Once Upon a Christmas (21 page)

S
HE
still couldn’t quite believe that she’d agreed to this.

She’d fled to the Lake District expecting to spend a month licking her wounds alone in Bryony’s little cottage.

But so far, apart from her long sleep, she hadn’t had five minutes alone.

And now she was going to be working in a full-time job and Oliver was living in the cottage with her so there was absolutely no way she was going to be able to find the privacy to brood.

Oh, well, maybe that was a good thing, Helen thought as she climbed into the four-wheel drive next to Oliver. After all, brooding wasn’t going to change anything. Brooding wasn’t going to bring David back.

She glanced across at Oliver, suddenly very conscious of his hard, powerful brand of masculinity. If she had to find one word to describe him, it would be ‘strong.’ Everything about Oliver was strong. He was the sort of man who could handle anything. The sort of man that everyone would turn to in a crisis.

Including her.

And if he’d been eye-catching in the formality of a dinner jacket, he was even more handsome in casual clothes.

A pair of ancient jeans clung to the solid muscle of his thighs and a thick jacket emphasised the breadth of his shoulders.

Suddenly wondering why she was noticing the way Oliver looked, Helen fumbled with her seat-belt. It was just because he was such a dependable person, she told herself. And she was feeling vulnerable.

‘Are you OK?’ He smiled at her. ‘Boots OK?”

Helen glanced down at her feet, now encased in a pair of sturdy boots. ‘They’re great. Surprisingly stylish.’

Oliver grinned. ‘Believe it or not, even Bryony refuses to totally sacrifice style for practicality. Those are her everyday boots. When I take you walking you’ll need something more sturdy. And you’ll need to borrow some extra layers.’

‘I’m already wearing hundreds of layers.’ Helen fingered the waterproof jacket, still feeling vaguely uncomfortable at having borrowed her friend’s clothes.

‘I hope Bryony doesn’t mind about this.’

‘Well, she’s not wearing them,’ Oliver said logically, glancing over his shoulder as he turned the vehicle in the drive, ‘and you’re about the same size, fortunately.’

‘I could have managed with my own clothes.’

‘Helen—’ his tone was patient ‘—your case was full of London clothes. Great for parties and lunches but we don’t do a lot of that up here. Here you’re more likely to be rescuing a stray sheep from the side of the road and that’s easier if you’re not in stilettos.’

She couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘And you’ve tried it in stilettos, of course.’

His glance was solemn. ‘I ruined my favourite pair doing just that.’

She laughed, amazed by how comfortable she felt with him considering she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours.

He pulled out onto the road and switched on some music, his hands firm and confident on the wheel. ‘So did you do a lot of that in London? Parties and lunches?’

‘My fiancé—ex-fiancé,’ she corrected herself swiftly, ‘is a lawyer and he expected me to do lots of entertaining.’

He glanced at her curiously before returning his attention to the road. ‘I can’t imagine you enjoying all that. Did you?’

Suddenly realising that she’d never even asked herself that question before, Helen was silent for a moment. ‘No,’ she said finally, ‘I don’t think I did particularly. It was a lot of pressure and they were nearly always strangers and I was expected to behave in a certain way …’ She glanced down at herself again and gave a small smile. ‘If David could see me now, he’d throw a fit.’

Oliver winked at her. ‘Then maybe we should send him a photo,’ he drawled, and she laughed.

‘He’d hate me dressed like this, that’s for sure. His idea of casual dress is something tartan with a label.’

‘Oh, trust me, you’re wearing serious labels.’ Oliver smiled. ‘But they’re mountain labels. That gear will gain you instant credibility up here. Everyone will immediately assume that you know how to fasten your crampons.’

Helen looked at him in alarm. ‘Then perhaps you’d better tell me what they are.’

Oliver laughed. ‘Metal teeth that you fasten to the bottom of your boots when you want to walk on snow or ice.’

Helen looked at him doubtfully. ‘Why would I want to walk on snow or ice? It sounds dangerous.’

‘It’s fun.’ Oliver flicked the indicator and turned down a side road, pulling up outside a row of cottages. Then he turned to face her, something glittering in his blue eyes as he looked at her. ‘If David would hate you dressed like that then the man is obviously a fool.’

