Greg drifted into what passed for wakefulness in time to hear the clock in the small courtyard outside the Common Room window chiming out midnight.

Silence fell and he sat up straight, easing his shoulders to iron out a few of the kinks. There was a scraping outside in the corridor, a dull thud, and… If he didn’t know better he would have said that the clatter was the sound of chains.

Greg was suddenly awake, his eyes straining in the darkness—and then clamped shut as white light suddenly hit his retinas, burning the outline of a shadowy figure into his mind’s eye.

‘Greg!’

‘What… ? Jess… ?’

He blinked against the light streaming in through the open door and slowly began to make her out. She had on the same red coat that she’d been wearing when he’d seen her last. His mouth went dry. When he’d seen her last…

When he’d seen her last he’d been kissing her.

The length of chain slung over her shoulder and trailing behind her on the floor was new, and she hadn’t been quite so grimy then either. The temptation to reach out and touch her, pretend she had a smudge on her cheek so that he could wipe it away, was almost irresistible.

Dear Reader

Since the earliest times people have gathered together and told each other stories. Stories about things they’ve seen or done, funny stories, sad stories, tales with a moral to them. In the times when books were only available to the very privileged few storytelling was a way of passing on knowledge and experience, of sharing and understanding who we are.

And Christmas is a time for storytelling. It’s a way of looking back, making sense of the past, of looking at our lives now and giving us direction for the future. No wonder Once upon a time… are four of the most powerful and magical words in our language.

Jess Saunders shares my own love of storytelling, and when she’s put in charge of the hospital’s Christmas pageant it’s one of the things that she’s bound to include. Inspired by A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, she’s determined to make this year one to remember—but she’s not prepared for how this wonderful story might touch her own life.

Thank you for sharing Greg and Jess’s story with me. I always love to hear from readers, and you can contact me via my website at www.annieclaydon.com

Annie

Cursed from an early age with a poor sense of direction and a propensity to read, ANNIE CLAYDON spent much of her childhood lost in books. After completing her degree in English Literature, she indulged her love of romantic fiction and spent a long, hot summer writing a book of her own. It was duly rejected and life took over. A series of U-turns led in the unlikely direction of a career in computing and information technology, but the lure of the printed page proved too much to bear, and she now has the perfect outlet for the stories which have always run through her head, writing Medical Romance™ for Mills & Boon® . Living in London, a city where getting lost can be a joy, she has no regrets for having taken her time in working her way back to the place that she started from.

Once Upon A
Christmas Night…
Annie Claydon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Cassie and George, with much love.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

GREG SHAW OPENED the door of the doctors’ common room, not bothering to switch on the light, and slung himself into a chair. All he wanted was sleep. He could have done with A few days off in between returning from America and resuming his job, but what you wanted wasn’t always what you got. A day to get over the jet lag, unpack and restock the larder hadn’t been enough and he’d had to satisfy himself with doing none of those things with any degree of completeness.

He should go home. Catch some sleep before he was due back on shift again tomorrow. He tried to work up enough enthusiasm to propel himself into action by promising himself a hot shower and a cooked meal, but the relief of sitting here alone outweighed all of that at the moment. In the darkness, he was hardly aware of the fact that his eyes were closing.

‘Is it always so hot in here?’ Jessie Saunders picked her way down the steep concrete steps, which seemed to lead directly into a sauna.

‘No idea. Apparently the quickest way through is via the boiler room.’ Reena was having to shout now, to make herself heard over the din. ‘Watch out for that handrail, it wobbles terribly.’

‘So it’s fair to assume that Health and Safety haven’t been down here recently.’

‘Probably not.’ Reena shot her a grin and led the way through to the far door, which gave way to a cooler, quieter corridor. ‘The hospital records should be through there.’

The records room, as the notice on the door grandly announced, turned out to be a long, low-ceilinged vault, filled with row upon row of shelves. Reena felt in the pocket of her coat and consulted a piece of paper. ‘Right, so the early stuff’s over there in the far corner.’ She pulled a large, old-fashioned key from her pocket and indicated a heavy metal door.

‘What’s that? I didn’t know we had dungeons in the basement.’

‘It’s an old walk-in safe. It’s cool and dry so they keep the earlier documents in there. I had to promise Administration that we’d wedge the door open and keep the key with us at all times.’

‘And they know we’re down here this late?’ There was no reason for the basement to feel any darker or spookier now than it would have done at lunchtime. Somehow it did.

‘I said we were going to have a look after work. They might have thought that was five-thirty.’ Reena unlocked the door, pulling it back with an effort and wedging it firmly.

Jess shrugged, pulling a couple of pairs of surgical gloves from her pocket. ‘Gloves?’

‘Definitely.’

The boxes of papers stacked inside might be caked with dust, but they were stored in some sort of order. The year 1813 was located and the boxes pulled out into the cramped space outside the door.

‘Oh, you’ll never guess who I saw coming out of the canteen today.’ Reena was carefully sifting through the contents of the oldest storage box, trying not to disturb too much dust.

‘No, I don’t think I will.’

‘Give it a go, at least. Great smile.’

‘The tooth fairy?’

‘Ha-ha. Think taller. Darker and not wearing a tutu.’ Reena rolled her eyes when Jess gave her a blank look. ‘Your ex-boss.’

‘You mean… ’ It would be disingenuous to pretend that she didn’t know who Reena meant. ‘Greg? He’s back?’

Breathing would be good right now, but Jess’s lungs seemed to have temporarily forgotten how. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the large ledger in front of her so they couldn’t betray her shock.

‘Yeah. Wherever he’s been for the last eight months, he’s been getting some sun. He’s looking good.’

