Tempted by Dr. Daisy (5 page)

‘No. It's Friday tomorrow, isn't it? Damn. I'm at Jane's with Florence, and Jane might have plans to go out. It'll have to be Sunday night, after I've put Florence to bed and come home. We can get a takeaway or something.'

‘I can cook, you know,' she said, finding a smile from somewhere.

He smiled back, his eyes troubled and yet tender. ‘I'm sure you can. Don't go to a lot of trouble, I don't know how late I'll be. Jane's away for the weekend and I can't leave till she's back.' He sighed softly. ‘I have to go now, it's getting really late and if I don't leave I'll end up staying and I don't think that's a good idea, but I'll see you in the morning. Maybe we can grab a coffee.'

He leant over and kissed her, his lips tender and linger
ing, and then he straightened up, gave her a tiny, slightly sad little smile and then went out, and she lay and listened as he closed her front door behind himself, opened his own, went up the stairs and into his bedroom.

She heard him moving around, then he went still, and she could swear she could hear him breathing on the other side of the wall.

‘Goodnight, Daisy,' he said, his voice soft but clear in the quiet.

She didn't answer. She was too busy wondering what the future held. She didn't have a clue, but she was pretty sure she wouldn't like it…

They didn't have time for a coffee on Friday morning, and they didn't have time for lunch, either.

He disappeared off her radar that afternoon to see Florence and reappeared on Sunday night at seven, by which time she'd had plenty of opportunities to think about their relationship and where it was going. And she'd come to exactly no conclusions.

‘You look bushed,' she said, letting him in, and he gave a tired laugh and hugged her.

‘I am. Florence was exhausted, too, that's why I'm so early. We've had a busy weekend, and she crashed at six, and Jane was back so I thought I'd get away.' He sniffed the air and smiled. ‘Something smells tasty.'

‘I made a casserole. I just have to heat it up when we're ready.'

‘Great. Stick it on now, I'm ravenous. And then maybe we can talk.'

They needed to. There was no way she'd intended to go to bed with him on Thursday night—or any other night, come to that. Her boss, her neighbour—and another divorced father? No way. But that night—that night had been something she'd had no defences against, and she didn't
think he had, either, thinking back. And she'd had all weekend to do that.

What to do?

‘OK, fire away,' she said after she'd switched the heat on under the casserole.

‘You aren't going to make it easy, are you?' he said wryly, meeting the challenge in her eyes.

‘I need to know, Ben,' she said softly. ‘I need to know where I stand with you. I know we shouldn't have done it, but as you said, we have now. So where do we go from here? I haven't got a clue.'

‘I don't know. I've been thinking about it all weekend, and I wondered—maybe if we had some kind of framework,' he suggested.

‘What—like rules?'

He felt himself frown. ‘I don't like the word rules. Parameters, maybe.'

‘Such as?' she asked, trying to be rational because the idea of never holding him again was hard to take, however sensible it might be.

‘Separate compartments,' he said honestly. ‘I have to keep Florence out of my private life, for everybody's sake. You won't ever see her—well, not in any relationship context, anyway. As far as Florence is concerned, you'll be my neighbour. That's all. The lady next door. Not Aunty Daisy. But she isn't what this is all about. This is about two consenting adults who've both been hurt in the past, having a relationship with clearly understood boundaries, and Florence doesn't come into it at all.'

She was relieved about that, but in another way gutted, because there was a quantum leap from what he was offering her now and the way she was starting to feel about him. That little flicker of hope that maybe, finally, her luck was changing.

Stupid. She knew perfectly well it wasn't. They'd talked about that, about the fact it was going nowhere, long before they'd scrambled their brains and ended up in bed.

‘So what are you suggesting?' she asked a little warily. ‘We just—' she shrugged ‘—carry on?'

‘If you feel we can. But I don't want anyone knowing about it at work. Not about this. I want them kept utterly separate, to protect both of us when—'

He left it hanging, but she knew what he was saying. When it came to an end, which it would. Of course it would. But maybe not for years. She was only twenty nine. She could afford to take time out to dally with a man who made her feel like no man had ever made her feel before, but not an indefinite amount unless she wanted to give up all hope of having a family of her own one day. And Ben—well, Ben hadn't wanted this. Not with her. Too messy, in so many ways.

