Three Amazing Things About You (12 page)

‘Of course you are. Have a fantastic time, sweetheart.’

‘We will. What time are you leaving for Edinburgh?’

‘Not until six. Pete can’t get away before then.’

Six? Bugger. Hallie looked up at the ticking clock on the wall. Subterfuge wasn’t so much fun when you were shivery and feverish and it was still only two o’clock. But her mum had been so looking forward to this weekend away with Pete, her boyfriend; nothing must be allowed to spoil it.

Aloud she said, ‘Ooh, better go, they’re calling for me to board. I’ll see you on Sunday night, OK? Have fun!’

It was fine, Luke told himself. It was
completely
fine and there was no need whatsoever to feel guilty. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Hallie was a friend. She currently happened to be a friend in need, and all he was doing was offering to help her out.

The fact that she was also his patient was entirely irrelevant. It wasn’t as if anything untoward was going to happen.

He left the surgery at three and drove back to the cottage he’d been renting on the edge of the village since moving to Carranford. Hallie had texted to let him know she was twenty minutes away. Panicking slightly, he’d pictured the place through her eyes. Not having been expecting a visitor, he needed to do a speedy tidy-up. He unlocked the front door, gazed wildly around and headed for the kitchen. Right, OK,
go
.

For fifteen minutes he worked like lightning. Stuff was shoved back into cupboards and windows were flung open to dispel the lingering smell of last night’s fish and chips. Not wanting to irritate Hallie’s lungs, he didn’t risk spraying air freshener but splashed a bit of his best aftershave on to the curtains instead. Magazines were collected up and cleared away, coffee mugs and a couple of plates were thrown into the sink, and in the living room the cushions he never bothered with were retrieved from behind the sofa and placed at jaunty angles next to each arm. No time to vacuum, but he picked a few crumbs off the carpet and did a bit of emergency dusting with a J Cloth. Gym clothes and trainers were stuffed into his sports bag and hidden in the utility room. The empty tube of paprika Pringles he’d finished last night went into the bin. God, preparing the place for unexpected guests was
exhausting
.

Just as he was finishing, he heard the sound of tyres on gravel and looked out of the window – great, a bird had left its calling card
all
the way down the glass – to see the airport cab pulling up outside.

Hallie was here.

He went outside to greet her. She was looking pale, feverish and exhausted.

‘Thanks so much. Sorry to be a pain. I feel like a right Nellie No-Mates.’ Hallie coughed into a tissue and managed a weak smile.

‘Hey, no problem, happy to help.’ He lifted her wheelchair out of the cab, followed by the boxes of equipment and her suitcase. ‘And you do have mates. They just all happen to be in Paris for the next three days.’

‘But you stepped up. Like a complete star. And as soon as my mum’s left, I can go home.’

‘You don’t have to. You’re welcome to stay.’

‘I know. I hate to be a nuisance, though.’ She shrugged and coughed again. ‘You don’t want your weekend messed up too.’

Luke shook his head. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside for now. You’re not well. We can argue about the rest later.’

He carried everything into the cottage, closed the windows, settled Hallie on the cushion-strewn sofa and fixed up the oxygen feed. She administered her next dose of IV medication via the portacath in her chest.

‘Now, what can I get you? Coffee? Tea? Anything to eat?’

‘Actually, don’t worry. I’m feeling a bit wiped out. All that pretending to be well earlier . . . it’s pretty exhausting.’ She half smiled. ‘Whatever it is you’re cooking, by the way, I think it’s done.’

‘What? Oh God . . .’ In his desperation to cover up the fish-and-chip smell, he’d switched the oven up high and thrown in a slice of bread because an estate agent had once recommended it for giving potential properties that fresh-baked air of homeliness.

In the kitchen, he discovered that the bread was now charcoal. Feeling like a complete idiot, he flung open the windows once more and energetically dispersed the billowing clouds of smoke with a tea towel.

By the time he’d finished fumigating the kitchen, making tea, unwrapping a cake from the village store – because he wasn’t Superman – and carrying everything through to the living room – Hallie was fast asleep.

He paused in the doorway, holding the tray in front of him. She was lying on her side on the faded red sofa, her breathing shallow but regular. The nasal specs were in place, boosting her oxygen intake by a couple of litres a minute. If she needed it, she could switch to the portable non-invasive ventilator he’d unpacked and left on the table beside her.

