we?’ he said, mildly. ‘I don’t remember that.’
Daniel followed her up the three flights of stairs to her flat. This time she managed to open the door first time. She turned to him. She didn’t want him inside her home. She needed some time to compose herself. ‘Thank you. I can cope fine from here.’ She thought she managed the note of sarcasm perfectly.
To her dismay he ignored her and followed her inside her studio apartment. Couldn’t the man take a hint? But she could hardly order him out of her flat without appearing rude, and she was never rude.
Spying a pair of tights lying discarded on the arm of a chair, she hurried across and scooped them up. Then, through the open door of the bathroom, she noticed her panties and a towel on the floor so she hurried over to scoop them up, too, before shoving the whole lot into the washing machine. Her coffee cup from last night and her supper dishes were still in the sink, but she’d been in a rush to get to work after being held up by a fascinating programme on the television on anteaters.
‘Nice place,’ he said drily. He picked up a magazine from the floor. The Bride. His lips twitched. ‘Interesting dress she’s wearing.’
Colleen snatched it from his hands and shoved it on top of the pile she’d still to read. It tottered there for a moment before the whole lot slid to the ground, fanning out on a heap on the floor. Knowing her face was probably beetroot, she took a deep breath. She never, ever got flustered. What the heck had got into her?
Daniel grinned at her and for a second she thought her heart had stopped beating.
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ she said and sought the refuge of her bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it. Look, she told herself, firmly, he’s only a man in a fancy suit, even if he does have a heartbreaking smile. God, God, God. Where had the last thought come from?
She set about packing her weekend bag, forcing herself to concentrate on remembering everything. Slippers? Check. Clothes, including clean underwear? Check. Toiletries? She’d pick them up from the bathroom on her way out. What else? Did a person need a passport to travel on a private plane?
She poked her head out of the door. Daniel had made himself comfortable on one of her chairs and was flicking through The Bride magazine, an incredulous look on his face.
‘Do I need my passport?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Er … Dublin isn’t part of the UK, if you remember?’
Colleen slammed the door shut. Now he’d think her an idiot too! By the time they got to London, he’d probably have decided to employ someone else. But why should she think that? He was interested in her for her professional skills—not interviewing her as a potential wife!
Once her bag was packed, she looked in the mirror to check her hair. She was pale with dark smudges under her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about that. Sleep was what she needed. In her feverish haste to pack her bags so that she could get Daniel out of her flat her hair had come loose from its braid and wisps were falling into her eyes. She grabbed her hair brush and redid the plait, making sure every last one of her unruly locks was contained. Then she added a slick of lipstick and she was ready. Or as ready as she’d ever be. For once she wished she had listened to Trish on one of their many futile shopping expeditions—at least as far as Trish was concerned—and had bought a dress she could have worn. Something that would give her confidence.
Daniel got to his feet when she came back out of her bedroom with the slow indolence of a lion waking up from a sleep.
‘I just have to get my wash bag and I’m ready,’ she said.
He took her overnight bag from her hand. ‘Let’s go, then.’
Daniel slid a look at Colleen as they were driven towards the airport. She wasn’t anything like he’d expected.
When she’d turned Haversham down he’d been shocked. No one had ever refused to do something for Daniel before. And the salary—one most people would have found it hard to refuse—hadn’t made the slightest difference. Her refusal had made him more determined to secure her services than he’d been before. And he’d been keen then. Especially after the ringing endorsement her old consultant at Guy’s had given her. ‘She’s a tiger,’ he’d said, ‘and she never gives up. Don’t let that innocent face fool you. What Colleen wants, she gets. Nothing and no one stands in the way of Colleen McCulloch when it comes to what is best for her patients. She’s not always conventional, but she’s always right. That’s what makes her special.’
Somehow he’d imagined the redoubtable Nurse McCulloch, whom everyone he’d spoken to had praised to the sky, to look older, to be more severe. Instead she looked like a teenager with her curls escaping from its elastic band and falling in wisps over her face that she constantly and ineffectually tried to tuck back in. He liked the way her mouth turned up at the corners as if in a permanent smile, even the way her eyes flashed when she was annoyed about something. He’d even liked the way her flat looked. Okay, some might say that it looked as if the occupant had been fighting with a pack of wild animals that had found their way into her home, but there was a good feeling about her small flat with its bunches of wild flowers arranged haphazardly in jam jars. It reminded him somehow of his mother’s holiday home in Dorset. The memory made his stomach clench. That cottage had been Eleanor and Harry’s home until the accident. Now his son was lying in a hospital bed, unaware that his mother had died and that all he had left was a father whom he barely knew.
Daniel stole another look at Colleen. He was more determined than ever to have her as Harry’s nurse. He hoped to hell she lived up to her reputation.
CHAPTER THREE
SO THIS was how the other half lived? Colleen thought, looking around the interior of the plane. If she were honest, a tiny little bit of her was impressed. Only a minuscule bit, mind. The other part of her felt slightly ridiculous having the attentions of a stewardess all to themselves on the tiny, if luxurious, twin-propped plane. And ridiculously under-dressed in her boy jeans and T-shirt, carrying nothing but an imitation designer handbag over her shoulder.
Almost as soon as they’d taken off, Daniel had taken out some papers and a laptop. Once she’d had a good look around and got over the excitement of being on a private plane—and she couldn’t pretend for the life of her that she wasn’t—even if it might make her look like a country bumpkin in Daniel’s eyes—she’d fallen asleep.
She’d only woken when Daniel had bent over her and whispered that they were landing and she needed to fasten her seat belt. For a moment when she’d opened her eyes, she couldn’t remember where she was. She’d been having a lovely dream. A dream where she was behind someone on a horse and they were galloping off somewhere. As she stared groggily into Daniel’s eyes, she realised with a guilty start that the person on the horse hadn’t been Ciaran. It had been someone with green eyes—the man looking down at her, in fact.
She had hidden her embarrassment by escaping to the small onboard toilet and splashing her face with cold water.
When they were escorted through Heathrow airport and towards a sleek, black, stretch limousine. Colleen noticed people nudging each other, puzzlement etched on their faces as they tried to place them. Daniel with his snazzy suit and air of confidence had to be someone famous and as for Colleen, she must be some pop or film star—someone of importance—surely under-dressing to fool the media?
The thought made her smile. She might as well enjoy her moment in
