flushed. ‘You sounded so ill I was worried. I thought you might need—’
‘For God’s sake go away. I don’t need anything—’ He gave a frantic gulp and raced off, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.
Emily glared at it, incensed. So much for her Good Samaritan act. Seething, she slapped the newspaper down on the chest, added a carton of fresh milk, and was halfway through the door with the rest of her unwanted shopping when a hoarse, repentant voice halted her.
‘Miss Warner—Emily. I was bloody rude. My apologies.’
She turned to look at him. ‘Accepted,’ she said coldly. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Don’t go for a minute. Please.’ He leaned in the bedroom doorway, shivering. ‘Though Lord knows you should run like hell, in case you catch this hellish bug. Sorry I snapped.’ His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘I took off because I had to throw up again.’
Emily thawed slightly and closed the door. ‘In that case please get back into bed.’
‘Not a very tempting prospect right now.’
‘Did you perspire much overnight?’
His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘Could we talk about something else?’
She hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘Look, Mr Tennent, why don’t you have a hot shower while I change your bed?’
He looked appalled. ‘I can’t possibly let you do that!’
‘Why not? I would have done it tomorrow, anyway. It’s one of the things you pay me for.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘You’ll feel much better afterwards—but don’t get your hair wet.’
He eyed her in brooding indecision for a moment, then shrugged, went into his bedroom, took a T-shirt and boxers from a drawer, and shut himself in his bathroom. Emily stripped the crumpled linen from the bed, replaced it with fresh, fetched more pillows from the spare room, and did some quick tidying up. When Lucas emerged his face was still haggard, but it was free of stubble and he’d run a comb through his hair.
When Emily turned back the quilt invitingly Lucas shed his dressing gown and slid into bed to lean back against the stacked pillows with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
‘Thank you so much,’ he said formally.
She smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’ll dispose of this lot, then I’ll make you something to eat.’
‘Please—no food!’ he said with a shudder, eyes closed.
‘Just some toast,’ she coaxed, in the tone she used with the twins. ‘How many pills have you taken today?’
He opened a morose eye. ‘None. With my present problem it seemed a bit pointless.’
‘If you eat something you’ll be able to keep them down.’
‘I doubt it,’ he said despondently.
In the kitchen Emily made tea, toasted a slice of bread she’d brought, scraped a minimum of butter on it, cut it in triangles, then put plate and beaker on a tray and took it into the master bedroom.
‘If you make friends with the toast I could scramble some eggs,’ she offered.
‘I’m not up to that,’ he said with a shudder. He bit into the toast and chewed slowly, then took a second piece and ate it more quickly.
‘Steady,’ warned Emily. ‘Not too fast.’
‘It’s my first sustenance for days!’ But he ate the rest with more care. ‘Toast never tasted so good,’ he informed her, then inspected the steaming contents of the mug with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’
‘Weak tea—kinder to your digestion than coffee,’ she said firmly, and took two paracetamol tablets from the packet on his bedside table. ‘Take these with it, and I’ll make you some coffee later.’
Lucas swallowed the tablets obediently, then sipped the tea, frowning at her over the mug. ‘You know, Miss Warner, this is extraordinarily good of you, but why are you here? You must have better things to do with your time on a Sunday?’
She shrugged. ‘I had my very first dose of flu fairly recently, so I can appreciate how ghastly you feel. But I had my mother to look after me. I couldn’t help feeling worried about you here on your own.’
He shook his head in wonder. ‘You’re pretty amazing to worry about a complete stranger. But now you are here, there is something you can do for me.’
‘Certainly. What is it?’
‘Indulge my curiosity. What made someone like you take to cleaning as a career?’
‘Someone like me?’ she said, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’m damned sure you haven’t always been a cleaner, so why do you do it?’
‘I enjoy it,’ she said simply.
‘Fair enough.’ He put the empty cup down and slid further under the covers. ‘But what did you do before that?’
‘Office work.’ She got up. ‘Right. I’ll take those things. Try to sleep if you can. I’ll stay for a while to see how you get on, then I must get back.’
‘No laptop today?’
‘Certainly not. Friday was a one-off, Mr Tennent.’ She picked up the tray. ‘Try to sleep.’
‘Thanks, I will,’ he murmured drowsily. ‘What can I do for you in return?’
‘Get better, please.’
Back in the kitchen Emily emptied the carton of soup she’d bought into a mug and put it in the microwave. She left the loaf in a prominent place on a board, placed the breadknife beside it and a dish of butter close at hand, then made herself some tea and sat on one of the smart stools at the bar, yawning. The late night was catching up on her. From now on, definitely no more writing after midnight.
She wrote instructions on the memo pad about the food she’d left ready, and after a moment’s hesitation added her new, unlisted phone number. She tiptoed in with her note to find that Lucas Tennent, obviously feeling the effect of his disturbed nights, was out for the count. But he looked a lot better than the wild-eyed apparition of earlier on.
The house in Spitalfields was ablaze with lights in Nat’s ground-floor section when Emily got back. Not brave enough to ask how things had gone with the trip to Chastlecombe, she let herself in and toiled up the two flights of steep stairs to her room, then put on speed when she heard her phone ringing. She unlocked her door and made a dash across the room, worried it was Lucas feeling worse. Then she stopped dead, every hackle erect, when a different, all too familiar voice began leaving a message.
‘Pick up, Emily. I know you’re there. We need to talk. Pick up.’ There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. ‘Don’t be childish. Ring me.’
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY
