Kitabı oku: «Her Playboy's Proposal», sayfa 2
And she discovered that Lorraine had been absolutely on the ball about Harry being great with patients, because he somehow managed to find out that Mr Kemp loved dogs and got him chatting about that, distracting him from his worries about being a burden.
‘You were brilliant with Mr Kemp,’ she said on their way back to the Emergency Department.
Harry gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Just chatting. And I noticed you were watching him drinking and assessing him.’
She nodded. ‘I’m happier with his swallowing, but I think he’ll be in for a couple more days yet. They’ll want to assess him for a water infection or a chest infection, in case that contributed to the fall as well as the stroke. And they’ll need to get social services in to look at his care plan as well as talk to his family. I’m guessing that he’s not so good with accepting help, and from what he said to us earlier it sounded as if his son-in-law doesn’t have much patience.’
‘Very true.’ Harry gave her a sidelong look. ‘Though I know a few people caught between caring for their kids and caring for their elderly parents. It can be hard to juggle, and—well, not all parents are easy.’
‘And some are brilliant.’ Isla’s own parents had been wonderful—they’d never believed Andrew’s accusations right from the start, and they’d encouraged her to retrain in Glasgow and then move to London and start again.
‘Yes, some are brilliant.’ Harry was looking curiously at her.
‘It takes all sorts to make a world,’ she said brightly. Why on earth hadn’t she moved him away from the subject of parents? Why had she had to open her mouth? ‘And we have patients to see.’
‘Yes, we do. Well, Sister McKenna.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Shall we?’
CHAPTER TWO
‘IS ISLA NOT coming tonight?’ Harry asked Lorraine at the bowling alley, keeping his tone casual.
‘No.’
Lorraine wasn’t forthcoming with a reason and Harry knew better than to ask, because it would be the quickest way to fuel gossip. Not that Lorraine was one to promote the hospital rumour mill, but she might let slip to Isla that she thought Harry might be interested in her, and that would make things awkward between them at work. She’d already got the wrong idea about him.
All the same, this was the third team night out in a fortnight that Isla had missed. On the ward, she was an excellent colleague; she was good with patients and relatives, quick to offer sensible suggestions to clinical problems, and she got on well with everyone. The fact that she didn’t come to any of the team nights out seemed odd, especially as she was new to the department and going out with the team would be a good chance for her to get to know her colleagues better.
Maybe Isla was a single parent or caring for an elderly relative, and it was difficult for her to arrange someone to sit with her child or whoever in the evenings. But he could hardly ask her about it without it seeming as if he was prying.
And he wasn’t; though he was intrigued by her. Then again, if it turned out that she was a single parent, that’d be a deal-breaker for him. He really didn’t want to be back in the position of having parental type responsibilities for a child. OK, so lightning rarely struck twice—but he didn’t want to take the risk.
‘Shame,’ he said lightly, and switched the conversation round to who was going to be in which team.
Two days later, it was one of the worst days in the department Harry had had in months. He, Isla and Josie were in Resus together, trying to save a motorcyclist who’d been involved in a head-on crash—but the man’s injuries were just too severe. Just when Harry had thought they were getting somewhere and the outcome might be bearable after all, the man had arrested and they just hadn’t been able to get him back.
‘I’m calling it,’ Harry said when his last attempt with the defibrillator produced no change. ‘It’s been twenty minutes now. He’s not responding. Is everyone agreed that we should stop?’
Isla and Josie both looked miserable, but voiced their agreement.
‘OK. Time of death, one fifty-three,’ he said softly, and pulled the sheet up to cover their patient’s face. ‘Thank you, team. You all worked really well.’
But it hadn’t been enough, and they all knew it.
‘OK. Once we’ve moved him out of Resus and cleaned him up, I’ll go and find out if Reception managed to get hold of a next of kin and if anyone’s here,’ he said.
‘If they have, I’ll come with you, if you like,’ Isla offered.
‘Thank you.’ He hated breaking bad news. Having someone there would make it a little easier. And maybe she’d know what to say when he ran out of words.
The motorcyclist, Jonathan Pryor, was only twenty-seven, and his next of kin were his parents. The receptionist had already sent a message to Resus that Jonathan’s mum was waiting in the relatives’ room.
‘I hate this bit so much,’ he said softly as he and Isla walked towards the relatives’ room.
‘We did everything we possibly could,’ she reminded him.
