‘You’ve changed, you know, Rachel,’ he said at last.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘that sounds ominous. Although I suppose it’s inevitable, really, after all this time, that one would look older…’

‘I wasn’t talking about looking older.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I’m no longer pretty,’ she said with a short laugh.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly, and suddenly she realised he was right behind her, so close that if she moved as much as an inch they would be touching. She froze.

‘Your hair,’ he went on, ‘it’s lovely. You used to wear it shorter, but I like it long like that.’

She sensed rather than saw him reach out his hand, then was aware that he was touching her hair. This wasn’t happening, she told herself; she couldn’t let this happen—it had taken her months, no, years to get over him the last time, if she ever had. She simply couldn’t let it happen again. She moved away from him on the pretext of taking the sugar bowl from the cupboard above the worktops. Stretching up, she opened the cupboard doors, and it was then that she felt his arms go round her.

POLICE SURGEONS

Love, life and medicine—on the beat!

Working side by side—and sometimes hand in hand—

dedicated medical professionals join forces

with the police service for the very best

in emotional excitement!

From domestic disturbance to emergency-room drama,

working to prove innocence or guilt,

and finding passion and emotion along the way.

The Police Doctor’s Discovery

Laura MacDonald

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER ONE

‘NICK!’ She stopped dead as the main doors of Westhampstead Police Headquarters closed behind her and the dark-haired man talking to the desk sergeant turned to face her.

‘Rachel...?’ There was a flash of something in his eyes along with recognition—shock? Pleasure maybe? She wasn’t sure, she only knew that her heart had turned over at the sight of him and even now was hammering uncomfortably in her chest. ‘What are you doing here?’ The eyes as dark as his hair narrowed slightly.

‘I could ask you the same question.’ She managed to speak lightly, even though her heart continued to perform gymnastics at the sudden and unexpected sight of this man who had once meant so much to her.

‘I work here,’ he said simply, ‘or didn’t you know?’

‘I knew you were a policeman certainly, but I thought you were with the Metropolitan Police.’

‘I was,’ he said, ‘but I’ve recently transferred back here to Westhampstead.’

‘So we’ve both come home.’

‘You’ve returned?’

‘For the time being, yes.’ She swallowed, still struggling to control her reactions. ‘One of the partners at the group practice is taking a year’s sabbatical—I’m filling in for him.’

‘So how can we help you?’

‘Dr Beresford.’ The voice of the duty sergeant broke in and Nick Kowalski turned slightly towards the man, whom to Rachel’s relief seemed to know exactly who she was and why she was there. He extended his hand and enclosed hers in a huge paw-like grip. ‘I’m station sergeant—Harry Mason.’

‘I thought I’d come and familiarise myself with the place before I’m called out,’ said Rachel, aware that beside her Nick had grown very still.

‘Called out?’ He frowned and just for a moment Rachel was glad that she had this slight advantage over him.

‘Yes,’ she said smoothly, ‘I’m to provide medical cover for this station.’

‘I thought that was Steve O’Malley’s job,’ said Nick and Rachel thought she detected a sudden sharp edge to his voice, almost as if greeting her and talking to her were one thing but having her work there was another thing altogether.

‘It’s Steve who’s on sabbatical,’ she replied calmly. ‘Like I said, I’m taking his place.’

‘Have you done any police work before?’ It was almost an accusation and Rachel saw a frown cross Harry Mason’s face.

‘As it happens, yes, I have.’ She spoke coolly, in control now. ‘I was Police Doctor at my last practice in Stockport.’

‘Let me show you around.’ As if he sensed some sort of tension between the two of them, Harry Mason beckoned to a young constable to take over the desk.

But Nick interjected before the constable had time to move. ‘I’ll do that, Harry,’ he said curtly. Glancing at Rachel, he added, ‘If you have no objections?’

‘Well, no.’ She hesitated slightly, aware that Harry Mason seemed put out at having his role hijacked but at the same time suspecting that Nick Kowalski was pulling rank. ‘Of course not.’ She had no idea of Nick’s rank, as he was not in uniform, but as she followed him down the corridor she found her thoughts in turmoil. She’d known he’d gone into the police force, of course she had. Hadn’t there been conjecture at the time that Westhampstead’s wild boy might turn to enforcing the law instead of ending up behind bars, as so many had predicted he would?

Her suspicions of his high rank intensified as they passed a man in the corridor, also in plain clothes, who nodded at Nick and muttered the single word, ‘Guv.’

‘You’re CID?’ she asked as he led the way past a huge control room and opened the door of an office, standing back for her to precede him.

‘Yes.’ He nodded.

‘Rank?’ she asked as he closed the door behind them.

‘DCI.’

‘I’m impressed,’ she said softly. ‘Detective Chief Inspector—who would have thought it?’

‘Who indeed?’ His gaze met hers levelly. ‘Certainly not the good folk of Westhampstead, that’s for sure.’

‘You’ve done well, Nick.’ She glanced around the office as she spoke, at the desk, the filing cabinets, the computer and phones—anywhere rather than at the dark gaze that was still levelled at her with that same, albeit slight measure of accusation, as if for all those years he’d carried the assumption that she and her family, and indeed many others in their home town, had believed he would never amount to much.

‘Yes, well.’ He shrugged, then, his eyes narrowing again, he added, ‘You haven’t done so bad yourself, Rachel—but, then, I don’t think there was ever any doubt that you would.’ He paused but his comments were loaded and for a moment, as once again her gaze was dragged back to his own, they were both transported back to their youth and the anguish of the love they had shared.

‘So.’ It was Nick who recovered first, apparently pulling himself together and turning his head away from her so that she couldn’t see the pain that had flared in his eyes. ‘Do you think you might stay in Westhampstead this time?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘Steve has only gone for a year—but if I like it here there may be an opening at the practice when Calvin Davenport, the senior partner, retires. So, who knows? I may just decide to stay.’

‘Where are you living—with your parents?’ Did his lip curl ever so slightly at mention of her parents, or had she imagined it?

‘No, at a house in Cathedral Close.’

‘Very cosy.’ He raised his eyebrows and she thought she detected a faintly mocking air about him now. It irritated her and drove her to retaliate.

‘And you?’ she said. ‘I heard you were married—I dare say by now you have a horde of children.’

