A Man of Honour

She was just coming out of the cloakroom when Tom walked through the double doors from the ward, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his car keys dangling from his hand.

‘Hi—off now?’ she asked him, and he nodded.

‘Ross implied that I should get some sleep while the going’s good—I think once I know where everything is and how it all works he’ll chuck all the notes at me and run!’

Helen laughed softly., ‘I doubt it, he’s very conscientious. How are the Churches?’

Tom’s face sobered. ‘Pretty grim. Mrs is certainly taking it hard. I think actually he’s known for ages that there was something pretty damn drastic wrong with him, so he isn’t really surprised, but she is.’

‘Yes, she seemed to be quite stunned. Is he going to have the op?’

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. He’s gone home for the night as planned, but I think he’ll be back tomorrow for surgery.’

‘Difficult start for you—I’m sorry.’

He threw her a quick grin. ‘Doesn’t matter when you start, Helen. It’s always difficult for someone. I suppose that’s why I’m here—to make it easier if I can’t take it away. That’s all any of us can do.’ He glanced at his watch, then back at her. ‘Got time for a cup of tea?’

‘In the canteen?’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I was thinking of my room here—hospital tea is usually strong enough to stand a spoon up in, and I could do with something a little more subtle after all that coffee.’

She knew it was only a casual invitation and her reaction was probably foolish, but why not? She was tired and uptight, and anyway, she might find out something a little more personal about him.

Tea would be lovely,’ She said rashly.

They walked together through the sprawl of the hospital to the residents’ wing, and he opened his door and ushered her in with a flourish.

‘Welcome to Cell Block H.’

She looked round the small room, its cream walls chipped and bare, and chuckled. ‘It is pretty basic, isn’t it?’

His mouth quirked fleetingly. ‘It’s only temporary. I’m looking for something to buy—preferably something empty that I can move into quick! Park yourself if you can find anywhere.’

The only chair was stacked with books waiting to find a home, and a suitcase lay open on top of the chest of drawers.

Lacking any viable alternative, she sat on the end of the bed, her back against the wall, and watched him as he hung up his suit jacket on the back of the chair, tugged off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

His jaw was deeply shadowed now, giving him a slightly rakish look and adding a dash of danger to an already very masculine man. Helen found it very unsettling, and she was deeply conscious of the nearness of his body and the intimacy of her surroundings.

Not that he did anything that could give her cause for concern—or at least not at first.

He plugged in a plastic jug kettle and flicked it on, then dropped on to the bed and shot her a grin. ‘Mind if I change out of this suit? I’ve been suffocating all day.’

She shook her head, her mouth suddenly dry, and looked away as the zip rasped down and he peeled off the trousers.

‘Now, the six-million-dollar question is, where are my jeans?’ he mumbled, and stood up to rummage through the suitcase.

She looked up and caught a glimpse of strong, straight thighs smothered in dark curls, so close that if she had lifted her hand she could have touched him. Her heart pounded and she felt the heavy, insistent beat of desire in her veins.

The threat was real now, close enough to touch, but it came, she realised, from within—which did nothing to diminish its impact on her starving senses.

Then his legs were plunged into battered old blue denim and he was turning towards her with a smile.

‘Milk or lemon?’

Oh.’ Lord her mind had deserted her in those few brief seconds. ‘Milk, please.’

He passed her a mug, and she cradled it in her hands and cast about for something sensible to say.

He spared her the trouble.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked, propping himself up on the pillow and stretching his long legs down towards her—legs that were etched on her retinas and would trouble her sleep for weeks!

‘Four years. I came to the hospital as a staff nurse on the other surgical ward, and when Lizzi stopped work to have the baby I got her job.’

Tom blew on his tea, took a sip and sighed with satisfaction. ‘Better. So, are you happy here?’

‘Oh, yes—very. It’s a lovely hospital, and the staff are very friendly.’

‘They are, aren’t they? Ross seems really decent.’

‘He is. So’s Oliver Henderson. I’m very fortunate to be working with such reasonable people. The surgeon at my last hospital was a total pig.’

Tom chuckled. ‘I’ve worked with a few of them. Self-opinionated, over-blown stuffed shirts. Ross is a real breath of fresh air.’ He looked at her oddly. ‘And so are you.’ His smile was brief, his eyes strangely intense. ‘Thank you for making today so easy. I was dreading it.’