Taken aback by the compliment and the look in his eyes, Helen caught her breath. ‘I know you’re just trying to make me feel better,’ she muttered, ‘but thank you anyway.’

‘I’m not trying to make you feel better,’ Oliver said calmly, undoing his seat-belt and reaching into the back for his coat. ‘I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, apart from the black circles under your eyes-but we’ll get rid of those soon.’

The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen?

Helen glanced at him, startled, and then looked away quickly, thoroughly flustered by the warm appraisal in those wicked blue eyes.

‘So who are we seeing here?’

‘My Hilda,’ he said evenly. ‘I don’t know what to do with her. I’m waiting for inspiration so any suggestions will be gratefully received.’

‘What’s her problem?’

‘She lost her husband last summer and “lost” is the operative word.’ He reached into the back of the vehicle for his bag. ‘She no longer has a reason to live.’

‘That’s awful.’ Helen felt her heart twist with sympathy. ‘It makes me feel very selfish and self-indulgent, stewing in my own worries.’

Oliver turned to her with a frown and his hand covered hers. ‘No, don’t think that. You’re entitled to feel sad and cheated. But you’ll recover because David obviously wasn’t the right man for you, and once you realise that you’ll be fine.’ He let go of her hand and jumped out of the car. ‘Unfortunately, that isn’t the case for Hilda. Barry was wonderful and she adored him. Can you imagine that? Being with the same person for fifty-five years?’

He shook his head and started to walk up the path towards the cottage. Helen followed him, still thinking about what he’d said.

David wasn’t the right man for you.

Of course David was the right man. Helen frowned, suddenly feeling confused. She’d loved him. Really loved him. She’d agreed to marry him, for goodness’ sake.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on Oliver’s words because the door to one of the cottages opened suddenly and a woman stood there, her silver-grey hair and her slightly bent posture betraying her age.

‘Dr Hunter.’ She gave a tired smile and shook her head. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me on a Sunday?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Oliver spread his hands apologetically. ‘There’s no food in my house, I’m starving hungry and I thought you might have made one of your amazing chocolate cakes.’

Hilda gave a sigh and looked at Helen. ‘He pretends that
I’m doing him a favour when, in fact, we both know that he’s just checking up on me.’

‘This is Helen. She’s my new practice nurse,’ Oliver said, gently nudging Hilda back inside the house and gesturing to Helen to follow her inside. ‘She’s helping me out until Maggie gets back from Australia.’

Hilda looked startled. ‘But I saw Maggie yesterday and she didn’t say—’

‘She managed to get a flight last night,’ Oliver interrupted smoothly, ‘so finally she’s going to see that new granddaughter of hers. It was all very much a last-minute thing.’

‘Goodness, it must have been.’ Hilda looked startled and then smiled and took them into the small living room. ‘Well, that’s excellent news,’ she said wistfully, and then turned to Helen. ‘My family are all down south and it’s too far for them to come, although they’re very good about phoning. I lost my Barry last year, you see.’

‘Dr Hunter told me,’ Helen said gently. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

‘Well, we knew it was coming.’ Hilda gave a wan smile. ‘He was very ill but thanks to Dr Hunter he didn’t suffer. He’s an amazing doctor and I owe him so much.’ She glanced at Oliver who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘I suppose you’re too busy for a cup of tea.’

‘I’m never too busy for a cup of tea,’ Oliver said immediately, and Helen hid her surprise.

In the London practice where she’d worked, she’d never known the doctors accept a cup of tea. In fact, it was pretty rare that they did their own house calls, she reflected. They nearly always handed them over to a deputising service.

But not only was Oliver saying yes to tea, he’d actually wandered through to the kitchen to put the kettle on himself.

‘The cake is in the tin, Dr Hunter. You know which shelf,’ Hilda called after him, turning back to Helen with a sad smile. ‘Poor Oliver.’ Her voice was soft. ‘He so badly needs to fix everything for everyone. He was the same as a child. Always wanting to put things right. But not everything in this life can be fixed.’

‘He’s worried about you …’

‘I know. He’s a dear boy.’ Hilda sighed and flexed her fingers, looking down at her wedding ring. ‘And he shouldn’t keep coming here. There are plenty of sick people out there who need him and there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just lonely.’

‘Do you go out at all, Hilda?’