‘I have one daughter,’ he said quietly, and Rachel felt a sudden sharp stab of some emotion she was unable to define. ‘And my marriage ended in divorce.’

Rachel wished she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.

‘It’s OK.’ He shrugged. ‘Unfortunately marriage and my career weren’t compatible.’

‘Do you see your daughter?’

‘Yes, she lives with her mother but she visits me whenever the job allows me the time.’ He paused. ‘And you, Rachel—are you married?’ The tension in the small room seemed heightened as he waited for her reply.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m in a long-term relationship...’

‘And?’

‘I felt it wasn’t going anywhere so this year is by way of a decider...’ She trailed off. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’ She gave a quick, dismissive gesture.

He grinned and for a moment the tension between them dissolved and he was once again the Nick Kowalski she had once known—the wild boy from the wrong side of town, the boy with a motorbike who had only kept out of trouble with the law by not being caught, the boy with laughter in his wicked black eyes, the boy deemed wholly unsuitable for Rachel Beresford, only daughter of Westhampstead’s highly respected GP and his wife, Diana, herself a magistrate.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let me show you around and introduce you to the rest of the crew. I’m sure you’ll find them a good bunch on the whole.’

‘I’m sure I shall,’ said Rachel as she followed him out of his office and into the control room.

Half an hour later Rachel found herself sitting in her car in the car park of police headquarters. Before switching on the ignition, she sat for a while, her hands resting on the steering-wheel as she gazed up at the building before her. It had been a shock seeing Nick again, she couldn’t deny that. Even though since her return to Westhampstead she had met up with many old friends and acquaintances, she hadn’t expected to see Nick because she hadn’t known that he, too, had returned to their home town.

For a moment it had taken her right back to that long hot summer when she had returned from her girls’ boarding school for the holidays and had taken the car her parents had given her for passing her exams into the garage where Nick had worked as a mechanic. She’d seen him before, of course, around the town when she had been at home on holiday, and had long been attracted to his dark good looks and the stories of his rather wild reputation, but it had been that visit to the garage that had been the start of their brief, passionate affair. He’d asked her out and had picked her up from home on his motorbike, roaring off into the night with her riding pillion. Her parents had been appalled and had done everything in their power to bring the romance to an end. But Rachel had fallen head over heels in love and had had no intention of giving up her new boyfriend. They had spent the whole of that long hot summer together and when at last Rachel had gone to medical school she and Nick had written to each other for weeks.

But then his letters had suddenly stopped, leaving Rachel hurt and bewildered, and shortly afterwards Rachel’s mother had told her that she had seen Nick in town with someone else. Several years later Rachel had heard that he had married another local girl, the daughter of a friend of his mother. She in turn had got on with her own life and had thought she had put the boy from the wrong side of town firmly out of her mind.

Seeing him today had shown her otherwise and had brought the past sharply into focus once more. She wondered if he, too, had felt as she had, but somehow she doubted it. After all, it had been Nick who had stopped the contact between them, Nick who had married someone else. Not that she had carried a torch for him all these years, she told herself firmly. After all, she’d had Jeremy, hadn’t she? She frowned at the thought of Jeremy and at the way their relationship had gone, then with a little sigh she started the engine and drove out of the car park.

The Beresford Medical Centre, named after its founder, Rachel’s father James, was situated in an old Victorian house in a leafy avenue in the fashionable part of Westhampstead. James Beresford had retired some years previously and together with his wife was still living in Ashton House, the family home on the far side of town where Rachel had been brought up. Rachel’s mother was in poor health, having recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and both she and her husband had been delighted when Rachel had agreed to take up the position at the medical centre.

‘It’s what we’ve always wanted,’ her father had said as he’d hugged her.

‘I know,’ Rachel had replied, ‘but you mustn’t forget this is only a trial run—it may not turn out to be what I want permanently.’

‘Perhaps Jeremy will want to move down here,’ her father had added hopefully.

‘I shouldn’t count on it,’ Rachel had replied.

Now, as she entered the large hallway of the house, which had been turned into a spacious reception area, she made a conscious effort to put Jeremy out of her mind and concentrate on the fact that she would have a full afternoon surgery to face. But as she collected the bundle of patient records that receptionist Danielle Quilter passed to her, she found, somewhat disconcertingly, that it wasn’t Jeremy who dogged her thoughts but Nick.

‘Are you OK, Rachel?’ asked Danielle, peering up into her face.

‘Yes.’ Rachel paused and frowned. ‘Why?’

‘You look pale,’ said the girl, ‘like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

Rachel blinked. ‘Like I’ve just...?’ she said, then she gave a short laugh. ‘Ha! Well, maybe I have.’ Shaking her head, she made her way up the stairs and down a short corridor to the large first-floor room that was Steve O’Malley’s consulting room and which had been allocated to her for her time at the centre.

The room, at the rear of the house, with its huge sash windows, overlooked the garden, which was enclosed by a high, red-brick wall. Now, as September got into its stride, the leaves on the trees were turning gold and the herbaceous borders, which through the summer months had been a blaze of colour, were now looking tired and turning brown. Rachel slipped off her jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door, dumped her case behind the large pine desk then crossed the room to wash her hands in the small handbasin. Danielle had said she looked pale. Curiously she peered at herself in the mirror above the basin, critically surveying her appearance. Brown eyes stared solemnly back from beneath her fringe of honey-blonde hair. She didn’t think she looked particularly pale, although she had most certainly had a shock, seeing Nick again. Would he have found her changed after all this time? There were bound to be differences—after all, it had been a long time since they’d seen each other. She’d slimmed down a little, her features losing the roundness of her teen years, and there were a few tiny lines around her eyes, a result, no doubt of the long hours spent on duty as a hospital doctor.

And what of Nick himself—he’d changed, too, hadn’t he? She frowned slightly as she tried to recall. He seemed more powerfully built now in his thirties than he had before and his features more defined somehow, but his colouring was as dark as it had ever been and those eyes—well, there was no changing those. She gave a little shiver as she remembered how he had looked at her, the gaze every bit as challenging and uncompromising as it had ever been. But then there had been that brief moment of wicked laughter and with a thrill she’d all but forgotten she’d been reminded anew of how it had once been between them.

It had never been like that with Jeremy. Carefully she dried her hands then, crossing the room again, she sat down at her desk, switched on her computer and drew the bundle of patient records towards her, reading the name on the top one and smiling as she did so before pressing the buzzer that indicated to the reception staff that she was ready to start her afternoon surgery.