Oh, lord. It was all her fault. If only she hadn't kissed him. If only she'd kept her hands to herself, not held them out to him in that blatant invitation—

She shut her eyes. ‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken you upstairs.'

‘Let's not play the blame game, Daisy,' he said softly. ‘I kissed you first, on Monday night. I couldn't help it. And I couldn't help it on Thursday either. I needed you, and I think you needed me. And we still do. Well, I do, anyway. And it
is
about more than just sex, much more, but we can't let it grow into anything dangerous. You just have to understand that this can never be anything other than what we had the other night, no matter how amazing it was. If you can accept that, then we can carry on.'

‘As what? Lovers?'

He shrugged. ‘If you like. Lovers, friends. It would give us someone to do things with—have dinner, go to the cin
ema, chill out in front of the telly—just ordinary stuff, but not alone. I'm sick of being alone, Daisy, of having no one to share things with, nobody to tell a joke to or unload on at the end of a rough day. And I would very, very much like to do that with you, but it's your call. If you tell me to go to hell, I'll quite understand, and you don't need to be afraid that it'll affect our relationship at work. I wouldn't do that to you.'

She held his eyes, saw the regret, the need, the sadness, and felt her eyes fill. She was lonely, too, and having someone to share the little things with would be wonderful.

And even though she knew it was the stupidest thing in the world, the last thing she should be doing, she nodded.

‘OK. But only so long as Florence is right out of the picture. I can't lose my heart to another little girl, Ben. I've done it before, and I swore never again. Mike's girls came to us every other weekend, and for holidays. And when he went back to his ex, I lost contact with them. And I vowed never again—not a man with children.'

‘Oh, Daisy, I'm sorry,' he said softly. He could see the hurt in her eyes, the wariness, the soul-deep pain the breakup had caused her. ‘I had no idea you were in so deep.'

‘Oh, yeah,' she said with a brittle laugh. ‘So if we're going to do this, well, just keep her away from me, please.'

‘I will. So—do we have a deal?'

‘What—fun dates, hot sex and no complications?'

He winced. ‘Daisy, don't,' he said softly, but she wasn't in the mood to be toyed with.

‘It's the truth, Ben. If we can't have anything else, then let's for God's sake have that.'

‘OK,' he said softly, after a silence that had stretched on altogether too long. ‘Fun dates, hot sex and no complications. And one more rule. No using the “L” word.'

She swallowed, nodded, then tried to smile. ‘Done,' she said. ‘So—is eating a complication, or a fun date? Because I'm starving and that casserole must be warmed through by now.'

He started to laugh, then pulled her gently into his arms and hugged her close. ‘Oh, Daisy. I'm starving, too, and it smells fantastic. Actually, I've got an idea. Can we take it with us next door? I've got one or two things I have to do, and I've got a nice bottle of wine in the fridge and half an apple pie.'

‘Home-made?'

He winced. ‘Yes. By me and Florence, so it's not amazingly elegant, but it's tasty.'

She smiled at him. ‘Tasty sounds good. Lead the way.'

They ended up in his bed.

Not then, not until they'd eaten the casserole on their knees in the sitting room—the only room apart from his bedroom that was in any way in order, if you didn't count the dangling ceiling paper.

He opened the wine he'd had chilling and poured it into champagne flutes, ‘All I seem to have left,' he told her wryly, and they toasted his house, and the plumber's health, which made her laugh.

And then, when they'd eaten her casserole and the endearingly inelegant and tasty apple pie, he pulled her to her feet.

‘Come to bed,' he said softly, and her breath lodged in her throat as she followed him up the stairs and into his room. He undressed her slowly, his hands sure and gentle, but then she met his eyes and saw the fire blazing in them and realised he was hanging by a thread, holding onto his control so he didn't rush her.

