the surgeon invited. ‘Or come and visit the wards on your days off.’
‘Oh, I’d love to do that,’ Amy said. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled excitedly at Nigel who had just finished his own conversation. Amy was keenly aware of a feeling of gratitude towards Nigel as well as the head of general surgery. Nigel’s respected position at the hospital was opening all sorts of doors for her. It was rather a heady sensation, being taken seriously by someone like Murray Brownlie.
Murray turned to Nigel. ‘If this young lady is half as keen on you as she is on her job, then you’re a lucky man.’
‘I am lucky,’ Nigel agreed, smiling. ‘But I don’t think I need to compete with a job, do I, Amy?’
‘Of course not,’ Amy said obligingly. She didn’t quite follow Nigel’s meaning but dismissed the puzzle in favour of sipping her drink. A waiter appeared with a magnum wrapped in a snowy white linen cloth. He topped up her glass as an elegant woman joined them.
‘Have you met my wife, Nigel?’ Murray enquired. ‘This is Helen.’
‘Hello Nigel.’ Helen smiled. ‘I do hope my husband’s not being a bore and talking shop. This is a stunning party.’
‘Thanks.’ Nigel allowed Helen to kiss him on both cheeks.
‘I’ve just heard about Sydney. Congratulations.’
‘Thanks,’ Nigel said again. He touched Amy’s arm. ‘I must introduce you to some more people.’ He excused them from the Brownlies’ group.
‘What’s happening in Sydney?’ Amy asked.
‘Chair of Orthopaedic Surgery,’ Nigel said proudly. ‘It’s just been announced.’ He smiled at Amy. ‘They chose me.’
‘I didn’t know you’d applied.’ Amy stopped, feeling suddenly bewildered.
‘I didn’t want to disappoint you if I missed out.’ Amy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. ‘Are you planning to live in Sydney?’
‘Of course. It’s fantastic, isn’t it? I was intending to surprise you with the news later.’
‘Oh.’ Amy felt a wave of dizziness. ‘I’m surprised, Nigel.’
‘You don’t look very excited.’
‘Where am I supposed to live, Nigel? While you’re living in Sydney?’
Nigel’s smile was contrite. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Amy. You didn’t think I was planning to leave you behind, did you? I have no intention of going until after the wedding, don’t worry. We won’t have to be separated for any length of time.’
‘And this wedding is going to be in October, right?’
‘If that’s what you’d like.’ Nigel was still smiling, pleased at having sorted out the misunderstanding.
‘You mean I get a say in this after all?’
Nigel now looked disconcerted. ‘Maybe we should talk about this later, Amy.’
‘Maybe we should,’ Amy agreed. Maybe it wasn’t just Nigel’s mother who was autocratic and overbearing. Amy felt confused. There was too much she needed to think about and her brain wasn’t functioning nearly as clearly as it had been before that last glass of champagne. ‘Excuse me, Nigel, but I really need to go to the bathroom.’
‘Again?’
Amy took pleasure in ignoring Nigel’s vaguely disapproving tone. She walked out of the drawing room, through the conservatory where she helped herself to a bottle of champagne waiting on the side table. Then she let herself out of the French doors onto a verandah that overlooked the garden. Stepping carefully, Amy negotiated the steps and turned onto a path that she knew led to the summer house.
‘What does he expect?’ Amy muttered to herself. ‘He clicks his fingers and I give up my job and trot off to Sydney?’ She paused to drink champagne and top up her glass. ‘What am I supposed to be? Robo-Wife?’
Maybe Jennifer was right and she shouldn’t marry Nigel. What did he have going for him, apart from being single, successful, usually charming and apparently madly in love with her?
‘Oh, hell.’ Amy took another mouthful of wine. He had quite a lot going for him, really. Was she going to throw it all away because she felt miffed that Nigel hadn’t asked what she’d wanted before letting his mother plan the wedding?
The floodlighting hadn’t been turned on at the summer house but the white paintwork was easy enough to see in the dark. A mossy statue to one side of the garden structure was also just visible. A sort of large garden nymph holding garlands of foliage.
‘Why is it?’ Amy asked the statue, ‘that the things that really matter to me don’t seem to be important to anyone else?’
To Amy’s astonishment, the statue answered her. ‘You tell me,’ it said.
‘It’s because I was never quite good enough,’ Amy told the statue sadly. ‘I was supposed to have been a boy, you know.’
‘Really?’ The statue seemed very interested.
‘Yes.’ Amy drained her glass. ‘My father never got over the disappointment.’
‘Well, he was a bloody idiot, then, wasn’t he?’ The statue was moving. Amy gasped in horror as the figure stepped from the shadows. Even in this dim light she recognised him. He was still wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket. Amy’s gaze travelled up to meet his. She felt that odd physical buzz again. The only eye contact in existence with the ability to caress. There could be no doubt at all, even in her fuzzy state. It was definitely the same man.
‘You’ve been following me around all day,’ Amy said accusingly. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I heard there was a party.’
Amy eyed his clothing suspiciously. ‘Were you invited, then?’
The man grinned. ‘No. I’m gatecrashing.’
Amy narrowed her gaze. ‘So why are you out here hiding in the garden, then?’
‘I’m still trying to decide whether I want to go in or not.’ He stepped closer. ‘Do you think I should?’
‘No.’ Amy tilted the bottle towards her glass. ‘It’s not much fun.’ The slosh of champagne missed her glass and foamed over her hand.
‘Here, let me.’ The man took the bottle from her hand and held the glass as he filled it. Then he took a long swallow before setting both the bottle and glass down on the white wrought-iron table. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he took hold of Amy’s hand and wiped it.
‘I’m sorry you’re not having fun,’ he commiserated.
‘So am I,’ Amy agreed wistfully. She looked at her hand. It was dry now but was still being held. Looking up, she found his gaze fixed firmly on her face. His eyes were brown. A lovely, warm, velvety brown. Comforting but disturbing
