A Perfect Hero (14 page)

She somehow ended up in his arms, the steady beat of his heart under her ear, his back firm and warm beneath her hands. He pulled her down gently on to the bed and rocked her against his chest, murmuring soothingly as she cried out all her pain. Then he tipped her head back and stared down at her, his eyes dark with emotion.

‘God forgive me, Clare,’ he whispered raggedly. ‘I’ve tried—lord knows I’ve tried, but I can’t resist you …’

He made love to her then, tenderly at first, and then with rising passion to match her own, clinging to her at the end as if he would never let her go.

They slept tangled in each other’s arms, waking in the night to make love again slowly in the darkness.

When she woke, it was with a feeling of contentment
and well-being that had been absent for weeks. She stretched and opened her eyes, to find Michael propped up on one elbow, studying her with a haunted expression in his eyes.

‘Hi,’ she murmured, and reached up to touch him. He caught her wrist and held it, lowering it slowly to the bed.

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean last night to happen. I’m not going to apologise, I had warned you, and I can’t lie and say I regret it, because I don’t, but we mustn’t let it happen again.’

She closed her eyes and rolled away from him, numb with shock. She had thought last night changed everything, whereas, of course, it had changed nothing at all.

‘I’ll be moving out at the end of the week,’ she told him, and was appalled to find her voice shook. ‘Lizzi’s staff nurse is vacating her flat in the residence—I’ll see if I can get it.’

‘I think it would be as well,’ he said softly, and she was surprised to hear the tremor in his voice, too.

She slid out of the side of the bed and picked up her clothes from the floor, then walked out of his room, closing the door quietly behind her.

They avoided each other for the rest of the day. Lizzi rang to say that no one had taken Lucy’s flat and, provided she checked with the accommodation officer, there wouldn’t be a problem.

So that was that. Clare spent the afternoon in her room drafting a letter of resignation, which she handed in to the chief nursing officer the following morning. She wasn’t surprised to be called in to see her later in the day.

‘Why, Staff? You’re one of our best nurses, and as far as we’ve been aware, you’ve been happy here.’

‘It’s personal,’ Clare told her, twisting her hands together in her lap.

The CNO straightened the letter in front of her, and then looked up at Clare.

‘There were a lot of rumours about you and Mr Barrington, both before and after his tragic accident.’

Clare looked away. ‘It didn’t work out.’

‘For him.’

She nodded. ‘Please, I really don’t want to talk about it …’

‘How about if we moved you to a different department—perhaps out to the cottage hospital? There’s a vacancy there for a sister—you could apply for that.’

Clare shook her head. ‘It’s not far enough.’

The elderly woman behind the desk stood up and came round, laying her hand on Clare’s shoulder.

‘You’ll never outrun your memories, Clare, no matter how far you go.’

She sighed. ‘I know that, but maybe if I get right away I’ll be able to forget him sooner—damn …’

A tear splashed on to her hand, and another one. The CNO handed her a box of tissues and quietly left the room. After a few minutes Clare pulled herself together and returned to the ward, to find Mary O’Brien waiting for her.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said briskly, ‘but I think you’re right. It won’t do either of you any good to fall over each other all day long at work. Now, why don’t you go home? I can manage without you for the rest of the day, and you look as if you could do with some time to yourself.’

Clare shook her head. ‘No, Mary, let me stay, please? I haven’t got anywhere to go except here.’

‘Sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Right, well, in that case you can give Deborah Lewis a hand with the post-ops that have come back from Recovery. There are two arthoscopies, and a hip replacement, and when she comes down there’s a young woman with bunions who’s had a bilateral metatarsal osteotomy.’

‘Right. I’ll get on. And Mary?’

The sister looked up.

‘Thank you—for everything.’

She smiled understandingly. ‘You’re welcome.’

The day went quickly after that. Somehow, making the decision to leave and having it accepted made her feel more positive, although she was still dreading facing Michael again when she got home.

She needn’t have worried. There was a note for her propped up on the kitchen table.

Dear Clare, This isn’t working. If you need to contact me, I’m on
Henrietta
. Please feed O’Malley and let me know when you move. Michael.

He was gone.