Moments later Tommy Page came into the room, accompanied by his mother Eileen. Tommy had suffered brain damage at birth that had left him with severe learning difficulties and now at twenty-eight he still lived at home with his mother, although on three days a week he attended a local day centre.

‘Hello, Tommy.’ Rachel smiled. ‘Come and sit down and tell me how I can help you today.’ This was Tommy’s third visit to the surgery in the short time that Rachel had been in Westhampstead.

‘Sore throat,’ he said. Sitting down in one of the chairs beside Rachel’s desk, he unwound the football scarf he was wearing and pointed to his throat.

‘How long have you had this sore throat, Tommy?’ asked Rachel, glancing at his mother, knowing that Tommy was given to exaggeration.

‘He says for the last couple of days,’ said Eileen. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Beresford, but he insisted on coming to see you.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Rachel reassuringly. ‘Now, Tommy, I think I’d better have a look at your throat.’ Tommy opened his mouth and allowed Rachel to insert a flat wooden stick, obediently issuing the ‘ah’ sound she requested.

‘Your throat doesn’t seem too bad,’ she said at last, after gently testing the glands on either side of his neck.

‘It really hurts,’ Tommy said, obviously fearful now that Rachel didn’t believe him.

‘I’m sure it does, Tommy,’ she said. ‘I think you may have a cold developing so what I want you to do is to drink plenty of warm fluids and suck some throat pastilles.’ She looked at Eileen. ‘If he starts to run a temperature give him soluble paracetamol every four hours.’

‘Very well, Doctor.’ Eileen stood up. ‘I hope we haven’t wasted your time.’

‘Of course you haven’t,’ Rachel replied, then, looking at Tommy, she said, ‘Have you been to the day centre today, Tommy?’

‘No, because of my sore throat,’ Tommy replied.

‘They’ve been very good to him,’ said Eileen. ‘They’ve even fixed him up with a computer so he can play games at home.’

‘Computer,’ said Tommy, pointing to Rachel’s.

‘Yes.’ Rachel smiled. ‘Just like mine. That’s wonderful, Tommy.’

‘Come on, Tommy,’ said his mother, taking his hand, ‘we mustn’t take up any more of Dr Beresford’s time.’

‘Bye, Tommy,’ said Rachel.

Just before the door closed behind them she heard Tommy say to his mother, ‘She’s ever so nice, Dr Rachel.’

‘Yes, Tommy, she is,’ his mother agreed.

‘I love her,’ said Tommy.

With a smile Rachel pressed the buzzer for the next patient.

Steadily she worked through the list. There were many people in Westhampstead who had been patients of Rachel’s father and who remembered Rachel as a child, and it seemed to her that these early surgeries of her days at the centre sometimes took far longer than they should as people reminisced or wanted to know where she had been working. Some, she suspected, even came out of curiosity, perhaps for a second opinion, or to see if Rachel was anything like her father had been as a GP.

‘So, how is he now—your father?’ One such patient came towards the end of that afternoon surgery, a woman called Peggy Reilly who had known Rachel since she’d been a baby and who indeed had been a patient of her father.

‘He’s very well, thank you, Peggy,’ Rachel replied, wondering as she did so whether she should issue a bulletin on her father, which could perhaps be posted in Reception for the benefit of all those who wished to know.

‘And what about your poor mother?’ Peggy’s voice lowered sympathetically.

‘Well, Mum’s health is not as good as it once was.’ Rachel knew there was no point in denying it—her mother’s forgetfulness and deteriorating health were well known amongst the residents of the town. ‘But Dad looks after her beautifully.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ Peggy agreed, ‘but it can’t be easy.’

‘Well...’ Rachel gave a little shrug. ‘Now, how can I help you, Peggy?’

‘It’s my arthritis playing up again, Doctor. It happens every year about this time—the temperature drops a bit, the evenings begin to draw in and my old joints give me gyp. And I have to say my usual tablets don’t seem to be helping at all.’

‘Right,’ said Rachel, ‘let’s have a look at your medication chart and see if there are any changes that we can make—there are several new anti-inflammatory drugs on the market so I’m sure we’ll be able to find one that suits you.’

At the end of surgery Rachel made her way downstairs to Reception where she found one of the receptionists, Julie Newton, leaning across the desk, talking to a man. As she approached the desk the man turned his head and she saw it was Julie’s husband Philip.

‘Ah,’ said Julie, looking round, ‘here’s Rachel—I’m sure she’ll buy a ticket.’

‘What’s this?’ Rachel smiled at Philip.

‘It’s a draw for more equipment at the day centre,’ Philip explained. ‘One of the prizes is a weekend in a luxury hotel—with me.’

‘Philip!’ Julie exclaimed, and the other receptionists laughed.

‘Only joking,’ said Philip with a grin. ‘But you still get the luxury weekend and there are plenty of other really good prizes.’

‘I’ll buy some,’ said Rachel. Rummaging through her shoulder-bag, she produced a five-pound note and took the pen Julie offered her.

‘That’s generous of you,’ said Philip as she began filling in her details.

‘I think the day centre does a fantastic job,’ Rachel replied, mindful of Tommy Page and his computer.

‘Can I just say I think it’s great that you’ve come back to Westhampstead?’ Philip added.

‘Thank you, Philip.’ Rachel glanced up. ‘How’s your mum these days?’

‘Not so bad.’ He paused, his head on one side as if reminiscing. ‘We had some fun in those days, didn’t we?’ he said at last.

‘Eh? What’s all this?’ Danielle looked from one to the other.

‘My mum was housekeeper for Dr and Mrs Beresford,’ Philip explained. ‘We lived up at Ashton House when I was a kid.’

‘Oh,’ said Danielle, ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Shall I fill in the rest of those for you, Rachel?’ asked Julie as Rachel began to fill in the second counterfoil.

‘Thanks, Julie,’ Rachel replied, pushing the counter-foils and the pen across the desk and stuffing the tickets into her bag. ‘I am in a bit of a rush—as usual.’ She pulled a face. ‘I must go. Nice to see you again, Philip. Say hello to your mum for me.’ With that she hurried out of the centre and into her car to make the two house calls she needed to do before she could go home.

