Once More, With Feeling
Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘AT LAST!’

Emily turned into the health centre car park and killed the engine, glancing at her watch with a sigh of relief. She still had three minutes to spare, but only by the grace of God.

With a wry grin she recalled the advert for the job.

‘Four-partner practice in rural North Devon urgently needs full-time replacement partner because of unforeseen retirement due to ill health. Must be on obstetric list and do minor surgery, CHS and IUCD. Most important qualification an ability to map-read …’

They weren’t kidding! She had meandered back and forth across Exmoor, which would have been lovely if she’d had time to appreciate the scenery, but she was determined not to be late.

The trouble was, the roads were all so tiny it was hard to tell which were major and which were minor. Assumptions, she had fast discovered, were a foolish luxury. Still, she was wise to their tricks now and read every single sign—hence her arrival with three—no, two now—minutes to go before her interview.

She had spoken on the phone to the senior partner, Dr Allen, who had sounded very welcoming and encouraging—or was that just wishful thinking on Emily’s part? Whatever, she would still have to run the gauntlet of the other two partners.

And she wouldn’t do it sitting in the car.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, dragging a comb through her thick dark hair. It swung neatly back into the bob, the ends curling obediently under, just grazing her shoulders. Her smoky green eyes, wide and incapable of deceit, stared unblinking back at her.

Just for courage, she winked at herself and her reflection winked cheekily back.

Here goes.

She got out of the car, locked it and strode confidently to the door.

The waiting-room was deserted, and the receptionist looked up with a smile. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, I’m Emily Thompson. I’m here for an interview.’

The smile widened. ‘Oh, hello, Dr Thompson. Dr Allen wasn’t expecting you just yet—you can’t have got lost.’

Emily laughed softly. ‘Only a little. The directions were excellent.’

‘I’m glad you thought so. I’m Sue Hooper, by the way—receptionist and general dogsbody. I’ll tell Laurence you’re here. Would you like to take a seat?’

‘Thanks.’

She settled herself in one of the hard, upright chairs and looked around. Tiled floor—practical, but not very welcoming. Neat pile of magazines, but none of your glossies. Farmer’s Weekly, Woman’s Weekly, My Weekly, the odd Reader’s Digest—a far cry from her last practice in Surrey.

There were pictures on the wall, faded and fly-blown, and the paint had seen better days, but the health-promotion posters and clinic details were fresh and up to date.

She glanced towards the door that must lead to the consulting-rooms, and saw an indicator board, with names and coloured lights, clearly used to call the next patient.

She scanned the names, and her heart came to an abrupt and grinding halt.

Dr D Trevellyan.

David.

Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and she flicked out her tongue and ran it over her lips. It couldn’t be. Surely not? Trevellyan was a common enough Cornish name, and here, only forty miles or so from the Cornish border, it wouldn’t be so very unusual.

And besides, the last she had heard of David he was working in London—probably destined for stardom as a Harley Street surgeon. God knows he had been a brilliant doctor even then, eight years ago. By now, with experience under his belt, he must be superb.

She glanced around the shabby, simple waiting-room. There was no way he would have to settle for this.

No, it couldn’t be him. She hoped it wasn’t, with all her heart, because quite apart from the fact that she wanted this job desperately for Jamie’s sake she wasn’t sure she could bear to see him again.

Sue came back, followed by a tall, stooping man with twinkling blue eyes and a welcoming smile.

‘Dr Thompson—I’m sorry to keep you. You made very good time. I’m Laurence Allen.’

She rose to her feet, praying for calm, and returned his smile and handshake. ‘You did specify an ability to map-read,’ she reminded him.

He laughed. ‘Yes—Robin’s idea. The roads are a bit like that, and the practice is very widespread. Come on through and meet him. I’m afraid David’s not here at the moment, but he shouldn’t be long. He had to go out on a call, but there’ll be plenty of time to meet him.’

David. Oh, God, no, it couldn’t be …

‘Right, you’ll do, Joe. Take it steady, give yourself time to get over this before you get back out there.’

The old man’s wife gave a wheezy laugh. ‘Might as well save your breath, Doctor—you know well as I do soon’s your back’s turned he’ll be out there on the hills again.’

‘Just give him the antibiotics and make sure he takes them regularly, Mrs Hardwill. Nothing you can do to help those that won’t help themselves, eh, Joe?’ David fixed the old man with his best steely glare. ‘You help me, and I’ll help you. I can’t fix you without co-operation.’

Joe’s racking cough filled the dingy, smoky room. He reached for a cigarette and David calmly removed them from him and put them on the mantelpiece.

‘No—absolutely not.’

‘Evil bugger, you are.’

‘And I love you, too,’ David said affectionately. ‘Just be sensible, eh? Give your lungs a day or two to shake off this latest bout of bronchitis before you start poisoning them again.’

‘Cough worse without,’ he grumbled.

‘Yes—because all the little hairs inside your tubes come back to life and start trying to sweep the rubbish out of your lungs—’

‘Little hairs—load of old—’

David tutted and shook his head. ‘Some people just don’t want to be helped.’ He snapped his bag shut and straightened up. ‘Right, I have to get back; we’re interviewing for the new partner.’

‘Woman again?’

He nodded. ‘Hope so.’

‘Why any sane woman’d want to live in this Godforsaken part of the world beats me,’ Mrs Hardwill said. ‘Bain’t nothin’ here—no shoppin', no dancin'—or is she old, this one?’

‘My age.’

‘Spring chicken, then—bit of love interest, eh?’ Joe ribbed wheezily.

David smiled dutifully. ‘I doubt it, Joe. Don’t hold your breath. Anyway, she’s only recently widowed—and that’s if we even appoint her. She’s one of several we’ve seen. Now, remember, no smoking for a couple of days at least.’

He left the house to the sound of Joe’s hacking cough, followed by his voice, wheezy and cracked, demanding his cigarettes.

‘Damn quack—give me them down, woman.’

‘No, I shan’t, Joe Hardwill. You heard the doctor …’

He smiled and pulled the door to, and climbed back into his car.

Love interest, he thought as he headed back to the health centre. That was a joke. Since the disastrous demise of his marriage there had been no ‘love interest'. One or two abortive attempts at rebuilding his life, but no relationship that offered any permanence or hope for the future.

No, there was only one woman—had only ever been one—and like a bloody fool he’d sent her away.

