by Alam, Donna
‘My bunny suit?’
‘You know, the outfit from your Tinder profile.’
‘That’s all it took? Me, dressed as a ro—’
‘A rabbit is a mammal, not a rodent.’ He presses his lips against mine, smiling into our kiss.
‘And there are names for people like you.’
‘If it gets you into that corset, those white ears, and that fluffy tail, you can call me whatever you want.’
‘Ben Monroe, you have hidden depths.’
‘You don’t even know the half of it,’ he growls, sliding his knee between my legs, his body rising above mine.
‘Oh, that sounds ominous,’ I taunt. ‘Dare I ask, or should I just leave you with your aura of mystery?’
‘Are you quite finished taking the piss?’
I shrug saucily.
‘I want, Nell, to be with you. And I want you to know the things I said were true. I’ll always blame myself for what happened to Tom, and that’s not going to change.’ As I open my mouth to protest, Ben kisses me before pulling back. ‘But I realised something. If I don’t have you, I’m not going to be fit for any kind of duty. If I’m forced to leave without knowing you love me, too, even just a little bit, I can’t imagine what kind of state I’ll be in.’
‘So you’re saying . . . that I should love you for the good of your men? That I need to do my bit for my adopted country?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Lie back and think of England while I have my wicked way. Whatever it takes. Do you duty, Nell.’
‘You really are a piece of work. It’s a good job I find you tolerable.’
‘Tolerable? That’s not what you said earlier.’ His taunting mask drops a moment later as he rests on my elbows, his hands on the sides of my face. ‘I want you so much I can scarcely breathe for the need of you. This might have started in the realms of fantasy for me, at least, but it was a fantasy that quickly came true.’
‘Oh, Ben. When did you become such a sweet-talker?
‘Only for you. Can I keep you? Can I steal the air from your lungs when I kiss you as I feed you mine? Can I leave my fingerprints on every inch of you each time before I leave? And just so we’re clear, that’s my hands on your soul as well as your arse.’ I roll my roll my eyes, feigning exasperation as he adds, ‘And one final thing. If you say no, if you tell me you’re not into this, bear in mind I’ve been trained to keep hostages.’
Chapter 23
NELL
(I’m Ben’s Nell now, and everyone knows it)
‘When are you going to say that you love me, Nell?’
We’re in the kitchen, our tastefully decorated French farmhouse style kitchen, which I think I’ll cry over when we move out next week. As usual, when he’s here, Ben has a Thermos cup of coffee and some kind of protein bar waiting for me. He often chides me for not eating well, so I try my best though he has yet to encourage me to accompany him on a run.
Who needs to run when marathon sex sessions are available? I even have abs! One-sixth of a six-pack. I think that might be called a keg.
‘I show you I love you all of the time.’ Tipping onto my toes, I place my lips against his as I take my breakfast from his hands. ‘I show, don’t tell, Ben. Just like in a good book.’
He frowns though kisses me anyway, grabbing the collar of my shirt as I lower to my heels again.
‘I show you and tell you how I love you all of the time. On any given day, in a million ways.’
‘And I appreciate it,’ I reply, twisting away.
Truthfully, that I haven’t said the words out loud is ridiculous. I knew I was falling in love with him before he even knew it himself. But something held me back. Maybe my caution lies in the fact that, in the ways of relationships, I’m largely inexperienced. Or maybe it was because we fell so quick. Or maybe because I didn’t trust him to truly love me initially, or maybe I just didn’t trust myself. Who knows?
Whatever the reason, it’s now reached the point of ridiculousness. We live together, most of the time. His barracks aren’t too far away so we enjoy a small bubble of domestic bliss. Thanks to Ben, I’ve been able to renovate the house completely, though I’ll be paying him back out of the sale proceeds next week. And from then, we’re moving in together officially. We’ve found a small house in the same suburb and I must be crazy, but we’re renovating again.
Ben spends some time away from home, working, training, doing those things he keeps secret from everyone, but we’ve been lucky so far. I know it won’t always be this way, that he’ll have to travel long distances, sometimes for months or more, but it’s a small price to pay to have his love.