But for now he’d leave her in peace, to sleep and regain some energy.

She looked beautiful, with her cheek resting on her hand and her other arm dangling over the edge of the sofa. Those dark lashes covered the shadows beneath her eyes, and her delicate bone structure was accentuated by the glow of the fringed table lamp behind her. She was wearing a navy jersey top and skirt, navy tights and a deep purple wraparound cardigan-type thing. She’d taken off her boots. Were her feet cold? Her circulation wasn’t good . . .

And look at me, standing here in the doorway like Mrs Overall.
Luke glanced down at the tray in his hands, turned around and took it back to the kitchen. He would get on with some paperwork in the office, leave Hallie to sleep for now and check up on her in an hour.

At nine o’clock, she was still sound asleep. Luke had checked on her regularly, in between catching up on admin, cooking a roast dinner and watching a mind-boggling documentary on the tiny kitchen TV about extreme cosmetic surgery in Beverly Hills. God, some people were weird. The pain they chose to put themselves through. One woman was undergoing her seventh procedure in order to correct her slightly asymmetric toes.

The chicken was resting and was ready to be carved, gravy made, vegetables keeping warm in the oven. He returned to the living room and saw Hallie’s lashes flicker as the door creaked open.

It wasn’t wrong, was it, to have her staying here?

But the flicker of guilt was still there, because no matter that he would never dream of acting on his feelings for her, they still existed. And if she weren’t his patient, if they were simply two friends who lived in the same village and enjoyed each other’s company . . . well, then of course at some stage he would let her know how he felt.

Luke felt his stomach muscles tighten at the thought of it. Whether Hallie would ever be interested in him in return was quite another matter, but since it was never going to happen anyway, it was irrelevant.

He was a GP and Hallie Kingsley was his patient. Apart from a single visit to his colleague Jennifer for a gynae concern, since his arrival in Carranford she’d always been seen by him. Furthermore, he knew from her mother how relieved Hallie was to no longer have to cope with Jennifer’s brusque attitude. His partner in the practice might be an excellent doctor, but her manner was unfortunate.

Anyway, that was the situation and nothing was going to change it. Luke exhaled. For the sake of all involved, he’d learned to keep his emotions absolutely in check. She would never know how much she—

‘What time is it?’ Hallie’s dark eyes were open and she was blinking, getting her bearings.

‘Nine.’

‘Wow. I was tired.’ She flexed her shoulders and sat up. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. You needed the rest. How are you feeling now?’

‘Bit better.’ She smiled. ‘Hungry.’

‘Excellent. I have food.’

‘I know, I can tell. My amazing super-powers tell me it’s roast chicken.’

He shrugged modestly. ‘My signature dish.’

‘Really?’ Her gaze was innocent. ‘I thought your signature dish was charcoal toast.’

Wow, Luke did actually know how to cook. By eleven o’clock, Hallie was finishing her second plateful of food.

‘These roast potatoes are fantastic,’ she marvelled. ‘And that’s a compliment, because I’m a connoisseur. Seriously, these are almost as good as mine.’

‘I’m honoured.’ Amused, Luke put the last potato on her plate. ‘Try this one, it might be even better.’

‘Oh God, it’s Mum again.’ Hallie’s phone was beeping with yet another message. She pulled a face; she’d diverted all calls to voicemail so the dialling tone wouldn’t give away the fact that she wasn’t in France, but she couldn’t put it off any longer. ‘I’ll have to call her back.’

She rang the number, coughing first to clear her throat and prepare to sound well.

‘There you are!’ her mum exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you answer before? I was worried about you!’

‘Mum, everything’s fine. We were out at a bistro. Now we’re back at the hotel.’

Years of worry had fine-tuned Fay’s ears to the sound of her voice. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You sound chesty.’

‘I’m great. Just tired. That’s why I’m in bed.’ To divert attention away from her lungs, Hallie said, ‘The hotel’s fantastic and my room’s really nice!’

Well, it had looked good on the website.

‘Oh darling, I’d love to see it! I know, why don’t we Skype? Then you can show me everything!’

Aaarrgh
. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. Bea tried earlier and there isn’t enough signal.’

‘Oh that’s a shame. But at least you can send photos! Take a picture and email it to me now!’

‘Um . . .’ Shit, shit. Hallie switched to speakerphone so Luke could hear what was going on too.

