looking around. She located what she was looking for, darted over and hauled back a wheelchair. ‘Can you help her into this, please, Alistair?’
‘I’m not getting in that thing,’ Georgie said, revolted.
‘I want you off that foot for a few hours,’ Alistair said. ‘Pressure will make it bleed. I also want an X-ray. Get into the chair and we’ll take you.’
‘Do what the doctor says,’ Gina said, and grinned.
‘No way,’ Georgie snapped, and suddenly Alistair smiled as well.
‘You know, you’re sounding like me at the airport,’ he said. ‘Get on my bike or suffer the consequences. I didn’t get on your bike and I suffered the consequences, so now I’m expecting you to be wiser. Right.’ He stepped forward and lifted her into his arms in one swift movement. ‘Lead the way, Gina. I’m taking this lady to X-Ray and then I’m taking her to bed.’
Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Georgie’s face turned crimson suddenly.
‘To your sickbed,’ he amended. ‘Don’t look like that. OK, I know we were introduced in very different circumstances six months ago, but we’re adults. Let’s get a bit of professional detachment here. I’m sure we can handle it.’
He might be able to handle it. She couldn’t. Safely tucked up in bed—Gina had ignored her protests, helped her off with her clothes and insisted she stay where she was—Georgie had the rest of the afternoon to think about the events of the day.
She wasn’t all that upset about being in bed, she conceded. She’d been shaken more than she cared to admit. The punch to her face had done more than bruise her. It had brought back sweeping memories of the way she’d once lived—memories she’d spent her entire life fighting to get away from.
She was still feeling shaky. The X-rays were showing a hairline cheek fracture. She was getting slow in her old age, she thought bitterly, but it was still worth it. Smiley would definitely be going to jail. Gina had given her analgesics—‘Humour me in this, OK, Georg?’—and she was grateful for them. They made her sleepy. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into her cool pillows, but sleep didn’t come.
What came was the image of Alistair. A big man with gentle hands. The image of the way he’d held Thomas sprang to mind. He’d held the baby just as a baby needed to be held. Most men would be afraid of such a newborn, but not Alistair.
‘He’s still a prig,’ she told her pillow. ‘And he’s still engaged.’
But she could see why Gina had asked him to give her away. He was a real father figure.
Um … actually not. There was nothing fatherly about the way she was feeling about him. He wasn’t as old as she remembered. Mid-thirties? Young to be an eminent neurosurgeon.
The guy had to be seriously good.
But all the same …
‘Stay away from him,’ she told herself. ‘He’s only here for a week. I don’t know why he upsets your equilibrium, but he does. Just keep clear.’
She finally did sleep, and when she woke it was dark. She was hungry, she decided. That had to be a good sign.
Her jaw ached. That wasn’t such a good sign. She tried opening and closing her mouth a few times. She’d live, but she was in for an uncomfortable few hours.
The house was deathly quiet, apart from the whistling of the wind round the corners of the building. She lay still and tried to remember what day it was. Friday. The day before Em and Mike’s wedding. There were celebrations taking place that night. Hens’ night and bucks’ night. Or a mixture of both, because there’d been hassles with the bridesmaids. Everyone who wasn’t working would be down at the Athina.
They hadn’t woken her. They’d have figured she wouldn’t want to go.
She rose, flicked on her light and caught her reflection in the mirror. Wow. The bruising looked even worse than it had before she’d slept.
She needed Alistair and his camera.
Despite the discomfort, she grinned. This should really go down well in court. Hopefully by the time Smiley was released Lizzie would have her life together and would have found the strength to tell Smiley where to go.
A bruise in a good cause.
She got up and went to the bathroom, swallowed a couple of painkillers and returned to bed.
She was hungry.
As the painkillers dulled the ache, she grew hungrier.
They’d all be down at the tavern.
She didn’t want to be at the tavern. She could do without noise and crowds tonight. But …
She had the fridge to herself, she thought, cheering up. Mrs Grubb, the hospital cook, kept their fridge laden and, as far as she knew, she was all by herself. Anyone who wasn’t working would be at the party.
She pushed on a pair of scuffs as a concession to her sore foot—which wasn’t all that sore—Alistair had done a decent job. Then she padded through the house, her stomach leading the way.
The place was in darkness. She flicked on the kitchen light and loaded a plate. Cold chicken. Quiche. Some sort of noodly salad. Apple slice—hoorah for Mrs Grubb. A glass of milk and she was set.
It was hot inside. Outside there was wind—an abundance of wind by the sound of it—but the veranda was usually sheltered. Clutching her plate, she pushed the screen door wide.
‘Hi,’ Alistair said, and she almost dropped her plate.
She wasn’t dressed for company. She was wearing a very skimpy nightgown. Pink scuffs. Nothing else.
She retreated a bit but he’d pushed himself out of the ancient settee and was taking her plate from her.
He’d taken off his stupid suit. He was wearing shorts, a khaki, open-necked shirt and nothing on his legs and feet. He looked … amazing.
‘I’ll pull up a table.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘There is a need,’ he said gently. ‘Hey, I’m not going to jump you, Georgie. If you want, I’ll even go away. You’ve earned the right to eat where you like tonight.’
‘I didn’t think you were going to jump me,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, and he smiled.
‘That’s good, then. Sit.’
She sat.
‘Are you hurting?’
‘Gina gave me something. I’m fine.’
He nodded and went back to staring over the sea. Which gave her space to eat. It didn’t hurt too much to eat. She still had space in her thoughts to watch him covertly. And think about him.
He wasn’t a father type at all, she thought. Why Gina thought
