never walk again—but thankfully he’s making progress. His spinal cord wasn’t cut right through, but it has taken a long time to heal, along with the broken bones—he still has physiotherapy several times a week. It’s a struggle for him, but he’s not one to give up. He generally tries to take things one day at a time. We’re hoping that he’ll be able to walk with a frame before too long.’
‘I’m so sorry, Sophie. If there’s anything I can do—’ He tried to reach for her but she took a step backwards. It was far too unsettling to have him touch her. Frowning, he let his arms fall to his sides.
‘It’s all right; I know you would do anything you can to help.’
‘My father said he tried to make amends but your father won’t talk to him—all their communication is being carried out through lawyers.’
‘That’s right.’ She shot him a quick glance. ‘Do you blame him?’
‘I suppose not...but nothing’s ever going to be achieved by not talking to one another.’
Her back stiffened. ‘The accident changed everything. He should never have gone up in that plane with your father—Lord Branscombe seemed unwell from the first but he insisted he was perfectly fit and able to fly. We’d no idea he was suffering from a heart condition. He should have been stopped. It wasn’t even as though the journey was important. He just wanted to check out the site of a new golf course he was planning.’ She wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture. ‘It was totally Lord Branscombe’s fault, but afterwards he replaced my father as Estate Manager and didn’t even offer him a desk job overseeing things.’
Nate frowned. ‘My father said he and the lawyers were talking about compensation.’
She gave a short humourless laugh. ‘Compensation? What compensation? Your father had been having angina attacks for some time without telling the authorities. He knew it would affect his pilot licence if he said anything—and when the insurance company found out about that they wouldn’t pay out. My father lost everything—his job, his house. He had to sell up and go into rented property.’
‘I know—he’s in one of the houses on the estate.’ Nate’s eyes darkened. ‘It was me who made sure he had somewhere to go... As for the rest, my father said everything was being dealt with. I’m sorry if that wasn’t the case... I’ve been working away quite a bit in the States, so I couldn’t oversee things for myself. I wanted to, but...you didn’t seem to want me around and then this job came up... I thought, perhaps, you would find it easier if I wasn’t around...’
She turned her back to the sea and leaned against the railing, facing him. She wouldn’t be drawn into that conversation again, not now. It was too difficult. ‘Will you be going back there?’
‘No, this last stint was just a six-months contract in the paediatric intensive care unit in Boston. I have a job lined up here in Devon, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on things from now on. It’s what I’ve been working towards. This business with my father just moved things forward a bit.’ His gaze moved over her, gliding over her slender curves, outlined by the simple sheath dress she was wearing. ‘Better still,’ he said in a roughened voice, ‘it means I’ll be able to see more of you. Perhaps you and I could start over...?’
Her heartbeat quickened and her cheeks flushed with heat. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ she countered in a low voice, her throat suddenly constricted. If Nate thought he could erase the last two years and swoop back into her life, he had another think coming.
‘Are you sure about that?’ He was looking at her in that devilish way that had her nervous system on red alert and he was moving closer, the glint in his green eyes full of promise...
It was a promise that never came to fruition. Shouts came from above them, shocking her system and acting like a dash of cold water to propel them away from one another.
‘Help, someone...come quickly—we need help here! Is Nate Branscombe still around? Is that his car in the car park?’
Startled, Sophie looked up to where the sound came from, up on the restaurant’s terrace. She saw people getting to their feet, rushing towards the corner table, barely visible from this angle.
A man came to lean over the balustrade, looking down at them, waving his arms urgently. ‘Nate, will you come up? It’s your father. He’s collapsed.’
‘Call for an ambulance,’ Nate shouted back. He was already taking the steps, racing to get to his father, but instead of following him Sophie hurried towards the car park. Her medical bag was in the boot of her car. Her instincts told her they might need it.
When she reached the corner table a few minutes later, she could see that James Branscombe was sitting propped up against the balustrade. His skin looked clammy, ashen as he groaned in pain. Sophie guessed he was having a bad angina attack, which meant his heart wasn’t receiving enough oxygen and had to work harder to get what it needed.
Nate had loosened his father’s shirt collar and was kneeling by him, talking to him quietly and trying to reassure him. ‘Is your nitro spray in your pocket?’ he asked, but James Branscombe was barely able to speak. Nate searched through his pockets until he found what he was looking for and then quickly sprayed the liquid under his father’s tongue. The medication would dilate the blood vessels, allowing blood to flow more easily and thereby lessening the heart’s workload.
Nate glanced at Sophie as she came to kneel down beside him. His expression was grim; his fear for his father was etched on his face. He seemed relieved to see that Sophie was by his side, though. ‘You have your medical bag?’ he said. ‘That’s good. Do you have aspirin in there?’
‘I do—they’re chewable ones, or he can dissolve them on his tongue.’ She opened the case and handed him the tablets. They would thin the blood and hopefully would prevent blood clots from closing up the arteries.
After a few minutes, though, it was clear that Lord Branscombe was still in a lot of pain. His features were grey, his lips taking on a bluish colour, and beads of cold sweat had broken out on his brow. Sophie guessed this was more than a bad angina attack. She was worried for Nate; this must be something he’d dreaded, the real reason he’d come home.
‘Morphine?’ Nate asked, and she nodded.
‘Yes, I have it. I’ll prepare a syringe.’
‘Thanks.’ He administered the pain medication and soon afterwards wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his father’s arm. ‘He’s becoming hypotensive,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’ll put in an intravenous line—as soon as the paramedics get here we can put him on a saline drip to stabilise his blood pressure.’
They didn’t have to wait too long. The ambulance arrived shortly, siren blaring, and the two paramedics hurried on to the terrace. They nodded to Sophie, recognising her from her work at the hospital.
Nate swiftly introduced himself and said, ‘I think my father’s having a heart attack. We need to get an ECG reading and send it to the Emergency department.’
‘Okay. We’ll make sure they’re kept informed.’
‘Thank you.’
One of the paramedics set up the portable ECG machine, whilst the other man began to give the patient oxygen through a mask. Nate helped them to lift his father on to a stretcher, and then together they carried him down to