Love.
I’ve begun to feel the best way to get myself out of the love hole I’ve dug myself in is by some grand gesture. But what? I doubt he’d appreciate a proposal. We’ve spoken of marriage, in the way most couples in love do, but Ben is a little old-fashioned. He’ll want to take the reins, I know. Besides, six months is still relatively new in relationship terms.
So what does that leave me with? My internet searches on the subject suggested I buy a dog to cement our love. The problem with that is the advice doesn’t take into account guardianship of a psychotic cat. Smalls would probably smother a puppy.
The weather is brisk. The sky is bright but the temperature this morning is bitterly cold. Winter is well and truly here. I’m looking forward to moving into our new home. It’s not as grand as this one but it’s nice. And it has a wood-fuelled fire. I’m looking forward to evenings of being peeled from my pyjamas by the glow of firelight.
I climb into my little car and wave at Mrs Hoffman as I reverse out of the drive. Standing at her open front door, she looks a little agitated, but I’m late for work after Ben decided he should join me for my morning shower. Water conservation is apparently very important to him. As is making sure I’m dirty enough for him to clean. My cheeks flush with the memory as I drive slowly along the road. I’m sure whatever ails Ms H, Ben can help. It’s not like me to shirk my responsibilities as a doctor, a neighbour, or even human being, but I know she has a soft spot for Ben. Who hasn’t? Whatever she needs, he’ll help.
I slow at the crossroads, my eyes scanning the street. I’ll miss living here almost as much as the yummy mummies will miss seeing Ben out on his morning run, his strong, muscular thighs feeling more than just the burn. Because come on, he has to sense their eyes following him. They’re not exactly subtle about their perving.
~*~
Today, I have my last locum shift at St Lotte’s. As of next week, I’ll be solvent. Maybe even a little affluent! I’ve mad a good return on the house and even after I pay Liam his share, and force Ben to take what I owe him, I’ll have spare. When means I can just go back to my regular hours. You know, sixty or so.
It’s a good job. I love my job. Well, when I’m not hating it, at least.
‘Dr Ballantine—Penny. Can I have a word with you for a moment.’
Mr Travers, AKA Lord Travers, AKA Dr Pussy, calls my name as I make my way through the ward. Turning, I follow him into a vacant office that I’m almost certain isn’t his.
‘Shut the door behind you, would you?’
I do so as he leans his long body against the edge of the desk. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve asked to speak with you because my wife is expecting our second child sometime in the not too distant future.’
‘Congratulations,’ I offer hesitantly. I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me. I can’t imagine he’d want me at the delivery. A man of his stature would have contacts to staff with much more experience and seniority than me.
‘Thank you,’ he replies with a short smile. He folds his arms across his chest, emphasising the fact that he doesn’t look like a doctor at all. He looks more like a male model. Or a European aristocrat. ‘As we already have one child under a year old,’ he says, ‘life is about to become interesting.’ He glances at his shoes, almost wryly amused.
‘Yes, I imagine.’ A
nd imagine is all I can do. My experience with children is limited to helping them escape their mother’s bodies. I’ve no idea what to do with them from there.
‘Which brings me to my proposition.’ My head snaps up. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m not auditioning for a mistress.’
Let me just say, I haven’t exactly become immune to Mr Travers’ sense of humour. On any given day, I’m not sure what he’s going to say. And right now, I don’t know what to say so opt to say nothing at all.
‘I’m looking for someone to shadow me. Someone who’ll eventually step into my shoes. My father passed away some time ago and left me with a lot of fucking responsibilities.’
Wow. Sweary Mr Travers.
‘What with the constant renovations on one albatross of a house and the business of trying to run the other as a place grown men and women pretend to kill each other all in the name of team building, I don’t have time to run my practice the way I’d prefer.
‘My God. Renovating sucks.’ I’ve no idea what the rest of that is all about.
