He shot her a wink. ‘Can you hang on ten minutes? Our next call is in the hospice.’
She subsided huffily. ‘I should think so.’
‘I hope so — don’t want my upholstery ruined.’
She glared at him. ‘I think you’re a few years too late to worry about that!’
He tutted gently. ‘I don’t know — why are you so determined to insult my car? Anybody would think you didn’t like me.’
She glared at him again. ‘Anybody would be right,’ she muttered.
Without warning he swung the car off the road and screeched to a halt in a lay-by. Abbie was flung forward and grabbed the dashboard automatically, her heart pounding.
‘Sorry — the brakes snatch a bit.’
Slowly she released her death-grip on the dashboard and sagged back against the seat. ‘Do you always drive like that?’ she asked him weakly.
He chuckled softly under his breath. ‘Only when I’m trying to impress a woman.’
‘I’m impressed,’ she groaned. ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘Because you’re telling lies.’
She frowned at him in puzzlement. ‘Lies?’
‘You said you didn’t like me.’
She laughed shortly. ‘God, that’s some ego you’ve got.’
His smile was slow and lazy. ‘Abbie, Abbie — don’t beat around the bush. You like me — even though you might not want to. and you want me — even though you think it’s a lousy idea. I do, too, but ——’ His shrug was Gallic and very expressive.
She blushed. ‘Dream on,’ she muttered.
‘Oh, Abigail. You’re lovely — but then you know that, don’t you?’ His fingers sifted through her hair, fanning it out against her shoulders. ‘Beautiful — like sunlight trapped in autumn leaves. It feels wonderful …’ He let it fall from his fingers and sat back with a sigh. ‘What’s the matter, Abbie? Am I too direct for you? Should I pretend for the sake of convention? Perhaps for the first few days — a fortnight, maybe? Or wait even longer, until you’ll believe me if I say I love you, so your conscience is satisfied as well as your body?’
She drew herself away from him, so that the last strand of her hair fell from his fingers, as if breaking the contact would defuse the tension that zinged between them.
He was right, of course. She did like him, and want him, and she did, indeed, think it was a lousy idea. Furthermore, acting on her feelings was the very last thing she intended to do, and she told him so.
‘Why?’ he asked softly, and his fingers invaded her hair again, sifting the strands with sensuous slowness.
Her heartbeat grew heavier, so that she could feel the blood pulsing through her body, bringing it alive. She pulled away again.
‘Are you always so damned unsubtle?’
‘Unsubtle?’ He smiled. ‘I’m wounded. I thought I was being very understanding.’
She glowered at him. ‘I don’t know you!’
‘There’s time.’
‘A year. That’s all. I’m here for a year.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s OK. I can handle a long-term relationship.’
‘Long-term?’ she exclaimed. ‘I meant only a year!’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Damn it, Abbie, I’m not proposing. All I’m suggesting is that we spend some time together — a mutual scratching of itches.’
‘I don’t do that sort of thing,’ she replied tightly, ‘and certainly not with egotistical doctors!’
‘No? You should. You might enjoy it.’
‘I doubt it.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘What a waste. Oh, well, if you change your mind, I’m here. We’d better get to the hospice.’
For the rest of the short drive Abbie sat scrunched up at her side of the car, hardly daring to breathe in case he made some suggestive remark, and wondering all the time how he could possibly have qualified as a doctor when his morals were so clearly askew.
Then she saw him in action at the hospice, and all her preconceptions about him were eroded at a stroke.
They arrived at the modern, purpose-built hospice just as the sun broke through the clouds, and Abbie felt peace steal over her immediately. The buildings were low, constructed in mellow golden brick, and the whole atmosphere was one of tranquillity.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ he said softly. ‘There are other kinds of healing apart from the physical. It’s so easy to forget that, and most hospitals are soulless places, but I love coming here. Every visit refreshes me, even when, as so often, it signals the end. Even so, there’s a lightness about it.’
Abbie could feel the lightness seeping into her as they stepped into the airy, quiet reception area.
‘Ladies’ loo,’ he said with a nudge of his head towards a door. ‘I’ll have a chat to the staff for a minute.’
She escaped gratefully, and hurried back to find him deep in conversation with a diminutive little nurse in sister’s uniform.
‘You must be Dr Pearce,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Welcome to St Saviour. We’ll look forward to seeing you when Leo comes on his clinic days, shall we?’
She mumbled something non-committal, unaware that Leo even did clinic days at the hospice, and then they left the sister and went towards the little four-bedded ward.
‘We’re going to see Mary Tanner,’ Leo told her. ‘She’s forty-two, had a mastectomy three years ago and she’s got skeletal metastases. Recently she’s had some back pain so she’s had a course of radiotherapy to try and halt the pressure on the nerves, and she’s in for convalescence and drug review before going home again. Lots of emotional problems, obviously. They’ve got two girls just coming up for their teens.’
They went into the ward, and he was greeted with gentle warmth by the staff, and genuine respect and affection by the patient, Mary Tanner, and her husband Gerry.
He introduced Abbie to them, then perched on the bed and asked Mary how she was feeling now.
‘Oh, heaps better. My back feels nearly OK now already and the pain’s much better controlled. I feel almost human again,’ she said with a low laugh, and Leo smiled.
‘Good. Home soon, then?’
‘Oh, yes, I think so — if Gerry can cope.’
‘Of course I can cope,’ he told his wife, but his eyes were sad. Abbie looked away, feeling like an intruder, and Leo stood up to leave, dropping a kiss
