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Authors: Caroline Anderson
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Got the X-rays?’
They went into the office, and Michael wrote up the increased rate of delivery of Pethidine through the automatic pump for Barry. Leaving them poring over the X-rays, Clare went back out to the nurses’ station and asked the junior staff nurse, Deborah Lewis, to check the pump as she adjusted it.
‘What was all that about?’ Deborah asked curiously as they walked towards Barry’s room.
Clare flushed. ‘All what?’ she said as vaguely as possible.
‘Oh, come on! Rumour’s rife, you know. You’ve moved out of your flat, every time he looks at you he nearly burns holes in you with those fabulous eyes—and then old Mayhew makes funny noises. Now give!’
Clare laughed and gave up. ‘OK. Michael and I are getting married.’
‘How exciting!’ Deborah’s eyes lit up. ‘When?’
‘I don’t know—we haven’t really decided. Probably the beginning of August.’
‘That soon? You are a dark horse. We had no idea that you already knew him!’
‘I didn’t,’ she said, and flushed again. ‘We just—hit it off, right from the start.’
‘You must have done,’ Deborah said drily. ‘Some people have all the luck. Oh, well. There’s always David Blake.’
Clare chuckled. ‘You could do worse. He’s been after you for months.’
‘Hmm.’ Deborah wrinkled her nose. ‘Was it Groucho Marx who said never belong to a club that will have you as a member? Let’s check this pump.’
The rest of the week was uneventful but blissfully happy. She discovered a saxophone in his spare bedroom, and made him play it for her. He did, and she was enthralled. He did everything well, so she shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow she was.
His repertoire was wide and varied, ranging from sleazy jazz, through Mozart horn concertos, to soulful, haunting melodies that sent chills up her spine.
The days were made all the more exciting by the fact that they saw each other from time to time, and the nights—the nights defied description.
Clare had never been so happy in her life. On Thursday evening he took her windsurfing again, and she managed to stay up long enough to fall in love with the sensation of skimming over the water, the wind in her hair, muscles braced to balance the weight of the board. ‘Fabulous!’ she told him. ‘I love it! We must do it again.’
‘How about Saturday? Are you off this weekend?’
She nodded. ‘Till Sunday lunchtime, anyway. Can we take
Henrietta
out?’
He laughed. ‘You want it all, don’t you?’
She threw back her hair and shook it, revelling in the feel of the sun on her face and the sound of his laughter.
‘Yes, I want it all. Is that so wrong?’
‘No.’ He sobered, and reached out to take her in his arms. ‘No, it’s not wrong. I want it all, too. I just wonder if we’re being greedy.’
Afterwards she wondered if they had known, if some sixth sense had warned them of what was coming, but she felt a chill run over her, and that night they made love with a desperate intensity that left them bothshaken. They slept wrapped in each other’s arms, as if together they could keep out whatever demon stalked them.
They were wrong.
CHAPTER FOUR
F RIDAY was hectic to start with. Several patients were going home, in time for the weekend, and they needed their notes writing up and drugs fetched from the pharmacy ready for their discharge.
Barry Warner had had a rotten night, and was desperately depressed. Clare did her best to cheer him up, but he was sullen and uncommunicative. The physiotherapist, Sue Matthews, could hardly get him to co-operate, and Michael spent some time with him reviewing his injuries and explaining the various stages of his rehabilitation. Even he gave up in the end.
‘Said he should have broken his neck—today I’m inclined to agree with him,’ he said in a rare moment of criticism. ‘Ungrateful young fool—he doesn’t seem to realise how lucky he’s been. He should make a full recovery provided that tib and
They went into the office, and Michael wrote up the increased rate of delivery of Pethidine through the automatic pump for Barry. Leaving them poring over the X-rays, Clare went back out to the nurses’ station and asked the junior staff nurse, Deborah Lewis, to check the pump as she adjusted it.
‘What was all that about?’ Deborah asked curiously as they walked towards Barry’s room.
Clare flushed. ‘All what?’ she said as vaguely as possible.
‘Oh, come on! Rumour’s rife, you know. You’ve moved out of your flat, every time he looks at you he nearly burns holes in you with those fabulous eyes—and then old Mayhew makes funny noises. Now give!’
Clare laughed and gave up. ‘OK. Michael and I are getting married.’
‘How exciting!’ Deborah’s eyes lit up. ‘When?’
‘I don’t know—we haven’t really decided. Probably the beginning of August.’
‘That soon? You are a dark horse. We had no idea that you already knew him!’
‘I didn’t,’ she said, and flushed again. ‘We just—hit it off, right from the start.’
‘You must have done,’ Deborah said drily. ‘Some people have all the luck. Oh, well. There’s always David Blake.’
Clare chuckled. ‘You could do worse. He’s been after you for months.’
‘Hmm.’ Deborah wrinkled her nose. ‘Was it Groucho Marx who said never belong to a club that will have you as a member? Let’s check this pump.’
The rest of the week was uneventful but blissfully happy. She discovered a saxophone in his spare bedroom, and made him play it for her. He did, and she was enthralled. He did everything well, so she shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow she was.
His repertoire was wide and varied, ranging from sleazy jazz, through Mozart horn concertos, to soulful, haunting melodies that sent chills up her spine.
The days were made all the more exciting by the fact that they saw each other from time to time, and the nights—the nights defied description.
Clare had never been so happy in her life. On Thursday evening he took her windsurfing again, and she managed to stay up long enough to fall in love with the sensation of skimming over the water, the wind in her hair, muscles braced to balance the weight of the board. ‘Fabulous!’ she told him. ‘I love it! We must do it again.’
‘How about Saturday? Are you off this weekend?’
She nodded. ‘Till Sunday lunchtime, anyway. Can we take
Henrietta
out?’
He laughed. ‘You want it all, don’t you?’
She threw back her hair and shook it, revelling in the feel of the sun on her face and the sound of his laughter.
‘Yes, I want it all. Is that so wrong?’
‘No.’ He sobered, and reached out to take her in his arms. ‘No, it’s not wrong. I want it all, too. I just wonder if we’re being greedy.’
Afterwards she wondered if they had known, if some sixth sense had warned them of what was coming, but she felt a chill run over her, and that night they made love with a desperate intensity that left them bothshaken. They slept wrapped in each other’s arms, as if together they could keep out whatever demon stalked them.
They were wrong.
CHAPTER FOUR
F RIDAY was hectic to start with. Several patients were going home, in time for the weekend, and they needed their notes writing up and drugs fetched from the pharmacy ready for their discharge.
Barry Warner had had a rotten night, and was desperately depressed. Clare did her best to cheer him up, but he was sullen and uncommunicative. The physiotherapist, Sue Matthews, could hardly get him to co-operate, and Michael spent some time with him reviewing his injuries and explaining the various stages of his rehabilitation. Even he gave up in the end.
‘Said he should have broken his neck—today I’m inclined to agree with him,’ he said in a rare moment of criticism. ‘Ungrateful young fool—he doesn’t seem to realise how lucky he’s been. He should make a full recovery provided that tib and
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