I can just rest for a moment,’ he murmured.
‘Not just for a moment,’ she said. ‘All night.’
‘What was that?’
‘You’re not leaving while you’re in this state. You’d forget where you were going and end up heaven knows where. Come on.’
She reached for him to help him to his feet. Dazed, he let her support him into the bedroom, where a gentle push sent him tumbling onto the bed. She went to recover his suitcases and when she returned he was sprawled out, dead to the world. Quietly, she drew the curtains and turned out the light.
‘Goodnight,’ she whispered, closing the door.
She washed up quietly so that no noise should intrude on him even through the door. As she worked, she tried to believe that this was really happening. Her email had brought Roscoe flying home, despite his problems with jet lag, despite his work, despite his intense need to stay ahead of the game. Despite everything, he’d come speeding back to her.
Before retiring for the night, she opened the door of the bedroom just a crack. Roscoe was lying as she’d left him, his breath coming evenly. She backed out and went to curl up on the sofa.
Who would have imagined that he had an unsuspected frailty? she thought. More—who would have imagined that he would allow her to see it?
Just before she fell asleep, she wondered if Teresa had ever been allowed to know.
She awoke in darkness, feeling slightly chilly. The weather was growing cold as autumn advanced, so she turned the heating up, then recalled that the bedroom radiator was sometimes temperamental.
Quietly, she slipped into the room, realising that she’d been right. The temperature was low and it took some fiddling before the radiator performed properly. In the darkness she could just make out Roscoe, lying still, then turning and muttering.
He must be cold, she thought, taking a blanket from the cupboard and creeping to the bed, hoping to lay it down without waking him. But his eyes opened as she leaned over.
‘Hello,’ he whispered.
‘I just brought you this so that you don’t catch cold,’ she said.
She wasn’t sure if he heard her. His eyes had closed again while his hands found her, drawing her down against him. There was nothing lover-like in the embrace. She wasn’t even sure he knew what he was doing. But his arms were about her and her head was on his chest, and he seemed to have fallen asleep again.
It would have been easy to slide free, but she found she had no desire to do so. The feeling of Roscoe’s chest rising and falling beneath her head and the soft rhythm of his heart against her ear were pleasant and peaceful. That was missing in her life, she realised. Peace. Tranquillity. This was the last man with whom she would have expected to find those elusive treasures, yet somehow it seemed natural to be held against him, drifting on a pleasant sea in a world where there was nothing to fear.
Which just went to show.
Show what?
Something or other.
She slept.
She was awoken by a sudden movement from Roscoe. His hands tightened on her and he looked into her face, his own eyes filled with shock.
‘What…how did you…?’
‘You pulled me down while I was putting a blanket over you,’ she said sleepily. ‘It was like being held in an iron cage, and I was too tired to argue so I just drifted.’
He groaned. ‘Sorry if I made you a prisoner. You should have socked me on the jaw.’
‘Didn’t have the energy.’ She yawned, letting him draw her back against his chest. ‘Besides, you weren’t doing anything to deserve getting socked.’
And what would I have done if you had? The words ran through her mind before she could stop them.
‘Are you sure? Pippa, tell me at once—did I…I didn’t…?’
‘No, you didn’t. I promise. You were right out of it. You wouldn’t have had the energy to do anything, any more than I’d have had the energy to sock you.’
She was laughing contentedly as she spoke and he relaxed, also laughing.
Suddenly he said, ‘What on earth is that?’
He’d noticed the shabby toy on her bedside table. Now he reached out and took it.
‘That belonged to my Gran—the one in that photo,’ she said. ‘She called him her Mad Bruin, and I think he represented Grandpa to her. After he died she cuddled Bruin and talked to him all the time.’
Roscoe surveyed Bruin, not with the scorn she would once have expected from him, but with fascination.
‘I’ll bet you could tell a secret or two,’ he said.
Pippa choked with laughter and he drew her close, laying the little bear aside as carefully as though he had feelings.
‘Will you believe me if I say I never meant this to happen?’ he murmured against her hair.
‘Of course. If you’d had anything else in mind you would have gone to Teresa.’
‘Teresa isn’t you,’ he said, as though that explained everything.
‘Ah, yes, you couldn’t have talked stern practicalities with her.’
‘As a matter of fact, I could. She’s my oldest friend.’
‘She’s a great beauty,’ Pippa mused. ‘Useful kind of “friend”.’
‘The best. She’s helped me out of several awkward situations. Her husband was also my friend. In fact I introduced them. He died a few years ago but she’s never looked at anyone else, and I don’t think she ever will. She’s still in love with his memory.’
Roscoe wondered why he was telling her all this. Why should he care what she thought? Then he remembered her with Charlie the other night, holding his face tenderly between her hands. And he knew why.
He waited for her to say something, and was disappointed when she didn’t. He couldn’t see that she was smiling to herself.
AFTER a moment Pippa summoned up her courage and said, as casually as she could manage, ‘So you went on being friends with her husband? He didn’t steal her from you?’
‘Goodness, no! Teresa and I had just about reached the end of the line by then. She was a lovely person—still is—but that connection wasn’t there. I don’t know how else to put it. I enjoyed our outings, but I wasn’t agog with eagerness for them.’
‘Now that’s something