She was momentarily nonplussed. ‘You—you’re welcome,’ she stumbled, and found herself wondering if there would ever come a time when she could see him smile without turning to mush inside.

CHAPTER TWO

HELEN didn’t stay long. She found Tom’s presence altogether too disturbing in that little room, and after finishing her tea she made some excuse and fled.

During the course of that night she spent a great deal of time telling herself that her reaction to him was fifty per cent imagination and fifty per cent the result of her solitary and loveless existence. By the morning she almost believed it, but ten minutes on duty threw a hefty spanner in those works.

She was just welcoming a very subdued Ron Church to the ward and beginning the process of admitting him when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and Tom strolled into view, more casually dressed than the previous day in lightweight trousers and a white coat, and doing unspeakable things to her blood-pressure.

‘Morning, Sister, morning, Mr Church,’ he murmured, and with a fleeting smile he hitched one leg up and perched on the other side of the bed. ‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked the patient.

Mr Church sighed heavily. ‘Resigned—scared, a bit.’

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, it’s all a bit of an unknown quantity, isn’t it? Don’t worry. Let Sister Cooper get all the paperwork out of the way and I’ll come and have a long chat and see if I can set your mind at rest, all right?’

He moved away, going into the side-ward where Judy Fulcher had spent a fairly uncomfortable night following her burst appendix.

After Helen had finished with Mr Church she followed Tom in there and found him just covering Judy up again.

That looks fine,’ he said with a quick lift of his lips, and Judy gave him a wan smile in return.

‘I feel awful,’ she said.

‘I’m sure. You’ve been brewing this for some time, though, so you’re bound to feel rough for a few days until the antibiotics can get to grips with things. Still, you should be over the worst by now. We’ll get you up later today and get you moving, and that should help to get you on the mend more quickly.’

She groaned with the thought, and Tom patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take it very slowly. Just a few minutes in a chair at first, and then later perhaps a walk round the bed.’

They left the room, and he flashed a smile at Helen. ‘Mr Church ready for me?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he is. He’s very scared, Tom.’

‘I’m sure. I would be, but then I know more than he does. I need to discuss him with you as well—perhaps we can do that first?’

She took him into the office and Tom explained that they were going to start by building him up a little. He would need blood transfusions to overcome the anaemia caused by prolonged blood loss from his ulcerated bowel before he would be fit enough for surgery. In the meantime he would be starved and his bowel emptied as far as possible to create as clean a field as they could for the operation.

Initially they would open him up to see if they could establish the extent of the tumour. Then they would remove as much as was necessary, depending on the progress of the growth. If it was too far advanced to hope for a cure, they would perform a palliative operation designed to minimise pain and distress in his remaining months. If they felt there was any hope of saving him, they would perform probably much more radical surgery including the removal of all of the descending colon, the rectum and anus and any affected lymph glands, in the hope that this more drastic approach would remove all the malignant cells.

Tom, however, was not optimistic.

‘It looked too far gone, Helen. We’ll do what we can, but —’ He shook his head. ‘Still, we can only try. Right, I’ll go and have a chat to him.’

Tom’s pessimism was well founded. When they finally opened Mr Church up on Thursday, they found the cancer had spread too far to hope for a cure, with metastases in the lymph nodes and invasion of surrounding organs, including his liver.

Ross felt that any surgical intervention should be aimed at causing as little distress as possible, and so they removed part of the descending colon and rectum and rejoined the ends, thus removing any immediate danger of obstruction and leaving the man his dignity for the short time he had left.

Tom found Helen after he came out of Theatre, and filled her in.

‘What a damn shame,’ she said sadly. ‘He’s such a nice man.’

‘A least his wife will know what to expect,’ he said enigmatically, and left her, puzzled, while he went to snatch some lunch before his clinic in the afternoon.

Ross came up during the afternoon and spoke to Mrs Church, and then Helen had the unenviable task of dealing with the shattered woman.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said over and over again. ‘I thought he had piles. I kept telling him not to make such a fuss, and now it turns out he’s dying!’ She pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the sobs, but to no avail. Helen put her arm round her and let her cry, and after a few minutes she tried to pull herself together. Helen gave her a cup of tea, and Mrs Church was halfway through it before the tears got the better of her again.

