'But he is the father of your child.'
Her mother's voice was calm and unemotional, and Annie felt the blood drain from her face. She sat down with a plonk at the table, her mouth working soundlessly. 'How?' she finally said. 'How did you know?'
'I just looked at him. Darling, he's got Alice's eyes—or rather, I suppose, she's got his. It's obvious. They're like peas in a pod.'
'Oh, lord.' Annie scrubbed her hands over her face and sat there, her fingers pressed to her lips, her mind whirling. Then a sudden and unwelcome thought occurred to her. 'Mum, did he see her? Alice? Was she with you?'
Her mother shook her head. 'No, darling. She was in bed, asleep.'
'Thank God for that. Mum, if he comes round again, I don't want him to see her, is that clear? He'll know straight away, and I can't risk her security. I don't know enough about him.'
Jill stood up and went over to the kettle, switching it on, then started to potter with the shopping. 'Is this for you or me?' she asked, taking out a packet of pasta.
Annie looked at her blankly. She couldn't concentrate on pasta. She was torn between panic because Max knew where she lived and might therefore see Alice and realise the truth before she was ready to tell him, and delight that he'd brought her such beautiful flowers. She absolutely loved lilies, and the arrangement was precisely what she would have chosen for herself. How had he known that?
'I don't suppose,' her mother said mildly, 'that you'd like to explain?'
Annie groaned and dropped her head onto her folded arms. 'Not really,' she said. 'I'm not sure I can.'
'I take it you worked together, before Peter—well, before he was ill.'
She shook her head. 'No. I met him in the Lake District—he was there with his fiancée when Peter and I went up last May. It sounds awful, because I knew next to nothing about him, but we just—'
'Clicked?' her mother offered.
Annie nodded. 'Absolutely. I've never felt like that with anyone. He was wonderful to be with, brilliant company but not demanding—just wonderful. We went up Helvellyn—it was when Peter had hurt his foot and Fiona was refusing to go for another walk, so we'd gone together. Then when we got back they weren't there, so we asked the hotel to fix us a picnic and we took their little boat out on the lake, and there was a cove, and—well, I don't know how or why, but it just happened.'
Jill sat down again in her chair and slid a mug across the table towards her. 'I can understand that. I felt the same about your father—but, of course, we weren't married to anybody else, so it didn't matter.'
Annie buried her nose in the mug and sighed unsteadily. 'I feel dreadful about Peter, but he never knew. He didn't even know I was pregnant, and at least his parents were already dead and don't think she's their granddaughter, so I don't have to feel guilty about that, but nevertheless—you know how I feel about infidelity!'
She felt tears prickle her eyes and scrubbed them away angrily. Another thought occurred to her. 'Does Dad know?' she asked, dreading the reply.
'Not yet,' her mother told her. 'I thought I'd discuss it with you first, hear your explanation, before I mentioned it to him. You realise he won't be impressed?'
Annie laughed bitterly. 'Just so long as he doesn't hold a gun to Max's head! And anyway, he won't be any less impressed with me than I am with myself, believe me. The only good thing to come out of it is Alice, and for that reason I can't regret it, but there's no way I can just let him back into my life and pick up where we left off!'
'Is he married now?'
She shook her head. 'No. He broke off the engagement straight away.'
'So he's free, and you're free—what's the problem?'
Annie stared at her. 'Mum, it was just physical!'
'Was it? He seemed awfully nice to me. Don't you think it would be an idea to give it a chance? Assuming, of course, that you don't find him wildly unattractive now?'
'Not a chance,' she muttered under her breath.
'Well, then,' her mother said with satisfaction. 'Why don't you go round there now and thank him for the flowers? After all, he is Alice's father, whether he knows it or not, and you really ought to tell him. It would give you a chance to get to know him better.'
It all made perfect sense, of course, but she could feel panic rising in her throat as she walked round there. The light was on in the sitting room, and she rang the doorbell and stood waiting, her hands rammed into her pockets to stop her wringing them.
A shadow fell across the glass panel at the top, and the door swung inwards.
