Caroline Anderson - A Man of Honour

‘Oh, terrific—I’m starving!’ Tom confessed, and after they piled their plates up he led Helen away down the garden to a little orchard at the end. Then he lowered himself to the grass under the trees and patted the ground. ‘Sit down and tell me all about the Barringtons’ cottage.’

She settled herself beside him, taking a bite of her burger to distract herself from the sight of his hair-roughened thigh only inches from her knees. ‘Well, it’s called Rose Cottage, and it’s got roses climbing up it and a thatched roof and little latticed windows, and it’s absolutely enchanting. If I could afford to, I’d buy it, but I just don’t earn enough.’

‘Not fair, is it?’ Tom said quietly. ‘You work hard enough, God knows. It’s lovely to see you relaxing; you’ve been rushing about all week. Every time I’ve seen you you’ve been either bent over a patient or buried under a mountain of paperwork.’

She sighed. ‘Well, it’s been a bit hectic. You’ve been busy too.’

‘Mmm. Still, I’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for all the help.’

She turned her head slightly and looked at him. ‘You’re welcome.’

His eyes locked with hers, and for an endless moment they stared at each other, then he turned away and bit into his roll, and she found she could breathe again.

They ate in silence for a while, then Helen put her plate down and lay back on the sweetly scented grass.

‘Oh, heaven. I think I’ve eaten too much.’

‘Rubbish. That’s why you’re so skinny. Do you want the rest of this burger?’

She shook her head, and watched, fascinated, as Tom picked it up and bit into it. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she found the sight of his Adam’s apple rising and falling absolutely riveting.

She made herself look away. Let him make the first move, she thought, and closed her eyes.

Seconds later his breath whispered against her cheek.

‘You’ve caught the sun,’ he said softly, and his finger trailed down her nose.

‘Freckles,’ she said unnecessarily, and he counted them.

‘Fifteen.’

‘Are you sure? There were twelve this morning.’

He chuckled softly. ‘Is that a fact? I told you you’d caught the sun.’

She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into his, just bare inches from her face. Her lips parted involuntarily on his name, and for an endless moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

Then he rolled away and stood up. ‘I’m going for a dip—coming?’

‘You shouldn’t swim so soon after eating,’ she told him mechanically.

‘Tough,’ he replied, and there was an edge of hardness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.

She watched him walk away, his long legs eating up the grass in great strides, and wondered what she’d done wrong.

He fell in love with the Barringtons’ cottage on the spot, and Helen strolled round the pretty garden while they agreed a price and decided on a completion date. He had apparently sold his house in Oxford to a cash buyer, and was able to go ahead as quickly as Clare and Michael were willing to.

Helen was very pleased for them all. Tom was so clearly thrilled with the cottage, and on the way home afterwards he positively bubbled with enthusiasm. It was the most animated she had ever seen him, and Helen was secretly delighted. He looked so sad for much of the time, and to see him like this, brimming over with excitement and plans, was a real joy.

It was also infectious, and she found herself laughing as she hadn’t laughed in ages.

And then suddenly, without warning, his mood changed again.

Afterwards she found it difficult to put her finger on exactly what had happened. They were talking about when he was to move in, and he said he’d have to buy furniture. Then she asked how come he’d owned a house and didn’t have any furniture, and that was when he went funny.

‘It was all borrowed,’ he said shortly, ‘and anyway, it’s time for a change.’

And after that he hardly said a word all the way back, and dropped her off outside her flat without even a smile. She was bitterly disappointed, because they had been getting on so well and she’d hoped he would suggest they go somewhere for lunch together—instead of which he had driven off with a stony face and left her alone again.

She let herself into her flat and made a sandwich, then sat by the window looking out into the concrete back yard, relieved only by a sorry-looking lilac that struggled for existence in a crack in the paving.

It was such a contrast to Rose Cottage and Ross’s house that she indulged in a moment of self-pity before changing into tatty old jeans and a T-shirt and picking up the keys of her sensible, middle-of-the-road little car.

‘God, I’m so bored !’ she said savagely as she banged the door of the car. ‘Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored !’

She headed out into the country and found herself in a little village with a winding stream that gurgled under an old brick bridge. Parking the car in a lay-by, she locked it and set off on a hike along the stream.

It was a gorgeous day—a day to share, she thought crossly, and felt suddenly very lonely and sad.

‘There was no guarantee he felt anything for you,’ she told herself firmly as she walked. ‘He’s just as entitled to be as picky as you are—and he’s obviously decided not to pick you. God knows he gave you enough warning—he was hardly all over you. And yesterday—he could have kissed you so easily, but he didn’t. And still you expect miracles!’

‘Pardon?’

She looked up, startled, to find a woman with a dog regarding her strangely. ‘Are you all right, dear?’

She blushed and laughed. ‘Sorry—yes, I’m fine. I was just telling myself off.’

‘On a lovely day like this? What a shame.’ The woman smiled, and Helen smiled back, suddenly happier.

‘Yes, you’re right. It’s much too nice a day to be cross.’

They parted company, the woman and her dog going on the way Helen had come, Helen following the track beside the stream.

She was right, it was a beautiful day, and being cross and ungracious was just a waste of it. She would put Tom out of her mind, and forget him.

Easier said than done, she acknowledged the following morning.

How he had managed it in so short a time she didn’t know, but Tom Russell had winkled his way into her heart in a big way, and it would take more than a little determination to get him out again.

He was quiet and withdrawn when she saw him, but they were so busy that she hardly had time to chat anyway.

Judy Fulcher, the patient with the burst appendix and peritonitis, was making slow but steady progress, althought she was still unable to take anything by mouth. As a result oral care was a very important part of her nursing, and Helen took the opportunity, to sponge off her caked lips and tongue and clean her teeth as a training exercise for Carol, one of the student nurses who had started with her that day.

Judy’s gratitude was touching, and Helen wished she had time to do it better and more often.

However she didn’t, and she was busy with the pre-ops who were due to go up to Tom in Theatre that afternoon.

Trailing her students, she prepared the patients for Theatre, including passing a Ryle’s tube into one man who found the whole experience intolerable and panicked himself into a frenzy.

‘Look, Mr Blackstone,’ she explained for the second time, ‘it really doesn’t hurt. All you have to do is relax as much as possible, take little sips of water and swallow gently, and I’ll just slip the tube down your throat bit by bit. It’s really not that bad.’

He snorted and put his hand over his face. ‘I’m not having no bloody tube poked down my throat!’ he mumbled.