A Very Single Woman Page 7

  ‘Can you give him anything for it?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t necessary anyway. He should be fine in a day or two. Give him paracetamol if he’s uncomfortable or if his temperature rises, but otherwise it’s just a case of waiting it out.’ She turned to the boy with a smile. ‘You’ll be fine in a couple of days.’

  ‘Wait till we tell Dad I’ve got foot and mouth disease!’ he said with a grin, and Helen shook her head.

  ‘Don’t forget the hand,’ she reminded them. ‘You don’t want to panic people, and you’ll have the press after you if you go round saying that.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘I’ll be famous!’

  ‘Notorious, more like,’ his mother said with a sigh.

  ‘You can get a rash on your buttocks with it, too,’ Helen pointed out. ‘Perhaps we should rename it hand and bottom disease, to distinguish it!’

  They left, still chuckling, and Helen stacked the notes together and sat back with a sigh.

  He had been her last patient of the morning, so she shut down her computer, gathered up the notes and her coffee-cup and went out into the office. Julia greeted her with a grin.

  ‘I gather young Tim’s got foot and mouth.’

  ‘Hand, foot and mouth,’ Helen said with a sigh. ‘I wish I’d just told her it was a virus now. It’ll be in the papers next and I’ll get the sack.’

  ‘I doubt it. Oh, by the way, Nick wants to see you. He’s in the kitchen.’

  Helen gave a mental shrug. It was probably something about work—maybe Mrs Emery. She went into the kitchen, and found Nick busy making coffee. He glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled cautiously.

  ‘Hi there. Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks. I gather you wanted to see me?’

  ‘I did. You saw Mrs Emery. How was it?’

  She shrugged, relieved that that was all he wanted. ‘I don’t know. I asked her if all her symptoms started after her husband died, and she started talking about how empty her life was. I suggested that maybe filling it with a job or some other activity might help her, just by keeping her so busy she didn’t notice all the little things that were wrong with her, and she went away to think about it. I made sure she knew she could come back, though, and I’ll probably live to regret it.’

  Nick chuckled softly. ‘No doubt. You might be lucky, though. We might all be lucky if it works.’

  ‘I felt sorry for her.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I know exactly where she’s coming from,’ Nick said in a quiet voice. ‘Still, she’ll get there in the end. It just takes time.’

  He passed her a mug of coffee, and as she took it their fingers touched and she all but snatched it from him. The contact was too much, reminding her yet again of the kiss, of all the things she couldn’t have. She avoided his eyes, and with a slight sigh he sat down at the table and set his mug down with exaggerated care in front of him.

  ‘How’s the cottage coming on?’ he asked in a neutral voice.

  She picked up his cue, latching onto the innocuous subject with gratitude. ‘I don’t know. The electrician starts today—or, hopefully, started. I’ll go up there in a few minutes and have a look.’

  ‘Of course, it’s yours now, isn’t it? I must give you back the key.’

  ‘There’s no hurry, any time will do. Bring it into work when you remember.’

  A slightly awkward silence settled over them, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Her coffee was too hot to drink quickly, and so she was trapped with him, stuck there until she was able to make her escape.

  Nick stirred his coffee pensively, then lifted his head and met her eyes, his mouth tilting into a slightly crooked smile.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you. I didn’t mean to do this to us. It was just—’

  ‘Forget it,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Oh, but it does,’ he murmured. ‘It matters, because all I can think about is that I want to do it again.’

  Helen felt heat stain her cheeks. She remembered the kiss, remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, the sensation of his body against her own, the touch of his hands in her hair. She wanted him to do it again, wanted to feel it all over again, wanted more—far more. Much more than was sane or sensible.

  ‘No.’

  He sighed and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘It’s all right, Helen, I’m not going to do anything. You’re quite safe.’

  Perversely, she was disappointed. She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted him to kiss her again. She drained her coffee, burning her throat in the process, and pushed back her chair. ‘I’m going to the cottage,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back. Just lock up if you want to go.’