Greg always looked good. Jess wondered whether Reena had any more substantive information and how she was going to ask for it without sounding too interested. ‘So how is he?’

‘I didn’t see him to speak to, he was moving too fast for that.’ Reena tossed her head and laughed. ‘You know Greg. He’s a busy kind of guy.’ She turned her attention back to the half empty storage box.

He was back. He’d probably had two or three girlfriends since Jess had seen him last and had almost certainly forgotten all about That Kiss. Just the way she should have done.

‘This looks promising… Jess?’

‘Uh?’

‘I think this is exactly what we’re looking for.’

‘Yeah?’ Jess straightened, shrugging off the brief scrap of memory, which seemed to have lodged itself right in the centre of her consciousness. ‘Let’s have a look.’

Greg drifted into what passed for wakefulness in time to hear the clock in the small courtyard outside the common-room window chiming out midnight. Silence fell, and he sat up straight, easing his shoulders to iron out a few of the kinks. There was a scraping outside in the corridor, a dull thud and… If he didn’t know better he would have said that the clatter was the sound of chains.

Leave it out. After eight months, spent jetting around America and Australia, with some of the sunnier parts of Europe thrown in, London in early November seemed claustrophobic, full of shadows. But it was home. He’d longed to be back home, and now here he was. Feeling just as empty and unsure as he had for the last ten months.

Another clatter. If it wasn’t a chain, it was something that sounded pretty much identical. Greg was suddenly awake, his eyes straining in the darkness, and then clamped shut as white light hit his retinas, burning the outline of a shadowy figure into his mind’s eye.

‘Greg!’

‘What… ? Jess?’ He blinked against the light streaming in through the open door and slowly began to make her out. She had on the same red coat that she’d been wearing when he’d seen her last. His mouth went dry. When he’d seen her last…

When he’d seen her last he’d been kissing her. The length of chain, slung over her shoulder and trailing behind her on the floor, was new, and she hadn’t been quite so grimy then either. The temptation to reach out and touch her, pretend she had a smudge on her cheek so that he could wipe it away, was almost irresistible.

She was staring at him as if she’d just seen a ghost. She swallowed hard and seemed to come to her senses. ‘I heard you were back.’

‘Yeah. Only just. I landed yesterday morning, and got a call at lunchtime, saying that they were short-staffed in A and E and could I start work today.’ Guilt trickled down his spine. He probably should have called her. He’d thought about it often enough.

She nodded. No hint in her steady gaze that their kiss figured anywhere in her attitude towards him. ‘Well, it’s nice to see you back. Have you got… things… settled?’

‘Not quite.’ It was never going to be completely settled. ‘For the time being.’ The urge to explain himself was prickling at the back of Greg’s neck, but he had no idea where to start. ‘Jess… ’

‘Yes?’

‘What’s with the chains?’

She flushed prettily. Dragged the knitted beret off her head, leaving her honey-coloured hair impossibly rumpled. A little longer than it had been last Christmas, and the style suited her.

‘Ah.’ She started to unwind the length of chain from her neck. ‘It’s for the dressing up. For Christmas.’ She indicated a stack of plastic crates in the corner.

‘You’re going to dress up in chains for Christmas?’ Greg couldn’t help smiling and she shot him a glare in return.

‘No, of course not. Gerry is.’ She finally managed to free herself from the chain, opening one of the crates and dumping it inside.

‘Gerry’s going to dress up in chains for Christmas?’ Gerard Mortimer, the senior cardiac consultant. Greg was sure that there were plenty of things more incongruous in the world, but at the moment he couldn’t bring any of them to mind. ‘Starting when?’

This time her look was ferocious enough to have cut through cold steel. ‘Some of us are dressing up as characters from Dickens’s novels. Gerry’s going to be Jacob Marley’s ghost.’

There were no words to say. Greg began to wonder whether he wasn’t dreaming after all. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Jess had featured in his dreams, but he had to admit that the chains were a new development. Maybe fatigue was lending an edge to his imagination.

‘Are you okay?’ She was staring at him intently.

‘Uh… ?’ On the off chance that he was dealing with reality and not a set of unconnected threads from his unconscious mind, he should give an answer of some sort. ‘Yeah, fine. Jet lag. So who are you dressing up as?’ It couldn’t hurt to ask, and Greg found that he was suddenly and irrationally interested.

‘I’m not dressing up. I’m organising everything.’

‘So this Christmas won’t be as chaotic as last… ’ He bit his tongue but it was too late. The cat had clawed its way out of the bag and ushered something that looked suspiciously like an elephant into the room.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

She was blushing furiously, refusing to meet his gaze. She remembered. And from the look of things she was no more indifferent to it than he was. Greg could barely suppress his grin.

‘I meant that… the weather will probably be better.’

‘Yes. I expect so. Last year was quite unusual.’ She was backing towards the door now. ‘It’s late. I’d better be getting home.’

‘See you tomorrow?’

‘Yes… Maybe.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’ The door banged behind her, and Greg settled back into his chair. Just another ten minutes, to settle his jumbled thoughts, then he’d go home. Last Christmas…

The dream seized Greg with all the colour and immediacy of a memory, which had shadowed him for the last thirty years. The large, opulent room and the child, sitting on a thick, intricately patterned rug on the floor.

He was making something. Without having to look, Greg knew what it was. The Christmas card was for his father, the picture on the front a wishful representation of a family—father, mother and their five-year-old son—under a Christmas tree. It was almost painful to watch his younger self, so absorbed in this task, so careful with the picture and the wording inside the card, because Greg knew what was to come.

