Had she really been so wrong about him?
They went in his car. When they arrived the church car park beside the village hall was deserted. She led him along the paths and then over the lush, soft grass to a row of little headstones. There, weathering slightly now, was a simple white marble stone, engraved with the baby's name and the date.
Only one date, of course, because she'd only had that one short day.
'There,' she said, pointing to it.
'You gave her my name,' he said, his voice strangled. Crouching down, he ran a hand lightly over the words, and then it trailed down to rest flat on the grass in front of the stone, over where she lay.
Sally was unaware of the tears on her cheeks. She knew only that he was grieving, and that this was something she should have done years ago.
After a while he stood up and turned away, his face ravaged with tears, and she blew the headstone a little kiss and followed him.
'Nick?'
He stopped, and she turned him into her arms and held him. A shudder ran through him, and his arms came up round her and hugged her close, rocking her gently against his chest.
They stood like that for ages, then finally she eased away and looked up at him.
'Are you OK?' she asked, and he nodded, his face sombre.
'Yes, I'm OK. I'm sorry. I didn't think it would hit me that hard. What about you? Are you all right?'
She nodded. 'I'm fine. Are you OK to drive?'
His smile was gentle and a little sad. 'I'll do. Come on, let's go home.'
It sounded wonderful. What a shame it was just a figure of speech.
They pulled up outside his house and he let them in, then turned and drew her into his arms. 'Thank you for taking me,' he said gruffly.
'That's all right,' she murmured and, lifting a hand, she cradled it gently against his cheek.
Their eyes locked. For an age time seemed suspended, then after an endless pause he turned his head and touched his lips to her palm.
Out of nowhere heat flared between them, and his hands came up, tunnelling through her hair and cupping her head, steadying it against the desperate onslaught of his mouth. She was starving for him, aching for him, and her arms locked around him and held him closer.
He shifted, turning her against the wall so his leg meshed between hers and his body was crushed against her. A groan rocked through him, and suddenly she didn't care about common sense. She didn't care about anything except Nick, and being closer to him, much closer, so close she couldn't tell where he ended and she began.
They belonged together, like this, and nothing else mattered.
'Sally?' he whispered raggedly, and she eased away, taking his hand in hers and leading him upstairs.
The bedroom was still in chaos, the mattress on the bed now but the quilt thrown off onto the floor. It didn't matter. They didn't need the quilt.
Just each other.
Lifting her in his arms, Nick lowered her to the bed and came down beside her, his body half over hers, his mouth finding hers again hungrily.
Her fevered fingers plucked at his clothes, but he covered her hands and paused. 'Are you on the Pill?' he asked, and she stared at him, stunned. Had she totally lost her mind? The last thing she needed was another unplanned pregnancy!
'Oh, damn,' she said, furious with fate for snatching away this opportunity, but he smiled and put a finger on her lips.
'It's OK. I've got something.'
He looked round the room, and she gave a hollow, despairing laugh.
'Don't tell me, they're in a box somewhere.'
He grinned and shook his head, then hung over the side of the mattress, his voice muffled. 'No. I bought them the other day. Here. I put them under the bed.'
He came up with a pharmacy bag and dropped it on the mattress beside her, and she felt her desire drain away. She stared at it distrustfully, a cold feeling spreading over her. 'Did you plan this?' she asked, very, very quietly, and he groaned and dropped onto his back beside her, one arm flung up over his face.
'No, Sally, I didn't plan it.'
'Are you sure? It looks pretty planned to me.'
He moved his arm and met her eyes. For once she could read his expression, and in it she saw frustration and disappointment. 'Yes, I'm sure,' he said with studied emphasis. 'I didn't plan it—not as such. I just thought, if there was the slightest chance—I didn't want to make any more mistakes, Sally. I've done you enough damage.'
She sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, feeling suddenly unsure of everything—of him, of her, of what they were about to do.
'Sally?'