  She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, drove the short distance to the cottage and found a white van outside. She parked behind it and went in to a scene of absolute mayhem. Boards were up, wires dangled and there were piles of plaster on the floor near every doorway. She could hear a man whistling upstairs, and she ran up and found the electrician busy threading wires through a hole in the floor. He looked up with a grin.

  ‘Hi, there. All right?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. How’re you getting on?’ she asked him.

  ‘OK. It’s only tiny, isn’t it? Shouldn’t be long really. Two more days? Oh, and the plumber dropped in. He could start tomorrow, if you like. He’s had a cancelled job. He wants you to ring him.’

  ‘Excellent. Thanks, I’ll do that.’

  That meant she could move in even sooner, she realised with relief.

  Helen went back downstairs and out into the garden, looking around her with enthusiasm. The first thing it needed was a jolly good weed, the grass mown and some of the shrubs cut back, but she’d have to consult her books to make sure she did any pruning at the right time of year.

  She needed garden tools, and her own, like practically everything else, were now in store. Nick would have some that she could borrow, of course, but she didn’t really want to ask him. In the meantime, though, she was wasting an opportunity to get in amongst it, so she got back in her car, drove to the nearest garden centre and bought herself a border fork, a little trowel and a bucket to put the weeds in.

  Then she went back to the cottage and set about weeding the rose bed. By the time the electrician left at five, she’d freed the first few rose bushes of the choking undergrowth, and she sat back on her heels and looked at her handiwork with a feeling of satisfaction.

  She was hot, sweaty and ready for a shower, but she was making real progress at last. She got stiffly to her feet, wincing as the circulation was restored and her legs were attacked with pins and needles. She carried the full bucket of weeds down to the spot she’d chosen at the end of the garden for her compost heap and tipped them out, stunned at the size of the heap she had already created. By the time she finished the whole garden, the compost heap would be taking over the world. Still, it had to be done.

  In a foolish and sentimental mood, she picked a few of the roses and stuck them in the milk bottle on the kitchen window-sill. No doubt the electrician would laugh at her tomorrow, but it couldn’t be helped. It was her home, and she couldn’t wait to be in it.

  Suddenly, she heard childish voices on the other side of the fence, and she saw Sam and Tommy peeping out of the window of the tree-house. She waved to them, and they waved back, and she smiled. Then she heard Nick’s voice, and her smile slipped a little. His face appeared over the fence, his eyes wary as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

  ‘OK. The electrician’s been working all day, and I’ve started weeding. The grass could do with a good cut, but I don’t have a mower at the moment so it’ll have to wait.’

  ‘I’ll run over it for you, if you like,’ he offered.

  Helen hesitated, unwilling to use him, and he gave a crooked smile.

  ‘Stop thinking, Helen. Ju
st say, “Yes, please, that would be lovely.”’

  ‘Yes, please, that would be lovely,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Thank you, Nick.’

  ‘Any time. I told you that.’

  He vanished, and a few minutes later she heard the rattle of a mower being wheeled along the gravel path. Then the fence panel disappeared and he pushed the mower in. ‘Got a compost heap?’ he asked, and she pointed to the growing pile in the corner.

  ‘Excellent.’ He started up the mower, and began running it up and down the grass, making neat stripes in the lush green sward. Half an hour later, she had a lawn instead of a meadow, and she’d weeded a few more of the roses. The garden was starting to look like a garden, and she probably looked like a tramp.

  ‘There you go, all done.’ He gave her his cockeyed grin, and as usual it went straight to her knees. She propped herself up on the fork.

  ‘Thank you, Nick. It looks much better.’

  She thought he’d go then, but he didn’t, he stayed, wandering round the garden and looking at the tangled mass of shrubs and perennials that flopped across the path. She wanted him to go, but she didn’t know how to ask him without being rude, and so she carried on with her weeding, ignoring him and hoping he’d go away.