Home for Rachel, as she had told Nick Kowalski, was a house in Cathedral Close, which she was renting for a year from friends of her parents who were travelling abroad. Tucked away in one corner of the close in the lee of the great cathedral, St Edmund’s was an elegant, stone-built Georgian-style house filled with antiques, and if the furnishings were a little too traditional for Rachel’s more modern tastes it was something she felt she could live with. Some of the more expensive pieces of glass and porcelain she had locked away in the glass-fronted cabinets in the dining room, terrified that she might break them, but after a while she had begun to relax and enjoy the undeniable comfort and luxury of the house. In many ways it was similar to Ashton House, her parents’ home, but it had been many years since she had lived there and she had since become used to a more modest way of life, first in student then hospital accommodation and more recently in the apartment she had shared with Jeremy.

As she thought of Jeremy she kicked off her shoes and sank down onto one of the two deep, comfortable sofas. When she had first met Jeremy, a fellow doctor in the practice where she had been working, and had brought him home to meet her parents, he had been hailed as a perfect match for her and the perfect son-in-law for them. The son of wealthy parents, educated at one of the country’s top public schools and with a career that looked set to take him to his own Harley Street practice, he must have seemed like the answer to Rachel’s parents’ prayers, but for Rachel things hadn’t quite worked out that way. She was fond of Jeremy, of course she was, but somehow their relationship had become static, with neither of them seemingly interested in marriage or starting a family, which, from Rachel’s point of view at least, was strange because she knew deep in her heart that she wanted both of those—to be married and to have children. But somehow she’d never been able to visualise either with Jeremy. They were friends, good friends, but that was all and their relationship seemed to lack the extra spark that Rachel felt sure should be there if any further commitment was to be made.

The spark had been there with Nick. The thought, unbidden, came into her mind. Why should she think of that now? Only because she had seen him again that day, she told herself fiercely. Her relationship—if you could even call it that—with Nick had been years ago. They had both been very young and they had both, without a doubt, changed in the intervening years. But that spark had been there. It had been there all those years ago, it had been there every time he had as much as looked at her and even more so whenever he had touched her. And her skin, without fail, had tingled in response, and it had been there again today.

She gave an angry little gesture as the realisation hit her. It was ridiculous that she should even think such a thing. It had simply been the shock of seeing him again after all that time that had done it—nothing more at all. Nick Kowalski was bad news. He’d been bad news then with his high-speed motorbike and his wild ways and he was probably bad news now. It was surprising that he’d done so well in the police force—he was young to be a DCI but, no doubt, he had ridden roughshod over anyone who had got in his way on his passage through the ranks. Somehow she couldn’t quite think of him as an utterly reformed character. No doubt his wife had suffered—by his own admission his marriage had ended in divorce—and there was a child, a little girl. She couldn’t imagine Nick as a father but his face had softened when he’d mentioned his daughter.

But what in the world was she thinking about Nick for anyway? Hadn’t he hurt her before—dumped her unceremoniously without so much as a word of explanation, leaving her desolate? The last thing she wanted now was to have too many dealings with him. That she might have to spend time with him occasionally in her work with the police was quite enough, although with a bit of luck even that shouldn’t be too often. Rachel knew from experience that most of her work would be not with plainclothes CID officers but with the uniformed station staff and, provided that Westhampstead was still the quiet country town it had always been, she saw little reason that should change.

With that slightly reassuring thought uppermost in her mind, she stood up and made her way into the kitchen where she began preparing pasta and salad for her supper.

She had barely finished eating when her phone rang and, desperately trying to swallow the last mouthful, she answered it, expecting it to be her father or perhaps Jeremy, although she and Jeremy had agreed to have as little contact as possible during this trial separation period.

‘Hello?’ she said. There was a silence on the other end then the caller hung up. With a little grimace Rachel replaced the receiver, only for the phone to ring again immediately.

‘Hello?’ she said, ‘Who is this?’

‘Rachel?’

Her heart jumped. ‘Yes...?’

‘It’s Nick. Nick Kowalski.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’ She’d known it was him as soon as he’d spoken her name—had recognised his voice.

‘You’re eating,’ he said abruptly. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s all right,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve just finished.’

‘I understand you are duty doctor for the station tonight.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right.’

‘I need a doctor to examine a man who has been brought in for questioning.’

‘What’s the problem?’ She hoped she sounded professional and efficient even though for some extraordinary reason her pulse was racing.

‘He seems disorientated and his movements are uncoordinated.’

‘Has he been drinking?’

‘Not as far as we know.’

‘I’ll come down now.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh, Nick?’ There was a slight pause.

‘Yes?’

‘Did you phone just now—a moment ago?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter—it must have been a wrong number. I’ll be with you shortly.’

She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. Why in the world had she reacted in such a silly way to the sound of Nick’s voice? Had it been because she hadn’t imagined that he would phone her? But that was stupid—given the fact that she was area police doctor, it was quite on the cards that he might phone her. Usually she would expect it to be the duty sergeant who would do so but it certainly wasn’t outside the realms of possibility for a DCI. Hastily she took her dishes to the kitchen then ran upstairs, changed her skirt for a pair of trousers and pulled on a warm sweater before picking up her case and leaving the house. In spite of her earlier conclusions that Nick was bad news and should be avoided at all costs, she found that as she drove to police headquarters her pulse was still racing and she felt a level of excitement at the thought of working with him that she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS quite dark by the time she reached police headquarters, another indication that autumn was almost upon them. Locking her car, Rachel climbed the steps at the front of the building and on opening the main doors found Nick waiting for her in Reception. He looked tense, wound up like a tightly coiled spring, and for one moment she was tempted to apologise in case she’d kept him waiting. Then she thought better of it. This man was not her boss or her superior, she was not answerable to him and it would be as well for her to remember that fact in all her dealings with him.

‘Rachel.’ He turned on his heel.

‘You have a patient for me?’ She nodded at the sergeant on the desk, not Harry Mason this time but a younger man who likewise acknowledged her with a nod. ‘Yes,’ Nick replied curtly, ‘come this way.’ She followed him out of the reception area down two corridors to the cells at the rear of the building. The place smelt of pine disinfectant. A radio somewhere played rap music and occasional shouts and mutterings could be heard from the cells they passed.

‘Has this man been charged?’ asked Rachel.