As he turned into the car park he noticed a strange car, and the number-plate had the name of a Surrey dealership on it.

So, the interviewee had made it. Their merry widow, as Laurence called her. Dr Emily Thompson. Even the name hurt him, he thought. Emily. Not his Emily, of course, but the name dragged up so many thoughts and feelings. Night after night he woke reaching for her, only to find his arms empty—as empty as his heart. Emily …

He squared his shoulders, threw a slightly off-centre smile at Sue and headed for the common-room. The sound of masculine laughter drifted to him down the corridor.

The interview was obviously going well. Thank God for that, because the other candidates had been decidedly weak. He could always call her Dr Thompson if he found the name too much.

He pushed the door open, and froze on the threshold. His heart crashed against his ribs, his mouth felt filled with cotton wool. From somewhere far away, he dredged up his voice.

‘Emily …’

Like an old movie, frame by frame, heartbeat by heartbeat, she lifted her head and met his eyes.

‘David …’

His name was a prayer on parched lips, and her eyes drank in her first sight of him in eight long, lonely years.

He hadn’t changed at all—not in ways that mattered. His hair, thick and dark, like polished mahogany, tousled by his impatient fingers, as always threatening to fall across those same incredible, clear grey eyes, the colour of morning mist; that full, sensuous mouth that had known her so intimately; the broad, square set of his shoulders set off by the soft lovat-green of his sports coat; the deep bottle-green polo neck that hugged his solid chest and smoothed over the flat, taut abdomen above lean, narrow hips and long, straight legs in well-cut cavalry twill; feet planted squarely on the floor, the tan brogues well-polished but worn and comfortable.

Only the smile was missing, and she found her own had gone the same way, together with her voice.

In silence she stared at him, absorbing the wonder of seeing him again at the same time as she registered regret, because now this job couldn’t be hers, working with these wonderful, warm, friendly people in this beautiful part of the world.

‘You two know each other, I take it?’ Laurence said into the stretching silence.

Emily opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. She looked pleadingly at David.

‘You could say that,’ he murmured. ‘We were married for five years.’

‘Ah …’

Robin rose to his feet first. ‘Um, Laurence, why don’t we give these two a few minutes together?’

‘Good idea.’ Laurence scraped back his chair and stood up. ‘We’ll be in my office, David.’

David nodded. ‘Fine. Thanks.’

The door closed softly behind them, but the two hardly noticed. Their eyes were locked, trapped like flies in amber, unable to escape.

Then finally David dragged his eyes away and moved across the room, freeing her.

Ts the coffee still hot?’

His voice sounded strained—as well it might. Eight years was a long time.

‘I think so,’ she replied, and was amazed at the normality of her voice. Her greedy eyes sought out every tiny detail of his movements as he reached for the coffee-pot. Were his shoulders just a touch broader? Maybe. ‘You’re looking well,’ she added.

He turned towards her, pot in hand. ‘So are you—as lovely as ever.’ His eyes flicked away. ‘You got married again, I gather. I’m sorry to hear you lost your husband.’

Emily thought of Philip, one of the kindest, most generous men she had ever known, and felt a wash of sadness. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘You’ve got a son.’ His voice sounded harsh, accusing almost. She ignored it.

‘Yes—James. He’s six now.’

‘Rather young for you to have a full-time job.’

‘I have to live,’ she said, still quiet but defensive now.

‘Yes—I’m sorry, your child-care arrangements are nothing to do with me.’ He sat down in one of the easy-chairs, big hand wrapped round the mug of coffee, and eyed her over the top. ‘So, what do you think of the practice?’

She shrugged. ‘Wonderful. I would have loved working here, I’m sure.’

‘Would have?’

She lifted her shoulders again. ‘Of course. This changes things, don’t you think?’

David was silent, regarding her through veiled eyes. She wished she could read his expression, but, like his looks, that aspect hadn’t changed. She could never read his eyes if he didn’t want her to.

The silence stretched on endlessly, and then finally he spoke. ‘It needn’t change things—not necessarily. We need a woman partner, and you were definitely the favoured candidate. We’re very pushed, and we have been for some time. We need to make an appointment as soon as possible, really. Locums are difficult to come by. In this part of the world they want to work in Exeter or Barnstaple, not sleepy little Biddlecombe.’

His eyes traced her features one by one, then flicked back to lock with hers, their expression still unreadable. ‘As for us—well, after all, it’s been eight years. We should be able to be civilised about it.’

She thought of all the rows, and then of the making up, the desperate depths of passion he had aroused in her. Civilised? Somehow, knowing him, she doubted it.

She glanced around at the tired décorations. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your thing. I had you pegged for Harley Street.’

He gave a rude snort. ‘Me? With my rural background and Cornish accent? I wouldn’t smell right—that faint tang of manure that’s so difficult to shift. Besides, I like it here.’

Her shoulders twitched. ‘I just thought—you were such a brilliant doctor. I never expected you to bury yourself in obscurity.’

‘Too good for general practice?’ He snorted again. ‘Was that why you went in for it? Because you weren’t good enough for hospital medicine?’

Her head came up. ‘How dare you? I am a good doctor—’

‘So why bury yourself in obscurity?’

Their eyes clashed for a long while, and then a slow, lazy smile curved his lips. ‘My round, I think,’ he murmured, and his voice curled round her senses and sent a dart of something forgotten stabbing through her body.

She scraped up her ragged defences. ‘I don’t think this will work,’ she said stiffly. ‘We’re fighting already.’

‘Hardly fighting,’ he countered, and she could see from his eyes that he was remembering—remembering the fights, and then the long, slow hours of making up. Sometimes she had wondered if they hadn’t provoked half the fights just for the making up.

The pause stretched on. ‘Give it a try, Emily,’ he coaxed at last. ‘If the others agree, give us six months—a probationary period. We would have had one anyway, whoever the candidate. See how it goes. If it really doesn’t work, then fair enough, but give us a chance.’

Us? she thought. Which us? Us, the practice—or us, you and me, David and Emily, one-time lovers and best friends, with the stormiest marriage on record behind us? And a chance for what? To prove we can work together—or a chance to try again, to breathe life into the corpse of our long-buried love?

‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not sure I’m strong enough to handle it.’

‘There’s nothing to handle, Emily. Eight years is a long time. We’ve changed, grown up, matured. We can deal with this.’