He didn't need to bother, but it was an interesting notion. She returned the favour, unbuttoning his shirt with
agonising slowness, driving him to fever pitch. She slid the shirt off his shoulders, and as it fell to the floor, she looked past his shoulder to the bedside table and saw the picture.

A little girl with a tumble of dark curls, a tiny turned-up nose and laughing eyes.

Her father's eyes.

She turned her head back and unfastened his belt, then the stud of his jeans, then the zip, tooth by tooth.

Florence was nothing to do with them. This was about them, not her. Fun dates, hot sex and no complications, remember, Daisy? And absolutely no ‘L' word.

Taking care not to look at the photo again, she moved into his arms and lifted up her face to his kiss.

 

She didn't stay.

‘The plumber's coming at seven thirty tomorrow,' he reminded her, ‘so I need to empty the airing cupboard and sort some stuff out.'

She wanted him to ask her to stay, wanted to tell him she'd help him sort it out in the morning, they could do it together, but that was crazy, and she was still trying not to let herself fall for him. And she certainly wasn't going to beg for crumbs.

‘That's fine, I've got things to do as well. Feel free to use my bathroom while yours is out of action,' she offered instead, and he nodded his thanks and dropped a slow, lingering kiss on her lips as she left.

‘No, no, no,' he groaned, dragging himself away. ‘I have to get on. I'll see you tomorrow at work.' She nodded, and he kissed her again.

‘Sleep tight,' he murmured as he let her out, and she went home and made a cup of tea and took it to bed, reading her book and listening to the sound of him shifting
things around next door, emptying the airing cupboard and moving the boxes off the landing, and she lay there and tried not to feel cheated.

‘Oh, stop it! You knew the rules,' she reminded herself, and clearly spending the night with her came under the heading of complications. She would soon get used to the routine.

And as routines went, it sounded pretty straightforward. If she was in, and he was in, they'd see each other. If not, they wouldn't.

Wednesday evenings with Florence, he'd told her, were utterly sacrosanct, and from Friday to Sunday nights he would have her to stay, once the house was ready, but until then he'd stay with his ex at the weekends, as he had this weekend.

She tried not to imagine them together. It had been plaguing her all weekend, but he said she'd been away, so they couldn't have spent the weekend in a passionate clinch. Unless he'd lied? He'd seemed keen enough to make love to her after supper, but he hadn't wanted her to stay the night, and her old insecurities came back to haunt her.

Was monogamy one of the rules?

Not that she was about to ask, but it was hard telling herself it was none of her business, because for all they had very strict rules, that was surely one of them?

It hadn't been for Mike. He'd been sleeping with his wife off and on the whole time they'd been together, she'd eventually discovered. And he wasn't Mike, she reminded herself fiercely.

Whatever, on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday evenings he'd have Florence, and on all the others he'd be free—free, and ready for some adult conversation and recreation. Especially the recreation, she thought with a twinge of sadness.

And that was all she wanted from him, she reminded herself sharply. No complications, no painful, heart-wrenching involvement with little children who'd been so easy to slot into her life. No ‘L' word. She didn't want declarations of undying love, like she'd had from Mike, followed by the inevitable excuses and gradually cooling and then the bombshell, just when the children had started calling her Mummy Daisy.

She turned over and thumped the pillow, blinking away the tears. It still hurt so much to think about. Two years! Two years she'd been with him, living with him, giving him everything she had of herself, and he'd thrown it back in her face. And the stupid thing was, she'd
known
something was wrong. She just hadn't known what.

No, she didn't need another relationship like that to suck her dry. Once was enough, for any woman. She propped herself up and looked at the clock. Midnight. Too late to phone Amy in Crete. She'd be back on Wednesday. She'd talk to her then, get a little sensible perspective on it. God knows she could do with some.

And in the meantime, she needed sleep. She flopped back down onto the pillows, stared at the ceiling and finally drifted off, the picture of Florence on his bedside table haunting her dreams.

T
HE
plumber arrived on the dot the next morning, and Daisy bumped into him on her way to the hospital a few minutes later.