'Annie.'
She swallowed and dredged up a smile. 'I came to thank you for the flowers,' she began, and he opened the door further and drew her in.
'You don't have to thank me. It was just a way of getting to talk to you, but you were out. Come in. I was having a glass of wine—I'm sorry about the clothes, I've been digging the garden.'
She glanced down and noticed the worn jeans and tatty T-shirt,, and suppressed a smile. He looked good in them. Oh, darn it, she wasn't supposed to be thinking things like that! Concentrate, Annie, she chided herself.
She followed him down the hall to the kitchen, and he poured her a glass of chilled white wine and handed it to her. 'Here—it's nothing special, just a dry Muscat. Are you hungry? I've got a few snacky things, or I can cook.'
Her stomach rumbled, and she realised she hadn't eaten. 'Actually, I'm starving,' she confessed.
'Beans on toast? It's quick and easy and I have the ingredients, which is always a plus.'
She smiled. 'Sounds wonderful. Thanks. Can I do anything?'
He chuckled. 'I think I can manage beans on toast. You just prop up the worktop and talk to me while I cook. There's a stool under there.'
So she hooked out the bar stool and perched on it and watched him as he put the bread in the toaster and opened the beans and tipped them out into a pan. It was a joy to watch him. His muscles rippled as he moved, and his movements were fluid and supple.
She remembered she was being wary of him, and still didn't know how he'd found out her address. She couldn't let herself get distracted.
'Just as a matter of interest,' she said cautiously, 'how did you know where I lived?'
He gave the beans a stir, lowered the heat and turned to face her, his expression carefully blank. 'I went for a walk on Monday night, after you'd left,' he said. 'I saw you getting out of the taxi.'
'Ah.' Oh, damn. She'd never thought of that.
'Yes, ah,' he echoed. 'Care to explain?'
'I had a call from my friend while I was in the taxi,' she lied frantically. 'She couldn't make it.'
His brow arched slightly in disbelief. 'Is that right?'
Annie sighed and gave in. 'No,' she admitted. 'I just didn't want you to know where I lived. I was still in shock. I didn't think I'd ever see you again. To find you were my new boss—well, it was a bit much to take in. I needed a bit of space—time to think things through, come to terms with it.'
He nodded. 'I wondered if that was it. You could have just said so, you know,' he added mildly. 'I'm quite amenable to suggestion, and I will respect your wishes about this relationship, even if they run contra to mine.'
She sighed again. 'I don't know what my wishes are,' she told him honestly. 'I feel confused and stupidly nervous.'
Max laughed a little grimly. 'I don't think it's stupid to feel nervous. What we had was a one-off. We have no idea where it might have taken us, given a chance.' He turned back to the beans, stirring them again and switching the heat off before buttering the toast and pouring the beans on top.
'Here.' He gave her one of the plates, scooped up a handful of cutlery from a drawer and headed towards the sitting room. She followed him, plate in one hand, glass in the other, and perched on the comfy chair to eat, wondering all the while if he'd dropped the subject.
Apparently not. 'It is a bit odd, though, I'll give you that,' he went on in a matter-of-fact tone, fork poised in the air. 'Here we are, total strangers, and yet
we shared what for me anyway was the most incredible experience of my life. I'm almost afraid that reality will tarnish the memory, but so far I have to say it's done quite the opposite.'
Annie nearly choked on her beans. His tone was so casual, he could have been talking about the weather!
And then she looked up and met his eyes and saw the slow burn of desire in them, and realised he was being far from casual. She looked hastily away, hot colour flooding her cheeks, and carefully—much too carefully—cut her toast into tiny pieces.
'Annie? It's OK. I'm just telling you so you know I'm still interested. It's not meant to be a threat.'
She looked up at him again, and he smiled, a gentle, encouraging smile that calmed her. She returned it a little unsteadily. 'Thanks.'
'My pleasure. Eat up.'
She did. She realised she'd hardly eaten anything since she'd seen him again on Monday morning, and she was ravenous. In no time at all her plate was scraped clean, and he was sitting back in his corner of the sofa with an indulgent smile on his face.