She looked at him, but he was staring out of the window and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Did he still feel anything for her? Possibly. Nostalgia? Fondness? Unlikely, considering the vitriolic row they had had before she walked out.

She could hide behind her widowhood, and Jamie—dear, sweet Jamie, so battered already by his short life. Nothing must hurt him now.

‘I won’t have an affair with you,’ she said, hating to bring it up but needing to make the ground rules clear before they went any further.

He turned towards her then and met her eyes with a level stare. ‘Did I suggest it?’

‘No—but if you intended to the answer’s no.’

His smile was slow and did terrifying things to her heart.

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said softly, and opened the door. ‘Shall we go and have a word with the others?’

‘They haven’t said they want me yet,’ she cautioned him.

He grinned, catching her off guard again with the boyish quirk of his lips.

‘They want you—and so do I.’

The smoky glitter in his eyes made her heart race. ‘David—’

‘As a partner,’ he added softly.

‘No affair,’ she reminded him, conscious of the ambiguity of his last remark.

‘You’ve already mentioned that,’ he said.

It was only later she realised he hadn’t agreed to co-operate—and by then it was too late, because she’d agreed to take the job.

David spent the rest of that day wondering if he needed to have his bumps felt. He must have been nuts to suggest she take the job—just when the nights had begun to seem less long, when his career was on track and his life was ordered and tolerable.

He gave a bitter grunt of laughter. Tolerable? Who was he trying to kid? Emotionally it was a wasteland, a desert crying out for the sweet rain of her love, but would letting her back into his life be anything other than a mirage on the horizon, taunting him with the promise of long, cosy winter evenings by the fireside, followed by slow, lazy nights filled with passion and tenderness?

He dragged his thoughts to a halt, cursing softly as his body throbbed readily to life. Damn her. Damn her for coming back into his life. Damn the coincidence that had brought her back—and damn her for being so shatteringly, sweetly beautiful. All age had added was a soft, womanly maturity. There was no sign of the ravages of childbirth—at least none he could detect, and despite his better intentions he had looked hard enough.

No, she was still his Emily, the woman who had haunted his days and nights for the past eight years, the woman who had taken away his future and left him with nothing but bittersweet memories of a less than perfect past.

He stared out of his surgery window at the hillside opposite, the rolling folds of the valley that fell steadily to the sea two miles away.

It was a beautiful place to live, a place to find peace and tranquillity, if not happiness—until Emily.

Except, if he had to be honest, he had come here initially because of her, or at least because of those accursed memories.

They had spent two blissful, glorious weeks here on their honeymoon, courtesy of Emily’s old schoolfriend Sarah, whose parents had owned a cottage not five miles away—a cottage where they had both given up their virginity in a fumbling, earth-shattering explosion of tension—at least his tension had exploded then. Emily’s explosion had been a little later, when he had blundered his way towards a better understanding of her body and its responses, but when he had …

Remembering those responses drew a deep, agonised groan from him now, and he dropped his head into his hands, knuckling his eyes and forcing his breath through a chest that felt as if a steel band was coiled tightly round it.

Need—years of aching, unsatisfied need—rose up to swamp him. The dull, heavy throb of his body taunted him, and every time his eyes flickered shut she danced naked against his lids as she had in the cottage that bleak December of their honeymoon, her smooth skin lit only by the dancing flames of the fire.

He groaned again and stood up, only to sit down again and force his attention to the demands of paperwork until the embarrassing and unmistakable hunger in his body subsided.

Damn her.

And damn him for stopping her when she had wanted to go away earlier today and forget all about this job.

He should have let her go while the going was good.

Idiot.

It was no good, he was never going to get this paperwork done today. What he needed was some fresh air. There was a patient he needed to visit, too—he’d go and do it and take his mind off his folly, at least for a little while.

The door creaked open, cobwebs clinging to the frame, and Emily stepped cautiously over the threshold. It smelt musty, but it seemed dry enough. She walked hestitantly into the sitting-room and faltered to a standstill.

It hadn’t changed—not since—oh, lord.

Memories came back to swamp her—David, lying naked on the hearthrug, watching her hungrily as she danced in front of the flames, his eyes warming her pale skin as effectively as the fire. He had reached for her, drawing her down beside him, then his body had claimed hers again—

She became conscious of a dull, heavy ache of need, buried long ago deep down inside her, and the slow, insistent beat of her heart beneath her breasts.

She must be mad, she thought with a moan as she pressed cool palms against her flaming cheeks. Mad to think she could come back here to live, in this cottage which held so many memories. And madder still to think she could work side by side with the man who had helped to make those memories.

Her eyes strayed back to the fire, and, sinking down on to the hearthrug, she let her fingers stray over the soft woollen pile.

He had been so tender with her, so nervous himself and yet so thoughtful of her …

‘Isn’t it lovely?’

David glanced round, then back to his bride, her cheeks glowing with health and something else.

‘Absolutely,’ he said huskily, but she knew he wasn’t talking about the cottage and her throat went dry.

Her whole body tingled with anticipation, with the tension that had built between them until now.

But it would end here, tonight, their wedding night.

‘It’s cold,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll light the fire.’

It was reluctant, and she laughed at him and pushed him out of the way, interfering.

In the end, amid much teasing and hilarity, they got it going, and David went out to the car and brought in the luggage and a bottle of champagne.

The fridge, they found, was full of goodies courtesy of Sarah’s parents—the lady who looked after the cottage had been in and cleaned it, made up the beds and stocked up with groceries at their instruction.

‘How kind,’ Emily said to David, and he agreed and turned to her.

‘What about supper?’

‘I’m not really hungry,’ she confessed, her eyes tangling with his.

‘No, nor am I. Shall we sit by the fire and open the champagne?’

They found glasses and settled down on the hearthrug. Although the heating was on it was a cold, cheerless day and darkness had fallen some time before. There, though, in the flickering firelight, the outside world was forgotten.

‘To us,’ he said softly, touching his glass to hers, and, their eyes locked, they entwined their arms and sipped deeply.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Bubbles,’ she said, a little breathless, and he leaned back against a chair and pulled her between his legs, her back against his chest, one arm resting comfortably across her waist.

Her head was tipped back against his throat, and she could feel the beat of his heart against her shoulders.

‘It was a lovely day, wasn’t it?’ she said softly.

‘I thought it would never end,’ he murmured.

She turned her head a little and stared up at him. The flames were reflected in his eyes, but then he moved his head and she saw a fire in them that was all his own. She swallowed, her heart suddenly pounding, and he took her glass away and set it down with his.