The lavishly wrapped presents from America had been no substitute for his father’s arrival, but the child had believed all the excuses that Christmas. It had taken years of broken promises to finally squash Greg’s faith and make him realise that the time his father gave so freely to the company and the people he worked with was doled out like a miser’s shilling to his family.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Greg breathed the words to his younger self, wondering if there was any way he could comfort the boy. Apparently not. His own memories still tasted of the bitterness of dreams that had never been smashed but had just dissolved under the weight of reality.

The boy was growing, though, almost before his eyes. Finding his way in the world. A first kiss on a sun-strewn hillside in Italy, where he had been holidaying with his mother’s family. The letter to his father, telling him that he was going to medical school, which had gone unanswered. The party that his mother and stepfather had thrown for him before he’d left home. The hard work, the weary nights and the smile of a woman he’d saved. She’d been the first, and from then on he’d known that this was what he was supposed to do.

Greg was reeling from the vivid clarity of the thoughts and memories flashing in front of him. Faces, dreams. The soft touch of a woman’s skin. Jess. She’d been the last, delicious taste of the life that he’d left behind. Maybe not a perfect life, there had been the usual mistakes, the usual disappointments, but it had been his and he had a singular affection for it.

Finally, the parade of images slowed. Stopped. It was last Christmas, in the dark, deserted courtyard outside the hospital, and Greg could see himself, talking to Jess. Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he knew well enough. Knew what was coming, too, and he held his breath, afraid that in some way he might alter history and divert their path away from that sweet outcome.

She must have been as back-breakingly tired as he was, but she still shone. Still wore that red sparkly headband that had brought a little Christmas cheer into an A and E department that had been in a state of siege after a cold snap, accompanied by snow, had filled the waiting room, and a flu bug had thrown the holiday rota into chaos.

Greg saw himself grimace. They’d got to the goodbye. Jess had worked for him for two years, and was leaving soon, to take up a post in Cardiology. It was what she wanted to do and he was pleased for her but even now, ten months later, the sudden feeling of loss stabbed at him.

There it was… Greg watched as his former self leaned forward, a brief kiss on the cheek. Saw her flinch back in surprise as he went to kiss the other cheek, and knew that he’d whispered something about a single kiss not being enough, using his Italian heritage as an excuse for his own craving to feel her skin against his again.

More talk, their bodies seeming to grow closer by the second, and then he’d caught her hand. Pressed her fingers against his lips, smiling when she didn’t draw back. And then Greg had heedlessly trashed the first of the three rules he’d lived by up until that moment. He’d gone ahead and kissed her, despite the fact that Jess was still a member of his team for another week, and he always, whatever the circumstances, kept it strictly professional at work.

‘Think you’re in control of this, don’t you?’

He murmured the warning and his former self took no heed of it. Jess would show him differently, any minute now. Greg watched as she pulled away for a moment and then kissed him back, her hand sliding over the stubble on his jaw and coming to rest on his neck, in the exact place that had suddenly and inexplicably seemed to control the whole of his body.

She’d torn his breath away, taken everything that he was and made it hers. What was the second rule again? Don’t let your love life get out of control? That had dissolved in the wash of pleasure that had been engulfing him, without anything more than a slight pop. This had been uncharted territory. He’d known no more about Jess’s personal life than she had about his, and if that wasn’t out of control he didn’t know what was.

It was Jess who had come to her senses. Down-to-earth, dependable Jess, who had always seemed so immune to his charm.

‘This might not be such a good idea. We work together… ’

She’d given him a way out, and he’d stubbornly refused to take it.

‘Not for much longer.’

‘I suppose I won’t be seeing so much of you after next week. When I take up the post in Cardiology.’

There had been a gleam of mischief in her smile.

The third rule had flared and burned in the heat of her touch. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

‘You’ll see me. I’ll find you.’

He had kissed her one last time, just to let her know that he would. And she had clung to him, to let him know just what his welcome would be like when he did.

‘Happy Christmas, Greg.’

‘Happy Christmas, Jess.’

Greg’s eyes opened and he found himself staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t even looked for her, let alone found her. In the week between Christmas and the New Year the call had come, telling him that his father was gravely ill. Instead of going to Jess’s goodbye drinks, Greg had been on the motorway, on his way to his father’s house. Too late, he’d realised that he’d left no message to tell her why he couldn’t be there.

Days had turned into weeks. Every moment that Greg hadn’t been at work had been spent either on the road or at his father’s bedside. He’d known that he was dying, but somehow it had seemed all wrong when the man who had capitulated to no one gave way to death. Then the will had been read, and Greg’s world had been turned upside down. He’d packed his bags and gone to America to try and sort it all out, knowing that it was too late to seek her out.

Maybe she’d forgiven him. She certainly hadn’t forgotten him. And maybe now he could do what he’d neglected to do before, and had been regretting for the last ten months. Get to know Jess. Find out whether that kiss had been just an aberration, something that had happened which had never been meant to be, or whether it might, just might have been the start of something.

CHAPTER TWO

GREG BREEZED INTO Cardiology as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and he was simply looking for something he’d misplaced.

‘Ah! Just what I needed.’ The coffee that he’d bought for Jess was whipped from his hand, and Gerry lifted the take-away cup to his lips.

Best brazen it out. ‘Thought you might.’ Greg leaned against the reception desk and opened his own coffee.

‘So, welcome to Cardiology. And who might you be?’ Gerry’s Irish accent was always broader when he was smiling.

‘Feeling neglected, are we?’

‘Not me.’ Gerry tipped the coffee cup towards him as if in a toast. ‘I’m easily pleased, though. Maura wants to know when you’ll be coming over for dinner.’