‘No, not yet,’ Nick replied, ‘but I’m anxious to tie this case up—these arrests have come at the end of a lengthy operation involving a large number of my men.’

‘So...’ Rachel raised one eyebrow. ‘Inconvenient that one is sick at the eleventh hour, is that what you’re saying?’

‘If you want to put it that way.’ Nick’s jaw tightened.

‘Why is he in a cell?’

‘Because it seemed the best place—he collapsed and we put him on the nearest bed.’

‘Can you tell me anything about his behaviour before the collapse?’ she asked.

‘Very erratic,’ he replied, ‘bizarre almost—he was acting as if he was drunk but there was no smell of alcohol. He also seemed to have some sort of tremor which is what led me to suspect this may be a medical problem.’ As he finished speaking Nick opened the door to a cell where Rachel could see a man lying on the bed and a uniformed officer standing beside him.

‘Do we know his name?’ asked Rachel.

‘Masters,’ Nick replied.

‘And his first name?’ Rachel bent over the inert form of the man.

‘Paul.’

‘Paul, can you hear me?’ The man’s eyes were closed and as Rachel took his wrist she found him to have a rapid pulse. He appeared pale and his skin was cold and clammy to the touch. There was also a distinctive, sweetish smell about him.

‘Did he have anything on him to indicate that he may be diabetic?’ asked Rachel, checking around his neck to see if he was wearing any sort of tag and failing to find one.

Nick glanced up at the officer who shook his head. ‘No, nothing,’ he replied, then after a moment’s pause, he said, ‘Do you think that’s what this is?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Rachel nodded and opened her case. ‘A pinprick test will decide it.’ Carefully, watched by Nick and the attending officer, she carried out the test then nodded. ‘As I thought,’ she said, ‘his blood sugar’s very low—he’s in a hypoglycaemic coma.’

‘Can you treat that?’ asked Nick.

‘I can give him an injection.’ Rachel opened her case and took out packets containing a syringe and ampoules of dextrose.

Moments later she identified a vein in the man’s arm and administered the injection. Almost immediately he began to stir then he opened his eyes.

‘Paul,’ she said gently after a few moments, ‘are you with us again?’

Paul Masters gazed up at her, his expression almost one of disbelief, then as he moved his head and caught sight of Nick and the officer behind him he rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘You know something?’ he said. ‘I thought I’d died and gone to heaven and this was an angel.’ He inclined his head in Rachel’s direction. ‘Then I see your ugly mugs and I know it was all a dream.’

‘No, Paul,’ said Rachel briskly, ‘it wasn’t a dream—it was a diabetic coma. Your blood sugar had dropped to a critical low. Don’t you wear a tag to alert anyone to the fact that you’re diabetic?’

‘Yeah, I do,’ the man replied rubbing his eyes with one hand, ‘but the chain broke—needs fixing.’

‘Well, I suggest you get it fixed.’ Rachel began clearing up her equipment and medication packaging. ‘And that you wear it at all times,’ she added. ‘So what caused your blood sugar to drop so low—have you missed a meal?’

‘Yeah, a couple probably—thanks to this lot.’ Paul Masters’s gaze flickered to the two police officers.

‘If you’d told us you were diabetic we could have taken the appropriate measures,’ Nick replied tersely.

‘Yeah, right,’ Paul Masters grunted. Looking hopefully up at Rachel, he said, ‘Are you going to send me to hospital?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Rachel.

‘But I need time to recover,’ the man began to protest.

‘I’m sure DCI Kowalski will give you an hour or so recovery period,’ Rachel replied, ‘but first I want to check your blood sugar again.’

Ten minutes later Nick escorted Rachel out of the cell, leaving Paul Masters with the officer. ‘Was that really necessary?’ he asked as they reached Reception.

‘What?’ Rachel frowned, thinking he was questioning her treatment or diagnosis of the patient.

‘The period of recovery.’

‘Probably not.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘But it’s better to be on the safe side in these matters. I also suggest he is given something to eat.’

‘Would a three-course meal be sufficient?’ There was a trace of sarcasm in Nick’s voice now.

‘A couple of rounds of cheese sandwiches should do the trick,’ Rachel replied sweetly.

‘As if he hasn’t wasted enough police time as it is,’ muttered Nick.

‘You think he put himself into a coma deliberately?’ Rachel raised her eyebrows.

‘I wouldn’t put it past him. Let’s face it, he wasn’t wearing his tag and he must know he shouldn’t miss meals...’

‘Even so—it’s a bit drastic.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, an hour is not that long.’

‘In that case, you won’t mind coming and having a drink with me,’ Nick retorted swiftly.

‘I’m sorry?’ She stared at him.

‘You’ve put me in this position of having an hour to kill—I would say the least you could do is to keep me company in the meantime.’

‘Oh, I don’t think...’ she began, desperately trying to think of an excuse, any excuse, not to go with him. ‘I have things to do.’ It was the last thing she wanted, to establish any sort of relationship with him other than a purely professional one.

Nick, it seemed, had other ideas. ‘Nonsense,’ he said firmly, then after a brief word to the duty sergeant he took her elbow and propelled her out of the station doors. ‘What could be more important than renewing acquaintance with an old friend?’

Weakly Rachel allowed herself to be guided down the steps of the police station and a hundred or so yards down the street towards a sign, which swayed and creaked in the wind and stated quite clearly that the Red Lion served the finest ale in town. It was warm inside with a welcome from a crackling log fire, and briefly the chatter from the locals gathered around the bar ceased as they recognised Nick and curiously eyed Rachel up and down.

‘What’ll you have?’ Nick half turned to her.

‘A lager would be nice,’ she replied.

‘There’s a table over there in the corner.’ Nick nodded towards an alcove on the far side of the room. ‘I’ll bring the drinks over.’

Almost with a sense of unreality Rachel sat down and looked around the pub with its low beamed ceiling and flagstoned floor. If anyone had told her only the day before that she would be sitting here sharing a drink with Nick Kowalski, she would never have believed it. She watched him as he turned from the bar carrying two glasses and crossed the floor, placed the drinks on the table and sat down opposite her. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his glass.

‘Cheers.’

‘Yes,’ Rachel replied, ‘cheers.’ Lifting her own glass, she took a sip as Nick did likewise.

They were silent for a moment as if each of them was searching for something to say. As their eyes met across the table it was Nick who broke the silence. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel, after all this time.’

