his eyes flipped open. The first thing he saw was her face, composed in a reassuring smile, and even though he knew that smile was probably something she wore for all her patients it did its job. He smiled back.
‘What do you think?’ She stepped out of the way, and Hugo found his gaze on the mirror above the basin.
‘It’s...’ Hugo tried for a shrug, and felt his left shoulder pull. ‘You’re right. It’s a neat job.’
She nodded and turned to the basin, leaving him alone for a moment with his own reflection. Hugo didn’t like the way it made him feel and he concentrated on watching Nell instead.
Her hands were gentle but capable as they dipped a flannel into the basin, twisting it to wring out the excess water. In his experience, that was only a short step away from tender. She laid the flannel over his shoulder, her entire concentration on what she was doing. It felt warm and comforting.
‘That feels good. Thank you.’
She nodded, removing the flannel and dipping it back into the water. Wiping it across his skin, careful not to allow any drops of water near the wound. He’d seen this so many times before at the hospital, and had always felt that this was one thing that no amount of technology or learning could replace. When the nurses washed a patient, there was a tenderness about it that spoke of the kind of care that only human beings could give one another.
And now he felt it. The warm touch of water against his skin calmed Hugo, and the suspicion that everything would be all right floated into his consciousness, with all the reassurance of a forgotten friend.
She leaned towards him, rubbing the flannel across his back. Stopping to rinse and then repeat, her movements slow and thoughtful, like those of a craftsman plying his trade. Hugo closed his eyes, not ready to let go of this feeling just yet.
She finished with the flannel and gently patted his skin dry with a towel. Then he felt her fingers on the top of his left arm, gently massaging. He knew what Nell was doing. He wasn’t supposed to lift his left arm above shoulder level for six weeks, and it was common to get a frozen shoulder during that time. It was just straightforward care, but it felt like so much more.
‘Would you like help to shave?’ He opened his eyes and saw that Nell was now opening one of the sterile dressings from the box that lay on top of the bathroom cabinet.
It had been a while since he’d let a woman shave him, and then it had been purely for pleasure. Anna had done it, but since then he hadn’t let a woman get to know him that well. Hugo regarded the shaving cream on the shelf above the mirror and decided against it.
‘Thanks, but I’ll go with the designer stubble.’
Nell gave him a half smile. ‘It suits you.’
It was the one thing she’d said that betrayed some kind of emotion locked behind the caring, and it sent tingles down Hugo’s spine. Nell checked that the new dressing over his wound was firmly anchored, and then turned abruptly, leaving him alone in the bathroom.
* * *
If it worked, then it worked. Society lunches and bidding for a weekend in the presence of a prince wasn’t a strategy that Nell had been called on to adopt before, and neither was washing a patient. But talking to someone, learning what made them tick and suggesting ways of coping was. And if the sudden closeness with Hugo had left her wanting to just touch his skin, simply for the pleasure of feeling it under her fingertips, then that could be ignored in the face of a greater good. Her job here was not really to look after him in a medical sense but to get behind his suave, charming exterior, and find out what drove him so relentlessly that he was willing to risk his health for it.
Nell rang down to the palace kitchen, wondering if anyone was there at this time in the evening, and found that not only was the phone answered immediately but there was a choice of menu. She ordered a salad, on the basis that it was probably the least trouble to make.
Apart from raiding the fridge, of course. Nell had suspected that the top-of-the-range fridge in Hugo’s kitchen was pretty much for show, and when she’d opened it, she’d found a selection of juices and other drinks. Nothing that involved any culinary activity other than pouring. She could have made him a milkshake, but that was about all, and a decent meal would help him recover.
The formal dining room in his apartment seemed a little too much like keeping up appearances, when that was exactly what she was trying to encourage Hugo not to do. A small table on a sheltered balcony was better, and she opened the French doors at the far end of the kitchen and arranged two chairs beside it. It would have made an excellent place to cook and enjoy food, and it was a pity that Hugo’s gleaming kitchen didn’t look as if it saw too many serious attempts at cooking. Nell wondered what he would say if she expressed the intention of baking a cake, and smiled to herself. Maybe she’d try it, just to see the look of bewilderment on his face.
Their meal arrived, and Nell directed the young man who carried a tray loaded with two plates and various sauces and condiments through to the balcony. He looked a little put out that she’d laid the table herself, and adjusted the position of the knives and forks carefully.
She called Hugo, and he appeared from the bedroom, looking relaxed and rested. When Nell had chosen his clothes, she been considering comfort, and hadn’t spared a thought for how well they might fit or how her eye was drawn along the hard lines of his body. Chest. Left arm. It was permissible to allow her gaze to linger there, on the grounds that she was checking up on him. The strong curve of his shoulder, the golden skin of his arm, which dimpled over bone and muscle, were both visual pleasures that Nell could pretend not to have seen.
‘Thank you. This is nice.’ Hugo pulled one of the seats away from the table, waiting until Nell sat down before he took his own place. Even now, he couldn’t quite let go and let her look after him.
‘I just made a call down to the kitchen. Is someone always there?’
‘No, not always. My parents are hosting a dinner party tonight.’ He smiled at her, and in the muted lights that shone around the perimeter of the patio his face seemed stronger. More angular and far more determined, if that was even possible.
‘So calling down for a midnight snack is usually out of the question.’ Nell picked up her fork, stabbing at her food.
‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘If I want a midnight snack, I usually have to walk all the way down there and make it myself. Life at the palace can be unexpectedly hard at times.’
Nell couldn’t help smiling in response to the quiet joke. Hugo knew exactly how lucky he was. Maybe not exactly, he probably hadn’t ever battled his way around the supermarket on a Saturday morning, but he understood that he was privileged.
‘If we’d been at my place, this might have been cornflakes. With chocolate milk if you were lucky.’
‘You think I haven’t done that?’ Hugo looked slightly hurt. ‘I trained as a doctor, too. You’re not the only one who’s eaten cornflakes with chocolate milk at three in the morning then fallen asleep on the sofa.’
Probably a nicely upholstered sofa, and not too much like the lumpy one that had been in Nell’s shared digs, when she had been training. She wondered if Hugo’s memories of medical school were quite as good as hers were.
‘Where did you stay in London?’ Holland Park, perhaps. Somewhere near the embassy.
‘Shepherd’s