It was nearly five and time for Helen to hand over to her staff nurse for the evening before Mrs Church finally left, and as a consequence Helen had a mountain of paperwork to wrestle with before she could leave.

She was just coming to the end of it when Ross and Tom came in headed for the coffee-pot.

‘How’s Mr Church?’

‘Asleep—he was very dopey. Ruth’s specialling him.’

Ross nodded. ‘I’ll pop in and have a chat before I go home tonight, if he’s awake enough. Otherwise I’ll see him in the morning. What about Judy Fulcher?’

‘She’s doing well—her peritonitis is settling and she seems to be responding well to the antibiotics. Alex Carter came and saw her yesterday and confirmed a generalised gynae infection—he wants to keep an eye on her. Seems she’s got gonorrhoea, chlamydia and candida among other things.’

Tom wrinkled his nose. ‘Delightful. I thought she was married?’

‘She is,’ Helen told them. ‘Perhaps her husband brought the bugs home?’

‘How thoughtful,’ Ross commented drily. ‘Some people have all the luck.’

Tom chuckled and put his cup down. ‘Well, if it’s all the same to you I’m going to stick my nose in a book. I’ve got my viva coming up altogether too quickly.’

‘You’ll walk it,’ Ross said with a yawn. ‘Oh, God, I’m tired. Think I’ll go home to bed. Oh, before you go Tom, Lizzi and I are having a barbecue on Saturday—all very informal, just a swim and a burger in a bun. Lizzi ordered me to make sure you come. She says it’s high time she met you.’

Tom smiled slightly. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. I’ll look forward to it.’

Ross turned to Helen. ‘What about you—any chance you can make it?’

‘Yes—super. Thanks, Ross.’

‘I tell you what—why don’t you come together? Very ecologically sound—and there won’t be so many cars on my grass!’

Tom gave a short laugh. ‘Fine—provided Helen doesn’t mind?’

She met his eyes—those strange, haunting blue eyes—and thought of spending all that time alone in a car with him. ‘No—no, I don’t mind,’ she said quickly, and her voice was slightly breathless, like an eager girl’s, she thought in disgust.

Ross shot her a keen look, but simply said, ‘Good. That’s fine. Any time after three.’

Then she was alone, with the prospect of spending Saturday afternoon and evening with Tom, and wondering what on earth she had let herself in for.

‘Wow.’

Helen glanced across at Ross’s house, sprawling down the hillside like a Spanish villa, and then at Tom, who looked faintly thunderstruck.

‘It is a bit, isn’t it? Look, park over there by those others under the trees.’

‘Lord—a cast of thousands,’ Tom said softly. He swung his Sierra off the drive on to the broad sweep of lawn that was covered in cars and pulled up beside a big dark grey Mercedes estate. ‘I’m going to lower the tone a bit in this,’ he joked, and tipped his head towards the Mercedes. ‘Oliver’s?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘He’s on call, but I guess his registrar will be doing it this afternoon.’

‘Surprise, surprise,’ Tom muttered under his breath. ‘The joys of being a registrar.’

Helen chuckled. ‘Poor old boy—you look really hard done by.’

He had the grace to laugh. ‘Yes, I’m really badly treated, aren’t I?’

‘The trouble with Ross,’ she told him as she gathered her things and climbed out of the car, ‘is that he is incapable of delegating. That’s why he’s always so tired. He flings himself whole-heartedly into his job, and insists on doing the best for his patients. If that means he does the operation, so be it.’

Tom regarded her thoughtfully over the top of the car. ‘But is it always the best for his patients? If he’s tired, will he perform well?’

‘The curse of the houseman. I think Ross perhaps hasn’t realised that he’s grown up!’

Tom chuckled. ‘No, I think he feels the rest of us haven’t—that’s why he mothers and spoon-feeds us! Where do we go?’

‘Follow the noise—and you’re wrong, you know. He’s been very complimentary about your operating—says you’re good—and from Ross, believe me, that’s high praise indeed.’