‘Soon. I’m on lates at the moment. But I can pop in at the weekend, see the kids. I’ve something for them from America.’ Something that his father’s personal assistant had procured from the toy store. Greg hadn’t needed to ask whether Pat had done the same each time his own birthday or Christmas had rolled around. The meticulously wrapped presents for Jamie and Emma bore the same careful folds that he’d examined and practised himself as a child, thinking that this, at least, would be something he’d learned from his father.

‘… .last time. By the time Jamie’s old enough for that remote-controlled car you sent him, I’ll have worn it out.’ Gerry’s voice filtered back into his consciousness.

‘I thought you’d like it. And I’ve got something a bit more age appropriate this time.’ Greg would rewrap the parcels himself. Then at least he’d know what was inside them. ‘I had some help in choosing. My father’s PA is great with things like that.’ He’d always loved his presents and had no reason to suppose that Pat had lost her touch. As long as the kids were happy, did it really make so much of a difference?

‘Yeah? How are things going over there? You weren’t exactly communicative when we spoke last time.’

‘I know. It’s complicated.’

Gerry bared his teeth in a wry smile. ‘What, there’s a woman involved?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘That’s generally your definition of complicated.’

‘Never make assumptions.’ Greg wondered what kind of rumours had been circulating about his protracted absence. Went as far as hoping that Jess hadn’t heard them and then decided not to go there. ‘Is Jess around?’

‘I think she’s doing a ward round.’ Gerry flipped an enquiring look at the receptionist, who nodded. ‘She’ll be back soon. Can I help?’

‘Not unless you’re in charge of the Christmas pageant.’ Gerry wouldn’t question the excuse. Jess wasn’t ‘his type’. It occurred to Greg that perhaps it was the women he usually dated who weren’t his type.

‘So she’s got you involved with that, has she?’

‘Not yet. I thought I might lend a hand, though. Anything that involves you in chains has got to be worth a look.’

Gerry chuckled. ‘Yeah. Think I got lumbered there.’ Something caught his eye and he gestured. ‘Jess. You’ve got a new recruit.’

By the time Greg had turned, her initial reaction to his presence, if indeed there had been one, was under control. He’d never seen her in anything other than scrubs or jeans before, but today she wore a skirt and blouse under her crisp white coat. Hair tied back, showing off the curve of her neck, and, though it came as no particular surprise to Greg that Jess had legs, somehow he couldn’t drag his eyes away from them.

‘Don’t eye my staff up, mate.’ At least Gerry had the grace to lean in close so no one else could hear him. Greg shot him a warning look, and Gerry laughed, turning to the receptionist, who immediately gave him something else to do.

‘You want to help with the pageant?’ Jess’s voice next to him was uncertain.

‘Oh. Yeah, I thought if you wanted a hand… ’ He stopped. Suddenly it seemed crass to just breeze in, as if the last ten months hadn’t happened.

‘Yes. Always.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘Greg, I… It was such a surprise to see you last night, and I didn’t… ’ She took a breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I heard about your father. I’m very sorry. I should have made sure that I got the chance to say that before now.’

He stared at her. He’d left her hanging, without a word, and she was the one who seemed to feel she had something to explain. ‘Thanks. And… I was the one who wasn’t around, not you.’

‘That’s understandable.’ Suddenly they weren’t talking about his father any more. It was all about Greg and Jess. And that kiss. No, not the kiss, that had been just fine. The promise he’d made and then broken.

‘You think so?’ Calling her, from his father’s place or long distance from America, had seemed somehow indefinably wrong. Now he was back in London, it felt wrong that he hadn’t.

She shrugged. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’

That was all he needed. ‘Well, in that case, do you want to meet up? To talk about the pageant, I mean. I could buy you lunch perhaps.’

She pursed her lips. ‘You might like to reconsider that. I can think of a lot of jobs in the time it takes to eat lunch. Maybe just a coffee.’

He wanted so badly to push her, not to take no for an answer. But he didn’t have the right. Thinking about her for the whole of the last ten months didn’t count as any form of contact, unless she happened to be psychic. ‘Whatever suits you. Would you like me to call you?’

She nodded, pulling her phone out of her pocket. ‘What’s your number?’

She thumbed in the digits as he recited them and his mobile sounded, one ring from his back pocket. ‘There, you’ve got mine now. If you want to risk lunch, I’ll make a list of things we need help with.’

He grinned. Jess had come through for him yet again. This time he wouldn’t let her down.

Are you free for lunch on Sunday?

Jess wasn’t about to admit that those seven words were the ones that she’d been waiting for ever since she’d last seen Greg. She texted back with the minimum of information.

Yes.

Come over to mine. I’ll make lunch. You can give me a rundown on what you want me to do.

‘Don’t tempt me… ’ She hissed the words between her teeth, but couldn’t help smiling to herself. He might have left her hanging, and it might have hurt, but Jess wasn’t quite sure what she would have done if he hadn’t. If Greg had come knocking on her door, she might just have taken fright and pretended she wasn’t home.

Sounds good. What time?

I’ll pick you up at twelve.

No, that was one step too far for the moment.

Send me your address. I’ll make my own way.

There was a pause, and then her phone beeped again. His address, along with an electronic smile. Nothing like his real smile. Good. It was far too early to start thinking about all the things his smile did to her.

The climb up to the top floor wasn’t anywhere near long enough to make her feel dizzy, but then Greg answered the door. A blue shirt, open just far enough to show improbably smooth, olive skin and jeans that fitted him like a glove. Dark hair, and dark eyes, which were even more striking here than in the fluorescent glare of the hospital. Couldn’t he give a girl a break?

‘That smells fabulous. What is it?’ When she followed him through to the large, sleek kitchen, the smell curled around her like a warm, comfortable blanket.