‘Yes, Nick.’ She nodded. ‘It’s good to see you as well.’ Suddenly she realised she meant it—it was good to see him in spite of what had happened.

‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’ he said softly.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘we did.’ There was something in his eyes now that was decidedly disconcerting and wildly she grabbed her glass again and took another mouthful—too much this time, which caused her to cough. ‘But...’ she spluttered, ‘it...it was all a very long time ago.’

‘True.’ Nick nodded. ‘Even so, there are some things you never forget.’ He paused, took another mouthful of his own drink then set his glass down again and leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘about this relationship you are in now...the one you feel isn’t going anywhere.’

Rachel shrugged. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well, for a start, who is the lucky man?’

‘His name is Jeremy Lisle,’ she replied reluctantly, ‘he’s a doctor.’

‘Ah, very appropriate.’

‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him.

‘For you,’ he said, ‘and for your parents, of course. I’m sure they approve.’

‘Well, yes, they like Jeremy...’

‘Now, why doesn’t that come as a surprise?’ Nick lifted his head and laughed. It was the same easygoing, infectious laugh she remembered so well and which for a long time had haunted her dreams. ‘I’m sure they see a doctor as far more suitable marriage material for their only daughter than a mere garage hand with a rather dodgy reputation to boot.’ He paused. ‘Although, from what you say, it doesn’t sound as if there are wedding bells in the air.’ When she didn’t reply he lowered his head, tilting it to one side in order to look into her face. ‘Rachel...?’

She took a deep breath. She didn’t really want to discuss Jeremy or her relationship with anyone, least of all Nick. ‘No,’ she said coolly, ‘I don’t think there will be any wedding bells, at least not in the foreseeable future.’

‘You said this morning that you felt the relationship wasn’t going anywhere.’

‘Did I?’ How she wished she hadn’t said that. She’d hoped he might have forgotten it but it seemed there was no chance of that. She shrugged. ‘Well, let’s say it had all become a bit static and when the chance of this job came up—’

‘You grabbed it?’ He raised innocent eyebrows.

‘Well, no, not quite like that, but I thought it might be an opportunity to get a better perspective on things...’ She trailed off as she saw his lips twitch.

‘You make it sound like a business arrangement,’ he said.

‘It’s not,’ she replied hotly, ‘of course it’s not!’

‘No, I’m sure it isn’t.’ He paused again reflectively then said, ‘And this guy, what did you say his name was—Julian?’

‘Jeremy.’

‘Oh, yes, Jeremy, that’s right. Well, what does he think of this perspective exercise?’

‘As it happens, he’s in full agreement with it,’ she replied.

‘Wouldn’t suit me.’ Nick folded his arms and shook his head.

‘No, Nick, I’m sure it wouldn’t.’ She paused then mercilessly she said, ‘So tell me about your wife.’

‘My wife?’ He looked up sharply. ‘I don’t have a wife.’

‘I know. You’re divorced now, you said, but you were married once. I understand she was the daughter of a friend of your mother.’

‘How in the world did you know that?’ He stared at her.

‘I heard it somewhere,’ she said vaguely, not wanting to tell him that it had been her own mother who had told her, relating the news to her with a decided note of relief and satisfaction in her voice. ‘Did I know her?’

‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Her name is Marilyn—she was Marilyn Rooney.’

‘I remember the Rooney family,’ said Rachel slowly.

‘Yes, well, Marilyn and I went to the same school—Westhampstead High—a bit different from your posh boarding school for young ladies.’

‘Still taking the mickey?’ she said coolly. ‘You always did if I remember rightly.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied firmly. ‘It was quite something for me—a no-hoper from the wrong side of town to be going out with the local doctor’s daughter. My poor old mum never did quite get over it. She used to worry about the wedding—you didn’t know that, did you?’ He looked at Rachel and chuckled. ‘But she did—not that she need have worried in the end, the way things turned out. Marilyn’s and my wedding was a very low-key affair...registry office, then down the local for a bit of a knees-up.’

‘How is your mum, Nick?’ Desperately Rachel interrupted him, not wanting to hear these details of his marriage.

He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her while behind them someone began feeding coins into a fruit machine. ‘My mum died four years ago,’ he said at last.

‘Oh, Nick.’ Her hand flew to her mouth and she stared at him, instantly recalling the bustling little woman who had shown her nothing but kindness on many occasions. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘No,’ he said, and there was a touch of bitterness in his tone now. ‘I don’t suppose your parents thought to let you know that.’

‘I liked your mum,’ she said slowly. ‘I really did.’

‘She liked you as well,’ he said simply. ‘In spite of the fact that she was in total awe of your situation and background, she really liked you. She thought you were a lovely girl.’

‘Did she like Marilyn?’ Rachel leaned forward slightly and noticed that at mention of his ex-wife’s name Nick’s jaw tightened and a bleak expression came into his eyes.

‘I don’t know really.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘I suppose she did. Maud Rooney was her friend so, yes, I dare say she liked her daughter—we never really discussed it.’

‘So what happened between you and Marilyn?’ she asked tentatively at last. From wanting to know nothing, for some reason she now suddenly needed to know more.

His expression changed yet again, his eyebrows drawing together in a black line, and just for a moment Rachel wished she hadn’t asked.

‘We weren’t suited,’ he muttered. ‘Incompatible is the word used, I believe. Marilyn wanted a stay-at-home guy with a nine-to-five job. Someone who would always be there in the evenings and at weekends—that sort of thing.’

‘And that wasn’t you?’

‘Not once I’d joined the police force it wasn’t—if it ever was. I don’t know.’ He shrugged and just for a moment Rachel witnessed something in his eyes that summed up the bleakness of his marriage.

‘So what made you join the police force?’ she asked in an attempt to draw the conversation away from Marilyn.

He didn’t speak immediately, instead toying with his glass as if deliberating on whether to answer her question or not. Then, his jaw tightening again, he said, ‘Actually, believe it or not, Rachel, it was a remark your mother made to your father that I happened to overhear that was the cause.’

‘Really?’ Rachel stared at him in astonishment.

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘It was one evening when I called for you and I was waiting in the hallway of Ashton House. I don’t know whether they knew I was there or not—the housekeeper, Mrs Newton, had let me in. Anyway, I heard your mother say that I was a no-hoper who would never amount to anything—“a waster” was the expression she used, I think.’