L
UCY
H
ALLETT
moved out of her flat on Friday afternoon, and Clare moved in on Saturday. It took a couple of trips in her little car—when she had moved in with Michael, they had used his Volvo estate, which had swallowed up all the boxes of bits and pieces and memorabilia with ridiculous ease.

She was just standing in the kitchen indulging in a fit of nostalgia when there was a roaring and a spurt of gravel outside. Seconds later, Andrew strolled through the door.

‘Hi. How’s it going?’

‘I don’t know about it, but I’m going—I’ve got a flat and I’m moving out.’

He swore, softly but succinctly. ‘He surely doesn’t still think we had an affair?’

Clare sighed and sat down heavily. ‘Andrew, I don’t know what he thinks any more. He wouldn’t let me explain, wouldn’t talk about it. All he would say is that he doesn’t love me.’

‘So why are you still here?’

‘Because he needed looking after by someone, and I was the only one available.’

‘Damn.’ He dropped into another chair and leant on the table, propping his chin in his hand. ‘Clare, I’m sorry. I should have been here, but I was so mad with him—he’s always had this thing about me taking his women—’

‘And do you?’

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘I have done in the past—mainly to prove I could do it, and I wasn’t the only one. We were always pretty competitive with girls, and sometimes we’d swap just to see if they noticed. But there was one girl—I don’t know, we just had the chemistry, I suppose, and she got on better with me than she had with him—they had a showdown, and she said some pretty hurtful things to him. That was the last time I did it, though, and there’s no way I would have tried to come between you, with or without his accident. He needs someone like you, Clare. He’s a loner by default, really. He doesn’t like being alone, but not many people can put up with his temper.’

She laughed. She had certainly seen plenty of evidence of that in recent weeks. In fact, this week alone without him had seemed unbearably quiet.

‘Will you do me a favour? He’s living on
Henrietta
until I move out—would you go over and tell him I’ve gone, and bring him back?’

‘Sure. Do you want me to do it today?’

She nodded. ‘I think so. I worry about him down there on his own. And Andrew …’

‘Yes?’

‘Try and make it up with him. He was very upset after your row, and I know he’s missed talking to you. Pop’s mad with him too for some reason—he’s going to need you, if you can heal the breach.’

‘I’d intended to try—that’s why I’m here. I’ll go over now.’

She stood up and gathered the last of her things. ‘I’ve stocked the fridge and freezer up with food so he won’t have to worry about that for a few more days, and I fed the cat this morning. The beds have both got clean sheets on, and I’ve hoovered everywhere——’

She broke off, and bit her lip.

‘Do you want me to give him a message?’

‘No. There’s nothing to say, really, is there? You could give him my love, but there’s not a lot of point. I’m off. Take care of him for me, Andrew.’

She reached up and kissed his cheek, and he hugged her gently.

O’Malley came in and wound round her ankles, and she bent and smoothed his fur. ‘Bye bye, you old rascal,’ she whispered unevenly, and then she left, without looking back.

She didn’t see him again for almost two weeks, although she heard about him from Ross and Lizzi. Andrew had delayed his return to Germany for a few days and had patched up their quarrel, and while he was there he had taken Michael to Ross and Lizzi’s to swim every day, and they had taken
Henrietta
out a few times.

Michael no longer came in to the physiotherapy department, and she discovered from Tim Mayhew that he was coming back to work on the Monday—five weeks and three days after the accident. He would be there for a week with Mr Mayhew, and then the consultant was off for a fortnight on holiday, and Michael would be on his own.

By all accounts he was fit and well, and adjusting rapidly to life without his leg.

Clare wished she were adjusting as fast. The days seemed endless, and the nights—the nights were the worst. Long, lonely nights, racked with dreams which left her aching for his arms.

She thought she would win a place in the
Guinness Book of World Records
for the number of tears shed
in any given period. On the Thursday afternoon Deborah Lewis cornered her in the kitchen.

‘You look awful,’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m going to a party tomorrow night, and I don’t fancy going on my own. David’s away, and I would appreciate some company, and I think it would do you good. How about it?’

‘Oh, Deborah, I don’t think I’d be very good company——’

‘Come on! I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll meet you outside the residence at half-nine, OK?’

Clare sighed. ‘Oh, OK, but I’m warning you, I’ll be miserable.’