‘He's got his work cut out with this one,' Steve said, jerking his head towards the house, and she laughed.

‘Tell me about it. Look after him for me, won't you, Steve?'

‘Like that, is it?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘He's my boss. I don't want to be in trouble because my plumber takes the mick out of him with the bill.'

‘I wouldn't do that, Daisy, you know that,' he said. ‘Besides, the wife's due in a few weeks. Don't want to upset the delivery driver!'

‘No, you don't,' she said with a grin, and left him to get on. She met up with Ben in the antenatal clinic later in the day and relayed the conversation.

‘I'll get the staff to look out for her. What's her name?'

Daisy shrugged. ‘Mrs Steve?' she offered, and he sighed and smiled.

‘I'll ask him. With any luck she won't need us. I thought Evan was on with me this afternoon?'

‘He was, but he's been called to the labour ward, so he thought you might want me.'

Unfortunate choice of words. She felt herself colour, but Ben just smiled, one eyebrow tweaking a fraction, and stuck to the script.

‘Good. Could you give me a hand? It's a bit hectic.'

‘Sure.'

She was out in the waiting room calling for her next patient when a woman caught her eye and all her antennae went on red alert. She didn't like the look of her at all.

Pale and sweating, she was obviously in pain, and she was waiting to be assessed when Daisy spotted her. Veering away from her next patient, she asked her who she was, picked up her notes and took her into her room to examine her.

She said she'd come in because she thought she was in labour, but Daisy didn't think she was. Her abdomen was rigid, her pulse was raised, her blood pressure was falling and even though she had no external signs of bleeding, Daisy had a thoroughly bad feeling about her.

‘I'm just going to get Mr Walker to look at you, Debbie,' she said with a smile, and leaving the door open and the midwife in attendance, she went in search of Ben.

‘Excuse me, could I borrow you for a moment?' she said calmly, and he turned from his patient and met her eyes.

‘Can it wait a minute?'

‘I don't think so, no.'

He gave a curt nod and joined her outside the door a moment later, one eyebrow raised in enquiry.

‘Placental abruption, 34 weeks,' she said succinctly, and he wasted no time.

‘Call Theatre, get Evan in there if he's free yet, if not we'll do it. Where is she?'

‘Cubicle 2. Her name's Debbie Haynes.'

She paged Evan, discovered he was still up to his eyes with a tricky delivery and went to tell Ben. By the time
she got there Debbie was on a trolley and heading for the lifts, phoning her husband en route, and Ben was with her putting a line in as they moved. He waved her over, and she ran and joined them as the lift doors closed.

‘Good call. Can you assist?'

‘What about the clinic?'

‘It'll run late,' he said candidly.

‘OK.' She smiled at the woman. ‘It's all right, Debbie, you're in safe hands.'

Normally, it would have been a platitude. This time she meant it—assuming they were in time.

She had a general anaesthetic, because time was of the essence, and even though Daisy thought she'd seen him do a section fast before, it was nothing on this. Like the well-oiled machine that it was, the team had sprung into action at her call and were ready for them. A runner with blood was on the way, a SCBU crib was in the room and an army of neonatal specialists descended on them, just in time to receive the dark, floppy baby from Ben's hands.

He swore softly, but there was no time to worry about the baby when the mother was bleeding out. He dealt with the placenta, then held a pressure pack firmly against the site while the drugs worked to contract her uterus, and gradually her blood pressure picked up.

And then, out of the blue, she arrested.

Ben swore again and looked at Daisy. She had the paddles in her hands already, the pads stuck on, the defibrillator charging.

‘Clear,' she said, and he let go of the pressure packs and stepped back. Debbie arched off the table, and their eyes all locked on the monitor.

‘OK, we've got her back,' the anaesthetist said, and in the background they heard the thin, mewling cry of a newborn baby.

An audible sigh of relief filled the room as the tension was released.

Ben put the pressure back on and shut his eyes briefly, and when he opened them they were brighter than she'd ever seen them. ‘OK, let's make sure this bleeding's sorted and then close,' he said matter-of-factly. ‘Sounds like Debbie's got a baby to meet.'

