‘You’re CID?’ she asked as he led the way past a huge control room and opened the door of an office, standing back for her to precede him.
‘Yes.’ He nodded.
‘Rank?’ she asked as he closed the door behind them.
‘DCI.’
‘I’m impressed,’ she said softly. ‘Detective Chief Inspector—who would have thought it?’
‘Who indeed?’ His gaze met hers levelly. ‘Certainly not the good folk of Westhampstead, that’s for sure.’
‘You’ve done well, Nick.’ She glanced around the office as she spoke, at the desk, the filing cabinets, the computer and phones—anywhere rather than at the dark gaze that was still levelled at her with that same, albeit slight measure of accusation, as if for all those years he’d carried the assumption that she and her family, and indeed many others in their home town, had believed he would never amount to much.
‘Yes, well.’ He shrugged, then, his eyes narrowing again, he added, ‘You haven’t done so bad yourself, Rachel—but, then, I don’t think there was ever any doubt that you would.’ He paused but his comments were loaded and for a moment, as once again her gaze was dragged back to his own, they were both transported back to their youth and the anguish of the love they had shared.
‘So.’ It was Nick who recovered first, apparently pulling himself together and turning his head away from her so that she couldn’t see the pain that had flared in his eyes. ‘Do you think you might stay in Westhampstead this time?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘Steve has only gone for a year—but if I like it here there may be an opening at the practice when Calvin Davenport, the senior partner, retires. So, who knows? I may just decide to stay.’
‘Where are you living—with your parents?’ Did his lip curl ever so slightly at mention of her parents, or had she imagined it?
‘No, at a house in Cathedral Close.’
‘Very cosy.’ He raised his eyebrows and she thought she detected a faintly mocking air about him now. It irritated her and drove her to retaliate.
‘And you?’ she said. ‘I heard you were married—I dare say by now you have a horde of children.’
‘I have one daughter,’ he said quietly, and Rachel felt a sudden sharp stab of some emotion she was unable to define. ‘And my marriage ended in divorce.’
Rachel wished she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.
‘It’s OK.’ He shrugged. ‘Unfortunately marriage and my career weren’t compatible.’
‘Do you see your daughter?’
‘Yes, she lives with her mother but she visits me whenever the job allows me the time.’ He paused. ‘And you, Rachel—are you married?’ The tension in the small room seemed heightened as he waited for her reply.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m in a long-term relationship...’
‘And?’
‘I felt it wasn’t going anywhere so this year is by way of a decider...’ She trailed off. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’ She gave a quick, dismissive gesture.
He grinned and for a moment the tension between them dissolved and he was once again the Nick Kowalski she had once known—the wild boy from the wrong side of town, the boy with a motorbike who had only kept out of trouble with the law by not being caught, the boy with laughter in his wicked black eyes, the boy deemed wholly unsuitable for Rachel Beresford, only daughter of Westhampstead’s highly respected GP and his wife, Diana, herself a magistrate.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let me show you around and introduce you to the rest of the crew. I’m sure you’ll find them a good bunch on the whole.’
‘I’m sure I shall,’ said Rachel as she followed him out of his office and into the control room.
Half an hour later Rachel found herself sitting in her car in the car park of police headquarters. Before switching on the ignition, she sat for a while, her hands resting on the steering-wheel as she gazed up at the building before her. It had been a shock seeing Nick again, she couldn’t deny that. Even though since her return to Westhampstead she had met up with many old friends and acquaintances, she hadn’t expected to see Nick because she hadn’t known that he, too, had returned to their home town.
For a moment it had taken her right back to that long hot summer when she had returned from her girls’ boarding school for the holidays and had taken the car her parents had given her for passing her exams into the garage where Nick had worked as a mechanic. She’d seen him before, of course, around the town when she had been at home on holiday, and had long been attracted to his dark good looks and the stories of his rather wild reputation, but it had been that visit to the garage that had been the start of their brief, passionate affair. He’d asked her out and had picked her up from home on his motorbike, roaring off into the night with her riding pillion. Her parents had been appalled and had done everything in their power to bring the romance to an end. But Rachel had fallen head over heels in love and had had no intention of giving up her new boyfriend. They had spent the whole of that long hot summer together and when at last Rachel had gone to medical school she and Nick had written to each other for weeks.
But then his letters had suddenly stopped, leaving Rachel hurt and bewildered, and shortly afterwards Rachel’s mother had told her that she had seen Nick in town with someone else. Several years later Rachel had heard that he had married another local girl, the daughter of a friend of his mother. She in turn had got on with her own life and had thought she had put the boy from the wrong side of town firmly out of her mind.
Seeing him today had shown her otherwise and had brought the past sharply into focus once more. She wondered if he, too, had felt as she had, but somehow she doubted it. After all, it had been Nick who had stopped the contact between them, Nick who had married someone else. Not that she had carried a torch for him all these years, she told herself firmly. After all, she’d had Jeremy, hadn’t she? She frowned at the thought of Jeremy and at the way their relationship had gone, then with a little sigh she started the engine and drove out of the car park.
The Beresford Medical Centre, named after its founder, Rachel’s father James, was situated in an old Victorian house in a leafy avenue in the fashionable part of Westhampstead. James Beresford had retired some years previously and together with his wife was still living in Ashton House, the family home on the far side of town where Rachel had been brought up. Rachel’s mother was in poor health, having recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and both she and her husband had been delighted when Rachel had agreed to take up the position at the medical centre.
‘It’s what we’ve always wanted,’ her father had said as he’d hugged her.
‘I know,’ Rachel had replied, ‘but you mustn’t forget this is only a trial run—it may not turn out to be what I want permanently.’
‘Perhaps Jeremy will want to move down here,’ her father had added hopefully.
‘I shouldn’t count on it,’ Rachel had replied.
Now, as she entered the large hallway of the house, which had been turned into a spacious reception area, she made a conscious effort to put Jeremy out of her mind and concentrate on the fact that she would have a full afternoon surgery to face. But as she collected the bundle of patient records that receptionist Danielle Quilter passed to her, she found, somewhat disconcertingly, that it wasn’t Jeremy who dogged her thoughts but Nick.
‘Are you OK, Rachel?’ asked Danielle, peering up into her face.
‘Yes.’ Rachel paused and frowned. ‘Why?’
‘You look pale,’ said the girl, ‘like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
Rachel blinked. ‘Like I’ve