'What?' she said, torn between laughter and defensiveness.
'You look as if you needed that. Still hungry? I can make more toast. I've probably got an instant frozen something in the freezer if you're really starving.'
'Toast would be nice,' she admitted, and he stood up with a fluid, easy movement and went into the kitchen, leaving her alone for a moment to gather her thoughts.
So he was still interested. And so, judging by the thudding of her heart and the joy she could feel simmering in her veins, was she.
Oh, yipes.
He came back into the room and perched on the arm of her chair, resting a hand on her, shoulder. 'It's good to see you again, Annie,' he said quietly. 'I really thought we'd never meet again, and now we have, maybe we'll get a proper chance at this relationship.'
'I don't want to rush it,' she told him with the last vestige of her feeble restraint. Just his presence so close to her was undermining her resolve at the speed of light. She just hoped he had more self-control than she did.
'Nor do I,' he agreed. 'We'll take it steady, one step at a time.'
He stood up again and went back to the kitchen, returning with a tray of coffee and a heap of hot buttered toast. 'There—tuck in.'
It was gorgeous. Horribly fattening, but it wouldn't hurt her to put back on some of the weight she'd lost. She was skin and bone these days, she realised, despite her mother's attempts to feed her up. Maybe Max and his hot buttered toast were just what she needed.
He put on some music, something soft and lazy and romantic, and gradually she relaxed. She slipped off her shoes and curled her feet under her bottom, wrapped her hands round her mug of coffee and laughed at all his silly jokes.
He was laughing at hers, too, and she suddenly realised she hadn't felt so happy or so relaxed for ages, not since—heavens. Not since the last time they'd been together, when they'd walked up Helvellyn and sat looking out over the sea in the distance and talked about nothing.
'I ought to go home,' she said, glancing at her watch. 'My mother's babysitting.' Not, she had to admit, that her mother would mind if she was late, but the cosiness was getting dangerous.
Max stood up and pulled her gently to her feet, easing her into his arms. His head rested beside hers, and she could feel his heart beating. Her arms slid round him of their own volition, and he sighed softly and nuzzled his face into her hair.
'You're beautiful, Annie,' he murmured.
'That won't get you anywhere,' she protested laughingly, but he didn't laugh back.
'I'm not trying to get anywhere. I'm just telling you the truth.'
Warmth flooded her—warmth and need. She eased away.
'I really do have to go home.'
'I'll walk you,' he said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
It only took three minutes, and as they reached the door, it opened and her father stood there.
'Annie, darling, you're back.'
She glared at him, but he ignored her and held his hand out, giving Max a grim and dangerous smile. 'Geoff Turner—Annie's father.'
Max shook his hand. 'Max Williamson. It's good to meet you, sir.'
'Come in, come in,' he said, eyeing Max up and down like an old lion checking out a potential interloper into the pride. Oh, hell.
'Thank you,' Max said, stepping over the threshold into the hall, apparently unaware of his fate. How could he be so blind?
Her father studied him openly. 'You look awfully young to be a consultant,' he said, and Max gave a wry laugh.
'I'm thirty-two,' he said. 'I must just be wearing well.'
'Things are different these days, of course. I wasn't a consultant until I was thirty-eight. Fancy a nightcap?'
Annie nearly had a fit. 'He can't,' she said desperately. 'He's operating in the morning.'
Max turned to her, one eyebrow raised slightly. 'I am?' he murmured, knowing full well he wasn't.
'Yes,' she said firmly.
He shrugged and smiled at her father. 'She knows the schedule better than me-—I'm still finding my feet. And, of course, she's right, if I am operating then I'll have an early start, so I'd better call it a day.'
And then, just when she thought everything was going to be all right, he turned to her, bent his head and brushed his lips lightly over her mouth.
'Goodnight, Annie. I'll see you tomorrow,' he murmured, then with a wave of his hand to her father, he went out into the night, leaving her rooted to the floor.