Then he reached for her, a little clumsily, and she turned in his arms to meet his kiss. Their passion caught and blazed, yet he seemed reluctant somehow, as if he was holding back.

She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

He shook his head slightly. I so badly want this to be special for you, but I expect it’s going to be a disaster,’ he confessed, his voice trembling a little. ‘I’ve never done it before, so don’t expect miracles.’

She reached up and cupped his cheek. ‘Nor have I, so don’t worry. I don’t know what to expect—except that it might hurt.’

His eyes clouded. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Emily.’

‘Well, we can’t wait forever,’ she told him with typical candour. ‘I suppose it will only be the once.’

‘I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

‘I know.’

He reached out his arms again and kissed her once more, slowly, softly, with all his love—or so it seemed, because suddenly Emily found she didn’t care how much it hurt, she just needed to hold him and be held by him, to feel his body on hers, to know him in the oldest sense.

She reached for his shirt buttons, freeing two and sliding her fingers inside against the warm, smooth skin. A light scatter of hair grazed her knuckles, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Cold?’ he asked, but she shook her head.

‘No—no, not cold.’

He moved away a little from her, and stripped off his jacket and tie, then his shirt.

Her heart thudded and crashed against her ribs. He was so—male? She felt liquid heat pooling low down, just where her body ached for him. She couldn’t drag her eyes from him, and as he slid his trousers down the taut, well-muscled thighs she thought she would die of wanting him.

He turned back to her, his scanty briefs doing little to hide his need for her, and she flicked her tongue out and moistened her dry lips.

‘Your turn,’ he said gruffly, and helped her to her feet.

‘You do it,’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know where to start—’

‘Zip at the back,’ she told him, and, turning round, she lifted her hair and bent her head forward.

She felt the slide of the zip, then the warmth of his lips pressed against her spine.

‘You smell wonderful,’ he breathed against her skin, and a shiver ran over her.

Turning in his arms, she slipped the dress down over her shoulders and stepped out of it.

The breath left him as if he’d been punched. He lifted trembling hands and curved them lightly over her barely covered breasts.

‘Emily,’ he whispered raggedly, and she arched into his hands, pressing her aching breasts against his palms. His fingers tightened convulsively as her hands locked behind him and drew them together, then as their hips brushed against each other they both gasped.

‘I need you,’ he said, the words shattering against her cheek.

‘I’m yours,’ she said simply, her shyness forgotten.

He drew her down on the rug and slowly, his hands shaking, he stripped away the scraps of silk and lace that hid her from his eyes.

‘Emily,’ he breathed.

She’d thought she would feel shy, but the awestruck reverence of his expression dispelled her last fears. Slipping her fingers in the waistband of his briefs, she eased them down and abandoned them, turning back to study his now totally naked form.

He took her breath away.

‘Let me touch you,’ he murmured, and she lay down again beside him, her hands reaching for his shoulders, smoothing the hot satin of his skin.

Tremblingly, his hands traced her body, cupping her breasts, gliding over the sleek skin of her flank, his knuckles grazing her inner thighs. Her legs fell open for him, her hips arching up against his hand as he straightened his fingers and laid his palm against the damp nest of curls.

Her own caresses grew braver, her hands sliding down his sides, her fingers curling round him, hot satin over steel.

His breath caught and he dropped his head against her shoulder.

‘Steady,’ he muttered.

She could feel the moisture pooling as he stroked her, feel the tension rising even higher. She didn’t want to be steady. She wanted to be his.

‘Oh, David, now,’ she moaned.

Her breath was choking her, her heart thrashing against her ribs as he moved awkwardly over her.

‘Help me,’ he pleaded, and just as awkwardly she did as he asked, guiding him towards the heavy ache inside her.

‘I love you,’ he said against her mouth, and there was a brief flash of pain and then fullness—fullness that she had never even dreamt of …

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his voice taut.

‘Oh, yes—oh, David …’

Her hands gripped his shoulders and she strained up against him, unable to bear the tension. ‘Oh, David, please, do something …’

‘Oh, Emily-oh, God, I …’

His body started to move, winding the tension higher, and then suddenly he stiffened, dropping his head into the curve of her shoulder, his harsh cry muffled against her skin.

Then he collapsed, his body trembling under her hands, his chest heaving.

She lay there, her hands smoothing him, and slow tears slipped from her eyes.

She needed more—her body screamed for more, for some elusive release that only David had found.

He lifted his head. ‘I’m sorry—oh, Emily, you’re crying. I did hurt you.’

‘No—no, you didn’t. It’s just …’ She hesitated, unable to voice her need, but it was unnecessary.

Shifting slightly, he slid his hand between them and touched her. ‘Is that right?’ he asked softly. Tell me.’

She was beyond speech, beyond anything but the feel of his hand touching, soothing, yet winding the tension even higher until—

‘David!’ she sobbed, and, burying her face against his shoulder, she felt the ripples spreading, lifting her higher, higher, until suddenly she was over the crest and there before her was paradise …

They came slowly back to earth, their arms wrapped tightly round each other, their legs still tangled, and David rained tiny, butterfly-kisses over her face.

‘Are you OK?’ he murmured softly.

‘Mmm. You?’

Shyly, she met his eyes, and nearly melted at the love in them.

He was speechless, just hugging her closer. ‘You were wonderful,’ he said eventually. ‘I had no idea it would feel so—oh, Em …’

‘Nor did I,’ she whispered, thinking of that unbelievable fullness, the rightness of his body joined with hers.

‘Next time I’ll wait for you,’ he vowed.

They grew cold, and while David explored the fridge she unpacked her dressing-gown and had a shower.

By the time she went back down he was dressed again in jeans and a sweatshirt, and had put some salad out on plates.

‘We’ve got champagne to finish,’ he told her, and they sat together on the hearthrug and fed each other nibbles of salad and toasted their toes in front of the blazing logs until the champagne was finished.

David had put on some music, and, emboldened by the champagne and the look in his eyes, she stood up, swaying softly to the music.

‘Dance with me,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Dance for me,’ he murmured.

So she did, slipping the dressing-gown over her shoulders to puddle on the floor, teasing and taunting until with a ragged groan he drew her down before the fire and made love to her again …

‘Emily?’

She turned, startled, to find David framed in the doorway.