‘I know.’ It didn’t make him feel any better. But the sympathy in her blue, blue eyes made his heart feel just a fraction less empty.
Mrs Pryor looked up hopefully as they knocked on the door and walked in. ‘Jonathan? He’s all right? He’s out of Theatre or whatever and I can go and see him?’
Harry could see the very second that she realised the horrible truth—that her son was very far from being all right—and her face crumpled.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Pryor,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘We did everything we could to save him, but he arrested on the table—he had a heart attack, and we just couldn’t get him back.’
Sobs racked her body. ‘I always hated him riding that wretched motorcycle. I worried myself sick every time he went out on it because I knew that something like this would happen. I can’t bear it.’ Her voice was a wail of distress. ‘And now I’ll never see him again. My boy. My little boy.’
Harry knew there was nothing he could do or say to make this better. He just sat down next to Mrs Pryor and kept holding her hand, letting her talk about her son.
Isla went to the vending machine. Harry knew without having to ask that she was making a cup of hot, sweet tea for Mrs Pryor. He could’ve done with one himself, but he wasn’t going to be that selfish. The only thing he could do now for his patient was to comfort his grieving mother.
‘Thank you, but I don’t want it,’ Mrs Pryor said when Isla offered her the paper cup. ‘It won’t bring my son back.’
‘I know,’ Isla said gently, ‘but you’ve just had a horrible shock and this will help. Just a little bit, but it will help.’
Mrs Pryor looked as if she didn’t believe the nurse, but she took the paper cup and sipped from it.
‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ Harry asked.
‘My—my husband.’ She shook her head blankly. ‘Oh, God. How am I going to tell him?’
‘I can do that for you,’ Harry said gently. ‘It might be easier on both of you if I tell him.’ Even though he hated breaking bad news.
Mrs Pryor dragged in a breath. ‘All right—thank you.’
‘And you can come and see Jonathan whenever you feel ready,’ Isla said. ‘I’ll come with you, and you can spend some time alone with him, too. I can call the hospital chaplain to come and see you, if you’d like me to.’
Mrs Pryor shook her head. ‘I’ve never been the religious type. Talking to the chaplain’s not going to help. It’s not going to bring Jonathan back, is it?”
‘I understand,’ Isla said, ‘but if you change your mind just tell me. Anything we can do to help, we will.’
‘He was only twenty-seven. That’s way too young to die.’ Mrs Pryor shut her eyes very tightly. ‘And that’s a stupid thing to say. I know children younger than that get killed in accidents every day.’
Yeah, Harry thought. Or, if not killed, left with life-changing injuries, even if they weren’t picked up at first. His own little sister was proof of that. He pushed the thought and the guilt away. Not now. He needed to concentrate on his patient’s bereaved mother.
‘It’s just … you never think it’s going to happen to your own. You hope and you pray it never will.’ She sighed. ‘I know he was a grown man, but he’ll always be my little boy.’
Harry went out to his office to call Mr Pryor to break the bad news, while Isla took over his job of holding Mrs Pryor’s hand and letting her talk. On the way to his office, Harry asked one of the team to clean Jonathan’s face and prepare him so his parents wouldn’t have to see the full damage caused to their son by the crash. And then he went back to the relatives’ room to join Isla and Mrs Pryor, staying there until Mr Pryor arrived, twenty minutes later. The Pryors clung together in their grief, clearly having trouble taking it all in. But finally, Mr Pryor asked brokenly, ‘Can we see him?’
‘Of course,’ Harry said.
He and Isla took the Pryors through to the side room where Jonathan’s body had been taken so they could see their son in private. They stayed for a few minutes in case the Pryors had any questions; then Isla caught Harry’s eye and he gave the tiniest nod of agreement, knowing what she was going to say.
Then Isla said gently to the Pryors, ‘We’ll be just outside if you need us for anything.’
‘Thank you,’ Mrs Pryor said, her voice full of tears.
Outside the side room, Isla said to Harry, ‘I’ll finish up here—you’ll be needed back in Resus.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked. He was needed back in Resus; but at the same time he didn’t think it was fair to leave Isla to deal with grieving parents all on her own.
She nodded. ‘I’m sure.’
He reached out and squeezed her hand, trying to ignore the tingle that spread through his skin at her touch—now really wasn’t an appropriate time. ‘Thank you. You were brilliant. And even though I know you’re more than capable of answering any questions the Pryors might have, if you need backup or want me to come and talk to them about anything, you know where to find me.’
