Assignment: Single Father

‘Oh, lovely, thanks. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the children, particularly Chrissie, and I wouldn’t mind a lesson in pulling out that ramp thing and clipping in the wheelchair, if you can be bothered.’

‘Sure,’ he said, glad to have something positive to focus on apart from the gentle swell of her breasts and the way her hair fell in those soft, shining waves across her shoulders. He pictured it spread out over a pillow, and stifled a groan. ‘Let’s go and do that now before it gets even colder,’ he said, and, shrugging on his coat, he grabbed his car keys off the fridge and headed for the door, collecting the wheelchair as he went.

He seemed a little abrupt, Fran thought. Tired and preoccupied, perhaps? Worried about the children?

All of the above, probably. She hurried after him, practised slotting the ramp in and out and clipping in the wheelchair until she was sure she could do it blindfolded, and then they went back inside and he poured her the glass of wine he’d promised her and picked up his own.

‘Let’s go into my study,’ he said. ‘It’s comfortable, and there’s no danger of being overheard by the children.’

She nodded and followed him yet again. She seemed to have spent a great deal of time doing that today, she thought, but it was quite an interesting view, one the dogs must be quite used to as well. She stifled a smile and went into his study after him, the dogs trotting along beside her, and closed the door softly behind them all.

It was a lovely room, the walls completely lined with books, a battered desk of some considerable vintage set at right angles to the big, low window overlooking the drive. There was a huge leather swivel chair behind the desk and a toning leather chesterfield beside the fireplace.

Shoving the dogs off onto the floor, Xavier dropped into the chesterfield, waved at the other end of it and watched her as she settled into the other corner, a brooding look on his face.

She wondered what she’d done wrong, but apparently it was rather what she’d done right.

‘You have no idea how grateful I am to you for stepping into this post with so little warning,’ he said quietly. ‘I was at my wits’ end. I’d literally run out of options, and the kids were going to have to come to the surgery by taxi and sit in the office till I’d finished every night. Can you imagine Nick sitting still for that long? He’d be murdered by the staff before the week was out.’

Fran could believe it. He was certainly a live wire, she thought, although she couldn’t imagine Chrissie being any trouble if you could cope with the cold-shoulder treatment. She’d come in that evening, settled herself down at the kitchen table in silence and ploughed her way steadily through her homework.

Nick, on the other hand, had had to be retrieved from his bedroom and practically screwed to the chair by his exasperated father before he’d finally given in and opened his books.

‘Tell me about that little computer thing Chrissie has,’ Fran said, remembering how she’d communicated with her father and brother during the evening.

‘Her palm? It’s just that, a tiny computer that fits in her hand and means she can communicate without writing—well, she does write, simplified letters that the computer reads and then brings up into print on the small screen for us to see. It’s slower, but it means she doesn’t ever run out of paper and, besides, it’s cool. It gives her street cred, and I suppose in her position that’s important.’

Fran nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ She hesitated, then plunged on regardless. ‘I hate to bring it up again, but—do you have any idea what it might have been about the accident that made her stop talking?’

A shadow came over his face and he shook his head. ‘No. None. To be honest, I’ve hardly discussed it with her. Every mention of it distressed her so much in the beginning that we just avoided it, and opinion is divided on the efficacy of counselling in post-traumatic stress disorder—if it is PTSD. I still don’t know if I believe that. I can’t believe a healthy, active teenager would deliberately confine herself to a wheelchair and restrict herself to immobility and silence, no matter how traumatised.’

‘What do the experts think?’ she asked, curious as to their opinions, but he just laughed, a humourless, rather sad sound.

‘Oh, the experts couldn’t agree. Some wanted to try pressing her, forcing the issue; others said it was profoundly dangerous and she’d come out of it in time on her own. So what do you do? Who do you believe?’

‘What did you do?’

Xavier shrugged. ‘Nothing helped. The therapy made her even more withdrawn, so we stopped it and we just manage the situation as well as we can. She sees a physio twice a week and I do resisted exercises with her every evening, and she goes swimming on her games afternoon at a special hydrotherapy session, and I just hope to God she comes out of it before her body’s permanently damaged.’

He looked down into his wineglass, his face taut, a muscle working in his jaw, and Fran had an overwhelming urge to take the glass out of his hand and lay him down and massage the tension out of his shoulders. He was like a bowstring, she thought, strung so tight he would break, and she wondered if he ever did anything for himself, took any time to be himself and not a father or a doctor.