They strolled together across the grass and round the side of the house to the pool area, and Helen tried to ignore the long, lean, hair-strewn legs that ate up the ground so easily, and the snug fit of the tailored shorts that emphasised his narrow hips below the trim waist and wide, strong shoulders. She felt more than ever attracted to him, and was sure it must show in her eyes. She just wished she had the nerve to ask him if he was married or had a girlfriend, but she didn’t really want to know. She might not get the answer she wanted, after all!

They turned the corner and Tom stopped in his tracks. ‘Good God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many babies out of a maternity unit!’

Helen laughed. ‘Oh, well, they’re all at it. There’s Lizzi—come and meet her.’

They picked their way through the bodies strewn over the lawn to a slender, quietly pretty woman bent over a tiny toddler.

‘Lizzi?’

She straightened, hitching the baby up on to her hip, and her face broke into a smile.

‘Helen! I’m so glad you could come—and you must be Tom. Lovely to meet you. Welcome to the madhouse. Go and find yourselves a drink in the kitchen and come and have a chat.’

They made their way up the broad flight of steps leading to the house, and Tom shook his head slightly. ‘Wow, again. What a house. I could almost forgive it for being modern, it does it so well!’

Helen chuckled. ‘I take it you like old houses?’

‘Oh, ideally, but I’m not having a lot of joy finding anything I like. Nothing lives up to the estate agent’s blurb!’

They went into the house and found Ross in the kitchen piling burgers and sausages and chicken legs on to big plates. He was dressed only in a pair of scanty swimming-trunks, and looked disgustingly healthy and youthful.

‘Just in time,’ he told Tom with a grin, and handed him two of the plates. Take them down by the pool to the barbecue, and come back for the next lot. Right, Helen, what can I get you to drink? Hot, cold, with or without alcohol?’

‘Cold without, please.’

‘Fruit juice and fizzy water?’

‘Lovely.’

He handed her the ice-cold glass and then carried on unwrapping food.

‘Are you expecting an army?’ she asked quizzically, eyeing the mountain of burgers.

‘We’ve got the army already,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Ah, Tom, well done. Help yourself to a drink.’

He pulled the ring on a can of beer and propped his hips against the worktop beside Helen, but Ross didn’t let him linger.

‘Go and enjoy yourselves,’ they were told. ‘Here, give that to Helen to carry and take this lot down to the barbecue on your way—oh, and could you tell Lizzi I could do with a hand with the salad?’

They found his wife sitting on the grass with her sleepy daughter on her lap, talking to Bron Henderson and Clare Barrington, both obviously pregnant.

Helen introduced them to Tom and gave Lizzi Ross’s message, then Tom escaped to put the food down and talk to Oliver while Helen chatted to Bron and Clare.

‘Lizzi looks tired,’ Helen said thoughtfully, watching her as she made her way slowly up the steps.

‘She is—this pregnancy’s making her feel very sick and I think Sarah’s giving them the run-around at night,’ Bron commented with a wry laugh. ‘Dear God, do I know the feeling! Jamie’s being a holy terror at the moment, and heaven knows what it’ll be like when this one comes along. Still, Liwy will be at school in September so it won’t be so bad then.’

Helen grinned at Clare. ‘Just think, you’ve got all this to look forward to!’

Clare chuckled. ‘Yes, there are times when I think even sailing the Atlantic again couldn’t be as bad as motherhood! Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

She looked across the pool to where Michael was standing talking to Oliver and Tom, and the loving expression on her face brought a lump to Helen’s throat. How wonderful it must be to feel like that for someone and know it was returned, she thought wistfully, and found her eyes drawn to Tom.

He was laughing with the others, but at that moment he turned his head and caught her eye, and her heart turned over.

‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’

Helen turned back to Clare. ‘Hmm?’

‘Tom—he’s gorgeous—if you like dark-haired men, which of course I don’t!’

The girls all laughed, and Helen found her eyes drawn back to Tom again. Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was something else, some deeper quality that drew her against her better judgement.

She had found herself overpoweringly aware of him all week, almost to the point of being unable to concentrate on her job on occasions, and yet he had given her no hint that he returned her interest.

She sighed softly and turned back to the others, determined to ignore Tom and get him out of her system.

‘Sold the cottage yet?’ Bron was asking, but Clare shook her head.

‘No—we haven’t really had time to think about it. Michael only started at Ipswich last weekend, and we’ve been too busy sorting things out to worry about putting it on the market. I suppose I’d better do that next week.’

