Bella added cautiously, ‘you’ll probably get a lot of movement back when the inflammation goes down. As long as you’re not as silly as my nanna was, that is.’
Lady Dorothy blinked. ‘What’s your nanna got to do with this? I thought you said she got murdered.’
‘That was Grandma. On my dad’s side and I never knew her. She was the skeleton in my family closet. Nanna was Mum’s mother and she lived with us for a while when she couldn’t manage any more. I loved her to bits.’
‘You said she was silly.’
Bella nodded, happy to finally have the old lady’s full attention. She wasn’t even looking sad any more. ‘She had a high horse. We used to tease her about getting on it so often.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘She was very critical of people she didn’t like—especially doctors. She didn’t believe in drugs of any kind. When she was diagnosed with her rheumatoid arthritis her GP told her to get off her high horse for once and do as she was told because if she didn’t take the painkillers and anti-inflammatories and do her exercises, she’d end up totally crippled by the disease.’
‘And did she?’
‘No. She went home and flushed all the pills down the loo and, of course, she couldn’t keep moving because her joints were all too swollen and sore and she did end up crippled and had to come and live with us.’ Bella sighed. ‘I wish she’d been put somewhere like here when she got sick. She would have loved my line-dancing classes. That would have got her moving.’
There was a sparkle in Lady Dorothy’s eyes now. A look of real interest. Determination, even? ‘What on earth is line dancing?’
Bella’s grin was mischievous. ‘I’ll come and get you tomorrow and you can find out.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I wouldn’t be dressed for it.’
It was Bella’s turn to raise her eyebrows significantly. ‘But you’ve got your clothes right there in the wardrobe. I’m not asking you to wear shocking pink trackie daks. In fact,’ she put on a stern face. ‘I’m quite sure they not allowed for line dancing.’
‘But …’
Bella could see a fear she could understand in this beautiful woman’s face. The fear of loss of dignity. Of losing herself in her disease. Without thinking, she went and perched her hip on the side of the bed and took one of Lady Dorothy’s hands in her own.
‘I do understand,’ she said softly. ‘I had to help my nanna with things that were just plain embarrassing for both of us until we got used to it but I learned something. Something important.’
She could see the effort it took Lady Dorothy to swallow and then speak. Her voice was a whisper. ‘What was that?’
‘That the physical stuff like being able to get dressed or even go to the loo by yourself—it’s all on the outside. If you can get past the inconvenience of needing help it doesn’t change a thing that really matters—the person you are on the inside.’
There was a long moment of silence. Bella shut her eyes for a moment to gather her courage.
‘We could have a go with your clothes now, if you like. That way we could find out what needs a bit of adjustment in the way of fastenings and things.’
More silence. It was obvious that some time was needed. ‘Have a think about it, anyway,’ Bella suggested. ‘In the meantime, I could tell you about something really funny that my kitten did this morning. Do you like cats?’
‘I used to.’ The tone was wistful. ‘I haven’t had a pet for many years.’
Bella smiled. ‘Well … I live with my aunt Kate who’s very particular about stuff and Bib—that’s the kitten—decided she wanted to see what was on top of the window and the quickest way up was to use the net curtains, only her claws got stuck and she got scared and started shouting.’ Bella was using her hands as she began her story but Lady Dorothy wasn’t watching. Her gaze kept straying to the wardrobe door that Bella had left open accidentally. The linen pants were in clear view.
She bit back a hopeful smile and went on with her story.
Oliver took a very roundabout route to make his way to the geriatric ward at seven that evening. It hadn’t been possible to locate a plain brown paper bag, so the bag of hamburgers and fries he carried was emblazoned with the red and yellow logo of the world-famous fast-food chain.
A bag he almost dropped when he entered his mother’s room. He had expected to find her in her bed. Not sitting in the armchair by the window—wearing her day clothes.
It was nothing short of a miracle.
‘You got dressed!’
‘Yes … and I feel so much more like myself.’ Lady Dorothy smiled at him.
‘How on earth …?’ The query trailed into silence. He’d been going to ask how she’d managed by herself but that would only be rubbing in the fact that she couldn’t. But she hadn’t been allowing anybody to help so how …?
‘I had some help.’ His mother nodded. ‘I met the most astonishing girl this afternoon. Bella. Simply delightful.’ She gave her son a thoughtful gaze. ‘Very pretty, too.’
‘Mother!’ Oliver shook his head but he was smiling. How could he not smile? This was a major step forward. ‘You know my rule about dating nurses. Or doctors. Or anyone else from work. It’s a no-go area. Always has been, always will be.’
It wasn’t as if he didn’t meet countless eligible women through the lavish fundraising occasions he was obliged to attend with his mother and it was rare to find any single woman who wasn’t eager to date the Dawson heir. Sex had never been a problem. Finding a woman suitable to produce the grandchild his mother yearned for was quite a different matter, however. It was a search that, quite frankly, Oliver was getting seriously bored by. Or maybe he was resisting because it wasn’t just that his mother was yearning for the next generation but that everybody expected it to happen.
‘Hmmph.’ Lady Dorothy sighed. ‘Anyway, this Bella used to look after her grandmother who had terrible arthritis so she knows all about it. She helped me and … and she managed to do it without making me feel like some kind of oversized infant.’
Oliver made a mental note to find the nurse called Bella and show his appreciation.
‘Oh …’ His mother bit her lip. ‘I meant her nanna, not her grandmother. She got murdered.’
‘Good grief.’ Oliver was setting out the food he’d brought on the end of the bed.
‘By her grandfather.’
Oliver’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Comes from a good family, then?’
‘Don’t be a snob, Oliver. She can’t help her family any more than any of us can. And she made me laugh.’
‘That’s
