the garment. ‘You know, I’m no expert but the only problem I can see with these is the zip and buttons and that could be easily fixed with an invisible strip of Velcro.’

  Lady Dorothy was watching her closely now. ‘What about pulling them up?’

  ‘You could use one of those stick gripper things. Has the occupational therapist shown you all the aids you can get now?’

  ‘She showed me a lot of things.’ Lady Dorothy’s tone suggested she hadn’t been impressed.

  ‘Anyway,’ Bella added cautiously, ‘you’ll probably get a lot of movement back when the inflammation goes down. As long as you’re not as silly as my nanna was, that is.’

  Lady Dorothy blinked. ‘What’s your nanna got to do with this? I thought you said she got murdered.’

  ‘That was Grandma. On my dad’s side and I never knew her. She was the skeleton in my family closet. Nanna was Mum’s mother and she lived with us for a while when she couldn’t manage any more. I loved her to bits.’

  ‘You said she was silly.’

  Bella nodded, happy to finally have the old lady’s full attention. She wasn’t even looking sad any more. ‘She had a high horse. We used to tease her about getting on it so often.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘She was very critical of people she didn’t like—especially doctors. She didn’t believe in drugs of any kind. When she was diagnosed with her rheumatoid arthritis her GP told her to get off her high horse for once and do as she was told because if she didn’t take the painkillers and anti-inflammatories and do her exercises, she’d end up totally crippled by the disease.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘No. She went home and flushed all the pills down the loo and, of course, she couldn’t keep moving because her joints were all too swollen and sore and she did end up crippled and had to come and live with us.’ Bella sighed. ‘I wish she’d been put somewhere like here when she got sick. She would have loved my line-dancing classes. That would have got her moving.’

  There was a sparkle in Lady Dorothy’s eyes now. A look of real interest. Determination, even? ‘What on earth is line dancing?’

  Bella’s grin was mischievous. ‘I’ll come and get you tomorrow and you can find out.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be dressed for it.’

  It was Bella’s turn to raise her eyebrows significantly. ‘But you’ve got your clothes right there in the wardrobe. I’m not asking you to wear shocking pink trackie daks. In fact,’ she put on a stern face. ‘I’m quite sure they not allowed for line dancing.’

  ‘But…’

  Bella could see a fear she could understand in this beautiful woman’s face. The fear of loss of dignity. Of losing herself in her disease. Without thinking, she went and perched her hip on the side of the bed and took one of Lady Dorothy’s hands in her own.

  ‘I do understand,’ she said softly. ‘I had to help my nanna with things that were just plain embarrassing for both of us until we got used to it but I learned something. Something important.’

  She could see the effort it took Lady Dorothy to swallow and then speak. Her voice was a whisper. ‘What was that?’

  ‘That the physical stuff like being able to get dressed or even go to the loo by yourself—it’s all on the outside. If you can get past the inconvenience of needing help it doesn’t change a thing that really matters—the person you are o
n the inside.’

  There was a long moment of silence. Bella shut her eyes for a moment to gather her courage.

  ‘We could have a go with your clothes now, if you like. That way we could find out what needs a bit of adjustment in the way of fastenings and things.’

  More silence. It was obvious that some time was needed. ‘Have a think about it, anyway,’ Bella suggested. ‘In the meantime, I could tell you about something really funny that my kitten did this morning. Do you like cats?’

  ‘I used to.’ The tone was wistful. ‘I haven’t had a pet for many years.’

  Bella smiled. ‘Well…I live with my aunt Kate who’s very particular about stuff and Bib—that’s the kitten—decided she wanted to see what was on top of the window and the quickest way up was to use the net curtains, only her claws got stuck and she got scared and started shouting.’ Bella was using her hands as she began her story but Lady Dorothy wasn’t watching. Her gaze kept straying to the wardrobe door that Bella had left open accidentally. The linen pants were in clear view.

  She bit back a hopeful smile and went on with her story.

  * * *

  Oliver took a very roundabout route to make his way to the geriatric ward at seven that evening. It hadn’t been possible to locate a plain brown paper bag, so the bag of hamburgers and fries he carried was emblazoned with the red and yellow logo of the world-famous fast-food chain.

  A bag he almost dropped when he entered his mother’s room. He had expected to find her in her bed. Not sitting in the armchair by the window—wearing her day clothes.

  It was nothing short of a miracle.

  ‘You got dressed!’

  ‘Yes…and I feel so much more like myself.’ Lady Dorothy smiled at him.

  ‘How on earth…?’ The query trailed into silence. He’d been going to ask how she’d managed by herself but that would only be rubbing in the fact that she couldn’t. But she hadn’t been allowing anybody to help so how…?

  ‘I had some help.’ His mother nodded. ‘I met the most astonishing girl this afternoon. Bella. Simply delightful.’ She gave her son a thoughtful gaze. ‘Very pretty, too.’