groaned gently. ‘Oh, hell, it’s my mother,’ he said under his breath.
‘Shall I tell her you’re in bed?’ Fran offered, but he shook his head.
‘Too late. She’s seen me. Just let her in,’ he said tiredly.
Mentally girding her loins, Fran walked calmly to the front door and opened it. A tall, elegantly dressed grey-haired woman stood there, and without a glance at Fran she swept through the door and went into the kitchen.
‘Joshua, what on earth are you thinking about! You should be in hospital, you silly creature.’
She buzzed his cheek with a kiss and perched on the edge of the sofa beside him, no mean achievement considering its squashiness. Then she turned and looked at Fran, eyeing her with only slight curiosity. ‘Have we met?’ she asked.
Fran opened her mouth to reply, but Josh got there first.
‘Mother, this is Francesca Williams, my new nurse. Fran, this is my mother, Isabel Hardy.’
Fran smiled and held out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation the woman extended her hand and took Fran’s, her fingers cool and slender and beautifully manicured, quite unlike Fran’s workmanlike hands. Mrs Hardy, she decided, was one of those ‘ladies who lunch’.
‘How nice to meet you, Mrs Hardy,’ she said innocently. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Mrs Hardy said, eyeing her son thoughtfully. ‘Where did you say you came from, my dear?’
‘She didn’t. The nursing agency in town—and don’t patronise her, Mother. She’s an intelligent woman.’
Mrs Hardy opened her mouth a fraction, but Fran just smiled and went back into the kitchen area. So he thought she was intelligent? Smart man. ‘I’ve just put the coffee-machine on, Mrs Hardy. Can I get you a cup?’
Her elegant brow pleated. ‘Are you making him coffee? Is that wise?’
‘It’s fine,’ Fran assured her. ‘A little caffeine enhances the action of painkillers, and he’s had quite a difficult day, I think, what with one thing and another.’
Mrs Hardy was all ready to protest, but then Josh, obviously used to her, chipped in.
‘I knew you’d worry, Mother, which is why I engaged a professional, to set your mind at rest. She’s fully qualified, highly recommended, and she nags nearly as much as you do.’
Fran stifled a snort and poured the coffee. He thought she was a nag? She hadn’t even started yet! ‘Black or white and with or without?’ she asked blithely.
Josh, as she’d remembered, took his strong, straight and black, his mother white. Predictably, she produced a little packet of sweeteners from her bag and clicked one into her mug. Not for her the unnecessary calories of a spoonful of sugar, Fran thought with a suppressed smile.
She wondered what she was supposed to do with her own coffee. Take it below stairs to the servants’ quarters? She had no idea, but the sofa seemed rather full at the moment. She propped herself up against the worktop instead, cradled her mug in her hands and blew gently onto the top of it.
‘Don’t nurses wear uniforms?’ Mrs Hardy said after a moment, shooting Fran a suspicious look.
‘Only in fantasies,’ Josh said with a soft laugh, and his mother blushed furiously and swatted at his good arm.
‘You’re incorrigible!’
‘And you love me for it.’ He glanced up at Fran and smiled. ‘Biscuits?’ he murmured hopefully, and she put her coffee down and took out the packet, neatly slitting the end of it with a sharp knife. Now what? Hand him the packet, or put a few out onto a pretty little plate?
Plate, she thought, in view of the mother. She opened cupboards until she found the side plates, placed a few biscuits onto one and set them down on the coffee-table in front of them.
‘Aren’t you having one?’ Josh asked her.
She shook her head. Once she started on the chocolate biscuits, she couldn’t stop, so it was easier not to start. ‘No, thanks,’ she said, deadpan. ‘I might outgrow my uniform. Anyway, I’m busy,’ she added, deciding she may as well begin preparing the supper as stand there and watch them.
Something reasonably light, she thought, considering his recent surgery, but on the other hand it needed to be tasty. A nice chicken casserole, perhaps. If she could find some, she’d sling in a bit of sherry or wine or something. She poked about the cupboards, looking for some herbs or even a bouquet garni, if she was extremely lucky, but she drew a blank. Ah, well, she’d stick them on her shopping list. She hadn’t expected to find them. Josh didn’t really need a bouquet garni to heat a ready meal in the microwave, she thought with a little smile.
‘Are you looking for something?’ he asked her.
‘Herbs,’ she said.
‘Not a chance,’ he grunted. ‘I told you, I don’t cook.’
No, she thought, you told me your mother didn’t cook. You never mentioned yourself, but it was no surprise.
‘No problem,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll work round it for tonight.’
She would have been fine, of course, if he’d had stock cubes, but all she could find was ketchup and soy sauce. The casserole was going to be a strange one, she thought, but they’d live. While she chopped and peeled and sliced the vegetables, she kept an eye on Josh, and after a few minutes she noticed him starting to flag.
His mother was recounting some story from a bridge party, and his eyes were glazing. He glanced up and caught her eye, and his look spoke volumes. She put her knife down, washed her hands, dried them and walked over to Mrs Hardy, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.
‘Mrs Hardy, I think it’s time for Josh to have a rest now, if you don’t mind,’ she said quietly but firmly.
Josh’s mother opened her mouth to protest, but Fran just smiled, and Josh, right on cue, leant back against the sofa and sighed only slightly theatrically.
Mrs Hardy stood up, leant over him and kissed his cheek. ‘You should have said, you silly boy. I didn’t realise you were tired. I’ll go now.’
Fran showed her to the door, closed it behind her and chuckled softly.
As she went back into the kitchen, Josh was laughing. ‘Very neatly done. I owe you one for that.’
Fran picked up her coffee, went over to the sofa and perched on the other end of it.
‘I meant it, really. You ought to have a rest.’
Josh shook his head. ‘I really don’t want to go to bed. I can’t sleep at night at the best of times. The last thing I need is to sleep so much during the day that the nights are completely endless.’
‘OK,’ she agreed, ‘but you really need to put that leg up.’
Fran stood up, took his coffee from him and, lifting both legs at