‘Yes. Those poor people,’ she said softly.
‘This is the bit of our job I really wish didn’t exist,’ Harry said.
‘I know. But it does, and we have to do our best.’ She squeezed his hand back, and loosened it. ‘Off you go.’
He wrote up the paperwork, and headed back to Resus. To his relief, the next case was one that he could actually fix. The patient had collapsed, and all the tests showed Harry that it was a case of undiagnosed diabetes. The patient was in diabetic ketoacidosis; Harry was able to start treatment, and then explain to the patient’s very relieved wife that her husband would be fine but they’d need to see a specialist about diabetes and learn how to monitor his blood sugar, plus in future they’d have to keep an eye on his diet to suit his medical condition.
Mid-afternoon, Harry actually had a chance to take his break. He hadn’t seen Isla back in Resus since leaving her with the Pryors, so he went in search of her; he discovered that she was doing paperwork.
‘Hey. I’m pulling rank,’ he said.
She looked up. ‘What?’
‘Right now, I really need some cake. And I think, after the day you’ve had, so do you. So I prescribe the hospital canteen for both of us.’
‘What about Josie?’
Harry smiled. ‘She’s already had her break and is in cubicles right now, but I’m going to bring her some cake back. You can help me pick what she’d like.’
For a moment, he thought Isla was going to balk at being alone with him; then she smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d like that.’
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We have fifteen minutes. Which is just about enough time to walk to the canteen, grab cake, and chuck back a mug of coffee.’
She rolled her eyes, but stood up to join him.
‘How were the Pryors?’ he asked softly when they were sitting at the table in the canteen with a massive slice of carrot cake and a mug of good, strong coffee each.
‘Devastated,’ she said. ‘But they got to spend time with their son and I explained that he didn’t suffer in Resus—that the end was quick.’
‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I hate cases like that. The guy still had his whole life before him.’ And something else had been bugging him. ‘He was only five years younger than I am.’ The exact same age as one of his siblings. And he’d had to fight the urge to text every single one of his siblings who was old enough to drive to say that they were never, ever, ever to ride a motorbike.
‘He was three years younger than me,’ Isla said.
It was first time she’d offered any personal information, and it encouraged him enough to say, ‘You were brilliant with the Pryors and I really appreciate it. I assume you had a fair bit of experience with bereaved relatives when you worked in your last emergency department?’
‘Actually, no.’
He blinked at her. ‘How come?’
‘I wasn’t in an emergency department, as such—I was a nurse practitioner in a GP surgery. I retrained in Glasgow and then came here,’ she said.
Something else he hadn’t known about her. ‘You retrained to give you better opportunities for promotion?’ he asked.
‘Something like that.’
She was clearly regretting sharing as much as she had, and he could tell that she was giving him back-off signals. OK. He’d take the hint. He smiled at her. ‘Sorry. We’re a nosey bunch at the London Victoria—and I talk way too much. Blame it on the sugar rush from the cake.’
‘And on having a rough day,’ she added. ‘So you’ve always worked in the emergency department?’
‘Pretty much. I trained in London; I did my foundation years here, with stints in Paediatrics and Gastroenterology.’ Because of what had happened to Tasha, his first choice had been Paediatrics. He’d been so sure that it was his future. ‘But, as soon as I started in the Emergency Department, I knew I’d found the right place for me. So I stayed and I worked my way up,’ he said.
‘Thirty-two’s not that old for a special reg,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Though I’ve already seen for myself that you’re good at what you do.’
Funny how much her words warmed him. He inclined his head briefly. ‘Thank you, kind madam.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was a statement of fact,’ she said crisply.
He grinned. ‘I like you, Isla. You’re good for my ego. Keeping it in check.’
She actually smiled back, and his heart missed a beat. When she smiled, she really was beautiful.
‘I’ve known worse egos in my time,’ she said.
‘And you gave them just as short shrift?’
‘Something like that.’
He looked at her. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘That depends,’ she said.
‘Why haven’t you come to any of the departmental nights out?’
‘Because they’re not really my thing,’ she said.
‘So you don’t like ten-pin bowling, pub quizzes or pizza.’ He paused. ‘What kind of things do you like, Isla?’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve only been at the London Victoria for a couple of weeks, you’ve told me that you retrained to come here, and I’m assuming that you don’t really know anyone around here. It must be a bit lonely.’
