think we can safely assume that, sir. The keys and the garage remote are in the office with a few other bits and pieces, but we haven’t got the boot open yet and the CD player’s in there. I’ll drop them round to you just as soon as we’ve forced the lock. To be honest, sir, we weren’t expecting to see you quite so soon. In fact, to be truthful, we were all pretty amazed to know you’d survived.’
Seeing the car, Josh could only agree. He nodded slightly, acknowledging George’s remark, and looked up at Fran. Suddenly he’d seen enough. ‘Why don’t we go back to the car while George finds my things?’ he suggested, hoping that for once she wouldn’t challenge him.
To his amazement she didn’t, just took the wheelchair from George, turned it around so he was no longer facing the mangled evidence of his close encounter with death, and pushed him back out into the sunshine. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and he felt his shoulders drop inches.
To her eternal credit she didn’t say, I told you so, but merely helped him back into the car without a word and put away the wheelchair, while George handed him the keys and the remote and wished him well.
‘You were quite right,’ he said quietly as she drove off. ‘I really didn’t need to see that.’
Fran’s shoulders lifted in a little shrug. ‘I just knew how it would look,’ she told him. ‘I’ve worked in A and E for years, and I’ve attended lots of road traffic accidents. It often seems quite amazing that people survive them.’
‘It all rather puts it in perspective,’ he said. ‘I imagine any one of the injuries might have been enough to kill me.’
‘I think it’s unlikely that a broken wrist would do it,’ she teased, and he laughed, a little gusting laugh that took more of the tension out of his shoulders.
He leant his head back against the headrest and sighed, and she shot him a quick look, too quick for him to be sure that it really was concern in her eyes.
‘We’ll soon be home,’ she said gently. ‘You can have a rest and—’
‘I haven’t had a rest in the afternoon for years,’ he told her in disgust. ‘Not since I was about three.’
‘I expect there are lots of things that you’ve had to do in the last two weeks that you haven’t done since you were about three, but it’s no good crying over spilt milk. And while you’re sleeping,’ she went on relentlessly, ‘I’ll turn out the fridge, go through your cupboards and the freezer, and then go shopping. OK?’
What was there to say? Apparently nothing. Josh shrugged slightly, turned his head away and stared sightlessly out of the window. He was obviously going to have to resign himself to being fussed and mothered by this woman, but at least she was better-looking than his real mother, so he supposed that was a bonus. No less opinionated, though, he realised with a sinking feeling. They’d probably get on together like a house on fire. Oh, hell.
They turned onto the track leading to the house, and he felt every last pebble. He’d refused to take any of the painkillers they’d given him, but maybe that had been a little rash. Perhaps he’d have one when they got home. In the meantime, he gritted his teeth and said nothing.
He looked awful. The sight of the car, as she’d known it would be, had been a real shock to him. Experienced as she was, it had been a real shock to her, as well, and she still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to escape with his life. Fran had no idea what make it was. There hadn’t been a recognisable panel on it, but she knew instinctively that it would have been almost new and hideously expensive. Not that that mattered, not compared to his life.
He was struggling now, she realised, and she wondered if he’d had any painkillers before he left the hospital. Probably not. He was stubborn enough for an entire army. Oh, well, he wouldn’t die of it, he’d just feel wretched, and if that was how he wanted to play it, who was she to interfere?
The track turned into his drive, and she pulled up in front of the garage and cut the engine.
‘Right,’ she said, turning to him with a smile, ‘all we have to do now is get you out of the car and into the house.’
Josh’s answering smile was a little tight, and she thought her guess about the painkillers had probably been correct. She manoeuvred him into the wheelchair, pushed him up the grass beside the path to save having to negotiate the steps, and then once the path flattened out she pushed him quickly up to the front door and opened it with his key.
Immediately something started to beep, and he pointed across the hall towards a door. ‘In there—the burglar-alarm control. Key in “5836”, then “Part Set”, then “No”.’
She did, and the beeping stopped, to her relief. ‘Right, let’s get you in,’ she said, and turned him round.
Hitching the wheelchair over the step was a problem, but with a little huffing and puffing she managed, and finally he was in. In fact, it wasn’t until she’d retrieved his case from the car and closed the front door behind herself that she actually noticed the house, and then her jaw sagged.
There was nothing ostentatious about it, not overtly, but everything screamed quality. The solid, light oak floor, the heavy timber doors in the same pale wood as the floor, the clean, simple lines were stunning. So, too, were the original works of art on all the walls, the value of which she didn’t even dare to guess at, and this was just the hall!
She shut her mouth firmly and followed his directions along the hall and into a wonderful room with a high, vaulted ceiling and a spectacular view of the river. It was a multi-purpose room, part kitchen, part breakfast area, part informal sitting room, full of rich colour and texture, and she guessed it was his favourite place in the house.
‘Right, if you show me where your bedroom is I’ll change your sheets and get it ready for you.’
‘You don’t need to change the sheets—the cleaning agency I use will have seen to it,’ he told her tiredly.
‘OK, in that case I’ll just help you change into something more comfortable and settle you down for a while. Where is it?’
Josh waved in the direction of the door on the other side of the room, and she pushed him through it, past a glass-walled study overlooking the river, past another few doors and through the one at the end.
They must be in the room over the garage, she realised, because in the end wall there were French doors opening onto the balcony above the drive, and there was another window on the front wall with the same spectacular view as from the kitchen and study.
‘Well, at least you’ll have a lovely place to lie and convalesce,’ she said, trying not to sound like a thunderstruck adolescent.
He grunted. ‘I have no intention of lying anywhere and convalescing,’ he pointed out bluntly. ‘From tomorrow onwards, I have every intention of getting back to work.’
She stifled the snort of disgust, and set the brakes on the wheelchair with a decisive jab. ‘We’ll see,’ she said crisply. ‘Right, let’s get you into bed.’
She leant forward, ready to tuck her right arm under his to help him up, but he just looked at her, his jaw set defiantly. ‘I thought I’d already told you that I don’t need a nanny,’ he said, his voice deathly quiet.
She felt her eyebrows