Her first thought was that he wasn’t naked. Her second was that her memories must be written all across her face in letters ten feet high.

She felt colour rush to her cheeks and was grateful for the gloomy light in the room.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘I was just passing and I saw your car,’ he told her. His eyes were on the fireplace, then flicked back to her kneeling on the hearthrug where they had made love that very first time. Something flickered in his eyes, and she could tell he was remembering, too.

She struggled to her feet.

‘I was just having a look.’

He glanced round. ‘For old times’ sake? It hasn’t changed,’ he said softly.

Their eyes met, clashed, locked. Her breath clogged her throat, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs.

‘No,’ she murmured.

‘No, what?’ he asked, his voice husky.

‘No, not for old times’ sake,’ she said, firming her voice. ‘I’m going to be living here.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes travelled slowly over her, so that she was conscious of her nipples straining against the fine fabric of her blouse. His eyes strayed lower, then jerked back to her face with an almost physical effort. ‘Good idea,’ he said, his voice still touched with that smoky gruffness she remembered so well from the intimate moments of their marriage. ‘It’s very handy for the practice—is Sarah renting it to you?’ he asked.

She dropped her eyes. ‘No—she’s—Sarah died two years ago. She left me the cottage.’

‘Oh, Emily—I’m sorry. What happened?’

His voice had changed instantly, softening with compassion, and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought back to the awful night when Sarah had died.

‘A car accident,’ she told him hollowly. ‘It was foggy. A drunk driver—’

David groaned. ‘What a waste. Oh, my love, I’m sorry.’

So was Emily, because she hadn’t wanted Sarah to drive in the fog. ‘Stay,’ she had begged her, but she should have been more insistent, hidden her keys or something. Sarah had been upset, too, too upset to drive really, because that was the day she had found out that Philip was dying of cancer—Philip, her beloved husband, Jamie’s father—and the man Emily had then married so that her godson’s future would be secure.

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY arrived to take up her post two weeks later, having sent the housekeeper on ahead to clean up the cottage and prepare it for her arrival with Jamie.

He was thoughtful about leaving the big house in Surrey where he had lived with his parents, but she explained that they wouldn’t be selling it yet and could always come back for visits. Anyway, she remembered how much Jamie had wanted to move to Devon, how he had begged her. That was one reason, probably the most significant, why she had taken the job. She just hoped for all their sakes that it didn’t prove a huge mistake.

‘Are we going to live in Mummy’s cottage, Emmy?’ he asked for the hundredth time on the drive down. He was so insecure now, and she hastened to reassure him.

‘Yes, darling. We’ll be there tonight.’

‘Will I have my own room?’

‘Yes, of course.’

There was the question of where she would sleep, but as the cottage had four bedrooms there was no need for her to use the room that Sarah and Philip had used—and that she had slept in with David on their honeymoon.

Mrs Bradley, the housekeeper who had been with Philip’s family for years and who was to stay on to help care for Jamie at Philip’s behest, would have the large room next to Jamie as her bed-sitting room. Emily would have the fourth bedroom.

It was small, but she was on her own, so it didn’t matter. Anyway, it had a distant view of the sea down the valley and across the rooftops of Biddlecombe, and the sun would wake her every morning.

They arrived at the cottage to a warm welcome from Mrs Bradley, and within a very short time Jamie was settled in his bed, his teddy under his arm, his thumb tucked in his mouth, and Emily was sitting down with Mrs Bradley going over the arrangements for the beginning of the next week when Emily started work and Jamie would join the village school. She had managed to get a place for him, and the headmaster was looking forward to meeting the boy on Monday.

The only thing left to concern her was David, and the prospect of working with him made the ergonomics of her accommodation and Jamie’s schooling pale into insignificance.

In fact her first morning at the surgery was much easier than she had expected, because he greeted her with a friendly smile, gave her a cup of coffee and took himself off, leaving it to Laurence to make her feel at home and show her where everything was kept.

Her first patients were genuinely in need, but she had no doubt that after a few days word would get round and she would be inundated with people giving their noses a treat.

Her clinics, she noticed, were already booked some way ahead, especially the family planning and antenatal.

They like a woman for a woman’s domain,’ Sue said with a smile. ‘I have to agree—but if you feel you’ve got too many I can shift some back to David, although he won’t like it. Some of them flirt with him, but you can’t blame them. He’s just such a sexy beast—Oh, lord, I’m sorry!’ Her hand flew over her mouth, and Emily smiled at her discomfort.

‘Sue, forget it. It was ages ago, and I’m over him,’ she lied. ‘Don’t feel you have to walk on eggshells, please. One thing, though—I’d rather the patients didn’t know we’d been married.’

‘Oh, of course not,’ Sue agreed. ‘It’s nobody’s business but your own, and I’m sorry I said what I did.’

Emily smiled again. ‘You’re right, though—he is a sexy beast.’

‘You couldn’t be talking about me, could you?’

David’s voice behind made her jump, and she turned towards him with a cool smile. ‘Your ego’s still intact, I see. No, we were talking about Robert de Niro, actually. Excuse me.’

She slipped past him and retreated to her office, closing the door behind her.

It opened almost immediately.

‘Can I have a word?’

She shrugged. She couldn’t shut him out of her life completely; they had to work together.

‘Of course.’

She waved to a seat and positioned herself safely behind her desk. ‘What can I do for you?’

He sighed thoughtfully. ‘Oh, Emily, there’s a question and a half.’

‘David …’ Her voice contained a warning, and he grinned, melting her insides.

She almost groaned aloud. Sue was right—he was a sexy beast.

‘This afternoon,’ he said, the grin replaced by a businesslike expression that wasn’t nearly so heart-melting—thank God, she thought. He went on, ‘Mr and Mrs Blake are coming to see you. They’re my patients, and I don’t know what they want—perhaps it’s family planning or something. Anyway, they specifically requested an appointment with the new lady doctor when she arrived, and the appointment’s been booked for over a week.’

‘I’ll tell you what it’s about,’ she promised.

He nodded. ‘OK. I’ll be around if you want to refer to me—perhaps sneak out to get a form from reception or some such excuse.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you really think that’ll be necessary?’

He shrugged. ‘Probably not. I just get a feeling about them. I don’t think they’re all that happy together, and a joint appointment with a stranger—’ He shrugged again. ‘Could be nothing, of course, but I just thought I’d prime you. Right.’

