‘Maybe it fell on the floor.’
She’d already dropped to her knees before she realised that instead of standing aside and leaving her to it, he’d done the same. Looking up, expecting to be confronted by nothing more dangerous than his knees, she found herself looking straight into his eyes.
The cool thing would have been to smile, and carry on looking. She didn’t feel cool. This close, his tawny eyes generated enough heat to sear her entire body and she reared back, crashing against the edge of the desk and falling back to her knees with a whimper of pain.
The next thing she knew she was sitting in his chair and he was crouched in front of her, looking into her eyes. ‘Jacqui?’
‘It’s OK…’ she said, making a move to rise. ‘I’m OK.’
His hand on her shoulder kept her in the chair. ‘Don’t move for a minute. You took quite a knock.’
‘No, really.’ But her head felt as if it had just exploded and her legs were kitten-weak. Despite her protest, she stayed where she was. ‘I’ll be all right in a moment.’
‘Look at me.’ Oh, right. That was what had caused the trouble in the first place…‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
Having satisfied himself that she wasn’t seeing double, he stood up and began to gently part her hair, just above her forehead, taking a closer look at the damage.
‘Excuse me?’ she said, but nowhere near as in-your-face what-the-heck-do-you-think-you’re-doing as she’d intended. ‘Are you a doctor?’
‘Yes, and I can tell you that the prognosis is a headache and a lump the size of an egg.’
‘I could have told you that…’ Wince. Oooch. Too much talking…‘Are you really a doctor?’
‘I’m somewhat out of practice,’ he admitted, ‘but I think I can handle a minor bump on the head.’
‘Minor!’ she exclaimed.
‘See? You’re almost back to normal. I’ll go and get an ice-pack.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘You’re disputing my diagnosis? Are you a doctor, too?’
‘Sarcasm is so unattractive.’ Then, ‘Besides, you’ve read my CV. You know exactly what I am.’
‘I’ve got a fair idea, although I’d still like to know why you dropped out of your nursing course at university.’ She took a breath to speak but he raised a warning finger that didn’t quite touch her lips. ‘Save it. Keep quiet and don’t move. I’ll be right back.’
‘I was just going to tell you to mind your own business,’ she muttered rebelliously, but only after he’d left the room.
Obviously he knew what he was talking about when he’d advised her to keep quiet, because she wished she’d obeyed him.
‘Susan is making you a cup of tea,’ he said, returning a minute or two later with crushed ice wrapped in a cloth. He laid it gently against her forehead and said, ‘How’s that?’
‘Cold?’ she offered. Then, because that sounded ungrateful, ‘Wonderfully cold.’ It was certainly a lot better than the thought of tea, the very idea of which made her feel sick. She didn’t tell him that; Dr Harry Talbot would be diagnosing concussion and whisking her off to hospital before she could say Jack Robinson and wouldn’t that make him a happy bunny…? ‘Thank you,’ she added, reaching up to take over the job of holding the ice-pack in place, her fingers getting entangled in his as they changed over.
‘What’s Maisie doing?’ she asked, more as a distraction than out of any deep concern.
‘Being Maisie.’
Weirdly, she understood exactly what he meant, but, feeling guilty as well as stupid, she said, ‘Damn it! What have I done with my phone? I was sure I’d put it in my pocket.’
‘Maybe it’s fallen out somewhere. You’ll find it when it rings.’
‘But I want it now!’ Then, blushing—that sounded sooo like Maisie at her very worst—‘Sorry…I just need to know what’s happening. Maisie shouldn’t be left out on a limb like this.’
‘I thought you said she wanted to stay.’
‘That’s not the point.’ Then, leaning her elbows on the desk, both hands clutching the ice-pack as she rested her head against it and trying to think through the pain…‘But you’re right. She seems happy enough.’
‘But of course you want to get on with your own life.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ She looked up at him from under her hands. ‘Did I say that?’
‘No.’ He looked as if he was going to say something but clearly changed his mind. Then, after a moment, ‘Did you find her anything more practical to wear in the meantime?’
‘Yes. And then again no.’
‘Well, that’s clear.’ He doubled up opposite her as if to check that her eyes weren’t glazing over.
‘I found her some stuff,’ she said, rousing herself, ‘but she really doesn’t see herself as a sweatshirt and jeans girl.’
‘She can’t spend her entire life in party dresses,’ he objected, not moving. ‘She must have some ordinary clothes.’
‘Your confidence does you credit. But yes, I suppose you’re right. There’s obviously been some kind of a slip-up on the packing front. Fortunately I found this.’ She dug around in her shirt pocket and fished out the photograph she’d found. Her fingers were wet and she wiped it on her sleeve before handing it to him. ‘It’s her mother wearing the same stuff.’
He stared at it for a moment, then returned it to her, without comment. ‘Did it do the trick?’
‘Would you exchange pink taffeta frills for denim bib overalls without a fuss?’
‘Fortunately, I’ve never had to make that choice.’
Was that a smile? Just the tiniest hint of one?
Encouraged, she said, ‘Actually, I had a bit of a brainwave and suggested I take a photograph of her exactly like this one. That seemed to do the trick.’
‘So what’s the problem? You need a camera? There’s got to be one around here somewhere.’
‘Thanks, but I have a camera. I was going on holiday,’ she reminded him.
‘Then why is she still in the pink frilly thing? I mean, there’s no shortage of puppies.’
‘No. But it’s not just the puppy.’ She wasn’t likely to have his undivided attention again any time soon. Best not waste it. ‘You were in the original photograph and she wants one exactly like it.’ Then, because she didn’t want him to say no without giving it some thought, she quickly added, ‘There’s no rush. The clothes are in the wash and it’s not exactly fit to take photographs out there this morning.’ Even if she could see straight. ‘In the meantime I’d better go and have another look for my phone.’
‘Jacqui…’
She made an effort to stand, but her knees didn’t feel quite up to it. It was nothing to do with the way he’d said her name. Very softly, not as if he wanted to make sure she was listening, but just because he wanted to say it…
‘I’m sorry.’
Her mistake.
‘What for?’ There were so many things to choose from…‘It wasn’t your fault I banged my head.’
‘About your holiday.’
Oh,