In Dr. Darling’s Care

CHAPTER FOUR

Memo:

Real doctors do not whimper and disintegrate into their wimpy wheelchairs.

Real doctors stand up for more than five minutes.

I will not fall flat on my face.

I will smile at Mrs Jordon and try not to think that a ninety-three-year-old heart patient is travelling with more speed than I am.

I will not think of Lizzie.

I will not interfere… I will not try and reach the end of the corridor where I can hear her voice.

Damn, I can’t reach the end of the corridor. Not on crutches.

I will just sit back in my wheelchair for a moment and maybe let it roll forward. Just to stay out of the way while I have a rest. Not because I can hear every word she and Lillian are saying…

‘SO HOW’S it working out?’

‘What?’ Lizzie was sitting on Lillian’s bed, watching the girl eat her dinner. Or rather watching the girl trying not to eat her dinner.

This was a huge, long-running battle. There were lots of psychological things happening here. By rights Lillian should be in a purpose-designed psychiatric unit, getting the treatment she needed, but that was out of the question.

‘My daughter’s not a nutter,’ Richard Mark had growled when Lizzie had raised the issue. ‘She shouldn’t even be in hospital, much less a mental institution.’

‘It’s not a mental institution. It’s just a centre for kids with problems like Lillian. Lillian’s about forty per cent below minimum recommended body weight. She’s dangerously ill.’

‘Her mother can feed her.’

‘You know that’s why Dr McKay put her in hospital,’ Lizzie had told him. ‘Lillian’s been eating when forced, but then making herself vomit afterwards. If she loses any more weight she’ll go into kidney failure. She’ll die.’

The shock tactics had worked a little-but not enough.

‘OK. She can stay with you. But not a mental institution. No way.’

At least the hospital was quiet, Lizzie thought thankfully. Someone needed to stay with Lillian while she ate, supervising every mouthful that went in, and then she had to be watched for at least an hour afterwards or the meal came straight back up.

In the emergency medicine Lizzie was accustomed to, she’d never helped with such a patient, but the first night she’d been here all the staff had been busy and she’d volunteered. To her astonishment she’d found it incredibly rewarding. She was gaining real rapport with the troubled teenager and there was a distinct flush to the girl’s cheeks which hadn’t been there a week ago.

If she was weighed Lizzie was sure she’d have gained a little, she thought, looking at her now as she toyed with her meal, but there was no way she was letting the girl near scales. She had to agree she was looking better before she could horrify herself with the concept of gaining weight.

‘You and Dr Harry.’ The girl lifted a fork loaded with a whole pea and looked at it dubiously.

‘Three peas,’ Lizzie told her. She leaned over, took the fork from the girl’s fingers, reloaded the peas and offered it to her again. ‘Eat.’

‘But-’

‘Down.’

Lillian hesitated. And swallowed.

‘Great,’ Lizzie asked. ‘We’ll have you as cuddly as me in no time. Lillian, do you think I’m fat?’ She took the fork and reloaded it.

‘You?’

‘Me.’

Lillian looked at her, assessing. ‘Those jeans look cute,’ she said.

‘They do, don’t they?’ Lizzie wiggled herself on the bedclothes and looked across at the mirror. ‘And I know this T-shirt is tight but if I lose any more weight then my boobs shrink. There’s nothing worse than shrunk boobs.’

‘Isn’t there?’

‘No,’ Lizzie said definitely. ‘Eat.’

Lillian looked at her fork. She looked at Lizzie’s…boobs? And ate.

‘Terrific,’ Lizzie told her, and poked out her chest. ‘You’ll have nice boobs in no time.’

‘You don’t think my boobs are nice now?’ Lillian asked anxiously, and Lizzie shook her head.

‘They’re pimples, not boobs. Real women are cuddly. Like me.’

‘Does Dr McKay think you’re cuddly?’

‘I bet he does.’

‘And you’re sharing a house with him.’

‘Eat that sausage,’ Lizzie growled. ‘All up.’

‘Why? I don’t need it.’

‘You do need it. We’re in boob-growing mode here. Besides, if you want to talk about grown-up stuff you have to act like a grown-up.’

‘Like…’ Lillian nibbled an end of the sausage. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, are we talking about what a hunk Dr McKay is?’

‘Mmm.’ Lillian smiled. Girl talk. She was very definitely interested. ‘You think he’s a hunk?’