‘One of my mother’s secret recipes.’ Greg had clearly come to the same conclusion that Jess had. The easy humour they’d shared at work was the best way to forget that they were alone together in his flat. ‘You know the score. If I tell you what’s in there, I… ’

‘Yeah, I know. You have to shoot me.’

‘Yep. Or challenge you to a duel.’

‘You prefer hand-to-hand fighting?’

‘Every time.’ He surveyed the pans on the stove, gave one a stir and then turned his attention back to her. ‘Don’t you like to be able to look straight into the other man’s eyes?’

‘Of course. How else would I know exactly what he was thinking?’

He barked out a sudden laugh. ‘Touché. So tell me all about this Christmas extravaganza of yours.’

It wasn’t really hers and it wasn’t much of an extravaganza, but it was something to talk about over their meal. Greg chuckled when she told him about the plan for carol singers, dressed up as characters from Dickens, and loved the idea for storytellers in the children’s wards.

‘That’s a great idea. Aren’t you going to go through to the general wards as well?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jess shrugged. ‘I didn’t really think of doing that.’

‘Adults love to be read to as well. There’s evidence to suggest that it’s beneficial for stroke patients. I imagine that a good storyteller could capture a lot of interest with the elderly as well.’

‘Hmm. Yeah, worth thinking about.’ She should have known that Greg would be able to add something to the value of the project.

‘So what else?’

‘As it’s the hospital’s two hundredth anniversary this year, we’re going to do a small exhibition in the main foyer. How things were then. There are loads of old documents in the basement, and I was thinking of making a model of the building.’ He was giving her the same look that everyone gave her when she got to this bit. ‘It’s not as crazy as it sounds. It’s going to be done properly, I’m not thinking of just gluing a couple of empty cereal packets together. It’ll be 1:87 scale, like the model trains.’

‘Trains?’

Jess rolled her eyes. ‘What is it about men and model trains? Yes, trains if you like, the railway ran past the hospital then as well. Only I can’t find anyone who’s got any trains.’

‘I’ll give someone a ring. One of my father’s associates in America. She has a talent for getting anything you can think of.’

‘We don’t have a budget… ’

He swept her objections away with a wave of his hand. ‘That’s okay. No budget needed. Pat has a talent for that as well.’

Jess eyed him suspiciously, but he didn’t look as if he was going to come up with any further explanations. And she wasn’t in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth. ‘Thanks. That would be great.’ In for a penny… ‘And the model?’

His lips twisted into a smile. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll sort that out too.’ He put his fork down onto his empty plate with a clatter. ‘Anything else?’

‘No, I think that’s enough to keep you busy. Or… Pat, was it?’

He grinned. Perhaps she had been a little too transparent. ‘Yeah, Pat. I’ve known her since I was five years old. She was going to retire this year but I convinced her to stay on for a little while, to help me sort out my father’s estate.’

‘Oh. Good idea.’ Jess wasn’t even going to admit to herself that she would have been jealous if Pat had turned out to be a leggy blonde. Or, more exactly, a leggy blonde in her twenties. ‘Was it very complicated, then?’

‘Yes.’ The sudden flatness of his tone said that Greg had divulged as much as he was going to on the subject. ‘Did you enjoy your food?’

‘Very much. You have a great apartment, too.’

He looked around, as if he hadn’t noticed. ‘Glad you like it.’

What wasn’t to like? Greg didn’t live ostentatiously, but all his furniture matched and it screamed quality. And that was before you counted the large, top-floor living space, the tall windows and the amazing view.

‘You moved in here recently?’ This kind of apartment was far beyond the reach of a doctor’s salary. He must have inherited the money from his father.

‘No.’ He laughed at her surprise. ‘I had a trust fund. By the time it matured, it was enough for this place.’

Jess almost choked on the last mouthful from her plate. Greg obviously came from a very different background from hers. ‘That sounds… useful.’

He leaned towards her. ‘The last time I saw you look that disapproving was when Ray Harris ended up as a patient in his own ambulance.’

‘That was my professional face.’

‘No, it wasn’t. You looked as sour as a bowl of lemons.’ He was teasing her now.

‘Well, it was a bit much. Ray was just trying to help—the guy didn’t need to take a swing at him. How hard do you have to hit someone to break their cheekbone?’

‘Hard. And you were a model of restraint. I couldn’t have done better myself.’ He chuckled.

‘Of course you couldn’t. I was there, remember? I saw what you did to that drinks machine.’

‘It wasn’t working. I pressed the button and got hot water all over my feet.’

‘You didn’t press it, you punched it.’

They were both laughing now. This was almost unbearable. The highs and lows, the humour, the camaraderie, all of it free of the framework of hospital rules and common sense, which had kept their relationship on a professional footing. There was nothing to protect her now.

‘So what’s so bad about having a trust fund, then?’ He was still grinning.

Jess shrugged. ‘Thought I was off the hook with that one.’

‘You’re not on any hook. I’m just interested.’

‘I’ve just never known anyone with a trust fund. Does it make a difference? To the way you look at things, I mean.’

He threaded his fingers together. Long fingers. She already knew that Greg had a sensitive touch. ‘I had to work just as hard as everyone else at med school. Lived in the same sorts of digs. It matured when I was thirty and by that time I’d already earned what I really wanted out of life. I imagine that was just as my father intended.’

‘He sounds like an astute man.’

Something flickered in his eyes and then died. She was evidently not about to hear any of Greg’s thoughts on his father. He rose and collected the empty plates from the table. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll make some coffee.’

‘I’ll help you with the dishes.’ Jess made to get up.