‘It does suck.’ He appears to be hiding a smile.
‘I’ve found it’s just easier to get professionals in. You can’t do everything yourself.’
‘Indeed. Though I’m sure the National Trust wouldn’t allow me. Though it’s not so much renovation as preventing a five-hundred-year-old wreck from falling to the ground.
Oh, hell. I’m talking about renovating a house in suburban London while he’s talking about maintaining some great nobleman’s palace, most likely. I feel my cheeks heat immediately.
‘So, that brings me to this. And I thought I’d speak to you first before I went to HR.’
‘What? I mean, I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Come on, Penny,’ he says, smiling wider. ‘You’re better than this. In fact, you’re one of the most promising doctors I’ve had the pleasure to come to know.’
‘I am?’
‘You’re efficient and caring, you have just the right amount of hubris which, let’s face it, is a prerequisite for any kind of surgery. If you’re going to be sticking your hands in another human to rummage around, as a patient, I’m sure you’d like to think your doctor was confidence. But you also have humility. An intuition.’
‘I really don’t know what to say.’ And I can’t think. Just over six months ago I was drowning in debt and running myself ragged. I’d been dumped by the man who said he loved me and left to sell my soul to pay the bills. I saw no way out. But now? I have a man who loves me. A man who overcame his demons and fears to be with me. My commitment to the house is almost at an end, and now this man in front of me wants to offer me a job—a really fucking good job!
‘You’re not daft,’ Mr Travers says, the edge of something else poking through his accent. Is that a Scottish accent? ‘C’mon. Do you want to come and work for me or not? The money’s good, the hours are better, and you very rarely have to deal with the twonks who’ve shoved strange objects in their vaginas. Although I did have the pleasure of dealing with one celebrity, who I cannot name, that managed to lodge a diamond-encrusted vibrator where the sun doesn’t often shine.’
I shake my head. Consultants with his kind of seniority don’t speak this way. Well, not to minions like me. Maybe they discuss this stuff on while dabbling on their yachts in Saint Tropez.
‘I’m flattered. Actually, I’m stunned. But why not someone more senior.’
‘Well. I see it as getting you cheap while you’ve no idea that you’ll be senior at some point, too. And costlier. But also because you’re a bloody good doctor. And because I like you.’
‘Oh, well. I think . . . I think I’d say yes.’
‘Great. I’ll go to HR and see what they can do. And while we’re talking jobs, Penny, rumour has it that you’re seeing someone in the Armed Forces?’ Hospitals, I know, are a den of rumour.
‘Yes, I am. Ben.’
‘Any chance you can ask him to meet us for a coffee one day? I have a business in Scotland that needs the touch of an expert. Maybe he can put me in contact with someone who might like to run gruelling survival camps for overweight corporate types.’
‘I’ll ask him. Sure.’
‘Then we’ll talk soon.’
I leave the office and pull out my phone, giddy at the thoughts of telling Ben my news. Before I can do so, I notice a text from Melody asking if my toy boy and I are free for dinner this weekend. Ben’s not keen on the title, but as you can imagine it, Mel loves it.
I make my way into the staff changing room. St Lotte’s treats its staff much better than my current place of work. The changing rooms here would look at home in a high-end gym. I know because I visited one once. They had a juice bar; that was the only reason I went.
Chapter 24
NELL
Opening my locker, I slide my phone into the back pocket of my pants, lifting my purse to the shelf, when my head ricochets off the metal door, a skull cracking pounding striking the right side of my head twice. It’s not the impact that makes me drop to the floor but something primal, an instinct from deep inside me. Self-preservation. But that same survival mechanism tells me lying on the floor isn’t safe. My ears ring, and my head pounds, and as I pull myself up to sit, a shadow slides across the floor making my stomach feel incredibly sick. I pull myself up using the bench fitted to the wall, turning to face a girl. Just a girl. Dark hair and petite, she’s dressed in jeans and a blazer. She looks a little bit like me. A crazier version of me, on second glance.
