Caroline Anderson - Second Thoughts

Jennifer woke to soft lights and the haunting sound of a flute — and pins and needles in her right foot.

She straightened up and blinked. ‘Oh — you shouldn’t have let me sleep,’ she said, embarrassed.

‘You were tired.’

‘But Tim ——’

‘Tim’s in bed. He’s had supper and a bath, and he’s out for the count.’

She dropped her head back against the chair. ‘Oh. Thank you. You shouldn’t have done all that.’

‘I’m pampering you, remember?’

His smile was kindly teasing. She returned it, then winced as the circulation came back into her foot.

‘Pins and needles?’ he guessed, and she nodded, wriggling it. He turned the cat off his knee and crouched in front of her, taking her foot in his large, warm hands and massaging it gently.

‘Ow,’ she mumbled.

‘Hell, isn’t it? How’s that?’

She felt suddenly uncomfortable with this big man kneeling at her feet.

‘Better, thank you,’ she told him and almost snatched it out of his hands, further embarrassed by the growl from her stomach.

‘Hungry?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Apparently.’ She laughed a little awkwardly.

‘Supper’s ready when you are. There’s a cloakroom at the bottom of the stairs if you want to freshen up.’

She looked dreadful, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were flushed and crumpled from the cushion and she looked — wanton was the nearest she could come up with, and it unsettled her.

She splashed her face with cold water and went back into the big farmhouse-style kitchen, where Andrew was just setting the huge old refectory table.

‘OK?’

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘Eat,’ he said with a grin.

It was no hardship. The meal was wonderful, a seafood concoction with mushrooms and a delicious creamy sauce under the lightest, fluffiest mashed potato she had ever tasted. It was served with fresh sprouting broccoli and glazed carrots, both homegrown, he told her.

‘Where did you learn to cook like that?’ she asked him, replete, as she sat at the table under orders not to move and watched him clear up.

He laughed. ‘Self-defence. I can’t stand canteen food and I can’t afford a housekeeper. Anyway, I enjoy it. Coffee?’

‘Mmm. Can I —— ?’

‘No. Go and sit down, I’ll be with you in a tick.’

‘Actually, I think I’ll go up and check on Tim, if you really don’t need my help.’

‘Top of the stairs, turn left and follow your nose. He’s in the little bedroom at the end.’

‘OK.’ She ran lightly up the stairs, noticing as she went the higgledy-piggledy collection of pictures on the walls, etchings and pen and ink drawings and little watercolours, the occasional photograph, an oil on wood. There was no theme, except perhaps the straightforward one of personal choice, pictures collected for no better reason than that he liked them. And what better reason was there?

She found Tim, his cheek cradled on his hand, fast asleep in a wonderful old captain’s bed, the forerunner by some hundred years of the modern chipboard equivalent. His lashes dark against his pale cheeks, he looked terribly vulnerable and very small. He also looked as if he belonged in this room, with its distinctly Boys’ Own flavour.

She brushed a kiss on his cheek, whispered ‘Goodnight,’ and tiptoed out.

‘OK?’

She jumped slightly. Big as he was, she hadn’t heard him approach. ‘Yes, he’s fine. Where did you get that wonderful bed?’

‘The bed? It used to be mine when I was a child. I couldn’t bear to part with it when my parents died. Obviously I couldn’t keep everything, but that I refused to get rid of.’ He pushed open a door. ‘I’ve put you in here next to him,’ Andrew told her, ushering her in.

It was a delightful room, with high twin beds and pretty lace bedspreads. Her suitcase was lying on one of the beds, and on the table between them was a small vase of roses.

‘Oh, Andrew…’ She reached out and touched the blooms with her finger. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me ——’

‘Pampered, you said. How can you pamper a woman without roses?’ His voice was husky and much too close.

The room seemed suddenly very small, his presence filling it, and for the first time she was shockingly, intensely aware of him.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured a little breathlessly, and after a second’s hesitation he turned and ducked under the doorway.

‘Coffee’s ready when you are. I’ll see you downstairs,’ he told her, and she wasn’t sure if his voice was a little strained or if she had imagined it.

When she went back down, though, she decided she had imagined it because he was all quiet courtesy and the perfect host. The pregnant black and white cat made herself at home on his lap for a while, and he sat and absently fiddled with her ears while they talked about the children they had seen in the clinic that afternoon.

‘We shouldn’t be talking shop — you’re supposed to be getting away from it all,’ he said after a while.

‘Do you ever truly get away? Especially with paediatrics. It’s rather like being a vet, all those great big trusting eyes. They do something to your insides.’

He laughed. ‘And you accused me of getting attached to the Robinsons!’

‘Well, they are delicious,’ she said with a forgiving smile.

‘Mmm. They’re very lucky people. And unlike most parents, they realise it. Probably because they had such a struggle before IVF finally gave them their family. Most people just take their children for granted.’

Jennifer nodded and sighed. ‘It’s easy, though, isn’t it? I just wish Tim meant more to his father.’

‘Why did you get divorced?’ Andrew asked quietly.

She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Nick decided one day that he couldn’t handle the responsibility any more, and he went. Crazy, really. We’d got through his house years when he was never at home — perhaps that was it? Perhaps once he reached the point where he was at home more, he realised we weren’t what he wanted. Whatever, he left. He’s always been very good about helping financially, though. Whatever his other failings, he’s always been meticulous about that. Well, he is meticulous. Everything always has to be just so. He’d rip this room apart and re-do it all, because it’s not perfect.’

Andrew glanced round, and shrugged. ‘I know it’s not up to much, but I like it.’

She flushed, mortified. ‘Sorry, that was unbelievably tactless, but I really didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s just that Nick’s taste is — well, let’s say clinical, shall we? And I became so indoctrinated that now I can’t seem to make our flat homely, but this house — I think it’s charming, restful, cosy … everything a home should be. I don’t know quite how you’ve done it, but I love it and I think it would be a great shame to change it.’

‘Thank you.’ They exchanged smiles, and he tipped the cat off his lap and stood up. ‘Nightcap?’

‘No, thanks. Actually, I’m ready for bed.’

She stood up and went over to him, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. ‘Thank you for spoiling us. You’re a good man.’

He flushed slightly and squeezed her shoulders. ‘You deserve it. You’re a lovely girl, you should have someone spoiling you all the time.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, no, I’d get fat and lazy. I’m better off as I am. Goodnight.’

For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, but then his hands slid down her arms and he stepped back. ‘See you in the morning.’

She climbed the picture-lined staircase and checked Tim, then washed and climbed into bed, snuggling down against the freshly scented linen with a contented sigh. She was asleep in seconds.