‘Bite and swallow and I’ll tell you.’

‘OK.’

‘Once more.’

‘That’s cheating.’

‘I won’t tell you.’

Bite. Swallow. ‘OK.’

‘Definitely a hunk,’ Lizzie said, trying not to notice that the plate was now half-empty. This was better than Lillian had done all week. ‘If he wasn’t in a wheelchair and engaged to Emily, I definitely wouldn’t be sharing a house with him. No way.’

‘He’s a bit wasted on Emily.’ Lillian thought about it for a bit longer. ‘Though he is quite old.’

‘Yeah, gee, he must be at least thirty-two or three. One foot in the grave, so to speak. It’s a wonder he still has the energy to get married.’

Lillian chuckled and to Lizzie’s absolute delight she raised a forkful of peas without thinking. And swallowed all by herself. ‘Well, he is quite well preserved for your generation,’ she said, and Lizzie smiled even more.

‘My generation. Thanks very much.’

Lillian refused to hear the huffiness. She saw the smile and she was intent on Dr McKay’s love life.

‘Emily’s really boring,’ she told her. ‘She’s been here for ever. When Dr McKay’s fiancée was killed…’

‘Dr McKay’s fiancée was killed?’

‘Ages ago. When I was about ten. Mum said Emily meant to have him then. She was so nice and they’ve just sort of been a pair ever since. Mum says they got engaged without Dr McKay even noticing and it was only when he was about to be married that he panicked.’

‘He panicked?’

‘That’s what everyone said. Why else would he have hit your car?’

‘You know, if I was going to commit suicide I might have chosen a better method than throwing myself under a tiny, tinpot hire car that was travelling less than ten miles an hour.’

‘I don’t think he was committing suicide.’

She should stop this conversation. She should stop it right now. But Lillian’s food was going down-the plate was well over half-demolished now. To haul her away from gossip would be criminal.

‘Besides…’

Besides nothing, she told herself. She was doing this as a doctor reacting to medical need. Nothing more.

‘Besides what?’

‘Well, suicide would be silly,’ Lillian said. ‘This town needs him. Everyone says so. If he suicided then Birrini wouldn’t have a doctor.’

‘I guess not.’ There wasn’t an answer to that. Next time she was feeling like reaching for the pills she hoped that there was someone around to remind her that she was irreplaceable. Even if it was just as a family doctor…

But maybe there was a real risk of suicide. ‘Mum says Emily and her mother have talked nothing but bridesmaids’ dresses for a year,’ Lillian told her. ‘She was having six bridesmaids and two flower girls. It was gonna be amazing.’

‘I guess it still will be amazing.’

‘If he goes through with it.’

‘Why shouldn’t he go through with it?’

‘Because he’s living with you.’

‘Hey!’

Enough. Lillian had eaten enough, and this conversation was getting entirely out of hand. She rose and rang the bell and managed an uncertain smile down at Lillian. Moving right on…

‘That was great, Lillian. You’ve eaten about half of what I intend to eat tonight. It was a really good dinner.’

‘Don’t ring the bell,’ Lillian told her. ‘I’ll be fine by myself. I won’t make myself sick.’

She would. Of course she would. Lizzie had succeeded in distracting her enough to make her eat, but that was the easy part. The hard bit was keeping it down.

‘Sorry, Lillian, but you know the deal.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘No.’

Lillian gave her a reluctant smile. ‘Oh, well…’ She shrugged. ‘If you’re going to be picky.’

‘I’m going to be picky.’ She touched Lillian lightly on the cheek. ‘I can almost see dimples, my girl. We’re succeeding. So you’re going to keep right on eating-and holding it down-until you have boobs almost as cuddly as mine.’

Lillian sighed. ‘You can’t stay, can you?’ she asked wistfully. ‘I hate Mrs Pround.’

Mrs Pround was the ward assistant. She wasn’t an ideal companion for a fifteen-year-old, but she had the huge advantage of having eyes like a gimlet. Lillian would never get her fingers down her throat to make herself sick while Mrs Pround was in a half-mile radius. She wouldn’t dare.

But Lizzie was already backing out the door. ‘I’m sorry, Lillian, but I have a ward round to do before I find my own dinner,’ she told her. ‘I need to go.’

‘Will I do instead?’

The door swung wide and Harry McKay and his wheelchair rolled smoothly to the bedside.