  He appeared at her side, crouching down beside her, his face almost at her level.

  ‘You look as if you could do with a shower and a good meal,’ he said softly. ‘Why don’t you go and get cleaned up while I cook you something?’

  She was horribly tempted, but she really ought to resist. ‘I thought we’d discussed this?’ she said a little desperately.

  ‘No, we discussed the kiss. We didn’t say anything about a neighbour cooking you a meal when you’d been working hard.’

  ‘Nick…’ She looked up at him, all ready to argue, but that lazy crooked smile and the kindness in his eyes undid her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said wryly, quietly resigned. ‘I’m starving, and I’m sick of take-aways and pub meals. Supper would be lovely.’

  She must be crazy. All the time it had taken her to shower and change, she’d been telling herself she was mad. Now, as she waited outside Nick’s door, she knew it. Her heart was pounding, her breath was jamming in her throat, and she couldn’t understand for the life of her why she’d agreed to it.

  He opened the door, looking cool and relaxed in freshly pressed trousers and a checked shirt, open at the neck. He’d changed, and she was glad now that she’d made a little more effort when she’d dressed. Not that it mattered, she told herself sternly, but she couldn’t help noticing his appreciative eyes as they tracked over her.

  The outfit was simple, just a pair of cream cotton trousers with his loose, floppy, olive green shirt over the top, but it seemed to please him.

  ‘I’m wearing the shirt,’ she said unnecessarily, and he smiled.

  ‘I noticed. It looks good on you.’ He stepped backwards into the hall and gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Come on in. I’m still tinkering about with the salad. Sam’s gone to Tommy’s.’

  So they would be alone again. Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she drew a steadying breath before following him into the kitchen. Once there, she sniffed appreciatively.

  ‘Smells good,’ she said with a strained smile.

  ‘That’s just the marinade,’ he told her. ‘I’ve made up some kebabs to put on the barbecue, and I’ve got spicy chicken wings and some wicked sausages from the butcher in the village.’

  ‘Good grief,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Well, you said you were hungry,’ he said with a smile. ‘Can’t have you fading away.’

  She found herself perching automatically in her usual position at the breakfast bar, watching as he opened the bag of mixed lettuce leaves and shook them out into a big bowl.

  ‘It’s a lazy way of doing it,’ he said with a grin, ‘but I don’t care. I can’t be bothered to buy five different kinds of lettuce.’

  ‘Don’t apologise to me.’ She smiled. ‘I always buy it like that. Is there anything I can do? I always end up sitting here, watching you.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about it, there’s very little to do. It’s just nice to have company.’

  It was. She’d had a week of lonely evenings, and it made a pleasant change to have someone to talk to. Odd, her evenings had never been lonely before. It was strange how suddenly being alone had become being lonely, just since she’d known him.

  Disturbing, really. Worrying.

  ‘Right. I think we’re ready to put some things on the barbecue. Could you bring this tray for me?’

  Helen picked up the tray and followed him out into the garden, round the corner to the patio. The barbecue was gas-fired, and he’d already lit it, so it was ready to go. Soon the air was full of that wonderful, summery smell, and she sat in a comfortable wooden armchair and sipped a glass of wine while he turned the kebabs and prodded the sausages and generally did man things to the food.

  She suppressed a smile. It was funny how a barbecue brought out the cook in men, she thought, although she already knew that Nick liked cooking. She wondered if he always had, or if it had just been necessity that had taught him. Whatever, she wasn’t going to complain, because the food smelled fantastic and she was absolutely ravenous.

  After a few minutes he handed her a plate piled high with barbecued goodies. ‘Come on, then, help yourself to salad,’ he ordered, and she tucked in, only too willing.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ she said around a mouthful of food.

  He chuckled. ‘I take it that was a compliment,’ he said with a grin. ‘I didn’t quite catch it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said laughingly. ‘I said gorgeous.’