‘My guests don’t do washing up.’ He grinned at her protest. ‘Neither do I. I’m just going to stack these in the dishwasher.’

Right. Of course he was. Jess shook her head at her own lack of sophistication and obediently descended the three steps that divided the dining area from the living space, sitting down on one of the butter-smooth, leather sofas.

He was back in ten minutes, along with a tray, laden with coffee and after-dinner sweets. ‘This is nice. Really nice. Thank you.’ He was more than just a good cook, he was a good host. Everything was in the right place, at the right time. And Jess was pretty sure that the music playing softly in the background had been chosen with her own favourite tracks in mind.

‘Thank you.’ He seemed about to ask something and then hesitated.

‘I can only say no.’ Jess might not have the sophistication that Greg had, but she could read between the lines.

‘Nah. You won’t do that.’ He settled back in his seat, the soft leather easing with him.

‘I might. You think you can just charm me into anything?’ He probably could, but letting him know that would be a bad move right now.

He thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t.’ He let the compliment, if that’s what it was, sink in. ‘Unfortunately.’

‘Why unfortunately?’

‘Because some things are a lot easier when you have a friend around.’

All right. He’d got her now. After that, she couldn’t say no. ‘What things?’

‘I’ve inherited a house from my father. I need to go up there next weekend as there are some things I need to sort out. I’d really appreciate some company.’

Jess pressed her burning cheek against the cool, brushed steel wall of the lift. So Greg had secrets. That was okay, everyone had one or two. His family had money. That wasn’t exactly his fault. As a colleague, even as a friend, that wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other.

He wasn’t either of those any more, though. Not quite a lover yet, but Jess was becoming acutely aware that it would only take one touch. One kiss, and this time nothing would be able to stop them.

And if they didn’t stop? If they went ahead? Greg would have the power to tip her well-ordered life on its head. Jess had no doubt whatsoever that he would, that was what Greg was like, he thought outside the box. The scariest thing about it was that this only made him even more irresistible.

She sighed. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t transform her world and then leave. If the hospital grapevine was anything to go by, that’s exactly what he would do. But that didn’t matter any more. However many reasons there were to have nothing more to do with Greg, she was going with him next weekend. That was all there was to it.

CHAPTER THREE

JESS’S WARDROBE WASN’T large, but it was focussed. Plain skirts and trousers and an assortment of matching blouses for work. A tailored suit for interviews, a few pairs of jeans, ranging from new to falling to pieces, and tops, ranging from very warm to very summery. A dress, bought for a summer wedding, which she’d worn only once. Nothing seemed suitable for a visit to the house that Greg had inherited from his father, which sounded large—no, sprawling—and far grander than anything she was used to.

Going out and buying something might have been an option, but she felt unequal to the task. New clothes would only serve to make her feel more uncomfortable anyway. Taking a little more care with her hair and make-up and choosing favourite pieces from her wardrobe would have to be enough.

‘You look nice. I like your scarf.’ He grinned as he took her coat and weekend bag, opening the passenger door of his car for her.

It was the one thing she’d allowed herself to buy. A pretty lilac scarf that went with her plain grey trousers and sweater and the black leather jacket that she normally kept for best. Greg was wearing jeans and a warm, slightly battered, leather jacket but he had a knack of making scruffy look stylish. Sexy too, but Jess was trying not to think too much about that.

‘Do you want to put your jacket in the back? It’s a long drive.’ Greg had taken his own off and slung it on the back seat before getting into the car.

‘Yes. Thanks.’ She shrugged out of her jacket and he took it, draping it carefully over his.

‘Right, then.’ He twisted the key in the ignition. ‘Let me know if you get cold and I’ll turn the heat up.’

By the time they reached the suburbs she was feeling hot and cold by turn. When they hit the motorway, her stomach began to lurch. What was she doing? She’d been so brave, so thoughtless in agreeing to come away with him. He was so much more than a nice guy and a good doctor. He was sophisticated, drop-dead gorgeous and far more than a girl like her could handle. She was sure to make a fool of herself.

‘You okay?’

‘Hmm? Yes, fine.’ Jess turned her head away from him, staring at the hard shoulder of the motorway.

‘Sure?’

Cold perspiration began to form on the side of her brow. Suddenly she felt trapped, carried inexorably towards goodness only knew what. ‘Um. Actually, I do feel a little sick.’

‘Did you have breakfast this morning?’

She hadn’t had time. She had been too busy fussing over her packing and her appearance and stressing about her trip with Greg. ‘Not really… ’

‘There’s motorway services a mile up ahead. We’ll stop there.’

Just to swell the small fountain of misery that was bubbling up inside her chest, he helped her out of the car when they parked. And because standing made her head swim, she allowed him to. He kept hold of her until she was seated in the corner of the bleak, utilitarian cafeteria and then hurried to fetch toast and two cups of tea.

‘Feeling better?’ An awkward silence had only been rendered slightly more acceptable by having something to eat and drink.

‘Yes. I’m fine, just one of those stupid things.’

He gave the throw-away line rather more consideration that it deserved. ‘I could try acupressure.’

‘Since when have you done acupressure?’ Suddenly there was something to talk about. Something they shared. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting into alternative medicine.’

He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been getting into labels. There are lots of interesting techniques out there that bear quantitative investigation. When I was in the States, I met a guy who uses it to very good effect, in tandem with drug regimes.’

‘So you were working as a doctor in America?’

‘Just taking an interest.’ He steered deftly around the question. ‘Here, give me your arm.’

‘What, so you can experiment on me? In a café at motorway services?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t do it on a patient.’ She felt his fingers on her wrist, the thumb pressing firmly between the two bands of muscle that ran down the inside of her arm. ‘What do you think?’