‘Um…how long have you been outside the room?’

As a greeting it was a dead give-away, but it was all Lizzie could think of.

‘And why aren’t you on your crutches?’ she demanded, and he gave her a crooked grin.

‘The wheelchair is quieter. I can get places without being noticed.’

‘You heard?’

‘Obviously.’

‘But…I said that about your fiancée.’ Lillian had clearly replayed their conversation really fast and the teenager was already feeling mortified. She was looking at Harry and her fragile self-confidence was crumbling while they watched. ‘I said… Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘Hey, I heard you two discussing what a hunk I was,’ Harry told her, and puffed out his chest. ‘Very nice.’

‘But we-’

‘And I also heard you discuss boob enlargement. Even nicer.’

‘Will you cut it out?’ Lizzie was laughing. She picked up a magazine from the tray top and swiped him over the ear. ‘Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves.’

‘I’m not an eavesdropper,’ he said, wounded. ‘I just had to lean against the door to rest.’

‘Right. You sat in your wheelchair and leaned.’

‘My right shoulder still carries the dent. Want to see?’

‘I’d probably see the shape of the doorknob indented in your right ear,’ she retorted.

‘We said-’ Lillian whispered, but Lizzie was having none of it.

‘We were discussing how old he was,’ she said. ‘So old he’s practically incapable of getting himself married. Which is why he bumped into my car. His sight must be fading, poor dear.’

‘Say it louder, girlie,’ Harry flashed. ‘My ear trumpet seems to have been mislaid. And I’ve mislaid my leg. I’ll lose my nose any minute. Come to think of it…’ He squinted. ‘Where is my nose?’

‘Sticking into places it has no right to be,’ Lizzie told him, trying not to laugh. She glared and fixed him with a look that said she knew very well he’d heard everything and he’d better watch himself. ‘Are you intending to stay with Lillian?’

‘I brought the Monopoly board.’

‘What do you reckon, Lillian? Can you face playing Monopoly with a man in his dotage?’

And thankfully-blessedly-Lillian was chuckling.

‘Well, there you go, then.’ Lizzie left them to it, but as she made her way down the corridor to the patients who were waiting for her, she was aware of a sharp stab of regret.

Monopoly. It was a game she’d never enjoyed.

But tonight she really felt like playing.

There were three casseroles and an enormous trout on the kitchen table when Lizzie walked through to the doctor’s residence two hours later. Phoebe was right underneath, gazing upward with hope.

Harry was balancing on crutches. He was wearing a pink frilly apron and he was wielding a filleting knife.

She stopped dead.

‘Don’t move,’ she said faintly. ‘Don’t do it.’

He looked up from his trout, bemused. ‘Sorry?’

‘You’re not fit for surgery. The fish can keep his appendix. Put down the knife, Dr McKay, and move back from the table slowly.’

He grinned. ‘Are you implying I’m a lunatic?’

‘Implying? No. Saying you are? Definitely.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of filleting a fish.’

‘Right. Like you’re perfectly capable of standing upright. All you need to do is overbalance and Phoebe gets it.’

‘So it’s concern for your basset.’

‘Of course.’ She walked forward and lifted the knife from his fingers before he could protest. She moved out of range, holding the knife behind her back.

‘Give me back my knife,’ he told her, glowering. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re wearing a pink apron.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m deranged.’

‘You’re a sick man, Dr McKay.’

He glared at her, baulked, and she laughed.

Where had this laughter come from? she thought. It had sprung up, unbidden, a constant in their relationship that refused to go away.

‘I’m warning you…’

‘Or what?’ Her eyes danced. From under the table Phoebe gazed from one to the other with an expression that said she was really confused. But hopeful.

So what was new? Phoebe was permanently confused-and hopeful. Where food was concerned. She barked and emerged from under the table, trying her best to jump up on Harry’s combination of legs and crutches. It didn’t work. Jumping up for Phoebe meant getting her front legs three inches above the ground.

‘You traitor,’ Lizzie told her. ‘Leave him alone. The man is a knife-wielder, Phoebe. Come to Mummy.’

‘The man doesn’t have a knife. Mummy has the knife.’

‘So she does.’

‘Give it back.’

‘Don’t be a dodo.’