'He seems a nice enough chap,' her father said, looking at her for the first time as he shut the door. 'More your sort than Peter. Not that I wish to speak ill of the dead, but I never could see what you saw in him. Cold fish. I like Max.'
He dropped a kiss on her forehead and patted her shoulder.
'We all make mistakes,' he said. 'He looks like one of your better ones.'
And with that he flicked off the outside light, locked the door and put the chain across, and headed off up the stairs to bed, leaving Annie standing in the hall like a stunned mullet.
Her father approved of Max?
Wonders would never cease!
CHAPTER FIVE
'So I have a list this morning, do I?'
'Don't make me jump!' Annie exclaimed, clapping a hand over her chest and spinning round, a laugh on her lips.
'You lied to your father,' Max said, sotto voce.
'I had to get you away from him. He was getting...'
'Paternal?'
His mouth kicked up into the crooked, teasing smile that she loved.
'He gives every man that comes to the house the third degree. He thinks I'm still a teenager. I just thought I'd save you the embarrassment.'
Max grinned. 'I think I can handle your father,' he murmured. 'Fancy a coffee?'
'I'd love a coffee,' Anne assured him, 'but I don't think I've got time. I've got to check up on yesterday's patients.'
'I'll give you a hand with them,' he suggested, 'and then I can steal you away with a clean conscience.'
'Don't you have something you ought to be doing, or a clinic or something?'
'No, it's my admin morning and I've done it all because I'm a good boy and efficient and organised, so now I'm free to play.'
She stifled her smile. He might be free to play, but she wasn't, not really. Still, if he helped her then she could probably squeeze a few minutes. 'OK, if you insist.'
'I insist,' he insisted with a smile. 'Now, who do you want me to look at?'
She handed him a wadge of notes. 'Try this lot.'
She turned away, trying to hide her grin, and bumped straight into Damien. He was giving her an odd look, but she wasn't going to stand there and explain herself to him. She hurried away, notes in hand, to her first patient. As she reached his bedside, she looked over her shoulder and saw Max tod Damien staring after her. Max winked, a slow, lazy wink that went straight to her knees. How she concentrated through her examination of her patients she didn't know, but f
inally she had finished and she returned the notes to the nursing station to find Max there, still chatting to Damien.
'Haven't you started yet?' she asked him, and he just tutted gently.
'Such a lack of respect,' he murmured, and Damien's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Max ignored him and tapped her on the nose. 'Actually, cheeky chops, I've finished, so how about that coffee?'
'Sounds good to me,' she said. 'I might find time to cram in a cake as well. I didn't get round to breakfast this morning, Alice was fussing. I think she might be getting another tooth.'
'When am I going to get to get to see this baby of yours?' he asked, and she felt a jolt of shock. This was a problem she hadn't anticipated, although she should have done, if she'd had any sense it all. She might have known that Max would want to be involved in every moment of her life.
'I'm not sure it's a very good idea for you to see her,' she said with deliberate calm. 'Not yet, at any rate. I don't want her getting emotionally attached to you and then getting upset if things go wrong.'
He paused at the coffee-machine in the canteen and looked at Annie searchingly. 'OK,' he said quietly. 'It was just an idea. I'm not trying to crowd you or elbow my way in where I'm not wanted.'
Oh, rats. Now she'd hurt his feelings and she really hadn't meant to. She stuck a cup under the spout and pressed the cappuccino button. The cup filled with frothy coffee, and she sprinkled the top liberally with chocolate powder and plonked it on the tray. 'I didn't mean to imply you're trying to elbow your way in,' she said carefully. 'I'm just trying to protect her.'
He put a cup of black coffee down beside her frothy concoction and shot her a crooked grin.
'I know,' he said gently. 'I do understand. It must be very difficult, being a single parent. You've had a hell of a lot to deal with in the last year and a bit, and the last thing I want to do is add to it. Now, how about that cake?'
She picked up a really gooey apricot Danish and stuck it on a plate, and he pulled a face and picked up a chocolate muffin.
She laughed. 'And that's better?' she said.
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