‘Too many variables. I don’t know whether we can come to a definite conclusion.’ She was on steadier ground now. Jess ventured a smile.

He chuckled quietly. ‘Do you think it matters which arm you do it on?’ He’d clearly decided she felt better and had switched to ruminating on variations to his technique.

‘I wouldn’t know. Here, you want to have a go?’ She held out her other arm.

‘Hmm. Probably a bit late now.’ He grasped her arm anyway and tried again. ‘How’s that?’

‘Feels… okay.’ Much, much better than okay. She was starting to tingle all over. Either he’d hit on a discovery that had eluded other medical practitioners for centuries or her body had decided that responding to his touch was a good idea. Great. A little warning might have been in order.

‘Jess, we’ve known each other for long enough… ’

‘Worked together.’ She corrected him quickly. Working together was one kind of knowing. This was another.

‘I’m not your boss any more.’ Something dark, like liquid promise, glowed in his eyes.

‘I suppose that makes things less complicated.’

He grinned. ‘Yep. But I won’t pretend that I haven’t worked alongside you for more hours at a stretch than either of our contracts allows for. I’ve seen you exhausted, cranky, messy… ’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘Fabulous, formidable… ’

‘Better.’ They both smiled at the same moment.

‘We’ve got past the point where we need to apologise for all our little foibles.’

‘You mean you have foibles?’ He did have a way of lifting her worries off her shoulders. Always had.

He shrugged. ‘Well, when I said our foibles I was just trying to make you feel better about yours.’

‘Oh, so you think you don’t have foibles?’ Jess wrinkled her nose at him. ‘What about that famous charm of yours?’

‘Doesn’t seem to work on you.’

‘Works on everyone else.’

‘Can I help that?’

‘Oh, yeah, you can help it. And the love ’em and leave ’em… ’

‘It keeps things simple. Anyway, I’ve changed. The last person I loved and left was… ’ He frowned, as if consulting his memory and not quite believing the answer he got back.

‘Who?’

‘You, actually.’

‘Me! We didn’t… .’

He leaned across the table towards her. ‘You don’t need to. It only takes a touch.’ He ran one finger down the back of her hand and Jess gulped, pulling her arm away.

‘So what about my foibles, then?’ Time to change the subject.

‘Your what?’ His gaze slid across her body, making her shiver.

‘Foibles. Pay attention.’

‘I am paying attention.’ He pushed the teacups and the plate that stood between them on the table out of the way. ‘Okay, so your eyes look as if they have flecks of gold in them. That’s not contacts, is it?’

‘Of course not.’ She nudged her leg against his under the table. ‘Foibles, I said.’

‘I heard. Well, you’re resourceful, talented, generally a force to be reckoned with. Only you don’t much like being out of your comfort zone.’

Yes, okay, he might have a point. There were good reasons for her to feel that way. ‘Maybe.’

He leaned forward, and Jess couldn’t help but move towards him. She felt his lips brush her ear. ‘It’s a rather nice comfort zone, though.’

‘Stop it.’ She was feeling better now. As if the weekend wasn’t so much of a trial to be got through. Jess almost wished that it was more than two days.

He drew back. From the look in his eyes there was no question that the dialogue was still continuing somewhere in the back of his mind.

‘Do you want to drive?’

‘What for?’

‘Sometimes driving can help if you’re feeling a bit queasy.’

She stared at him. He knew just as well as she did that this was an excuse. That somehow, indefinably, she would feel a bit more in charge of her own destiny if she was in the driving seat. He was good. Good at putting her at her ease. Very, very good at making her want him.

‘Okay. If you don’t mind.’

He shrugged. ‘Why would I mind?’

His car was a pleasure to drive. When she put her foot down on the motorway, it responded with a purr, rather than the laboured growl that her own car would have emitted. Greg pushed the passenger seat back so he could stretch his legs, and confined himself to giving directions. An hour later they turned into a long, gated drive and drew up outside the house.

‘It’s big.’ Jess scanned the complex roof structure, which accommodated an elaborate arrangement of mock crenellations beneath it. There was even a circular tower, tacked onto one side of the building, with a set of battlements and a flagpole at its top.

He grinned. ‘Yeah. Not the prettiest of places.’

‘It’s not meant to be. Victorian, right?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Then the architecture’s not about welcoming visitors, eh?’

He looked again. Leaned back to study the red-brick patterns over the windows and the heavy portico, as if this was the first time he’d seen the place. ‘Never really thought about it. So what is it all about, then?’

‘It’s a statement. This house is all about the people who live here being different from the people who live down in the village. They wanted to impress with their power, not their good taste.’

He nodded. ‘You think so?’

Yes, she knew so. The girl from a two-up, two-down felt confronted and challenged by this place and Jess imagined that was exactly how she was meant to feel. ‘It’s one way of looking at it.’

He nodded, obviously turning the idea over in his head. ‘Well, come inside. It’s a bit more homely there.’

Not so you’d notice. The large hallway was big enough to contain her whole flat, with height to spare, and the sweeping stone staircase continued the theme of a fortified castle. Leading up to a wide half-landing that was illuminated by a large, stained-glass window, the whole thing reminded her of a film set for a medieval saga.

‘Here you are!’

A woman’s voice sounded, and for a moment Jess couldn’t work out which direction it had come from. Greg turned and made his way towards the back of the hallway.

‘We stopped for breakfast.’ He spared Jess the indignity of mentioning why. ‘What are you doing here?’

A laugh. The first piece of warmth that Jess had met in this place. A figure emerged from the gloom, walking towards her. Mid-fifties, tall and slim. One of those women that made style look like a fortuitous accident.