She looked back down at him over her shoulder, and his eyes were filled with understanding. 'It's your choice,' he said softly. 'I'm not going to put any pressure on you. It's entirely up to you.'
She stared at the bag, looking for an answer, but she knew what it would be. Sadly, reluctantly, she slid to the edge of the bed and stood up.
'I'm sorry,' she said, her voice quiet and defeated. 'I don't think I'm ready for this. Maybe I never will be.'
He closed his eyes—counting to ten? Then he jack-knifed off the edge of the bed.
'Forget it, it was a lousy idea anyway. They always say you should never go back.' He headed for the door, pausing to hold it for her. She went past him and down the stairs, and at the bottom she hesitated only long enough to pick up her bag.
'I'll see you tomorrow,' she said, and he grunted something unintelligible and opened the door. As she walked down the path towards her car, she heard the door dose with a decisive click, and she could have cried with frustration.
She was doing the right thing, the sensible thing, but she wanted to be in there with him, not out here, going home alone.
Nick went back up to the bedroom, grabbed the little white paper bag off the bed and hurled it with all his strength into the corner of the room. It hit the wall harmlessly and dropped down behind a pile of boxes, and he left it there. It didn't matter if he never found it again. He wasn't going to have a use for the contents, and he was all finished being a good boy scout.
He sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed and gave a harsh sigh. He was behaving like a toddler who'd had his favourite toy taken away, and for two pins he'd throw himself down on the floor and drum his feet in frustration.
'Oh, Sally,' he sighed, and shook his head slowly from side to side. 'I'm such an idiot. Why didn't I think about how you'd react?'
Because he hadn't planned it, quite genuinely, was the answer. If he had, he would have had a condom in every part of the house and in his car, his wallet, the pocket of his white coat—anywhere, just to be on the safe side. Instead he'd messed up, and it had given her time to think.
Better than regretting it later, he reminded himself, and with one last longing glance at the bed, he went downstairs, put their coffee-mugs and cake plates in the dishwasher and put the rest of the cake in the fridge. He'd take it to work tomorrow—no doubt they'd manage to eat it between them.
Then he went back out into the garden, belatedly turned off the hose that was watering in the little Japanese maple, and set about unpacking and sorting out the garden tools and equipment.
By the following morning all that was left of Nick's frustration was a lingering regret. He'd had time to analyse the situation, and one thing became clear. The only reason they'd gone upstairs to bed had been because of Amy, because they'd been seeking comfort from each other, and that was a lousy reason to restart an old affair.
He'd suggested friendship as a cover, initially. Now he began to think it might be a genuinely good idea— always supposing that Sally still wanted to be friends with him after yesterday.
He parked his car, strode through the hospital and hung up his jacket, retrieving a new white coat and swapping the things in the pockets. Friendship, he told himself firmly. That was the way to go. He'd talk to her, just as soon as he could get her alone for long enough.
It was one of those Mondays where everybody h
ad sat on their symptoms all weekend, phoned the GP and been told they couldn't have an appointment until Tuesday week, so they'd all trotted down to A and E to have their ears syringed and their tonsillitis diagnosed and their ingrowing toenails inspected.
Sally spent the morning educating—not only the public, who needed a better understanding of what constituted an accident or an emergency, but the young nurses who were new in the department.
Training was a large part of her job, and often she didn't have time to do it properly. Now she trained, supervising them as they undertook routine jobs in the department—putting on new plaster casts, removing stitches, suturing simple wounds and so on.
It was a part of her job that she enjoyed, but she wasn't in the best mood and frankly a good old pile-up on the dual carriageway would have been welcome to take her mind off Nick.
She was painfully aware of him prowling around the department. Every time she stuck her head out of a cubicle he seemed to be there, and it was doing nothing for her peace of mind.
Why on earth, she kept asking herself, had she walked away? She should have stayed. Premeditated or not, it was better than being caught unawares and getting pregnant again, and it was hardly as if she had been an unwilling victim!
