her hand on his heart, and let the tension slowly seep away.
Lord, but she was lovely. Her body was soft against his, relaxed in sleep, and as he gazed down at her he remembered the way she had clung to him, the soft whimpers and little cries of ecstasy she had made.
How he had stopped he would never know, but he had found the strength from somewhere, and now he was profoundly glad. He would never have forgiven himself if she had ended up hating him, but it had just happened so naturally. It had felt so — right, as if their bodies belonged together.
The Requiem ended, the final notes dying away in the silence, and he lifted her carefully in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her room.
He debated leaving her clothes on, and decided that a little more self-control would be good for him. He removed them, careful not to wake her, and slipped her under the covers. He left her underwear, however, partly for her dignity and partly because he felt he had played with fire long enough and his self-control was getting singed round the edges.
Shutting the bathroom door, he turned on the shower and stripped, stepping into the scalding water with resignation. There was no point in even trying a cold shower. It would take the combined melt waters of both polar icecaps to cool him off tonight, with Jennifer lying almost naked just feet away from him. With a low growl of frustration, he dropped his head forwards against the tiles and let the hot water stream over him while his body throbbed and ached and called him a fool.
Sunday was another glorious day. For Jennifer it started, like Saturday, with breakfast in bed, this time accompanied by the feather-soft brush of his lips on hers and a husky ‘good morning’ to wake her.
‘We’ve had a population explosion in the night,’ he told her softly. ‘Tim and I are in the kitchen — come on down in a minute and see.’
She obediently ate her breakfast while she puzzled over the fact that she was in her underwear. She hadn’t been that drunk, surely? She could remember — her cheeks flushed, and she groaned. Had she gone to sleep and he’d carried her to bed? Oh, well, it could have been worse, at least she’d had decent underwear on — not that her underwear was any surprise to him after doing her washing.
She groaned again, and then, pulling on her dressing-gown, made her way downstairs.
Tim was sitting on the floor by the airing cupboard, his eyes like saucers, and on a pile of once-clean sheets the black and white cat who had adopted Andrew reclined with her four tiny little kittens.
‘Oh, aren’t they adorable?’ she breathed. They were all different colours; ginger, black, tortoiseshell and white, and black and white like her.
‘We mustn’t touch them or she might eat them,’ Tim warned her seriously. ‘Especially as she doesn’t know us very well.’
‘Perhaps we’d better let her have some peace now,’ Andrew suggested. ‘I’ll put the top sheet in a box and put them all back in it in a minute.’
Jennifer straightened up and met his eyes. ‘Six cats?’
He groaned and laughed softly. ‘Don’t.’
She smiled. ‘You’re just an old softie, aren’t you?’
‘That’s me. Why don’t you go and wallow in the bath for a while and Tim and I can make her a box and see if we can get her to eat something?’
In fact, the whole day revolved around the cat. They went out to give her peace, then came back to give her food, then went out again for another walk to give her more peace. Finally, at five, he took them home, complete with washing, homework done, and feeling more spoilt and pampered then she had ever felt in her life. He refused her offer of a cup of tea, saying he wanted to check on William Griffin again, so they said their farewells at her door.
‘We’ve had a wonderful weekend,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’ And she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
‘Thank you for having me,’ Tim said spontaneously. ‘I’ve had a lovely time — look after the kittens.’
‘I will,’ Andrew assured him gravely. ‘We must do it again.
‘Next weekend?’ Tim asked hopefully.
‘No, I’m sorry, I have to go away next weekend.’
‘And you’re with your father, Tim,’ Jennifer reminded him.
Andrew said, ‘Someday soon, though. We’ll sort something out, perhaps one day after school. OK?’
Tim nodded enthusiastically. ‘Can I feed the hens again?’
Andrew tousled his hair and hugged him to his side briefly. ‘Of course.’ He looked up at Jennifer. ‘Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She nodded and watched him go, her heart full of some indefinable emotion that for no very good reason made her want to cry.
On Monday she popped up to the paediatric surgical ward before clinic to see William. He was doing well, still on tiny amounts of fluids only but his drip was down and he looked brighter even than he had on Friday.
She exchanged a few words with Mrs Griffin, who was full of praise for both Andrew and the surgeon, Ross Hamilton.
‘I’m just so relieved — you have no idea how worried ‘I’ve been!’ she confided in Jennifer.
‘Oh, I have,’ Jennifer, told her. ‘I’ve got a son of seven, so I know just what agonies a mother goes through. Still, he’s looking very good now — I’m sure it won’t be long before he’s driving you mad again!’
They exchanged a laughing goodbye, and she headed for the door just as Andrew swung it open. They exchanged slightly stilted greetings, conscious of the milling crowd of nurses and patients all around them.
‘I came up to see William — he’s looking well.’
‘Isn’t he? Ross did a good job. Have you got Peter’s clinic?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I must go, I don’t want to hold up proceedings. I’ll see you this afternoon.’
He lifted a hand in a wave, and she left him and made her way down to Children’s Outpatients, her day already immeasurably improved for having seen him even so briefly.
He did that to people, though, she realised, because he was always pleased to see them, always had a ready smile and a sympathetic ear.
Even when he was exhausted, which he quite often was, she had never known him lose his temper or get short with anyone. Unlike Nick, who had always been crabby and irritable when he was tired. During his house year she had kept Tim out of his way whenever possible, so that Nick could rest. Now, she wondered if she had done the right thing, because in the end he had accused her of avoiding him, and although she had denied it at the time later she had realised there might have been an element of truth in it. But then, if only Nick had been able to deal with his tiredness in the same way as Andrew, perhaps she wouldn’t have grown to dread his return, and might have been a more willing wife. Who knows? she thought. Perhaps we might still have been together. And the old guilt came seeping back, drowning out her happiness.
It