‘I popped in to turn the heating on and put some food in the fridge.’ The woman ducked around Greg and made straight for Jess. ‘You must be Greg’s friend. I’m Rosa.’

‘My mother.’ Greg was grinning. ‘Who never misses a chance to check out who I’m associating with.’

Rosa dismissed him with a casual movement of her fingers. ‘Don’t be so parochial, darling. Your friends might want to check me out.’ She grasped Jess’s hand, holding it in both of hers, and leaned in to kiss her. ‘There. Both cheeks.’

‘The Italian way.’ Greg was leaning against the heavy stone balustrade which enclosed the stairs, his hands shoved into his pockets.

‘Don’t listen to my son. I hope you’ll come over to my home for something to eat.’

‘You live near here?’ This was Greg’s father’s house. He’d said that his mother and father had divorced when he’d been a child, but she seemed very much at home here.

‘Two miles in that direction.’ Rosa flicked her fingers towards the dark recesses at the back of the hallway. ‘You can walk across the fields, it’s a nice day.’

Jess shot a questioning look at Greg. Perhaps this wasn’t in his plan for the weekend.

‘Have you made cannoli?’ Greg was smiling at his mother.

‘Of course.’ Rosa turned to Jess. ‘Did he think to tell you to bring any walking shoes?’

No, he hadn’t. Jess wasn’t sure how well her own shoes would stand up to a cross-country walk. ‘Perhaps we can go by road.’

‘If you want. Or I think there may be a pair of wellingtons in the cloakroom. If they’re too big I’m sure that a couple of pairs of socks… ’

‘We’ll manage.’ Greg looked at his watch. ‘When do you want us?’

His mother shrugged. ‘Whenever you’re hungry.’

‘How does one o’clock suit you?’

‘Perfect. Make it one-ish. Don’t worry about being a little late.’

Greg rolled his eyes and kissed his mother, helped her into the waterproof coat that was slung on a low settle in one corner of the hallway and bade her goodbye. Alone again with him, the temperature in the cavernous, empty space seemed to drop a couple of degrees and Jess drew her jacket around her.

‘Sorry, Jess. My mother wasn’t really checking you out, she’s not like that.’

‘It was nice of her to come by, this place could do with warming up a bit. I didn’t realise that your mother lived so close to your father.’

‘My father wasn’t here much.’ Greg’s mouth twitched downwards and he turned away, moving to the door at the back of the hallway where his mother had appeared from. ‘He lived mostly in the States, but he came over here three or four times a year to take care of his business interests in Europe.’

‘He kept this place empty, then, most of the time?’ It was a huge house, even for a family. For one man, who was hardly ever there, it was ridiculous.

‘He used to entertain a lot when he was here.’ There was a trace of bitterness in Greg’s voice.

‘I suppose it was handy to see you as well.’ Jess followed him into the large, well-equipped kitchen, which could have accommodated an army of caterers.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘He was mostly working. Mum used to bring me over, and half the time we’d just make our own entertainment because my father was locked away in the study, on the phone.’

‘But she still brought you.’ A picture of Rosa, walking her young son across the fields so that he could see his father, floated into her head. How must she have felt when the boy was ignored?

‘My mother was an eternal optimist where my father was concerned. She always encouraged me to see him.’ He dumped the kettle down onto the range and lit the gas underneath it.

In this house, he seemed surrounded by things he didn’t want to talk about. But he’d come here. He’d brought her here. On some level he must be aware of that, and that the seemingly complicated tangle of his relationship with his father wasn’t going to straighten itself out all on its own.

‘So this is where you grew up?’ She settled herself onto one of a long row of kitchen stools.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you didn’t see much of your father.’

‘Nope. Not a lot.’

She’d hit a sore spot, but she kept pressing. Sometimes you had to do that. ‘But your parents were on good terms?’

He barked out a short laugh. ‘Yeah. She loved him, and in his way he loved her. They just had very different priorities. And it’s not particularly easy to maintain a relationship with someone who only has about five uninterrupted minutes a day to spend with you.’

‘No. I imagine not.’ Jess wondered whether Greg was talking about his mother’s relationship with his father or his own. Probably a bit of both. ‘Neither of them married again?’

‘Not straight away. But that doesn’t mean they were secretly yearning to get back together. My father had his share of women friends. They loved the lifestyle for a while and then realised that they’d always be playing second fiddle to his work. And my mother remarried when I was fifteen. The local doctor. You’ll meet Ted when we go over there.’ There was sudden warmth in his voice.

‘So it was his footsteps you followed in.’

‘Guess so. Mum made him wait, but he was always there when I was a kid. He’d take us out somewhere every weekend, we used to have great adventures together.’

‘But they never moved away from here?’

‘Why should they? Ted’s practice is down in the village. This is my mother’s home much more than it ever was my father’s.’ He shrugged. ‘Although he came back here at the end.’

‘You mean he died here?’

Greg nodded. ‘He hadn’t told anyone that he had cancer. But when he turned up here, two days after Christmas last year, it was obvious that he was ill. My mother called me, and I arranged for him to be seen by a specialist. My mother looked after him, right up until the end.’

‘That was a nice thing to do.’

‘Yeah. She’s a nice person. I think somehow my father reckoned that he could correct some of the mistakes he’d made, but it was too late.’ He poured the tea and set a cup in front of her on the marble worktop. ‘Does that cover it?’

‘I don’t know. Does it?’ Greg’s secrets ran deeper than this. Nothing that he’d said explained the eight-month absence after his father’s death. Or the air of weariness that broke through whenever he talked about his father.

‘Difficult to say. Would you like to see the house?’

‘Why not?’

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