‘Well, the bus service isn’t that great from here,’ the older woman confessed, ‘and most of the time I just don’t have the energy. And now there’s snow on the ground I’m afraid of slipping and breaking something.’

Helen nodded, glancing up as Oliver strolled in carrying a tray loaded with tea and an enormous chocolate cake.

Hilda looked at the cake. ‘Did you bring a knife to cut that, dear?’

‘No need for a knife,’ Oliver said smugly. ‘I can eat it as it is.’

Hilda laughed. ‘You’re just like my Barry. He never could resist my chocolate cake either. What about you, Helen, will you have a slice?’

She’d barely eaten for a fortnight and suddenly, in the space of a few hours, she’d been confronted with a bacon
sandwich and now chocolate cake. Helen opened her mouth to refuse politely and then caught Oliver’s eye.

‘I’d love some,’ she heard herself saying weakly. ‘It’s my favourite and it does look really delicious.’

It
was
delicious, and for someone who didn’t think she had an appetite, Helen devoured her slice with remarkable ease.

They spent another hour with Hilda, and Oliver talked openly about things that were happening in the surrounding villages, things that he thought might interest Hilda.

Her face lit up as she joined in the conversation, talking about people she’d known since she was a girl. But when they finally rose to leave there was no missing the desolation in her eyes and Helen found it hard to tear herself away.

‘I don’t like leaving her there on her own,’ she confessed, and Oliver sighed wearily.

‘I know. It really gets to you, doesn’t it?’

‘Would she move house? She seemed quite animated when you talked about things that were happening. This is a pretty lonely spot. Perhaps if she was in the centre of town she wouldn’t feel so isolated.’ Helen frowned, remembering what Hilda had said about being afraid to go on the bus in the winter.

‘She and Barry lived in that house for the whole of their marriage.’

‘But she doesn’t have Barry anymore,’ Helen said softly. ‘She needs company. She needs to get involved in the community.’

Oliver gave her a thoughtful look. ‘To be honest, it never even occurred to me to suggest that she think about moving.
She’s lived in that cottage since she married Barry so I assumed that she wouldn’t want to leave it.’

‘But her life has changed.’ Helen brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. And perhaps she can’t build a new life if she’s still surrounded by the old one.’

She frowned, realising that she could be easily talking about herself, and Oliver’s blue eyes gleamed with understanding.

‘So you think my Hilda should throw out her stiletto heels?’

Helen smiled. ‘Something like that.’

‘Well, it’s certainly a thought.’

‘At least you know about her and you’re keeping an eye on her.’ Helen gave a wry smile. ‘I have to confess that in London, I don’t think anyone would have checked on her unless she’d called the surgery.’

‘Hilda has never called the surgery,’ Oliver said dryly, unlocking his car and dumping his bag inside. ‘Hilda would rather die quietly than bother anyone. She’d just become steadily more and more depressed.’

But that wasn’t going to happen while Oliver was around.

As Oliver fastened his seat-belt his hand brushed hers and Helen looked at him, suddenly noticing the thickness of his dark lashes and the creases around his eyes.

He was gorgeous.

Confused by her own thoughts, she looked away quickly, her heart thudding steadily in her chest.

Two weeks ago she’d assumed that she was going to be spending the rest of her life with David. How could she so quickly find another man attractive?

She’d never been the sort of girl to flit from one romance to another.

David had been her first proper boyfriend.

Quickly she turned her attention back to Hilda. ‘I suppose it’s important to just keep watching her.’

‘Oh, I’m watching her,’ Oliver said calmly. ‘It’s very easy to dismiss depression in the elderly. You say to yourself, “Well, she’s old and lonely, what do you expect?” whereas, in fact, a proportion of elderly patients will have a clinical depression that can be helped by medication.’

‘But you haven’t prescribed anything for her yet?’

Oliver shook his head. ‘And I don’t want to unless I’m sure she needs it. But I will if I have to.’

Helen nodded. ‘If you like, I could do some digging around to see if there are any suitable properties.’

Oliver shot her a curious look. ‘You don’t know the area.’

‘If I’m seriously going to be working here then I’d better hire myself a car,’ Helen said practically, ‘in which case I’ll have the means to get out and explore.’

Oliver was silent for a moment. ‘No need to hire a car,’ he said finally, starting the engine and releasing the handbrake. ‘You can drive this one. I’ll drive my sex machine.’