Rachel stared at him. ‘Oh Nick,’ she said at last, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘don’t be sorry. It was the kick up the pants I needed. From that moment my mission in life was to prove her wrong.’

‘And you’ve done just that,’ she said softly. ‘Look at you—there can’t be too many DCIs of your age.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘It was a shame your marriage had to suffer as a consequence though.’

‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it would have worked even if I wasn’t in the force—Marilyn and I were like chalk and cheese really.’

‘But you have a daughter?’ she said gently.

‘Oh, yes.’ His expression softened at mention of his daughter. ‘I have Lucy. She was the reason Marilyn and I married in the first place. She’s the light of my life. You’ll meet her.’

‘I hope I shall but, Nick, I really do need to go now.’ She glanced at her watch as she spoke then drained her glass and stood up.

‘Yes,’ he said, doing likewise. ‘I suppose I’d better get back as well and see if our friend is ready to cooperate.’ He stood aside to allow Rachel to pass him but as she did so he caught her hand. Startled, she looked at him, unable to read the expression that had come into his eyes. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel,’ he said softly.

‘And you, Nick.’ Her voice was suddenly husky and as he applied a quick pressure to her hand, her skin tingled—just as it had always done at his touch.

* * *

It had shaken Rachel, seeing Nick again after all these years, and in spite of the fact that she had made up her mind from the outset that theirs was to be a purely professional relationship, she knew it might not be as easy as she had at first thought.

To her dismay she found herself looking for him in the town, when she was shopping or out on house calls, and when she was on call she found herself willing the phone to ring to say that her services were required at police headquarters. When one such call did come, it was late on a Saturday night and she was called to attend a victim of a street brawl who had collapsed. To her shame, on receiving the call, her adrenalin level soared at the thought of seeing Nick again and she reached police headquarters in record time, only to find that Nick wasn’t involved, probably wasn’t even there, and that the uniformed staff were in charge.

After that she tried to get a grip on herself and put him out of her mind. After all, what they had once been to each other had been a very long time ago and no doubt in the intervening years they had both become different people. It didn’t stop her remembering, though, and sometimes as she drove around town memories of that distant time came back in disturbing waves: the rides on Nick’s motorbike late at night; the old cinema—a snooker hall now—where they had always sat in the back row; the café in the high street—a building society had its offices there now—where they had congregated with other bikers to play rock music on the jukebox and drink endless cups of coffee. And then, of course, there was the park where they’d walked late at night, arms around each other, and where invariably they ended up on the mossy ground beneath the trees and had loved each other passionately under the stars.

As each new memory was rekindled a fresh surge of emotion was released, leaving Rachel in a strange, highly strung state not at all like her usual calm and collected self.

One evening just as she had finished surgery Danielle buzzed through to say there was a call for her.

‘Put them through,’ she replied automatically, and before she even had time to wonder who it might be she heard a voice at the other end, a voice she instantly recognised. ‘Georgie?’ she cried in delight.

‘Rachel! Oh this is wonderful. I heard today that you were back in town. I didn’t believe it at first, I said, no, that couldn’t be right, that you were up in Southport or Stockport or somewhere—but they said you were right here in Westhampstead.’

‘But what are you doing here?’ Rachel demanded, ‘the last time I heard about you, you were backpacking in Peru, or on a banana boat up the Limpopo or somewhere equally obscure.’

‘Oh, I was. I was,’ cried Georgie, ‘but I’m home for a while. Poor old pops is not too well and I’m keeping an eye on him. But what about you—where are you living? Are you at Ashton House?’

‘Lord, no,’ Rachel replied. ‘I’m renting an enchanting little house in Cathedral Close. Listen, why don’t you come over?’

‘When?’

‘What about tonight? I could cook us something and we could have a girly night in—just like we used to.’

‘Sounds wonderful—I’ll bring some wine.’

Five minutes later Rachel had finished signing her repeat prescriptions and had almost cleared her in-tray. She and Georgina Reynolds had started school on the same day and had been friends ever since. There was very little they didn’t know about each other and as far as Rachel was concerned the idea of an evening of catching up and girly gossip with Georgie was the best thing that could happen in her present rather fragile state of mind.

She took the last envelope from the in-tray and saw that it had been hand-delivered and was addressed to Dr Rachel Beresford and marked ‘Personal’, which presumably was why it hadn’t been opened and dealt with by the staff. Quickly she slit open the envelope, imagining it to be a request for medication or something similar, but when she drew out the single piece of paper and unfolded it she found it was neither. Written in pencil in childish print it simply said: I love you Rachel.

She stared at it, unable for a moment to believe quite what she was seeing, and then she remembered Tommy Page and what he had said to his mother when he had left the surgery a few days previously. In that moment she guessed that it must have been Tommy who had written this note. With a little smile she folded the sheet of paper and slipped it into the drawer of her desk then, with a last look around her consulting room, she switched off the light and went out.

* * *

‘Actually, Rachel, there’s something I think you should know.’ Georgina peered at her from beneath her cloud of frizzy dark hair.

‘Oh?’ Rachel set her wine glass down on the coffee table and raised one eyebrow, suspecting that she knew exactly what her friend was about to tell her.

‘I don’t know quite how to tell you really...’ Georgie went on.

‘Is it about Nick Kowalski and the fact that he’s back in town?’ Rachel leaned back and rested her head against the sofa cushions.

‘Well, yes.’ Georgie stared at her in surprise. ‘But how did you know that was what I was going to say?’

‘Probably because you are the only person who knew exactly how I felt about him—that’s why,’ Rachel replied calmly. ‘And likewise,’ she went on, ‘you are the only one who would know how his presence in Westhampstead would affect me.’

‘And has it?’ asked Georgie curiously. ‘Affected you, I mean?’

‘Is there any point denying it?’ Rachel pulled a face.

‘Not with me there isn’t.’ Georgie grinned but it was a sympathetic grin. ‘But surely you won’t need to see him,’ she went on after a moment. ‘I know Westhampstead isn’t that big, but—’

‘I’ve taken over Steve O’Malley’s police duties,’ Rachel said flatly.

‘And Nick Kowalski is...? Oh, no, you’re not going to tell me he’s stationed at the headquarters here.’

‘You’ve got it in one.’ Rachel nodded ruefully.