With one hand he was idly fondling the ear of one of the dogs, propped lovingly against his leg, and the other dog had her chin on his foot.

Such devotion. It wasn’t hard to see how he inspired it, she thought. He was so kind, so generous with himself, so thoughtful. He’d brought her things in out of her car, the few pitiful possessions she’d brought with her from London, and put them upstairs in the pretty little flat that was her new home.

He’d found her some clean linen and helped her make up the bed, turned up the heating to air the rooms and then left her alone to settle in and count her blessings.

All this after he’d cooked for them all, fed the dogs, supervised homework and chivvied the children through their bedtime routine.

He must be so tired, she thought, so tired and stressed and worried. If her presence here helped him, regardless of what she could do for Chrissie, then she’d feel she’d done her job well.

Nick she wasn’t worried about. Nick was a normal, healthy, well-balanced young boy, and he just needed keeping in order. Well, she could do that. She’d done it for years with her brother.

‘May I ask you something?’ he said quietly, and Fran looked up to find those lovely, haunted eyes studying her face.

‘Of course.’

‘If you were living in London, how come you’re looking for a job up here and haven’t got anywhere to live?’

She’d wondered when it was coming, and thought of lying to him, but somehow she didn’t want to. Anyway, she knew instinctively that he’d be easy to tell.

‘After I stopped working at the hospital I just felt lost. I’d been wandering around aimlessly for days, and I spent yesterday in the park doing more of the same, thinking over your job offer and wondering what to do. I was on my way home because my boyfriend was coming round, and someone was knocked down in front of me in the middle of Camden High Street. And I froze.’

He made a sympathetic noise and she shrugged and carried on. ‘Luckily someone else came along who could help him, so I don’t have to have his death on my conscience, but by the time it was all over and I got back, I was late, of course.’

‘And your boyfriend had got sick of waiting?’

She gave a strangled little laugh. ‘You might say that. He was in bed with my flatmate.’

He said something under his breath in French that she thought was probably rude, and she gave him a wry grin.

‘Quite. So I left. I flung my clothes and a few things into the car, and turned my back on my entire life. I didn’t know where to go, because my parents don’t live here any more. They live in Devon near my brother and his wife, and none of them have any spare room, so I headed up here and camped with Jackie and just hoped your job was still on offer. Jackie’s an old friend from school and nurse training days, and I spent the night with her last night and went to work with her this morning.’

‘And rang me again.’

‘Yes. Then Josh Nicholson tried to talk me into working for him instead.’

Xavier frowned. ‘Josh Nicholson? But he’s still in hospital, surely? He nearly killed himself, just a few days ago.’

‘Quite. Having seen him, I’m only too ready to believe that. Is he a patient of yours?’

‘Yes—and, of course, a well-known public figure. The news was full of it. But, yes, as it happens, I believe he is a patient, though I’ve never had to see him except for inoculations for foreign holidays and so on. He’s never been unwell that I’m aware of.’

‘Oh. Well, he doesn’t look so hot now, so you might want to stand by for an emergency call!’

He laughed under his breath, then his eyes locked on hers again. ‘So this was only—yesterday, is that right, that you found the boyfriend and your flatmate together?’

She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. It seems about three lifetimes ago.’

‘Well, that might be a good thing. Hell, I’m sorry. Was it serious? With the boyfriend?’

She thought of Dan, frivolous and uncommitted, and shook her head. ‘No. It might have been eventually, I suppose, but, then, probably not. I’m not sure he had what it takes to be serious, and I’m not into casual sex.’ She smiled brightly and tried to inject some light humour into her voice. ‘So, anyway, here I am, utterly free, and scared to death.’

She didn’t fool him for an instant. Instead of laughing, as he was supposed to, he smiled understandingly. ‘There’s no need to be scared, Fran. You have a home now, and a job. How long you stay is up to you.’

She nodded again, and to her disgust her eyes filled. She looked away, blinking hard to banish the too-ready tears. ‘Thank you,’ she said, a trifle unsteadily. ‘Thank you for everything.’

‘My pleasure. More wine?’

She dredged up a smile. ‘Do you know, I think I will. I don’t suppose two glasses will kill me.’

‘Probably not, although it’s pretty awful,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I just grabbed it in the supermarket on Sunday. I had a feeling this week would call for it.’

He eased himself off the sofa and the dogs were at his heels instantly. Fran wondered a trifle hysterically if she should fall into place behind them, and nearly laughed aloud.