‘Is that your very best crisis counselling skill?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’ll lead to a confrontation.’ With laughter deepening around his eyes, he leaned over and lifted the trout. ‘OK, Dr Darling, you asked for it.’ The trout was raised right over Phoebe’s head. ‘Give me my filleting knife or the puppy gets it.’

She choked on laughter at that-and at the expression of pure hope in Phoebe’s mournful basset eyes. ‘The puppy would love it.’

‘What, a whole trout?’

‘And the rest. Honestly, Harry, you’re not stable and you know it. You can’t fillet. You shouldn’t even be standing up. Let’s eat one of these casseroles.’

‘When we can eat trout? No way.’

‘Then teach me to fillet,’ she told him.

He looked at her, considering. ‘Really?’

‘Really. If I can wear the pink pinny.’

‘I’ve got two. You’re on.’

The time spent cleaning and stuffing the fish was probably one of the silliest half-hours she’d ever spent in her life. Dressed in his frilly apron, Harry turned into ‘Professor of Anatomy-Fish’ and proceeded to guide her though the incredibly delicate operation of preparing one trout for consumption.

‘I’m sure fishermen don’t go to this trouble,’ she protested, but he shook his head.

‘No. Of course not, but we’re not fishermen, Dr Darling. We’re surgeons.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘Well, I’m a surgeon,’ he told her. ‘You will be as soon as you conquer gills.’

‘You’re a surgeon?’

‘Mmm.’ He seemed almost embarrassed.

‘A qualified surgeon?’

‘Yes. There’s some scales-’

But she was distracted. ‘What’s a surgeon doing here? In Birrini.’

‘Practising medicine. Watch your scales, Dr Darling.’

‘But you don’t have an anaesthetist.’

‘Good noticing.’

‘So you practise your surgery on awake patients?’

‘I don’t practise surgery at all.’ All of a sudden the laughter left his eyes and she looked up at him in concern.

‘Then why are you here? In Birrini?’

‘I want to be here,’ he told her, his voice clipped and strained. ‘Now…back to the fish.’

She could take a hint. He wanted the subject changed. Don’t probe, his voice had said, and she was a champion at not probing. Though there were some questions that had to be asked.

‘Tell me where you got these aprons,’ she begged, and the laughter flashed back again. It was the way he liked it, she thought. Light and shallow. Frilly apron shallow.

‘Emily was given six aprons at her hens’ night. Six different colours. All with frills. No one gave me anything as cool as that at my bachelor do. I couldn’t resist.’

‘She gave them to you?’

‘I pinched some,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t see why such fine couturier fashions should be the domain of women only.’

‘Emily knows you’re wearing them?’

‘Emily doesn’t know the half of it,’ he told her, and then under his breath he added a rider. ‘Thank God.’

The trout was delicious. So was the vegetable casserole they had with it and the rhubarb pie that appeared just as they were clearing the dishes. The elderly man who arrived on the back porch bearing the pie beamed at the pair of them as they opened the screen door to greet him.

‘Mabel said you’d maybe appreciate this seeing the doctor’s off his leg.’ He produced a ham bone as well. ‘And this is for the pooch. Goodnight to the pair of you.’ And he disappeared as swiftly as he’d come. Birrini hospitality. Amazing!

Even Phoebe was impressed. Lizzie’s dog was practically beaming with contentment. She lay on the porch and slobbered over her bone and Harry ate his pie and looked out at her with wonder.

‘Phoebe was your grandma’s dog?’

‘Yep.’

‘She’s not exactly a suitable dog for an old lady.’

‘My grandma wasn’t exactly a suitable old lady,’ Lizzie told him, smiling at the memory of the old lady she’d loved. ‘Grandma was a palaeontologist. World renowned.’

‘A…a what?’

‘A palaeontologist. She studied dinosaurs. Grandma spent her time travelling the world, collecting bones. It was only the last few years of her life that she was stuck in Australia. So Phoebe became the love of her declining years.’

‘Which explains Phoebe’s love of bones.’ Harry grinned at Phoebe who was attacking the ham bone like all her Christmases had come at once.

Lizzie smiled, but she was still thinking about Grandma. The old lady’s death was still raw in her heart, and it was good to talk about her. ‘Grandma’s bones were generally a whole lot older than this one,’ she told him. ‘I spent my childhood dusting and sorting and figuring out which bone went where. Maybe that’s why I became a doctor.’

