castle?’ filled in Esme, with the ease of someone who’d grown up in one.
Had it been more burden than blessing?
Esme glanced at her watch. ‘Max mentioned you have an appointment with Flora, our physio. Shall we head back, get you a cup of tea and some quiet time before then?’
Fenella nodded, grunting a little as she sat up properly. Max reached out to steady her. Poor woman. Had to be tough being taken by surprise by seizures just when you thought you were having the time of your life.
‘Are you two still all right having your dogs with you in your rooms? We can take them back to the kennels for the afternoon if you need a break.’
They both asked if they could have their dogs stay with them. Esme grinned a naughty little sister grin.
Which did beg the question, ‘Is that not de rigueur?’ Max asked, sotto voce. ‘Having the dogs in the clinic?’
‘Oh, it is,’ she answered breezily. ‘It just annoys my brother. Speaking of him, if he has time later on, Fenella, it might be a good idea for you to meet Charles and talk through your medications.’
‘It’s just the one right now. I’m sure it’s fine.’ Fenella looked uncomfortable about the suggestion, which instantly put Max’s protective streak into high gear.
‘Does he know much about epilepsy?’ Max asked. A bit too defensively from the look of Esme’s own bristly demeanour.
‘He’s a neurologist, so he’s pretty good at understanding why brains work the way they do. I’m not criticising any of the medical treatment you’ve received at the Clydebank, Fenella. They obviously have specialists there who are helping you and Max, here, of course. I’m just covering our bases as you are our guest. We want to make sure you receive all the treatment you need. If there’s anything we can do—’
‘Don’t worry.’ Max helped Fenella get back to her feet. ‘Easy does it, lassie. Why don’t we take this step by step and get this woman some rest first?’
He tried to block out the sharp looks Esme kept sending him, but the odd one or two pierced straight through to his conscience. Now he definitely owed her an apology. What had got into him? Accusing her of flinging gold coins at people for her own amusement. Dismissing her sensible offer of a fresh set of eyes on Fenella’s case.
If she knew even half of the reasons why he swung from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other she’d…hell, he didn’t know. Send him packing most likely. It seemed to be the remit.
His stepfather had lured him in with all the bells and whistles that had appealed to a twelve-year-old kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Tickets to premier league football matches, nights out at the scary films his mother couldn’t bear, slap-up meals at the finest burger joints in town. It had been kid heaven. Until it hadn’t been. And had set him up for a lifetime of keeping people at arm’s length until they proved they were the real deal.
Ironically, it had been Gavin’s constant demands that he ‘earn his keep’ that had pushed him so hard in the military. Had made him the top-rate soldier and surgeon he knew he’d been. Gavin hadn’t thought he had what it took? He’d vowed to show him.
He would have as well if he hadn’t had a conscience. Or carried around those little-kid hopes and dreams that one day he’d be good enough. Worth loving. He supposed it had been that same little boy’s belief in love that had made him blind to his fiancée’s affair. Being so oblivious had made him feel every bit as weak as he’d felt when Gavin had shipped him off to military academy, instead of taking him to their new home, as he’d promised.
A few more proofs that truth and justice rarely reigned—dodgy commanding officers, innocents rigged up with IEDs, the cruelty of poverty had closed the book on the matter. Being wary of whatever met his eye was his modus operandi. Being suspicious of whatever touched his heart was critical. It hadn’t exactly made him A-list boyfriend material. A handful of one-night stands he wished he hadn’t had had been the clincher. So life as the Monk had begun. Which, of course, immediately made him think of all the people who were relying on him back at the Clyde to save Plants to Paws.
His conscience gave him a sharp kick in the posterior. His emotional baggage shouldn’t be a factor. Normally it wasn’t. Not with the chaos he encountered in A and E every day. And yet…here it was, front and centre. His hypersensitivity did beg the question, did he want Esme to think well of him?
He stuffed his hand through his hair. No need to ponder that one. It was an unequivocal yes. Which meant the next week was going to hoist this festive season up amongst the worst ever.
You could try being nice.
‘Go on, then,’ he said when Esme shot him another look. ‘Give your brother a call.’
And there it was. The first chink in his ‘don’t ask for help’ armour. If you don’t ask, you don’t need. And if you don’t need, you’re never disappointed. It was a little pact he’d made with himself when the Dictator had asked him to put a value on himself the very first Christmas they’d spent together. Turned out the pair of them had disagreed.
It hadn’t been a very nice Christmas.
When Esme’s smile of thanks hit him on full beam, he began to wonder if his pact had flaws.
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