offer to look after Joseph. Out of the goodness of your heart, perhaps, or because you have an ulterior motive?’
‘An ulterior motive?’ Polly repeated blankly.
‘Yes. Now that you know who I am, I can’t help but wonder if you’re looking to earn yourself some Brownie points.’ His tone was clipped and Polly felt that shiver run through her again, the one she’d felt earlier when they had first met. It took her all her time not to let him see how much it disturbed her.
‘I’ve no idea what you mean.’
‘No? I thought my views on community midwives were widely known but apparently not. So, to reiterate, I am totally opposed to women having their babies at home, which is the approach you favour. In my opinion every baby should be born in the safety of a fully equipped maternity unit so that any problems can be dealt with promptly. To be blunt, Miss Davies, I would ban you and the rest of your cohorts from delivering any more babies if I could!’
Elliot knew that it had been tactless in the extreme to have said that but he couldn’t stop himself. He had seen far too many damaged children to change his views. Every child should be born in hospital and allowing home births to take place in this day and age was a disgrace, in his opinion. He would have dearly loved to expound his views but a glance at the dashboard clock put paid to that. He needed to get back to the hospital, but how could he when there was nobody to look after Joseph...? Unless he took Polly Davies up on her offer, always assuming she was still willing after him shooting her down like that.
‘I had no idea you held such stringent views, Dr Grey. Obviously, they haven’t filtered through to me. However, much as I would love to debate the points you raised, I doubt if this is the right time. My offer still stands and, no, I don’t expect any Brownie points for looking after your son. I’m not that naïve.’
‘Thank you.’ Elliot gritted his teeth, desperately trying to hold back the apology that hovered on the tip of his tongue. That he should feel the need to apologise when he knew he was right was shock enough; however, the fact that he was so desperate to make amends was an even bigger one. What was it about this woman that made him feel so out of control? he wondered as he started the car. She had the ability to make him doubt himself and he didn’t enjoy the experience. He liked to be fully in control of himself—no, not liked, needed. It made him feel safe.
Elliot drove that disturbing thought from his head, not wanting her to suspect how on edge he felt. ‘I suggest you follow me home so I can introduce you to Joseph. I’ve bought the old blacksmith’s cottage in Trefoil Lane—do you know it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied succinctly then turned away. Going over to her car, she started the engine, not waiting for him as she set off.
Elliot slid the powerful car into gear, curbing the urge to put his foot down and overtake her when they reached the open road. So she didn’t need him to lead the way—so what? If she was trying to prove her independence then he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anyone except Joseph. The strange thing was that, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, it didn’t ring true. Deep down inside, in some long-abandoned place, he did care. He cared a lot, cared about her opinion of him. Foolish though he knew it was, he didn’t want Polly Davies to think badly of him.
* * *
It was almost nine a.m. when Polly drew up outside The Old Smithy, as the cottage was known locally. She could hear the clock on Beesdale Church chiming the hour as she got out of the car and sighed. By rights she should have been on the train by now, but what else could she have done in the circumstances? Elliot Grey needed her help even if he had been less than gracious about accepting it. Did he honestly think that she had been trying to worm her way into his good books by offering to mind his son? she thought as she walked up the path. Well, if that were the case, he was in for a shock. He might think he was next to God in the pecking order but he was a long way from being that, in her opinion!
‘Come along. I need to get back to the hospital as soon as possible.’
The subject of her thoughts swept past her and opened the front door. Polly’s mouth thinned as she followed him inside. Would it hurt him to employ a few basic good manners? she thought sourly. Behave like any normal person would do in the circumstances? She didn’t expect him to go over the top—just to appear grateful would be enough. However, it seemed that gratitude and Elliot Grey weren’t acquainted with one another.
She followed him along the hall, taking stock as she went. She knew that the cottage had been converted by its previous owners, a couple from London who had used it as a weekend retreat until travelling back and forth had become too much of a hassle. They had spent a fortune on it, if rumour was to be believed, and the original cottage now encompassed what had once been the blacksmith’s forge.
However, it wasn’t until she stepped into the kitchen that she realised just how much it had changed. The room was enormous and wonderfully spacious despite the impressive range of top-end fitments. Polly sighed as she drank it all in, from the marble-topped island in the centre to the cosy family corner complete with squashy leather sofa. It was the kitchen she and Martin had dreamed about, not that they could have hoped to own a place as spectacular as this even if they had got married...
‘Who are you?’
The question brought her back to earth with a bump. Polly turned to find a small boy of about eight years of age watching her with an all too familiar expression in his green eyes. Talk about a chip off the old block, she thought ruefully as she took in the dark brown hair, the clean-cut features, not to mention the air of reserve the child projected. He had to be Elliot’s son; the resemblance was too marked for him not to be. The only thing that set him apart from his father was the fact that he was in a wheelchair.
Polly’s gaze flew to Elliot and her heart seemed to scrunch up inside her when she saw the expression on his face, all the love mingled with a fear that she might say something to hurt the child. In that moment everything she felt about him was turned on its head, turned upside down and inside out as well. Now he was no longer a pain in the proverbial, some insufferable, self-opinionated man who needed putting in his place. Now he was simply a loving father who wanted to protect his child, and Polly realised that she could forgive him anything because of that.
‘MY NAME’S POLLY DAVIES. And you must be Joseph. How do you do?’
Elliot let out the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding as Polly reached out and shook Joseph’s hand. She didn’t do what so many folk did, what they thought they should do, and bend down so she was on his son’s level. She simply held out her hand and that was it, and it was a form of acceptance of Joseph’s condition that touched him in ways Elliot could barely understand. Polly wasn’t pretending that Joseph was the same as every other child his age, but she wasn’t making an issue of it either by overcompensating. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the unfamiliar lump that had found its way there.
‘Polly is going to look after you while I go back to the hospital, Joseph.’
‘Is the baby still not well?’ Joseph spun his wheelchair around, his face alight with interest. Elliot had no idea if it was right or wrong but he always discussed his cases with him. Joseph had become his sounding board, in a way; he ran through what he had done, checking in his own mind that he couldn’t have done more, and Joseph listened even if he didn’t always understand the complexities of what he was hearing.
‘No. Sadly one of