He unfolded his legs and stretched his hands over his head, yawning widely. ‘Oh, God, I hate weekends on duty. I’m going home to walk the dogs—I’ll be back before two for my clinic. What are you doing about lunch?’

She opened her drawer and pulled out some sandwiches.

‘You don’t want to come with me and grab a snack at home and a quick stroll over the hill?’

It sounded lovely, just the way they had spent their honeymoon, but she forced herself to shake her head. This was hardly the way to start, and working with him would be hard enough without encouraging little intimate walks over the hills.

‘I think not,’ she said as firmly as she could manage, and with a rueful grin he left her alone, wondering if she’d lost her marbles completely or if it just seemed that way.

She should have known to trust his instincts, she thought as she studied the couple opposite her.

They were in their thirties, a very average professional couple, but the way the consultation was going was far from average.

‘Of course,’ Mr Blake was saying, ‘we’d probably stand more chance of having another child if the first one wasn’t always in our bed.’

Mrs Blake’s eyes slid away, and Emily’s own instincts prickled. Her attention switched to the woman.

‘How old is your child?’

‘Four—and she has terrible nightmares. If we don’t have her in bed with us, she wakes screaming and it takes ages to settle her down again.’

‘Not that long,’ her husband argued.

‘No, well, it isn’t you that ends up doing it,’ she returned bitterly. ‘You just lie there on your back snoring your head off and complain that I’ve woken you with the creaky boards—though if you’d ever put them down again properly after you fixed that pipe they wouldn’t creak—’

‘I think we’re rather getting off the point,’ Emily interjected gently but firmly. ‘I have a son of six, and when his father died recently he was very upset. He started getting into bed with me at night, and I could see this becoming a pattern, so what I did was when he woke I got into his bed for a little while and gave him a cuddle, then slipped out again when he’d gone off. If he came to me, I’d carry him back once he’d settled.’

She regarded the couple in front of her. ‘It worked for us—it might work for you. I certainly don’t think you can leave a child upset in the middle of the night, but to allow her presence to affect your relationship to this extent I think is probably not healthy either for the child or for you—’

‘Not healthy?’ Mr Blake bristled. ‘Are you accusing us of abusing her or something?’

‘No, of course not,’ Emily soothed. ‘I’m simply suggesting that a better sleep-pattern, undisturbed by a frightened child, or more opportunities to concentrate on the physical aspect of your relationship might be emotionally and physically healthier for all of you.’

‘Well, it wasn’t my idea to have her in bed with us in the first place, and she’s much worse now than she used to be.’

‘And I suppose that’s my fault!’ Mrs Blake said defensively—too defensively.

Clearly, Emily thought, she wasn’t going to get anywhere until she split these two up—and perhaps a word with the intuitive Dr Trevellyan might be in order.

‘I don’t seem to have all your notes here,’ she said blandly to them. ‘If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll just go and see what I can find in the office.’

She nipped out of the door and down the corridor. Sue was on the reception desk, and Emily asked if she knew where David was.

‘In his office—he’s alone, so if you want to go in you can. I think he’s half expecting you.’

She knocked on the door and went in. ‘You were right,’ she said directly.

‘The Blakes? What’s the problem?’

‘He’s complaining that they can’t have another child because the first is still coming into their bed at night and so they don’t have the opportunity. Reading between the lines, I would say Mrs Blake isn’t keen anyway. Apparently they’ve been trying for over a year.’

David’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Have they, indeed? So why did she come and see me six months ago for another diaphragm?’

Emily’s jaw dropped, and then she nodded. ‘Oh, that figures. The child’s a smokescreen—she’s using her so she doesn’t have to sleep with her husband—or, at least, can only sleep.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Hmm?’

‘I heard a rumour—it might be nothing, but she could be having an affair.’

Emily’s mouth formed a round O. ‘Tricky.’

‘Very. I’ll give you the details later. Split them up, send him in to me for a physical, and get her to spill the beans.’

‘OK. Now?’

‘Yeah, send him straight in. I’ll return him to the waiting-room.’

She went back and sent Mr Blake to David, then confronted Mrs Blake.

‘OK. On your notes it says you have a diaphragm. I’ve spoken to Dr Trevellyan; he confirmed it.’

Panic flared in the woman’s eyes. ‘He won’t tell Neil, will he? I mean, it is confidential?’

‘Of course he won’t tell him. And clearly you haven’t, or else you wouldn’t be here today talking about infertility.’

She let the silence stretch, then Mrs Blake gave a shaky sigh and reluctantly met Emily’s eyes. ‘I don’t want another baby,’ she said slowly. ‘At least, not Neil’s.’

‘Things don’t seem all sweetness and light between you,’ Emily acknowledged.

The woman gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘You could say that. It was OK for a while, we struggled along making the best of it, but then—there’s someone else, someone I love—’ She pressed her fingers to her mouth, clearly upset, and Emily settled back in the chair.

‘Take your time,’ she said reassuringly.

‘He’s wonderful—warm, tender, understanding.’ She paused. ‘He’s also married.’

‘Ah.’

‘His wife’s disabled. He loves her, but like a sister, you know? Not that there could be anything else between them. She’s got multiple sclerosis, and she’s—well, she’s bad.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Emily’s soft heart went out to the unknown woman whose husband apparently loved her, but not enough to stay at home.

‘She’s permanently bedridden now—she’s incontinent and her limbs are very spastic. She finds swallowing difficult, and she’s very depressed.’ Ann Blake looked at Emily. ‘I’d hate her to find out about us, but Richard’s coping all alone and someone has to help him through it. He gives her so much, not just his time but friendship, support—he gets really depressed. That was how it started, really—he was sitting in the park, and I was out with Jane and the dog. He looked so bleak, so alone. We started to talk, and …’

Ann paused, her face softening. ‘He laughed, for the first time in months, he said. I saw him again by accident, and then we began arranging to meet, always quite innocently. We never meant this to happen.’

‘But it did.’

‘Yes. And all I want is to be with him, but I can’t.’

‘And meanwhile you’re living with a man you no longer love, who wants to have another child.’

She nodded, and her eyes filled. ‘What can I do? Richard can’t leave Jenny, and I can’t afford to leave Neil and live on my own with Jane. Anyway, he’d probably want custody and she loves him.’

‘Is it fair to her to use her as a smokescreen?’

