held it to her chest as the tears spilt down her cheeks.
‘Why did you leave me? I’m lonely now,’ she whispered. She bit her lip and fought down the sobs. ‘They call me the Ice Maiden, David. But I’m not really, am I? Why can’t they just leave me alone?’
She rested her cheek against the cold glass, and gradually the tears slowed and stopped.
She put the picture back, rubbing the tearstains off the glass with her sleeve as she did so, then she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and went into the kitchen to cook herself something light for supper.
There was nothing on television, and the book she picked up couldn’t hold her attention. She lit the gas fire to ward off the chill, and curled up on the settee with her feet tucked under her bottom. She felt cold inside, filled with a sort of dread that she couldn’t place. Was it because she was waiting for the phone call from the irate driver of the Daimler, or was it because tomorrow she had to go back and face Ross and Oliver after her fit of temper? However justified, her harsh words didn’t make for a happy ward.
With a deep sigh she wriggled further down the settee, propping her chin on her hand and staring into the hissing fire. Her mother wouldn’t be back for hours, and she really couldn’t justify going to bed at six-thirty!
Anyway, when her mother got back she would need help to prepare for bed, so there was no point.
Suddenly Lizzi realised just how blank and empty her life was. The reason she never talked about it at work was that there genuinely was nothing to talk about. By not talking about it, she was hiding that nothingness—from herself as well as her colleagues. True, she had her mother, and she was needed in her way, but all the normal things that people of her age took for granted were missing from her life. Her time was reasonably full, but her heart was empty. No man, no social life, no children—angrily she dashed aside the tears and stood up. No point in sitting moping.
She got out the vacuum cleaner and started attacking the carpets—anything rather than allow the wallowing self-pity that had been creeping up on her.
When she turned off the vacuum cleaner she realised that the phone was ringing, and she snatched it up just as the caller hung up.
Damn. Now the waiting would start all over again.
She put the vacuum cleaner away and dropped disconsolately back on to the settee. Forcing herself to submit to discipline, she picked up her book again and made herself read four pages before she went out to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
The ringing phone held her transfixed for a second or two, and then she lifted the receiver and gave the number automatically.
‘Lizzi? It’s Ross Hamilton.’
‘Ross!’ She was startled, her surprise showing in her voice. What on earth did he want? And another, more pressing question presented itself. ‘How did you get my number?’
He laughed, a low, mirthless chuckle. ‘Easy. You left it on my windscreen.’
She must be mad, she thought for the thousandth time. Surely they could have found a time and a place at the hospital to discuss this? Why had she suggested that he should come here? What if her mother came home early? She would never let Lizzi forget it! Oh, God!
She stomped around, bashing cushions and straightening pictures, tidying the already immaculately tidy bungalow until the doorbell rang, almost savage in the silence.
She practically leapt out of her skin, and then had to pause and steady herself before going to the door.
She wiped her hands on her jeans and smoothed them over her hair. Why was it so unruly? And why was she so thoroughly unsettled and agitated?
When she opened the door, Ross was standing in the porch, his hands thrust into the pockets of his duffle coat, a white sweater in stark contrast to the tanned skin of his throat. He looked disturbingly male, and Lizzi panicked into overdrive.
‘Come in. Ross, I’m sorry, the note was unnecessary, I wanted to take it off the windscreen but it was gone when I came out. Let me take your coat. Can I get you a drink? What would you like, tea or coffee, or something stronger? Come on through.’ God preserve me, I’m babbling like an imbecile! she thought, and bit her lips.
‘Lizzi.’ His voice behind her was full of quiet authority, and she stopped, her head bowed, and waited for the axe to fall. ‘Relax. I’m not angry with you.’
She spun round, her eyes wide with amazement. ‘But your lovely car——!’
He shrugged. ‘It can be mended—though how you managed to wreck all four panels on that side is a mystery to me. I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose, so we’ll just hand it over to the insurance companies and let them fight it out.’
‘How can you be so calm? I realised after I’d spoken to you—Oliver said something earlier—it’s brand new, isn’t it? You must be livid!’
He chuckled. ‘I vented most of my spleen in the porters’ lodge!’
‘Of course—your wheelclamp!’ Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the grin, but he saw it and glowered at her.
‘Gloating, Lizzi?’
She moved away from him, her amusement gone. ‘No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—it was just the irony—Ross, I——’
‘Lizzi?’ His voice was deep, gentle. He cupped her shoulders in his hands and drew her nearer towards him. ‘I was only teasing. Don’t be afraid of me.’
She looked up and met his eyes, then looked away again. ‘I’m not,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m just not used to inviting men back to my house. It threw me for a minute.’
She could feel his eyes on her, studying her thoughtfully.
‘Would you rather we did this another time? Perhaps at the hospital?’
‘That would be silly,’ she murmured. ‘Anyway, you’re here now.’
‘It needn’t take long, then I’ll go, if I’m making you uncomfortable. Is it because of this morning?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not really. I’m sorry about that, too. I haven’t really given you a very warm welcome to the hospital, what with one thing and another.’
He laughed. ‘At least it’s going to be memorable!’
She tried to smile, but failed. ‘We haven’t really got off to a good start, have we?’
‘No. No, we haven’t, and at least part of that is my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Oliver——’
‘Then why did you?’ Her question was short, harsher than she had intended, but his reply was quiet, sincere, softly voiced.
‘Because I wanted to know about you. You seem so aloof, but I know you’re not. No one who can blush like you did is aloof—far less an ice maiden.’
She blushed again under his gently teasing regard, and eased out of his grip. ‘I’m not available, Ross. Not for—what was it Oliver called it? Recreational sex?’
He