‘Don’t say a word and don’t scream.’ It’s then I notice the gun in her by her thigh.
Come on. A gun? In one of London’s fanciest private hospitals?
‘I must’ve really bumped my head,’ I murmur, clutching the left side of my head. This can’t be real.
‘The bump on your head,’ the girl spits, ‘that would be from this.’ She waves the gun menacingly. ‘Next time I won’t hit you. I’ll just shoot you.’
‘Why?’ I roll my lips inwards. Stupid, stupid, Nell. Don’t argue with a gunman. Gun-woman? Gun-person? I don’t have visions of my life flashing before my eyes. What I have is idiocy. I take a deep breath as my veins begin to retract and pound with a belated panic. The woman is unstable. I need to think. Think, Nell, think! ‘C-can I help you. Do you need something? Money? Drugs? Let me help you.’
‘You can’t help me. Only Ben can.’ She takes a menacing step towards me as I find myself physically shrink where I sit. As though I could make myself more inconspicuous. My heart begins to beat as hard as the pounding in my aching head. I don’t have time to consider the connection, though my first guess would be a very crazy ex, certifiably crazy, as she speaks again. ‘I thought you were pregnant at first,’ she says, her eyes running over me with disdain. ‘Thought there must be something wrong with you, ’cause you were always at the hospital. But you’re a doctor,’ she asserts. ‘I saw it on your mail.’
‘Yes, I’m a doctor.’ My words waver, tears constricting my airflow. Has she been watching me? Us?
‘I almost wished you were pregnant. I got a knife. I was going to take your baby.’
The panic in my veins turns to ice-water. I swallow thickly, the pieces of this puzzle slotting into place.
‘Are you—’ My words halt as a thought strikes me. In Melody’s words, Ben was popular with the ladies. I’ve only heard him mention one girl but what if this isn’t the same person? What happens if I say a name that isn’t hers?
‘Go one. Say it,’ she taunts, waving the gun so casually, I flinch.
‘Samantha. You’re Samantha, aren’t you?’
Her smile is malicious. ‘What’d he say about me, then? Did he tell you about us? Did he tell you how in love we were?’
‘Yes. Yes, he did. He said he was sorry.’
‘He’s gonna be sorry,’ she says, her tone eerily calm. ‘But I’ll make it all better. He’ll see. I can be better for him this time.’
I’m no expert; I can spot the signs of postpartum depressio
n and I once helped diagnose a case of the much rarer puerperal psychosis, but that’s the extent of my dealing with illnesses of the mind. But it doesn’t take an expert to diagnose this kind of crazy could be life shortening. For me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, panic beginning to crawl up my throat. ‘I’m sorry he hurt you.’
‘Don’t you apologise for him,’ she snarls. ‘You’re nothing to him—just a hole, like the other whores! He needs me—only me. Anyone can see that—you just look like me. But you can’t be me. And you can’t have him.’
‘Okay. It’s okay,’ I say, holding out placating hands. ‘Whatever you want. You can have whatever you want, but you need to let me leave.’
‘No one’s leaving.’ She says the words as though this is obvious. ‘I can’t let you go. Let you see him. Poison his mind.’
‘I won’t. I promise. Whatever—’
‘Shut up! Shut the fuck up!’ She takes another step in my direction as my scour my mind for words that might help me—words of reason. Of apology. Something to snap her from the grip of whatever this was.’
‘If you kill me, he won’t want you. The same way he didn’t want you when Tom die.’ Her face turns as grey as the fingers she has wrapped around the gun. ‘If you want him, you’ll have to think of something else.’
‘What else.’ Her face contorts with grief. ‘I tried everything! I tried to love him. I told him I couldn’t live without him. And I won’t!’ From the doorway, movement catches my attention though I force my gaze to focus on her. Please, God, whoever it is, please let them move away quietly without drawing attention. Please let them go for help.
‘Samantha, please. Let me help you.’
‘What, you going to kill yourself because I can’t see any other way you’d be of use to me.’
‘I could talk to him. Make him listen to you.’