Helen’s interest was immediately caught. ‘Look, I’ve got an idea. Tom’s looking for a place, and I know he wants something old. Why don’t you ask him if he’d like to see it?’

Clare looked across at him. ‘Do you think he’d be interested?’

Helen shrugged. ‘Might be. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.’ Clare waved them over, and the three men strolled across.

‘What’s with the royal summons? Drinks run out or something?’ Michael asked as they approached.

‘No, no—Tom! Helen says you’re looking for a house, and we’ve got a cottage to sell. It’s only tiny, so it wouldn’t be any use if you’ve got a wife and six children tucked away somewhere, but it is quite lovely, miles from anywhere and beautifully done up —’

‘This is the soft sell, you notice,’ Michael interrupted, and Clare blushed and giggled.

‘Well, you know what I mean. It is lovely, Michael. I shall miss it.’

‘No, you won’t. My grandfather won’t give you time to miss it, and once the bump comes along you certainly won’t have time to mope. Anyway, Tom, as she says, the cottage isn’t big, but you’re more than welcome to have a look if you want.’

Tom nodded. ‘Please. It sounds wonderful, and size isn’t a problem, I’m on my own. When can I look at it?’

Clare and Michael exchanged glances. ‘Tomorrow morning?’

‘Fine. Can you give me directions?’

Helen saw Clare glance at her, then back to Tom. ‘Why don’t you get Helen to come with you? She knows the way, and it’s a bit tricky to find the first time.’

‘Helen?’

She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘Fine. No problem.’

‘Ten o’clock at the cottage?’

They all agreed, and then the conversation moved on, leaving Helen free to absorb Tom’s admission that he was on his own. That didn’t necessarily mean he was interested in her, of course, but it did mean he was free to pursue her if he wanted to. She would just have to wait and see if he did want to.

Lizzi joined them, followed by a trail of tiny children, with Ross bringing up the rear.

‘It’s like the National Childbirth Trust round here. Hoo-hoo-haaaah,’ he huffed, and they all chuckled.

Tom looked quizzically at Helen.

‘Breathing exercises for labour,’ she told him, and he nodded blankly.

Ross chuckled. ‘Not quite in your league, is it?’ he said. ‘Go and help yourselves to food—there’s a stack of cooked bits and pieces, rolls, salad, et cetera. Eat plenty, for God’s sake. There’s always masses left over.’

Tom pulled Helen to her feet and they wandered over to the groaning table beside the barbecue.

‘Oh, terrific—I’m starving!’ Tom confessed, and after they piled their plates up he led Helen away down the garden to a little orchard at the end. Then he lowered himself to the grass under the trees and patted the ground. ‘Sit down and tell me all about the Barringtons’ cottage.’

She settled herself beside him, taking a bite of her burger to distract herself from the sight of his hair-roughened thigh only inches from her knees. ‘Well, it’s called Rose Cottage, and it’s got roses climbing up it and a thatched roof and little latticed windows, and it’s absolutely enchanting. If I could afford to, I’d buy it, but I just don’t earn enough.’

‘Not fair, is it?’ Tom said quietly. ‘You work hard enough, God knows. It’s lovely to see you relaxing; you’ve been rushing about all week. Every time I’ve seen you you’ve been either bent over a patient or buried under a mountain of paperwork.’

She sighed. ‘Well, it’s been a bit hectic. You’ve been busy too.’

‘Mmm. Still, I’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for all the help.’

She turned her head slightly and looked at him. ‘You’re welcome.’

His eyes locked with hers, and for an endless moment they stared at each other, then he turned away and bit into his roll, and she found she could breathe again.

They ate in silence for a while, then Helen put her plate down and lay back on the sweetly scented grass.

‘Oh, heaven. I think I’ve eaten too much.’

‘Rubbish. That’s why you’re so skinny. Do you want the rest of this burger?’

She shook her head, and watched, fascinated, as Tom picked it up and bit into it. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she found the sight of his Adam’s apple rising and falling absolutely riveting.

She made herself look away. Let him make the first move, she thought, and closed her eyes.

Seconds later his breath whispered against her cheek.

‘You’ve caught the sun,’ he said softly, and his finger trailed down her nose.