'It could be gorgeous,' she said, and she sounded a little wistful. Suddenly, he felt guilty. She must have had a house with Peter, and now she was living in a little flat at the back of her parents' house, and struggling to bring up her child alone. He wondered about life insurance and whether Peter had had any, or if he had left Annie in debt and with financial difficulties.
Surely not. Peter simply wouldn't have been that disorganised.
'Come on,' he said to Annie, 'let's go upstairs.'
Max led her up the broad, solid oak staircase to the landing, and there they found four good-sized bedrooms, a little dressing-room and a bathroom that was straight out of a museum.
'I'd almost be tempted to keep this as it is,' he said thoughtfully.
'They sell suites just like this now,' Anne replied.
'That tiny dressing-room off the main bedroom would make a perfect en suite bathroom,' he added. He tried to picture it, and as he did so he got a startlingly clear image of Annie stepping naked out of the shower tray, hair dripping, water streaming down her body. He groaned inwardly and walked round the bedrooms again, partly to have another look and partly to get a little distance between him and her before he did something stupid.
He could almost hear the echoes of the family that had been brought up here, the thunder of children's feet running up the stairs, the laughter and tears. The late owner must have been one of those children, and the house seemed full of the warmth of happy memories.
As if she'd read his mind, Annie said, 'It's got a lovely atmosphere, hasn't it?'
He looked at her, at the wistful expression on her face, and wondered if there was any hope that she and her baby would be living here with him in the future. The house was crying out for another family, not just Annie and her baby but more children, maybe a boy and another girl, and perhaps a dog in front of the fire and a cat curled up dozing in the sun on the windowsill.
He was getting ahead of himself, building castles in the air, pipe dreams. It wouldn't do to allow himself to get too involved in that particular fantasy. There was still an awfully long way to go before he could be that sure of her, if it ever happened.
He might yet end up here with nothing to keep him warm but the memory of that one stolen moment, he thought, and felt a wave of desolation sweep over him.
He wouldn't give up, though. He was no quitter, and Annie was more important to him than anyone or anything had ever been. All he had to do was convince her...
CHAPTER SIX
They found a nice little pub nearby for supper, and while they ate, Max talked enthusiastically about the house. He'd spoken to the agent before they'd left, and had put in an offer which the agent would submit to the executors in the morning. Until they had replied, there was no certainty that the offer would be accepted, and Annie was worried that Max was jumping the gun a little.
Still, she couldn't dampen his enthusiasm. His eyes were alight, and it was interesting to hear him expanding his plans for it. He asked for her opinion on his suggestions, and she was only a little surprised to find how often their views coincided.
'And the garden,' he went on. 'Isn't it amazing? I mean, I know it's a mess, but it's huge and the basic framework's there, and those old trees—I love trees. There were even the remains of an old rope swing on one of them that reminded me of my childhood.'
Annie had noticed—noticed and pictured Alice, and maybe her little brother or sister, playing happily on the swing in the dappled sunshine, while she and Max sat on the flagstone terrace behind the house and watched them indulgently.
And now who was jumping the gun?
Finally, though, even Max ran out of steam and he gave her a rueful grin.
'Sorry, Annie, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, aren't I?'
She shrugged, twinged with guilt. 'At least you know that you really want it,' she said. 'If you didn't have any ideas, it would be because it hadn't inspired you and so it would be a mistake to buy it, but I think you ought to wait until you know, so it's not so awful if you don't get it.'
He chuckled. 'You're always so sensible, aren't you?' he teased.
She almost laughed aloud. Her, sensible? Not always. Not with him. Now, maybe, but not then. And she found a little bit of her yearning for that irresponsible girl who had given herself so freely and so wholeheartedly to a man she hadn't known and yet instinctively had loved.
But she had Alice now and, however much she might want to throw caution to the winds, she had no choice but to be responsible. There would be no more Alices, no more stolen moments, no more impromptu forays into uncharted territory. She glanced at her watch and pulled a face.