‘Oh, Rach.’ Georgie stared at her again then, leaning forward, she picked up the bottle of wine and topped up both glasses. ‘So, have you seen him yet?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Rachel nodded. ‘A couple of times, actually.’

‘And...?’

‘And what?’ Rachel stared into her glass.

‘Well, how did you feel?’ Georgie demanded.

‘How do you think I felt?’

‘Don’t know really.’ Georgie shrugged. ‘I know you were besotted with the guy once but, let’s face it, Rach, that was a long time ago and, well...I guess everyone’s moved on a bit since then.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’ Rachel sighed and briefly closed her eyes.

Georgie frowned. ‘Well, for a start, he’s married, isn’t he?’

‘Divorced.’ She opened her eyes again.

‘Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I guess I’m out of touch as well.’ Georgie paused, sipping her wine thoughtfully. Then, drawing up her legs and tucking them beneath her on the sofa, she said, ‘But you have Jeremy now.’

‘Do I?’ Rachel stared into her glass again.

‘Well, don’t you?’ Georgie demanded, when Rachel failed to add anything.

‘I don’t know really.’ She looked up at last and shrugged. ‘Jeremy and I have been going through a rough patch recently,’ she said. ‘We both agreed that this time apart might help us to sort ourselves out.’

‘Oh, Rachel, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’ Georgie reached out and touched her arm, and to her dismay Rachel felt the tears prickle at the back of her eyes.

‘It wasn’t going anywhere, Georgie,’ she said after a moment. ‘Jeremy doesn’t want to settle down and have a family.’

‘And you do?’

‘Yes, I do. And I don’t want to leave it until it’s too late—I’ve seen too much of that in my surgery. Women of our age group who pour everything into their careers and put marriage and children on hold, then when finally they get around to it their bodies rebel and say no way.’

‘Maybe this will bring Jeremy to his senses,’ said Georgie.

‘Yes, maybe.’ Rachel shrugged again. ‘Trouble is, I’m not even sure about that any more. Jeremy, I mean...’

They were silent for a while then Rachel looked up again. ‘How about you?’ she said.

‘How about me?’ Georgie wrinkled her nose.

‘Well, is there anyone in your life at the moment? Wasn’t it Scott someone?’

‘Scott was a ski instructor,’ Georgie replied, ‘and that was months ago. It’s Robbie now,’ she added with a wicked little grin.

‘Robbie?’

‘Yes, I met him in Peru and he’s gorgeous.’

‘You say that about them all.’ Rachel smiled weakly.

‘I know I do.’ Georgie sighed, growing serious again. ‘But maybe, just maybe, this will be the one...’

They were silent again, each reflecting on their past and the men they had loved, then suddenly Rachel spoke again, changing the subject. ‘Did you say your father wasn’t too well?’

‘Yes.’ Georgie nodded. ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong—he went for some tests a couple of months ago and there didn’t seem to be anything too wrong then, but he really isn’t right now.’

‘He’s on Steve’s list, isn’t he?’ said Rachel.

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Would you like me to call round and see him?’

‘Oh, Rachel, yes. Yes, please, I was hoping you would say that.’ Georgie looked relieved. ‘It’s so hard to get him to go to the centre but if you were to just call in for a chat and a cup of tea I’m sure he would be delighted—he’s very fond of you.’

‘And I of him,’ Rachel smiled. ‘So that’s settled, then.’

‘If only everything were as simple.’ Georgie sighed. ‘Tell me, what are you going to do about Nick?’

‘What can I do?’ Rachel shrugged. ‘I’ve resigned myself that I’ll have to see him and work with him from time to time.’

‘What will you do if he wants to take it further?’

‘What do you mean, take it further?’ Rachel frowned.

‘Well, if he asks you out—for a drink or something, you know, for old times’ sake, that sort of thing.’

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘as it happens...’

‘You’re not going to tell me that’s already happened!’ Georgie sat up straight, clutching a cushion which she hugged against her body.

‘Yes.’ Rachel nodded, a little shamefaced.

‘Wow! Well, I must say, the pair of you didn’t waste any time getting it together again.’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ protested Rachel.

‘So what was it like?’ Georgie demanded. ‘Go on, tell me.’

‘I was called out to see a patient in police custody. Nick was in charge of the case...’

‘Was that the first time you’d seen him since you came back?’

‘No,’ Rachel explained, ‘I’d seen him earlier when I went to police headquarters to familiarise myself with the place.’

‘So it wasn’t as much of a shock as it might have been.’ Georgie paused and peered at Rachel. ‘But was it a shock that first time?’

‘Yes,’ Rachel admitted ruefully, ‘it was. A real shock. I had no idea he was back in Westhampstead.’

‘So, go on. What happened this next time?’ Georgie was agog now.

‘He asked me to go for a drink with him after I’d seen the patient—that’s all. We went to the Red Lion...and, well, we sort of caught up on what each of us has been doing for the last however many years it is since we last saw each other.’

‘You were mad about him, Rach,’

‘Yes,’ Rachel agreed, ‘I know I was.’

‘And he was about you as well...’

‘So much so that he married someone else,’ said Rachel bitterly.

‘Not immediately he didn’t,’ Georgie protested.

‘Maybe not.’ Rachel shrugged.

‘So what did happen between you?’ asked Georgie curiously. ‘What ended it? I never really knew. You just told me it was over and that you didn’t want to talk about it.’

‘He just stopped writing to me—that’s all.’

‘No explanation or anything?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Didn’t you ask him why?’ asked Georgie almost in disbelief.

‘I was going to,’ she said, ‘and then I heard, well, I heard he was going out with someone else so in the end I didn’t do anything.’

‘This someone else, was it Marilyn Rooney—the one he married?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t think so...I’m not sure.’

‘How did you feel at the time?’

‘I was heartbroken,’ Rachel admitted. ‘Devastated really. I didn’t come back to Westhampstead for a long time after that.’

‘So how did you feel this time, when you saw him again?’

‘All right, I suppose.’ Rachel wrinkled her nose.

‘Rach, this is me you’re talking to,’ said Georgie. ‘Now, tell me how you really felt.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Yes, honestly.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die honestly?’

‘Yes, cross your heart and hope to die honestly.’

‘I...I...well, I suppose really, if I’m really honest...it’s knocked me for six,’ she admitted at last, ‘and truthfully, Georgie, I don’t really know what I’m going to do about it.’

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