There was silence for a long while, then Mrs Blake shook her head. ‘No—no, of course not. I didn’t even realise I was doing it until just now. It was only when you suggested that if we put her back in her own bed it would give our physical relationship a chance that I realised how badly I didn’t want that to happen.’

Emily eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Mrs Blake, when did you and your husband last make love?’

She snorted. ‘We don’t make love, Dr Thompson. We had sex back in—June? July? And that was the first time since Easter.’

‘And it’s now September. How long can you fool him?’

She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Nor do I,’ Emily told her, ‘but one thing I do know—it isn’t fair to Jane to use her like this. She must start sleeping in her own bed again, and I don’t mean with you. How you persuade your husband that you aren’t going to have intercourse is your problem, but if you want any help or counselling advice you can always go to Relate, the marriage guidance people. They’re very good. Perhaps you ought to try it.’

‘And what can they do?’ Ann asked heavily. ‘Make me fall back in love with Neil again? I doubt it.’

So did Emily, but there was nothing more she could do. There was clearly no fertility problem that exposure to the appropriate opportunity wouldn’t solve, and there was obviously no need for any further medical involvement. How Mrs Blake dealt with it from here was her own problem, and it was one Emily didn’t envy her one bit.

As she was leaving, she turned back to Emily. ‘Dr Thompson, this is confidential, isn’t it? I mean, whatever we’ve told each other in here won’t get back to Neil?’

‘No, of course not. Not without your permission.’

‘So he won’t ever know what went on in here today?’

As Emily confirmed that, it occurred to her that it was a strange way to phrase the question. After her surgery was over she went and sought David out.

‘Tricky one,’ he said. ‘I expect she intends to lie through her teeth to him.’

‘Oh, dear. Do you think he’ll come back for some answers?’

David shrugged. ‘Depends how convincing she is. Some women aren’t very convincing liars.’

He was looking at her oddly, as if he was referring to her, and she felt her heart thud uncomfortably. Not that she had lied—except by omission, to allow him to think that Jamie was hers.

Still, his eyes searched hers as he stood up and came slowly round the end of the desk.

‘I ought to tell you all about the man she’s having the affair with. Why don’t we do it over a drink on the way home?’

She had to physically stop herself from backing up against the wall to get away from him.

‘No! I mean—I’m tired, and it was Jamie’s first day at school. I ought to get back and see him and ask Mrs Bradley how he was when she picked him up.’

‘Mrs Bradley?’

‘Our housekeeper.’

David’s brows quirked slightly. ‘Housekeeper, eh? I thought you’d have an au pair.’

Emily shook her head. ‘No—it was a provision of Philip’s will that she have a home with us for life, and a living allowance. He left us all very well provided for, and Mrs Bradley’s just another example of his thoughtfulness. She’s been with his family for years, and Jamie knows her. It seemed very sensible, and to be honest I’m very grateful to her for all she does. I couldn’t do my job properly without her.’

‘No, I can see that,’ he said. He paused, those soft grey eyes searching her face until the need to run was paramount. And yet he wasn’t threatening—rather the reverse. His hand came up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, and she quivered at his touch. ‘Poor Emily,’ he said softly. ‘It must be very hard for you. How does Jamie cope with his mother working when his father’s died so recently?’

She should have corrected him then, but she didn’t—another lost opportunity. Tonight, though, didn’t seem to be the time. Instead she focused on his words. ‘I haven’t worked since Philip became very ill near the end.’

‘Was it cancer?’

She nodded. ‘Yes—stomach cancer. For ages he thought he had an ulcer. By the time they realised it wasn’t, it was too late.’

‘But you didn’t pick it up?’

She shook her head. How could she have done? She wasn’t there; but David didn’t know that. She must find a time to tell him all that had happened, before he thought she was deceiving him. After all they had been through, she owed him honesty, even though Jamie made a useful smokescreen.

To think she had just finished telling Ann Blake that she couldn’t use her daughter to hide behind!

And Jamie, her son or not, needed her now. She might not be his mother, but she was the closest the poor child would ever get, and she fully intended to do her job well. ‘I must get home,’ she said now. ‘Jamie will be fretting.’

‘Of course.’

He seemed suddenly distant, and for a moment Emily felt a shocking sense of loss sweep through her.

Absurd.

Without giving herself time to think, she bade him goodnight and made her way out.

He was the last person she would want to see, David told himself disgustedly, but it didn’t stop him pulling up outside her cottage with a pot plant from the local garage and a bottle of plonk.

It was only a welcome to the area, after all, a simple gesture from an old friend.

And he might get to meet this child of hers, the child she had conceived not two years after their separation—before their divorce was final, even.

He fought down the bitter jealousy that surged in his veins, and concentrated instead on juggling the plant and bottle while he locked his car. Perhaps he should just go, he thought, take the stuff to the surgery in the morning and forget about invading her privacy—

‘Can I help you?’

A matronly woman stood in the open doorway, lit from behind by the welcoming glow that spilt from the cottage across the path to his feet. It didn’t quite reach him, and somehow stepping into the light suddenly assumed an almost mystical significance.

‘Is Emily at home?’ he asked, remaining where he was.

‘Who should I say it is?’ she responded, without inviting him in.

‘David—David Trevellyan.’

The door was immediately held wider, and a smile broke out on the woman’s face. ‘Come in, Dr Trevellyan. I’ll fetch her—she’s putting Jamie to bed.’

He stepped into the light, his heart easing even as he did so. ‘Could you find a home for these? Just a sort of house warming present.’

‘How kind.’ The warm hazel eyes twinkled like currants above plump cheeks that rose with her smile and squashed her eyes into merry slits. David found himself returning the smile and feeling grateful that Emily and her son had such a kindly soul caring for them.

‘Make yourself at home, Dr Trevellyan—I’ll just pop these in the kitchen and go and find Emily.’

He stood in the hallway while she bustled into the kitchen and then out again, hurrying up the stairs.

He heard a mumbled conversation overhead, then Emily appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘David?’

Was it his imagination, or did she sound breathless?

He tipped his head back and shielded his eyes from the overhead light. ‘Hi. I just wondered if you wanted to go out for that drink now—if Jamie’s settled.’

‘Oh.’ She looked flustered, her hands fluttering over her clothes. ‘I’m not really dressed for going out.’

‘That’s OK. The local isn’t smart; your jeans are fine.’

More than fine, if the tightening in his body was anything to go by.

‘Um—let me brush my hair and I’ll be down.’