'I really ought to be getting home,' she told him. 'I've used up an awful lot of credit this week with my mother, and I really need to save it for the times that I'm on duty.'
'Do you ever get a babysitter?' he asked her. 'I mean, like a schoolgirl neighbour or someone, instead of your mother?'
She shook her head. 'She'd be woefully offended if I did that, and that's one of the problems, of course. She'd complain if I got anybody else, but it just means I feel constrained and hardly ever go out;—not that I want to go out that often,' she added with a hollow laugh that sounded horribly self-pitying.
Max shot her a crooked grin and got to his feet. 'Come on, then, Cinderella, let's get you back before the chariot turns into a pumpkin.'
Cinderella? Was that how he saw her? Covered in soot, with her fingers worked to the bone and nowhere to go? Oh, lord, if it weren't so close to the truth it would be funny. She groped for her bag under the chair and stood up, and Max ushered her out of the pub and back to his car.
He unlocked the car with the remote-control key, opened the passenger door and waited while she got in, handing her the buckle of the seat belt before he went round to the other side. It was only a simple gesture of courtesy, but it was one he used every time and she found it rather touching.
It was so automatic, so much a part of him that he didn't even think about it. It made her feel curiously cherished, something that was sadly lacking in her life at the moment, and she desperately wished she could forget about circumspection and responsibility and just let matters take their course with him. It wasn't just about sex, it was about having a close physical relationship with someone who cared.
It just seemed such a long time since anybody had hugged her, just a simple, honest-to-goodness hug. Apart from her mother, of course, who did it all the time. It wasn't the same, though, and she really missed the feel of a man's arms around her.
No, not a man's arms, Max's arms, she admitted with painful honesty. She never missed Peter's arms.
They were back at her house in ten minutes, and he pulled up outside on the drive, cut the engine and turned to look at her.
'I don't Suppose there's any danger of you inviting me in for coffee, is there?' he suggested.
She was horribly tempted. It was only early. There was absolutely no reason why he couldn't come in, and after all they would hardly be alone. Her parents were in the house, and there was always Alice.
And that, of course, was the reason why he couldn't come in, because if Alice woke she would have to get her up, and then he would see her, and then he would know.
She couldn't risk it. With a sigh of regret, she shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Max, but I've got loads to do— washing and ironing, and I really need a shower before I can go to bed.'
It was all absolutely true, but it sounded a really feeble excuse and she thought she saw a brief flicker of disappointment in his eyes. She was about to change her mind and retract her refusal, but he gave her that lovely crooked smile, got out of the car and walked her to the door.
Annie slipped her key into the lock to turn it, but his hand came up and stopped her, and as she looked up he lowered his head and found her mouth with his.
It was a very chaste kiss, really, but her knees threatened to buckle and her heart pounded against her ribs. He started to ease away, but a tiny sound of pr
otest rose in her throat, and with an almost inaudible groan he drew her closer, slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her senseless.
She totally forgot that she was standing on her parents' doorstep, but Max didn't. He grew gentle, easing back until he was raining tiny, tender kisses all over her face. Then he folded her into his arms, tucked her head under his chin and rocked her gently against his heart.
She could feel it pounding, and knew that he felt the chemistry between them just as strongly as she did. He, though, had the strength of mind to pull back. It was a good job that one of them did, she thought shakily, because her brakes had just suffered a comprehensive failure.
'Goodnight, precious,' he murmured. 'Thank you for coming with me to the house. Go and do your washing and your ironing, and think of me.'
He dropped another kiss on her lips, tapped her nose gently with his forefinger and stepped back.
'Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow.'
She nodded, leaning on the door for support, and watched him drive away with a ridiculous yearning ache in her heart. Seeing him again was opening up all the emotions she'd spent months damping down, and it was becoming increasingly hard to remember just why she was holding him at a distance.
'Alice,' she said a little fiercely. 'Think of Alice.'