‘You can do it while you’re talking to me.’ Fay’s tone was eager. ‘Go on, sweetie, take a photo so I can see your room!’

‘OK, hang on.’ Thinking fast, Hallie gazed around Luke’s living room and found a section that was safe to photograph. Switching to the camera and holding up the phone, she directed the lens at the area with the comfortable blue sofa to the left, the coffee table in front of it and the curtained window to the right. There were a couple of framed paintings on the wall. Whoops, and a medical journal was visible on the shelf next to the window. Hastily gesturing for Luke to remove it, she took the photo and emailed it to her mother. ‘Right, sent. How’s Edinburgh?’

‘Wonderful, darling. Bit rainy, but so beautiful. Pete sends his love, by the way; we’re having such fun . . . wow, the photo’s here already, that was quick. I thought there wasn’t much signal. Oh dear, you said your room was really nice!’

‘Mum! It
is
.’ Bugger, speakerphones had their downside.

‘Sorry, didn’t mean it like that. I just thought the hotel was really modern. I suppose I was expecting a bit more glitz and glamour.’

‘I know, and the rest of it is like that, but I’m in the annexe because of my wheelchair. And it’s
lovely
,’ Hallie stressed. ‘All cosy and warm. I much prefer this kind of room.’

‘Well as long as you’re happy.’ Sounding doubtful, her mother said, ‘But it doesn’t look terribly French. Is the bed OK?’

‘Of course it’s OK!’

‘I mean, is it clean?’

‘Mum . . .’ Hallie broke into a cough.

‘Oh darling, you do sound chesty. Take a photo of yourself and let me see you. Is it a French-looking bed? I
love
those ones with the carved headboards.’

Luckily, Luke knew what a worrier her mum was. Already ahead of her, he was pointing to the staircase and lifting the oxygen cylinder. Hallie nodded and rose to her feet, and together, connected by the clear plastic tubing of her nasal cannulae, they silently ascended the stairs.

Luke’s bedroom was small but pretty tidy. The duvet was deep red, the pillowcases blue and white striped, the bed a standard double. He placed the cylinder on the floor next to the bed, threw back the duvet and helped Hallie into it. Her mum was chattering on about Edinburgh and Princes Street now, as Luke plumped up the pillows and she arranged herself accordingly.

Holding up the camera, Hallie took a photo of herself cosily ensconced in Luke’s bed.
Ooh, Matron
. . .

‘This one’s taking longer to get through,’ said her mother. ‘Oh, here it comes now.’ There was silence as she studied the photograph. ‘Hmm, well if you say it’s all right. Bit quirky, though, having striped pillowcases in a hotel.’

All right, Miss Marple
. In a firm voice, Hallie said, ‘I like quirky. And it’s red, white and blue, like the French flag.’

‘Where are the other girls?’

‘Down in the bar. I’m having an early night, ready for tomorrow. I’ll be the smug one without a hangover.’

‘Well make sure you don’t overtire yourself. Night, sweetheart, I’ll give you another call tomorrow, see how you’re doing. Make sure you keep your phone switched on.’

With the call over, Luke carried the oxygen cylinder back downstairs and Hallie followed him. Reinstated on the sofa, she said, ‘Sorry, I know it’s stupid. She’s my mum, though.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘I’m twenty-eight.’ Hallie shrugged good-naturedly. ‘Sometimes you’d think I was six.’

‘She’s never going to stop worrying about you.’

‘Because she doesn’t know how long she has left
to
worry about me.’ As Hallie said it, another message pinged up on her phone and she glanced at the screen.

‘Your mum again?’

‘No. It’s from Nick.’

‘Ex-boyfriend Nick?’ Luke knew the name; they’d talked about him before. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Melbourne. Crewing on a yacht. Swimming with dolphins, snorkelling with seals. Having fun.’

Nick had sent a photo as well, of himself and his friends celebrating the end of a perfect day on the yacht. Their faces were the epitome of happiness, their bodies lithe and tanned as they beamed and raised their bottles of beer to the camera, whilst behind them the sun began to set, its rippled reflection bright in the glittering cobalt sea . . .

Hallie tilted the phone so Luke could see it too. ‘And unlike our faked photos, his are the real deal.’

‘How does that feel?’

She paused, then said drily, ‘It’s nice of him to keep in touch. But sometimes . . . well, I could do without the reminders.’