‘Rubbish. What you need is a little cheering up. A bit of booze, a bit of male attention—lots of doctors there, all those sexy young housemen—you never know, you might meet someone.’

She laughed. ‘Deborah, shut up. I’ve said I’ll come, let’s leave it at that.’

So there she was at the party with Deborah, fending off advances and wondering how quickly she could get away, when Michael came in, leaning on a stick, in the company of a stunning redhead.

She looked up and met his eyes, and her heart turned over. He looked tanned and healthy, but there was something missing—some vital spark that had disappeared at the time of the accident. He held her gaze for a few seconds, and then deliberately turned his attention back to the woman at his side.

Thereafter he ignored her. She didn’t know how he did it—easily, probably, if he didn’t love her—but there was no way she could ignore him. Her eyes followed his every move—and hers.

Deborah appeared at her side with a drink and shoved it into her nerveless hands.

‘Have this—you look as if you need it.’

She sipped and grimaced. ‘Who
is
that woman?’

‘The redhead? Jo Harding, Obs and Gynae senior reg. Stunning, isn’t she?’

Clare made a choked noise. ‘I hate her,’ she muttered.

‘Look, love, it’s going to happen,’ Deborah told her matter-of-factly. ‘He’s a hell of a man, and let’s face it, losing part of his leg isn’t exactly going to affect his performance, is it?’

Clare flushed.

‘Sorry, that was tactless. Do you want to go?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I know it’s stupid, but perhaps if I see him with her for long enough, I’ll get to hate him.’

‘That’s the spirit—talking of which, get that brandy down your neck.’

She toyed with it for half a miserable hour, and then fed it to a plant. Michael and Jo Harding had disappeared and there was no sign of Deborah. She decided to go, and went upstairs to look for Deborah and tell her that she was going to make her way home. The stairs were cluttered with people chatting and laughing, escaping from the endless beat of the music in order to catch up on gossip and build bridges into new relationships. She squeezed between them, and found herself on the landing in a queue for the loo.

‘Anyone seen Deborah Lewis?’ she asked, and then a door opened behind her and Michael and Jo Harding came out of a darkened room together. His hair was rumpled, his shirt untucked, and he looked—she swallowed. He looked sexy as hell.

Jo smiled at him, her eyes warmly appreciative. ‘Better?’ she purred, her voice deep and husky.

‘Wonderful—thank you, Jo.’

‘Any time,’ the redhead replied. ‘I enjoyed getting my hands on that gorgeous body!’

He laughed, a slow, sexy laugh that Clare knew well, and turned towards the stairs.

There was no way to escape. His eyes met hers and his lips parted as if he was going to speak, but then he squeezed past her, his body hot and hard against her, and she could have wept. Then Jo passed her, her curves soft and lush on her tall frame, and Clare had to clench her fists so she didn’t scratch her eyes out.

She gave them a few minutes to get out of the hall, then she made her way down the stairs and through the front door.

On the way out she met Ross and Lizzi coming in, and her distress was so apparent that Lizzi took her on one side and calmed her down, gradually extracting the story from her after a few incoherent minutes.

‘The rat!’ she said when Clare had finished. ‘How could he? I mean, fair enough to have a relationship, perhaps, but to be so public—I really would have thought better of him.’

Ross offered to drive her home, and Lizzi quickly agreed.

‘I didn’t want to go to the party anyway, but it was someone in Ross’s department so we thought we should—we’ll blame it on the baby!’

Clare sat in the back of Ross’s car as it purred quietly back to the hospital, totally unaware of her luxurious surroundings. When they pulled up, Ross and Lizzi got out of the car and Ross opened her door.

‘Your destination, ma’am,’ he said with mock deference.

She summoned up a smile and climbed out of the car. Her legs felt as if they would hardly hold her. She thanked them for the lift, and then out of habit she offered them a coffee.

‘I’m afraid it’s only instant, or you can have tea or fruit juice.’

‘Clare?’

She turned towards them at Lizzi’s softly voiced enquiry.

‘Are you being polite, or would you like some company?’

She stared at her feet. ‘Actually, all I really want to do is crawl into a corner and cry my eyes out,’ she confessed miserably.