She sighed heavily and dropped the notes back into the slot outside the cubicle while the X-ray result was awaited, and turned to find Nick there, just inches away.
'Sally,' he said softly, and her heart melted.
Oh, you fool, she chastised herself. You could have been with him last night.
'Time for a coffee?'
She dithered, but he cranked up the wattage of his smile and she was lost. 'OK, just a quick one while we wait for that X-ray result.'
There was nobody in the staffroom, and he closed the door behind them to give them privacy.
'About yesterday,' he said without preamble.
Her heart skittered. 'Not here, Nick. Not now.'
'Where, then? My place? Yours? How about dinner? We need to talk, Sally.'
'I know.' She worried her lip and thought for a moment. 'What about lunchtime?'
'It never works,' he pointed out fairly, 'and we need to have this talk. There are things I want to say to you—things I need to say.'
He sounded so serious. She began to feel edgy, worried. What could he be going to say? Nothing that should feel even remotely like a threat, she told herself, and yet she felt a shiver of dread. Absurd, since she had nothing to lose. Unless—surely he wasn't going to offer her a commitment? Her heart thumped again, and she swallowed.
'Tonight?' she suggested. Whatever he wanted to say to her, privacy would be a good thing, and she didn't fancy being stuck in a pub or restaurant—or driving afterwards, come to that. 'Why don't you come to me?' she went on. 'I could cook for us.'
'OK. What time?'
She shrugged, running a mental eye over the contents of her freezer and coming up with nothing. 'Seven-thirty?' That should give her time to shop, cook and get ready for whatever it was he had in mind.
'Seven-thirty's fine. How about coffee?'
She realised distractedly that Nick was talking about now, waving the pot at her, his eyebrows arched in enquiry.
'Thanks.'
He handed her a mug, and just as she was wondering how on earth she could get through five minutes of small talk with their scheduled 'chat' hanging over her, a tall, fair man strolled in, dropped a friendly arm around her shoulders and smiled at Nick, extending his hand.
'You must be Nick Baker. Matt Jordan—it's a pleasure to meet you.'
Sally smiled up at him, only too glad of the diversion. 'How was your holiday?' she asked when the introductions were complete. 'Had a good time in Canada?'
He nodded, his smile widening. 'Amazing. Sarah loves it over there, and my parents were thrilled to see their grandchildren again. It was just wonderful, but I think I OD'd on family! So, how are things here?'
'Oh, you know—this morning they don't understand the difference between A and E and their GP surgeries.'
He groaned. 'That again. Still, it's better than the other thing.'
Just then Nick's bleep sounded, and with a wry laugh he set down his mug and headed for the door.
Matt watched him go, then his glance flicked back to Sally. 'Seems a nice enough guy. What kind of doctor is he?'
'A perfectionist,' she said without hesitation, and Matt grinned.
'Excellent. We could use a few more of them. How's our new SHO shaping up?'
'Ah. Less of a perfectionist. He made a potentially nasty boob the other day. I don't know what Nick said to him, but now he asks before he blows his nose. Nick thinks he's going to be a good doctor, though.'
Matt rolled his eyes. 'Great. A babysitting job. I can hardly wait to meet him.' He sniffed experimentally. 'That coffee smells good.'
'It is. Nick made it, he's dead fussy. I have to leave you to it, Matt. Come and find me, I'll fill you in on the news later.'
'OK.'
She went back to her list of malingerers, and found the X-ray result that she'd been waiting for was back.
'Want me to have a look?' Ryan said, appearing behind her shoulder.
'Please, if you would. It's Toby's patient.'
'I know.' He snapped the film up on the light box at the work station, and pursed his lips. 'OK. Let's call Toby. This is quite a tricky fracture to spot—I'd like to see if he can find it.'
Toby was busy suturing a nasty tear, but Sally called Meg, who was free to take over the suturing, and Ryan and Toby studied the film while Sally waited.