He watched as she turned, the faded denim taut over the smooth curve of her bottom, and cursed softly under his breath.

He must be mad.

Emily felt sick with fright—or was it anticipation? Ridiculous. She brushed her hair until the roots protested, then dragged a scrape of colour over her lips and smudged them hastily together. That would do. It would have to.

Abandoning her brush, she ran down the stairs like an eager teenager.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘I just need my coat.’

He held it for her, his fingers brushing her neck as he lifted her hair away from the collar in a gesture she remembered so well. A little shiver ran over her skin and, forcing a smile, she turned to him.

‘Shall we?’

He opened the door for her, closed it behind them and then settled her into the car before going round and sliding behind the wheel.

The inside of the car seemed suddenly terribly small and intimate, and her breathing seemed unnaturally loud.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked to fill the emptiness.

‘The Bull-remember it?’

She did—vividly. They had spent many a happy lunchtime there, sandwiched between long, lazy mornings in bed and long, equally lazy evenings in front of the fire at the cottage.

‘Has it changed?’

‘Not much. Nothing round here changes much. It gets a bit hectic in the summer, but at this time of year it’s mainly locals.’

They pulled up in the nearly deserted car park, and she followed him through the low doorway into the heavily beamed lounge that was empty except for a grizzled, thick-set man wiping down the bar.

‘Evening, George.’

‘Evening, Doctor. What’ll it be?’

‘I’ll have the usual—Emily?’

‘Dry white wine, please.’

George set the drinks on the bar and eyed her curiously.

‘This is Dr Thompson—she’s just joined the practice,’ David told him.

‘Pleased to meet you—you’ll cheer that place up no end,’ he said gruffly, and pushed a glass of wine towards her. ‘Here—have them on the house.’

She smiled, his welcome warming her. ‘Thank you. Cheers—your very good health.’

His rusty laugh crackled in the empty room. ‘Of course, you’ve got a vested interest in that, haven’t you? Keep the surgery empty.’

She smiled again. ‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that. Still, at least you won’t have to pretend to be ill to satisfy your curiosity.’

He laughed again as he headed for the other bar, and David steered her over to a table in the corner, tucked in behind the deep chimney breast where they had often sat during their honeymoon. It was too intimate, and she was very conscious of his nearness.

He lifted his glass, condensation beaded on the outside, fogging the pale beer. ‘Here’s to a long and happy partnership,’ he murmured.

His eyes were in shadow, but she sensed the intensity of his gaze. Was he talking about the practice? Or them? She didn’t dare ask.

She lifted her glass, dropping her eyes to the contents. Silently she drank, the chilled wine soothing her tight throat.

‘So,’ she said eventually, ‘tell me about Ann Blake and this affair.’

‘Ah.’ He set his glass down precisely in the centre of a beermat and squared it up with the edge of the table. The task seemed to require an inordinate amount of attention.

‘Richard Wellcome is a local farmer. He and his wife are patients of mine. His wife, Jenny, has MS and is in a pretty sorry way. She hasn’t had much in the way of remission, and I don’t think she will. She’s getting increasingly spastic—she’s on Baclofen to combat it, but it’s a bit of a juggling act because it makes her very sleepy, and she keeps dropping things. Last week it was a cup of tea. Luckily it wasn’t too hot or she could have had a nasty scald.’

‘Poor woman.’

‘Mmm. And Richard, of course, is having a hard time. The farm’s not doing too well, and he’s hiding the real situation from Jenny because he doesn’t want to worry her. What with one thing and another, I’m not surprised he’s having an affair.’

‘Do you condone it?’ Emily asked sharply.

He sighed. ‘Don’t be judgemental, Emily. Life’s hard. We take what ease we can. If Ann helps him to cope, then so be it.’

‘But her own marriage is in ruins as a result.’

‘Her marriage has been in ruins for years. Women don’t have affairs with other women’s husbands if everything’s rosy at home. She was ripe for the picking.’

‘And that justifies it?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

She felt anger stir her, an old, familiar anger remembered from their earlier fights. It shocked her, but she couldn’t help responding to it.

‘David, you can’t just accept it like that. You should encourage her to seek help, to go to Relate and find a solution—’

‘Why? I’m their doctor, not their priest.’

‘But you should treat the whole person.’

‘You’re assuming that infidelity is an illness. You can’t interfere in people’s lives, Emily. That’s not what you’re there for.’

‘But what about the child?’ she argued.

‘What about her? They’ll sort themselves out, one way or another.’

She let out her breath on a whoosh. ‘I can’t believe you’re that callous.’

‘I’m not callous,’ he reasoned. ‘I just know my limitations. Medically speaking, Richard Wellcome is the one with the need. He’s a depressive—and if Ann Blake acts as an antidepressant that helps him through his life, then who am I to take her away from him? Besides, if he can cope, then Jenny can stay at home, which is what she wants. She was born there; technically it’s her farm. Richard was employed by her father to work the farm once he became too ill to manage it any more. I think he feels that quite keenly.’

‘And if it’s going badly, that’s quite a responsibility.’

‘Exactly. It’s a hell of a coil, Emily. You’re better off having as little to do with it as possible.’ He tipped back his head and drained his glass, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Emily watched, transfixed. He set the glass down. ‘Another one?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I ought to be getting back; I’m quite tired.’

‘You’ve had a busy day,’ he said softly, and, helping her into her coat again, he ushered her out of the door.

They were silent on the journey back, and when he pulled up outside her cottage she reached immediately for the handle.

Her mouth, however, was on his side.

‘Coffee?’ she found herself asking.

‘In a minute.’

His hand on her shoulder turned her back towards him, and in the light from the porch she could see need glittering in his eyes.

She knew he was going to kiss her before he reached for her—before the warmth of his arms enfolded her against his chest, before the softness of his lips brushed against hers once, twice, before settling firmly against her mouth. One of them sighed, a ragged, broken sigh of remembrance, and then thoughts fled, lost in the heat that flared between them as their mouths met and melded, locked in a passion as old as time.

After an age he lifted his head and stared down at her, his eyes dark. ‘You taste the same,’ he whispered wonderingly.

‘So do you.’

Her voice was fractured, scrapy. She eased away from him, needed room to order her thoughts.

‘Coffee, I think,’ he said, and his voice was ragged too.

She had forgotten her offer of coffee, but it was too late now to take it back.

They got out of the car and went in.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.