‘Right.’ Lizzi took Ross’s arm. ‘Come on, we’re going home. Come over and see us if you want company any time. Don’t sit inside your flat until you get cabin fever.’

Thanking them, she made her way back to her flat and let herself in, sagging back against the door. Damn it, she thought, how
dare
that bloody woman get her hands on him? ‘He’s mine!’ she sobbed. ‘Mine! You can’t have him!’

She already has, a little voice taunted, and Clare picked up a nearby vase and hurled it against the wall, before crumpling against the door and letting the tears fall yet again.

On Sunday she went for a drive, and found herself out near Michael’s cottage. Parking near the end of the track which led to it, but out of sight, she walked
towards the cottage, ready to duck behind the hedge if he appeared.

As she reached the entrance into the drive she saw Ross’s car parked beside the Volvo, and her steps faltered. Then she heard footsteps on the gravel, and quickly hid behind a shrub.

As they approached, she heard Ross speaking.

‘I think you’re being a fool. You obviously love her—why not give her the benefit of the doubt?’

‘Oh, Ross, I can’t risk it. She can’t love me—not after such a short time. If I’d met her after the accident, I would be more sure, but it was so sudden, so quick. One minute I didn’t know her, and the next we were engaged. We didn’t have any time to get to know each other, but I know her better now, and I know she’d stand by me even if she hated my guts. She’s that kind of girl, Ross. She takes commitment seriously. That’s why I can’t hold her to it. I had to let her go.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t want to go? I think she loves you, Michael—genuinely, truly loves you. I think you’re doing her a grave injustice by not believing her.’

Michael laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, no. You should have heard her in the train, begging me not to take the other bloke’s foot off because he would be a cripple. When I came round, all I could hear was her voice saying that, over and over again—he’ll be a cripple, he’ll be a cripple—God almighty, Ross, you have no idea what I went through. Losing my leg was nothing; waking up to the realisation that I’d lost Clare was infinitely worse.’

‘But she’s stood by you, Michael—has she ever said anything to make you think she finds your injury unacceptable, or pities you? Do you really think she finds you unattractive?’

There was a lengthy silence, during which Clare remembered all the times she had had to shove her hands in her pockets to keep from touching him. Unattractive? She almost laughed aloud.

‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘She’s too sensitive to my feelings to be that transparent. She pretends all this empathy, but I know it’s just pity, really.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ross replied. ‘I think she loves you, and your leg doesn’t matter a damn to her. Of course she’s sorry it happened—we all were. You can’t hold that against her. Good grief, man, she’d be a callous bitch if she felt nothing! Can I give you my honest opinion? I think you’re wallowing in self-pity, and I think you’re afraid. I think you’re crippling yourself, emotionally, to punish yourself for staying in that carriage when she wanted you to get out. I think you’re trying to turn yourself into a hero to make up for what you perceive as your inadequacy—and I think you’re a fool, because you’re throwing away the love of a good woman for the sake of your pride.’

‘That’s rubbish!’

‘Is it? Think about it. Come on, Lizzi will be waiting.’

She heard the car doors slam, and ducked lower behind the hedge as the car reversed out of the drive and then pulled slowly away down the track. Peering carefully through the leaves, she could see Michael sitting in the front of the car next to Ross, staring rigidly ahead.

She watched the car out of sight, then straightened her aching legs and stood up. O’Malley came running up, and she absently lifted him and draped him round her neck. He purred furiously, overjoyed to see her again.

‘Tell me something, O’Malley,’ she said shakily. ‘If
he loves me, then why is he sleeping so openly with that damned redhead?’

O’Malley squawked and rubbed his head against her cheek.

‘That’s just what I think—she’s a brazen tart. Damn it, she’s only known him a few weeks!’ she exclaimed in disgust, and then rather belatedly remembered her own speedy fall from chastity in his arms. ‘I wonder if he gives her the same old line about being her other half?’ she asked the cat in a choked voice.

Disentangling him from her hair, she set him down and walked back to her car, her thoughts confused.

If he did love her, as Ross suggested, and if he was so heartbroken at ending their relationship, then that could explain how he had found it so difficult to live with her, and why he had allowed himself to weaken and make love to her on the two bitter-sweet occasions that his rigid self-control had lapsed—but if that was the case, as she would dearly love to believe, then why that damned redhead?