He was watching her across the table, his face curious. ‘You lived with your grandma?’

‘I went to boarding school while she travelled. But, yes, I lived with her.’

‘Where were your parents?’

‘They were killed in a light plane crash when I was seven. I can barely remember them, but what I can…they were great. I loved them very much. That’s why I can’t change my name.’

‘You’d change it if you could?’

‘It’s a bit hard,’ she admitted, ‘to go through your life being a Darling.’

‘I guess it must be.’

‘And you?’ she asked, and Harry looked a question. ‘Tell me about you. Where are your parents?’

‘Sorry?’

‘They weren’t here for the wedding,’ she said. ‘At least, they weren’t here when you were injured. You mostly seemed to be surrounded by Emily’s family.’

‘I don’t have a family.’

‘They’re dead?’

‘I just don’t have a family.’

That was all he was telling her. They finished eating and then she shooed him outside to sit on the porch while she did the dishes. He protested, but she was adamant. As she cleaned up the kitchen she was aware of him-watching her.

What was it with him? When she’d first met him she’d thought of him as a carefree young family doctor about to be married. Now…there were depths, she thought. Shadows.

She shouldn’t probe. She should let him be. As soon as Phoebe had her pups she’d be out of here, and this man and the little community he cared for would mean nothing to her any longer.

Don’t get involved. That’s what her heart was screaming, but she wasn’t listening. She finished cleaning and then walked outside to join him.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ The night was clear and crisp. From the back porch you could see right across the little township down to the sea beyond. The sea was almost half a mile from here, but the moon was full and a ghostly sheen was washing over the waves.

Beautiful.

‘I’m not thinking of cold,’ Harry told her. ‘I’m thinking I’m really pleased to be back home.’

‘It’s not much fun being in hospital.’

‘It’s not much fun being in the city.’

She looked at him curiously but he was a million miles away. He’d propped his crutches by the rail and had sunk down onto an ancient cane settee. He didn’t look the successful young doctor now, she thought. He’d discarded the apron-thankfully. He was in his shorts and battered sweatshirt and his leg with the brace on was resting on a stool in front of him. But it was more than his clothes and his injured leg, she thought. He was gazing out at the sea and his whole demeanour… The way his eyes creased as they gazed out into the distance. The lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his hair was tousled and casual and…

‘You look more like a farmer than a doctor,’ she told him, and he looked up at her, startled.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I don’t know. You’re just…at home, I suppose.’

‘I am,’ he said softly. He gazed out at the bushland and the lights of the tiny town between here and the sea. ‘I tried the city once but it’s a dog’s life.’ Then, as Phoebe stirred and wuffled at his feet, he smiled and put a hand down to stroke her floppy ears. ‘OK, Phoebe. I wouldn’t condemn a basset to it either.’

‘Hey, the city’s not so bad.’

‘You’ve always lived there?’

‘Mmm.’

‘You should try this.’

‘I thought that’s just what I was doing,’ she said cautiously, sitting herself down beside him and staring seaward as well.

‘But you’ll leave.’

‘Of course I’ll leave. When have you rescheduled the wedding?’

‘We haven’t yet.’

Lizzie thought about that. ‘I’d imagine Emily would be anxious.’

‘Mmm.’

She frowned. ‘You are still getting married?’

He stared out to sea. ‘Yeah. Yeah, of course we are.’

‘Harry?’

‘Yes?’

‘Um…is there anything you’re not telling me?’

‘Nope.’

‘I think I have the right to know,’ she said. ‘I was employed as a locum while you were on your honeymoon. Do you still want me to stay?’

‘Of course.’

‘There’s no “of course” about it. I can’t stay here indefinitely.’

‘Yes, there is. When are Phoebe’s puppies due?’

‘In two or three weeks.’

‘You can’t leave before they’re born.’

‘No, but-’

‘And you can’t leave while you have newborns. I’m sure your obstetrician would advise against it. That’s two weeks before birth and six or eight weeks with puppies. It should give me time to get back on my feet.’

‘And have a honeymoon?’

‘Maybe.’

She thought about it. It was the strangest night. She was sitting on the back porch with a man she hardly knew, yet the setting was so intimate that she felt like she’d known him all her life.

She certainly hadn’t!

She slid off the settee onto the floorboards. Phoebe slithered forward over her knees and pushed her big head up under Lizzie’s hands, searching for a scratch. Out in the bush a mopoke was calling, slow and mournful.