She was losing it, she thought, and then inexplicably her eyes filled again. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself, but the events of the past two weeks caught up with her in a rush, and she curled over on her side on the sofa, buried her face in a cushion and sobbed as if her heart would break.

She didn’t hear Xavier come back, but then the sofa shifted under his weight and he was there for her.

‘Ah, Fran,’ his voice murmured, and then strong hands were on her shoulders, lifting her against his chest, and his arms were round her, rocking her slowly against him, holding her safe until the storm of weeping was over.

‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, and pulled away, scrubbing her nose on the back of her hand. ‘What an idiot you must think I am.’

‘You’re not an idiot at all. Here,’ he said, passing her a tissue, and she blew her nose and scrubbed her eyes and sniffed hard, burrowing back into the corner of the sofa in an attempt to retrieve her dignity.

‘Your shirt’s all soggy,’ she said unevenly, and he just smiled, a slow, crooked smile that nearly reduced her to tears again.

She was shredding the tissue, so he took it from her and replaced it with the glass of wine, and she took a gulp and dragged in a huge deep breath and smiled.

‘Thanks,’ she said, her throat still clogged with tears, but he just shrugged.

‘Sometimes it’s better to let go,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve had a lot to deal with. Now, drink up and tell me what you like to eat, so I can go shopping tomorrow. We can’t have you starving to death.’

How odd. The day before she wouldn’t have cared. Now, suddenly, she did, and it was all down to him.

‘I eat anything,’ she told him truthfully. ‘Usually everything, in fact!’

‘I’ll see what I can do. I normally call in at the supermarket on my way home for lunch, or do a big shop with the kids at the weekend, which is always a nightmare.’

‘Can’t I do that for you?’ she offered, and he shrugged.

‘Well—if you want to. I can get you some cash. Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve got hours between the end of my work in the morning and picking the children up from school, so it’s not a problem. Do you come home for lunch every day?’

He nodded. ‘If I can, if there’s time. It gives me a little time alone to relax and think—unwind a bit. Don’t think you have to cook for me, though. I usually have beans on toast or something like that—something quick.’

He couldn’t have given her a bigger hint, she thought. She made a mental note to keep out of his way at lunchtimes. ‘I’ll make sure there are plenty of things in the cupboard for you to choose from,’ she said, and wondered why she felt disappointed.

How silly. ‘Right, can you tell me exactly what I have to do each day with the children—in fact, could you write it down so I have it in black and white what’s expected of me, so the kids won’t pull the wool over my eyes?’

He snorted softly. ‘You obviously know kids.’

‘I remember being one,’ she corrected. ‘A new babysitter was a great opportunity not to be missed. I don’t suppose yours are any different.’

His smile was wry. ‘No—and don’t imagine Chrissie’s innocent either. She might look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but really she can be just as naughty as Nick, and she’s more devious. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not a bad girl, but she is a normal one in many ways. Don’t let her fool you.’

The warning rang in Fran’s ears the following morning while she was rushing to get them ready for school and get herself to the surgery in time.

So far, so good, she thought as she arrived only a minute late. Considering the wrangling and chaos and lost shoes and missing books, it was a miracle she was here at all, she thought, and having to put the people carrier into the tiniest space in the car park was a bit scary.

She wasn’t used to driving such a big car, and if it hadn’t been for the lack of choice, she would have protested. She didn’t know how Xavier had got to work either. She hadn’t even thought about it, but he hadn’t said anything. She wondered if he’d want to borrow her car rather than walk—because how would he do his house calls after surgery if he was on foot? Still, surely he would have thought of that?

Puzzled, she headed for the surgery entrance, and then noticed a silver sports car parked in his space, a low-slung, mean little machine, and she smiled to herself. So he had another car, the absolute antithesis of the people carrier. Interesting.

She went inside, apologised for her lateness and grabbed the notes for her morning’s patients. She was wearing her old Sister’s uniform of a royal blue dress, but she’d put on weight since she’d worn it. She hadn’t needed it recently because the uniform in her hospital had changed to tunics and trousers and the dress had been flung in a drawer for the past two years, so she hadn’t realised that it had become a little snug over the bust and hips.

Still, it would do until she got another one, she thought, and with all the running up and down she’d done this morning, she’d very likely lose weight anyway. Tugging it straight, she went through to her room, took a steadying breath and pressed the button for her first patient.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO, HOW did it go?’

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