‘Well spotted.'

‘It was pretty obvious.'

‘No. You were observant,' he said, giving praise where it was due—something he was sure Evan didn't bother with. ‘She was going downhill fast, and you spotted her in the nick of time. Thank God she had the sense to come to the hospital for a check-up and didn't just wait and see. It saved her life, not to mention the baby's.'

‘No, you saved both of them,' she said quietly. ‘I've never seen a section done so fast.'

Nor had he. ‘It's not the neatest.'

‘It didn't need to be neat. It needed to save two lives, and you did it. Thank God you were there. And anyway, it
was
neat. You wouldn't let it be anything else.'

‘Rumbled.' He smiled down at her and dropped the last set of notes on top of the pile. ‘What are you doing now?' he asked as they left the clinic.

‘Going home,' she told him wearily. The clinic was finished—well over time, due to their abrupt departure with the emergency, but that was the nature of obstetrics. Some things—some babies—couldn't wait.

His voice was a low murmur. ‘Fancy celebrating?'

‘Debbie's baby?'

‘Debbie's baby, my first week in a new job—us?'

‘I thought there wasn't an “us”?' she said quietly.

‘Of course there's an “us”.'

There was. Of course there was, he was right, but there wasn't really supposed to be.

‘There's a pub in Woodbridge,' he suggested. ‘We could try that.'

Rather than go public in their own patch?

‘Sounds good,' she said.

‘I'll book a table, then. Is it OK if I come round and have a shower before we go out?'

‘Of course it is.'

Except they ended up sharing the shower, and he had to call the pub and move their reservation.

They went in his car, which was, of course, a much nicer car than hers, and she guessed he'd had it since before the divorce. She settled back against the leather upholstery and sighed. ‘Nice,' she said, and he laughed.

‘Yes. Luckily I managed to keep Jane's hands off it. She doesn't like automatics.'

She found herself speculating again about their weekends. Speculating too hard, apparently, because he reached across and took her hand.

‘What's the matter?'

‘I was just thinking about your wife.'

‘Ex-wife. What about her?'

She shrugged. ‘I know it's stupid, and it's none of my business, but—when you stay there, at the weekends…'

He slowed abruptly, hitched up on the kerb and cut the engine. ‘No way,' he said firmly, sounding appalled. ‘Did you seriously imagine—hell, Daisy! You think I'm
sleeping
with her?'

‘Well, it wouldn't be that unreasonable, would it?' she said, trying not to let her insecurities show. ‘I mean, it's not as if you haven't done it before.'

‘Daisy, it's over!' he said, even more firmly, and he took her hand and wrapped it in both of his. ‘Jane and I are fin
ished. We hardly even started. We never really loved each other, and the only reason I have anything to do with her is for Florence. Believe me, there is no chance of us ever having anything to do with each other ever again, not in a personal way. Besides, I've got a sneaking suspicion her old flame might be on the scene.'

‘Really? Does Florence know?'

‘Not as far as I'm aware. She shouldn't. Jane knows that and she's promised she'll keep any relationships discreet. Not that it would be hard, if it is him, because he's in the army and he's away a lot of the time. And trust me, when he is, it's no part of my duties to fill his shoes. I've tried that once before, and Florence was the result.'

‘They were still together?'

‘No. She was on the rebound from him, and very far from over him. I was there. She got pregnant. End of story.'

Yikes. That was a bit of an info-dump she hadn't expected, and she filed it away to think about later and told herself to relax. ‘Sorry. I was just—I mean—we didn't specify anything in the rules about monogamy…'

‘Daisy, there aren't any rules!' he said, his thumb grazing the back of her hand gently. ‘Not really. We're making it up as we go along, but—absolutely, monogamy is key. I'm not and never have been promiscuous, and I don't intend to start now. You're the best thing that's happened to me for years, and I'm not going to sacrifice what I have with you by revisiting a relationship that was a disaster from start to finish!'

She stared at him, and then started to smile. ‘I'm the best thing that's happened to you for years?'