'It's fractured,' Toby said cautiously. 'There, across the waist of the scaphoid.'
'Are you sure?' Ryan asked.
Toby looked again. 'Yes, I'm sure. It's very hard to see, but I'm pretty certain.'
'How would you be sure?'
'Another view? A repeat of this one, perhaps, in a few more days? It might not show up for ten days or so, but the symptoms fit and I'd be inclined to plaster it anyway for a few days and then check it, even if I couldn't see anything. She's got tenderness in the space between the thumb and first finger, a weak pinch, it hurts on hyperextension—and I can see it anyway, I'm sure, even though it's very faint.'
Ryan nodded. 'So why take another X-ray?'
Toby gave him a wary smile. 'To convince you?'
The consultant laughed. 'I don't need convincing. I know she's got a fracture. I just wanted to be sure you did. Go ahead and get it plastered—you do know how to do that?'
Toby nodded, explained the angle the hand would be held at and the arrangement of the thumb, and Ryan let him go.
Sally helped with the plastering, and she had to admit that Toby did it well. No doubt the orthopaedic team would want to redo it in a few days but, watching him apply the cast, she wasn't sure it would be necessary.
Perhaps Nick's faith in him was justified.
She checked her watch. Almost lunchtime, and then at three, if all went well, she could escape and go shopping and have her butterflies about tonight in peace.
Yet again she wondered what Nick was going to say, and yet again she failed to come to a conclusion. She'd just have to possess her soul in patience, but patience wasn't Sally's strong suit.
The day dragged interminably...
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nick arrived on the stroke of seven-thirty, bearing a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers from the supermarket near his house. As he walked up the path Sally put the finishing touches to the table, wiped her hands nervously on the sides of her skirt and went to the door, opening it just as the bell rang.
He handed her the wine and the flowers, and she looked at them and tried to see if there was a message in them for her, some symbolic meaning, but there was none.
The flowers weren't red roses—they were a mixed summer bouquet, according to the care label—and the wine, instead of being champagne, was a good robust Italian red.
How had he known it was pasta?
Because it
was always pasta? She put the wine down on the side in the kitchen, dumped the flowers in the sink for a moment and stirred the sauce. 'There's a corkscrew there in that drawer,' she told him, indicating it with a jerk of her head.
He sniffed. 'I can smell the garlic from here,' he said with a chuckle, fishing about in the drawer. 'You always did that.'
She put the lid back on with a little bang. She wasn't in the mood for memory lane. She wasn't in the mood for anything, actually, except finding out what this was all in aid of. She turned to him.
'Nick, what's this about?' she asked, finally losing her patience.
His smile was wry. 'Let's sit down with a glass of wine over our meal and—'
'No. Let's talk about it now. I may not want to eat.'
'You'll want to eat. I just want to talk about what happened yesterday morning, and I don't want to go in cold.'
She turned off the heat under the sauce, flicked the switch on the kettle to bring it to the boil and grabbed two glasses. 'Open that and come through. I'll be in the sitting room.'
It only took him a moment to join her, but by the time he was there her insides were in knots. She was on the sofa, and he came and sat next to her, pouring the wine and handing her a glass.
Then he settled back in the other corner of the sofa with his glass and took a slow sip before setting it down again.
'Well?' she asked impatiently.
'I think we nearly did something very silly yesterday,' he began. 'I don't know about you but, after seeing Amy's grave, I was raw inside. I needed comfort, oblivion, some kind of emotional release, and you were there. They call it affirmation of life, don't they? That's why there are so many babies born during wars.'
He looked down at his hands. 'Whatever triggered it, I never intended it to happen. I know it might have looked as if I'd planned it, but I really didn't. I was just acknowledging the power of whatever it seems to be between us, and I wasn't wrong, was I?'
She shook her head slowly, and he went on, 'At the time it seemed right, but then afterwards, when I thought about it, I began to doubt our motives.'
Accidental Rendezvous Page 9