  ‘I take it you were talking about me?’ His eyes were laughing, and he was teasing her, but nevertheless her pulse raced again.

  ‘Your kebabs, actually,’ she said lightly. ‘Can’t see anything else gorgeous around here.’

  One eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing, just chuckled again and returned his attention to his food, leaving her in peace to get her scattered emotions in order.

  He’d brought fresh strawberries for dessert, from the pick-your-own field just outside the village, and he’d drenched them in thick double cream, with a little sprinkle of demerara sugar, ‘just for crunch,’ he said with a smile. They were wonderful, juicy and succulent and bursting with flavour, and she ate far too many. Finally, she pushed the bowl away with a laughing groan.

  ‘Enough!’ she said. ‘I’ll burst if I eat any more.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m not on duty and I don’t really want have to clear up the mess.’

  ‘It’ll be all your own fault,’ she said lazily, sprawling back in the chair and sighing contentedly. ‘I could manage a coffee, though,’ she added with a grin.

  ‘So demanding,’ he murmured, getting up and heading towards the kitchen, but she could see the smile playing round the corners of his mouth and, anyway, she knew she’d only pre-empted him by a matter of moments.

  She stacked up the plates and followed him inside.

  ‘In or out?’ he asked, and she realised that he’d already made the coffee in the machine, and it was ready to pour.

  ‘In, I think,’ she said. ‘It’s getting a bit chilly outside now.’

  Nick laid a tray with the coffee, found a box of chocolate mints and carried them all through into the sitting room. She kicked off her shoes, and curled up in the chair she had sat in before, with her feet tucked under her bottom. He handed her a coffee, offered her a mint and retreated to the opposite chair with his own coffee.

  A companionable silence settled over them, free of tension for the first time in a week, and Helen felt herself relaxing. The combination of hard work in the garden and good food and wine was soporific, and after a while she could feel her eyelids drooping.

  ‘Am I keeping you up?’ he asked with a smile in his voice.

  Her mouth curved lazily. ‘Not so as you’d notice,’ she said wi
th a chuckle. ‘I ought to go home, really. It’s just not very appealing, compared with this.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘That room serves its purpose, but it was never really designed to be lived in for any length of time. Still, you’ll be in your cottage soon, won’t you?’

  ‘I hope so. I’m really looking forward to it, but I won’t have a kitchen to speak of for a while.’

  ‘At least, if it stays warm, you can cook on a barbecue.’

  ‘If,’ she said drily. ‘Knowing my luck, it’ll pour with rain until December now.’

  His mouth twitched into a wry smile. ‘No doubt. I’ve got Sam breaking up for the summer in about a month, and I expect the weather will be foul and he’ll be thoroughly objectionable.’

  ‘It’s bound to be foul when I have the roof off,’ she said. ‘That’s just the way it goes.’

  ‘Just give me fair warning,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure he’s with his grandparents that week.’

  They exchanged smiles of understanding, and he threw her another mint. She nibbled it, making it last, but finally it was finished and it was time to go.

  ‘Nick, thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said softly. ‘And thank you for cutting my grass.’

  ‘My pleasure—all of it.’

  He got to his feet and helped her up, going with her to the door. Her bag and keys were on the table near the door, where she’d put them when she’d come in, and she collected them up and turned to him to say goodnight. He was closer than she’d realised, though, and as she turned she bumped into him and he reached out to steady her.

  It was enough. Just that one single touch undermined all their resolve, and the tension was back in spades.

  With a stifled groan, Nick lowered his head to hers and their lips met and melded.

  He tasted of chocolate and mint and coffee, rich and dark and a little sinful, and the combination was irresistible. He eased her closer, so that her soft breasts were pillowed against his chest and she could feel the pounding of his heart through the soft fabric of her shirt. His mouth nipped and sucked, shifting slightly, leaving her mouth to follow the line of her jaw, down over the soft skin of her throat to the hollow at the base where her pulse beat hard under the skin.