‘Without doubt, and with the exception only of Florence. And as you know, she has to come first.'

‘Of course she does. I wouldn't want it any other way. I couldn't respect you if you felt any different—and for
what it's worth, you're the best thing that's happened to me, too.'

Their eyes locked, and he gave a soft sigh and leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

‘Bless you,' he said quietly. ‘You're a sweetheart. I'm so sorry it can't be more than this. You deserve so much more, and I just can't give it to you, but I'll never lie to you. That much I can give you.'

She touched his cheek. ‘That's all I want. I'm not really ready for more yet myself, and I'd rather have this than nothing,' she told him honestly, and wondered how long she'd feel like that. A year? Two? Ten?

Forever?

She felt her future drain away, subjugated to the love of this man, and she straightened up in her seat and looked ahead. Love? Oh, God, no. The ‘L' word was banned!

‘We'll be late,' she said, and he put the car in gear and pulled away, while she sat there and contemplated the fact that while she'd been keeping her head focussed on the ‘no complications' part of the deal, her heart had apparently had other ideas.

She was in love with him, and it was going nowhere, and all of a sudden she wanted to cry.

Clare Griffiths, their pre-eclampsia patient Ben had delivered on his first day, was improving rapidly and now spent all her days sitting by her little son in SCBU, watching over him as he slowly grew stronger. They bumped into each other in the café on Wednesday, and Clare bought her a coffee.

‘Just to say thank you, although it seems a pretty pathetic thank-you for all you did.'

‘I didn't do anything special,' Daisy protested, but Clare shook her head.

‘It may not have felt special to you, but to me—you just
took the time to talk to me, to explain what was happening, and Mr Walker—well, he was brilliant. So quick, so decisive, and I just—well, I felt safe with both of you looking after me, so thank you.'

‘My pleasure,' she said, touched by Clare's words. ‘I'll pass that on to him.'

‘Oh, I've already told him. He thinks you're special, too.'

‘Does he?' Daisy was startled, amazed that he'd discussed their private feelings with a patient, but Clare just smiled.

‘Oh, yes. He said so. He said he was very lucky to have you working with him, and that you were excellent.'

She felt a little wash of relief. Of course he was praising her and backing her up to the patients. She was a member of his team. What else would he do? But she still felt a little glow of pleasure to know that he'd done it.

‘Well, you're looking a lot better than, what—ten days ago?' she said, changing the subject swiftly. Ten? Was that all it was since she'd met Ben? Amazing. ‘So, tell me all about Thomas. How's he doing?'

‘Really well. Why don't you come and see him on your way back?' she asked, and Daisy hesitated for a second and then folded.

‘Do you know what? I'd love to,' she said with a smile, and they walked in to find Ben there, standing by the crib chatting to one of the nurses as he looked down at young Thomas Griffiths with a tender smile on his face. He glanced up as they approached and his smile widened.

‘Clare—hi. Hello, Daisy. Come to see Thomas?'

‘I have. I thought I'd play hooky for a moment as it's quiet. Is that OK?'

‘Of course it's OK. He's looking good, Clare, isn't he?'

‘He is. I'm just about to get him out and feed him. Want to give him to me? I know you're itching for a cuddle.'

He chuckled. ‘Sit down, I'll get him out for you.'

He snapped on gloves and reached into the incubator, juggling the tubes and wires with careful, gentle hands while the nurse supported their weight, and little Thomas lay there cradled securely, fast asleep in Ben's outspread fingers like a tiny doll.

‘There you go, little man,' he murmured. ‘Here's Mummy.'

He settled the tiny baby gently in Clare's arms, pausing to run a gentle finger over his soft, transparent cheek, and Daisy felt a huge lump in her throat. She'd seen him in Theatre with slippery little babies in his capable hands, passing them swiftly to the midwife—very swiftly, in Debbie's case. She'd seen him deliver Thomas a little more slowly, but no less carefully. She'd seen him in the delivery rooms wielding the forceps or Ventouse with ludicrous ease and then handing the babies over to their mothers as if it was all in a day's work—which of course it was.