But Alice was just like her father, warm and sunny and spontaneous, full of laughter, her eyes even at eight months twinkling with mischief. Thinking of Alice just brought Max to mind, which was a refined form of torture, but there was no way she could regret having had her. She'd been the only decent thing to come out of a truly dreadful year.
However, until she was sure of Max, she didn't dare let him see Alice, because she needed to be absolutely certain he wanted her for the right reasons. Her first marriage had been a hollow sham, and she couldn't bear that to happen to her and Max. She knew enough about him now to know that once he'd found out about his child, he'd insist on doing the decent thing, and Annie couldn't afford to make another mistake, no matter how much she might want to.
One thing she was sensible enough to realise, though. Her relationship with Max might be on the back burner now, but he was slowly and steadily turning up the heat and she wasn't going to have the desire or strength of will to resist him for much longer.
In which case she really needed to visit the clinic at the hospital and make absolutely sure that she and not chance was in charge.
Just in case, of course.
Max was wide awake. All he could think about was the house, and how Annie had seemed to like it, too, and how right 'Mrs Williamson' had sounded on the estate agent's lips.
'You're getting in deep,' he warned himself, but then he gave a sad, humourless little laugh. He'd been in deep since he'd first set eyes on her at the hotel. He didn't believe in destiny, but somehow Annie seemed carved into his future regardless. He couldn't imagine life without her now, but that was probably foolish nonsense and he'd do well to keep his emotions in check.
Hah! Not a likely scenario. He went to bed and dreamed-—confused, broken dreams about the house and Annie and a little baby that looked just like him, and when Annie turned round he could see that her body was rounded with pregnancy.
He woke with a start. He'd better not get her pregnant! Not yet, not now. He didn't want them ending up together just because they'd fouled up and were doing 'the right thing'. He'd drop into the sexual health clinic at the hospital tomorrow and make sure he was prepared.
Just in case, of course!
Annie went onto the ward just after eight the next morning, and after she'd spoken to Damien she went straight to Mrs Bradley's bedside and checked her. Mike Taylor had been on in the night and had been called to her a couple of times because of her pain, apparently, and Annie couldn't understand it. Surely Max had written her up for adequate pain relief yesterday?
She had developed raging peritonitis, not unsurprisingly, and the broad-spectrum IV antibiotics she'd been started on the previous afternoon hadn't yet kicked in. Her worst problem, though, and the one which was making her most miserable, was nausea.
'I don't like these painkillers,' she said weakly. 'I need them, but every time I have an injection I just feel sick again, and it only wears off as the pain comes back. Then it starts all over again.'
Annie nodded. She could see from the notes that Mike had written her up for pethidine but had failed to write her up for an anti-emetic to stop her being sick. On top of that her pain relief was wearing off before she had the next dose, which was less than satisfactory. She needed a syringe driver with pain relief and an anti-emetic built in, really, but they didn't have a spare one on the ward—unless Tim Jacobs, their leaking RTA victim, didn't need his any longer.
'Give me a minute. I'll get you something now to stop you feeling sick, and I might be able to find you a much better solution altogether,' she told the distressed woman, and went to find Damien again.
'Mrs Bradley's been really suffering with nausea in the night,' she told him.
'Yes, the agency nurse told me. I'm surprised she noticed. We've had that one before, and I think someone needs to complain about her. She's useless. Most of them are excellent, but to be honest I think she's got a drug problem. I think that's the only reason she does it.'
It was a perennial hazard of their profession, Annie knew, and anyone with a weakness in that direction would find it all too easy to get a steady supply of drugs. Still, she wasn't worried about the agency nurse now, just Mrs Bradley and her pain relief.
'How's Tim Jacobs doing?' she asked Damien.
'Better. Why? Want the syringe driver?'
She grinned. 'You guessed. Can he spare it yet?'
Damien shrugged. 'I would think so. He's much brighter, and he didn't complain in the night. We could have a look if you like, see how much he's used.'
