didn’t say another word. Leaving the retriever to his own devices, she turned and raced back up the stairs, hurrying into the bathroom. She was feeling sick again, but she couldn’t consider her own condition now.
She didn’t hesitate and tore off her kimono and nightshirt and pulled on the shirt and shorts, not bothering with any underwear.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, both Harley and Felix were waiting for her in the living room.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Felix was apologetic. ‘But your dog was threatening to run off, so I brought him inside.’
‘That’s fine. Thank you.’ Abby moistened her lips. ‘I’m ready.’
‘You’ll need a sweater,’ said Felix gently. ‘It’s cold outside.’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
Abby thought she’d never feel cold again, and, with a resigned gesture, Felix started for the door.
LUKE OPENED HIS eyes to a blinding white light, and quickly closed them again.
His head was throbbing, and he could hear the hum of what sounded like electrical instruments all around him. The steady drip of liquid was almost deafening to his ears.
He risked opening his eyes again and saw the strip of neon in the ceiling above him. That was what was blinding him.
Why didn’t they turn the damn thing off?
Was he in a hospital? The pain of applying his brain almost caused him to lose consciousness again. But if he was, how the hell had he got here? He didn’t remember a thing after getting into his car.
The smell of Lysol and pine disinfectant was sickening and he gagged. His mouth was so dry, he felt as if all his saliva glands had given up in protest.
There was a man standing beside his bed, when he opened his eyes again. He didn’t think it was a doctor. Doctors were supposed to wear white coats, weren’t they? Unless they’d taken to wearing worn canvas trousers and sweaters. Anything was possible in this surreal world he was existing in.
His eyes drifted upward to the man’s face, and he expelled a relieved breath. He recognised him.
It was his father. But what was his father doing here? Oliver Morelli’s face looked strained and anxious, but so familiar Luke wanted to reach out and touch him.
But he couldn’t move.
When he tried, an agonising pain knifed into his ribs, and he couldn’t deny a groan of anguish.
Oliver Morelli saw his son’s eyes open and gave a cry of relief. ‘Luke,’ he exclaimed fervently. ‘Oh, dear God, I’ve been so worried about you.’
Luke stared at him. He tried to say his father’s name, but no sound emerged. His mouth was too dry, his lips too parched to form the words.
But Oliver Morelli didn’t seem to notice. ‘Do you remember anything of the last twenty-four hours?’ he asked, pulling a chair out from beside the bed and dropping into it.
‘You were conscious when they first brought you into the hospital, but then—’
He broke off as if he didn’t want to say what had happened next, and when he continued, it was in a very different vein. ‘How do you feel? Are you in pain? Can I get you anything?’
A drink?
Luke tried to speak, but all he produced was a guttural sound, and, looking alarmed, Oliver got to his feet again.
‘I’ll get the nurse,’ he said, but somehow Luke managed to get a name past his lips.
‘Ab—Abby,’ he breathed hoarsely, and his father, who had hurried across the room, turned back from the door.
‘Abby?’ he said. ‘Oh, you mean the young lady who was here when I arrived?’
Luke absorbed that with some difficulty. Abby had been here? But how? And where was she now?
Frustrated at his own helplessness, he was filled with a feeling of defeat. His head throbbed with the effort of trying to think. Once again, he attempted to speak, but before he could formulate the words a nurse bustled into the room.
She saw at once that the patient was conscious and she turned sharply to his father. ‘How long has Mr Morelli been awake?’ she asked, her tone reproving. ‘You should have come and fetched me, as soon as he regained consciousness.’
‘Minutes, only,’ said Oliver apologetically. ‘I was going to come and let you know, but—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
The nurse came to look down at Luke with critical eyes. Then she gave her attention to something that was above his head; a screen, possibly. Turning, she checked another monitor that was ticking away beside him, making notes on a clipboard she’d taken from a slot at the bottom of his bed.
As his brain kicked in he realised that there were tubes and wires attached to various parts of his body. There was something in his nose and another tube going into his mouth. What had happened to him?
After assessing the contents of the drip that was attached to his arm, the nurse frowned. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Morelli?’ she asked, repeating his father’s words. ‘Do you remember how you got here?’
Luke’s tongue pushed helplessly between his lips, and the woman nodded her understanding.
‘You’d like a drink, yes?’ She reached for a jug of water that Luke realised must have been sitting on the bedside table all the time and poured a small amount into a glass. Then, after attaching a straw, she held it to his lips. ‘Just a little.’
The water was cool and delicious. Luke felt as if he could have drunk all that was in the glass and more. But after a few sips, the nurse drew it away.
‘That will do for now, Mr Morelli. I’ll get Mr Marsden.’
‘No...’
Somehow Luke got the word out, but the nurse only shook her head. ‘Mr Marsden asked to be informed as soon as you regained consciousness,’ she said firmly.
Luke said nothing more. He was aware that for the present, his opinion meant nothing at all.
‘Don’t upset yourself, Mr Morelli,’ the nurse continued briskly. ‘Mr Marsden was the surgeon who dealt with your injuries when you first arrived at the hospital. He’s taken a personal interest in your case, and I know he’ll want to assess your condition for himself.’
She was out of the door before Luke could offer any further protest and as soon as she’d gone his father resumed his position beside the bed.
‘Do you remember anything about the accident?’ he asked anxiously.
And