She didn’t feel mournful, she thought. She felt at peace.

‘I didn’t mean to slam into your car,’ Harry said softly, and she turned to stare up at him.

‘I didn’t think you did,’ she told him. ‘I can think of surer ways to commit suicide. And, besides, I’ve met Emily. There’s no need for a man to take drastic steps there.’

He gave a half-hearted smile. ‘I was just…distracted.’

‘Six bridesmaids and two flower girls would be enough to distract anyone.’

‘I guess.’ He gazed some more and she scratched Phoebe some more. It was the strangest feeling. Peace… Like she’d found her home.

Nonsense. Her home was in Queensland. With Edward?

No and no and no. She hugged Phoebe close-which was sort of like hugging a sack of warmed jello. But it was the comfort she needed.

There were fingers touching her hair.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked, and she turned toward him in surprise. His hand stayed on her head, drifting through her curls.

‘I told you.’

‘You told me you’re here for your dog. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It does make sense.’ She strove really hard to ignore the feel of those fingers drifting along her forehead. She was seated at his feet. It was a gesture of warmth-a touch that meant nothing. Her hair was right under his hands and it was the easiest thing to touch her as he asked his question. It meant nothing…

The fact that it sent slivers of warmth to every corner of her body was immaterial. Immaterial nonsense. It meant nothing.

Nothing…

‘I told you,’ she said. ‘Airlines don’t carry pregnant dogs.’

‘Right.’ The fingers paused and then moved on and it was as much as she could do not to move her head under his hand, cat-like, so he could reach every spot. He was actually doing a fine job of reaching every spot without her moving. ‘So the airlines do a pregnancy test on every dog as they crate them? I don’t think so.’

‘She looks pregnant.’

‘She looks fat.’

‘Hey!’

‘It’s true,’ he told her firmly. ‘If I had to say whether Phoebe was pregnant or fat, I know which I’d choose.’

‘That’s not very nice.’

‘No, but it’s honest. And the flight from here to Cairns is three hours. Hardly time to divert the plane for an emergency basset Caesarean.’

‘You’re telling me I’m a liar?’

‘Nope. I’m asking why you’re really down here.’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Right.’ He considered. ‘But you’ll stay on for a while?’

‘It was supposed to be for three weeks.’

‘I need you for longer than that.’

Those fingers were driving her crazy. She was practically purring. Three weeks…three weeks of sitting out on the back porch and having this man rub his fingers through her hair…

Three weeks wasn’t long enough, she thought.

What would she tell Edward?

Family business. It was a complex matter, settling her grandma’s affairs. The hospital she worked for would understand. They’d just welcomed their new intake of interns for the year and included was an overseas trained doctor who’d done ten years’ emergency medicine in South Africa. He’d needed the job as intern to get his Australian registration, but he was seriously good. The hospital would barely miss Lizzie for the next few weeks.

So she could stay. If Harry kept moving his fingers through her hair.

It was ridiculous. Harry was engaged to Emily. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.

She was.

‘Um…I can stay,’ she murmured. The night was getting away from her. The whole situation had assumed a dreamlike quality. The way his fingers moved… It was almost hypnotic. Wonderful.

‘Do you want me to remove your back-slab and give your leg a rub?’ she managed. ‘I… The notes. They said the leg needed to be rubbed.’

‘I don’t think that’d be wise,’ he told her, and his voice was suddenly so unsteady that she thought, He’s feeling exactly the same way I am. ‘Do you?’

‘You need the circulation kept going. I don’t want deep vein thrombosis.’

‘No, I don’t. But neither do I want any other complications.’

Right. They both knew what he was talking about. The fingers ceased their stroking and Lizzie hauled herself away. Phoebe cast her a baleful glare and Lizzie thought, Yeah, I know just how you feel. Deprived.

She hauled herself to her feet and looked down uncertainly at Harry in the moonlight.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘That’d be great.’

Distance. They were carefully putting distance between them. Building a barricade that was fragile, but it was the best they could do.

‘I’ll go, then.’

‘Right.’

But Lizzie didn’t move. She stood there, staring.

The phone rang. Thankfully-because otherwise she would have stood there all night. She didn’t want to move an inch.

He was engaged to Emily.

She had Edward.

She gave herself a fierce inward shake and went to answer the phone.