'OK. I don't want him to think we're stealing his pain relief, though.'
'We ought to have enough of them. They're essential bits of kit,' Damien said with a frown. 'We don't usually run short, but we've got a bit of a run on them at the moment. I'm just trying to think if there's anyone else who could spare theirs, but I can't.'
'Let's talk to Tim.'
He was sitting up in bed looking much brighter, and he admitted he hadn't used any pethidine in the night. 'I had a shot before I went to sleep, and the next thing I knew it was morning. Brilliant.'
'So do you need this any more, if we promise not to keep you short of pain relief?'
He shook his head. 'I don't think I do, and to be honest all the tubes and things frighten my wife and daughter, so I'd be quite glad to lose it in a way. It still hurts, but if I can have something else...' . He shrugged, and Annie sighed inwardly with relief. Mrs Bradley could have her pain relief and anti-emetic on demand, and Mr Jacobs's family wouldn't have to be scared by all the kit. Excellent.
Within a few minutes Damien had it set up by Mrs Bradley, delivering an even and measured dose of drugs controlled by her, when she needed them and not when she'd felt bad enough to call and the drugs had finally penetrated her system. This way the drugs were straight into her bloodstream, delivered instantly to the site of the pain, and she would need much less overall than with the other method.
And it wouldn't be up to Mike Taylor to remember to give her anti-emetics if necessary.
Annie checked the notes again, unable to believe that Max hadn't written her up for anything, and there above Mike's scrawl was Max's neat, decisive hand, detailing pethidine and prochlorperazine administration as necessary.
So why had Mike prescribed something else, something less effective, and why hadn't it been noticed? The agency nurse, Annie thought with sudden clarity. Of course—and Mike was too busy nursing his ego to pay attention to trivial detail.
Talking of the devil, he came onto the ward just as she finished checking another patient, and he saw her and looked guilty. Because of Mrs Bradley, or because of what he'd said about sleeping her way to the top?
She didn't
care. She was cross with him, and she couldn't be bothered to deal with it tactfully. She walked up to him.
'We need a word,' she said firmly, and wheeled him out of the ward and into the corridor. 'About Mrs Bradley—why did you ignore Mr Williamson's prescription and write her up for pethidine without prochlorperazine?'
His eyes became wary. 'I did?'
'Yes, you did'—and anyway, even if he had omitted to prescribe anything for her, didn't it occur to you to give her an anti-emetic with the pain relief?'
'I didn't know she was sick. The night staff didn't call me.'
'That's nonsense,' she snapped. 'You came back and gave her more later. You must have asked if she'd tolerated it.'
'I thought they'd tell me.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Ask, Dr Taylor. Don't just assume—not anything, not ever, and anticipate. You shouldn't have waited for her to be sick. She's had major abdominal surgery. The last thing she needs is to vomit and rip all her sutures. It's not a case of making her a bit more comfy, it's about not doing damage and maybe saving her life. Whatever, she's got a syringe driver now with pethidine and prochlorperazine, so it's out of your hands, but next time, think!'
He nodded. 'Sorry,' he said, without sounding it in the least, then went on, 'and on the subject of apologies, I was out of order yesterday.'
'You certainly were,' she said crossly. 'Don't let it happen again. I know this place is like a goldfish bowl, but we're all colleagues and a bit of respect wouldn't go amiss.'
'I know. It's just...' He gave her a crooked grin that was meant to be endearing and failed. 'Well, I've always thought you were a bit special, and I was just jealous. I was rather hoping we might, ah...'
She felt her eyes widen in surprise. Mike fancied her? Good grief. She hadn't even noticed him as a man, just as an irritating and slightly incompetent colleague, and his cocky grin now was profoundly irritating. She also didn't believe a word of it. Did he really think saying that was going to get him out of trouble?
'Well, you're wasting your time because I don't mix business with pleasure,' she told him firmly, hoping that would be enough, but she'd reckoned without the thick skin of this supremely self-confident and arrogant example of the species.
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