Yes, she was lonely. She still missed her family and her friends in the Western Isles hugely. And, even though she was trying to put her past behind her, part of her worried about socialising with her new colleagues. It would be too easy to let something slip. And then their reaction to her might change. Some would pity her; others would think there was no smoke without fire. And neither reaction was one she wanted to face.
She didn’t think Harry was asking her out—he’d already made it clear he thought his reputation wasn’t deserved—but it wouldn’t hurt to make things clear. ‘You’re right—I don’t know many people in London,’ she said softly. ‘And I could use a friend. Just a friend,’ she added. ‘Because I’m concentrating on my career right now.’
‘That works for me,’ Harry said. ‘So can we be friends?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said. Even if his smile did make her weak at the knees. Friendship was all she was prepared to offer.
‘Friends,’ he said, and reached over to shake her hand.
And Isla really had to ignore the tingle that went through her at the touch of his skin. Nothing was going to happen between them. They were colleagues—about to be friends—and that was all.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN ISLA WENT into the staffroom that morning for a mug of tea, Harry was the only one there. He was staring into his mug of coffee as if he was trying to lose himself in it. She knew that feeling well—she’d been there herself only a few months ago, when her life had turned into a living nightmare—and her heart went out to him.
‘Tough shift so far?’ she asked, gently placing her hand on his arm for a moment.
‘No—yes,’ he admitted. Then he grimaced. ‘Never mind. Forget I said anything.’
It wasn’t like Harry Gardiner to be brusque. The doctor she’d got to know over the last month was full of smiles, always seeing the good in the world.
He also hadn’t quite lived up to his heartbreaker reputation, because since Isla had known Harry he hadn’t actually dated anyone. He’d even turned down a couple of offers, which was hardly the act of the Lothario that the hospital rumour mill made him out to be. Maybe he’d told her the truth when he’d said he wasn’t a heartbreaker.
Right now, something had clearly upset him. Though she understood about keeping things to yourself. Since the day that Andrew Gillespie had made that awful accusation and her fiancé had actually believed him, she’d done the same. Keeping your feelings to yourself was the safest way. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But if you want to talk, you know where I am.’
‘Thanks.’ But Harry still seemed sunk in the depths of gloom. He was still serious when he was working in minors with her, not even summoning up his store of terrible jokes to distract a little boy whose knee he had to suture after Isla had cleaned up the bad cut.
By mid-afternoon, she was really worried about him. To the point of being bossy. ‘Right. I’m pulling rank,’ she said. ‘You need cake, so I’m dragging you off to the canteen.’
‘Yes, Sister McKenna,’ he said. But his eyes were dull rather than gleaming with amusement. And that worried her even more.
Once they were sitting in the canteen—where she’d insisted on buying lemon cake for him—she asked, ‘So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’
He said nothing; but she waited, knowing that if you gave someone enough space and time they’d start talking.
Except he didn’t.
‘Harry, either you’ve suddenly become a monk and taken a vow of silence as well as chastity, or something’s wrong.’
He looked at her. ‘How do you know I’m chaste?’
She met his gaze. ‘According to the hospital rumour mill, you haven’t dated in a month and everyone thinks you must be ill.’
‘They ought to mind their own business.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not ill. I just don’t want to date.’
Fair enough. She could understand that; it was how she felt, too.
‘And the silence?’ she asked.
He sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it here.’
So there was something wrong. And she liked Harry. She hated to think of him being miserable. And maybe talking to her would help him. ‘After work, then? Somewhere else, somewhere that people from round here aren’t likely to be hanging round to overhear what you’re saying?’
There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Sister McKenna?’
‘That I’m most definitely not,’ she said crisply. But then she softened. ‘We’re friends, Harry, and friends support each other. You look upset about something and you’ve been a bit serious at work lately, so something’s obviously wrong. If you want to go for a drink with me after work or something and talk, then the offer’s there.’
‘I could use a friend,’ he said. ‘But you never socialise outside work, Isla. And isn’t someone waiting at home for you?’
‘I’m single, as well you know.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Maybe you have a child,’ he explained, ‘or a relative you’re caring for.’
‘Is that what people are saying about me? That because I don’t go on team nights out, I must be a single parent with babysitting problems?’
He winced. ‘People get curious. But I haven’t been gossiping about you.’
Given what he’d said about the hospital rumour mill, she believed him. ‘Just for the record, I don’t have a child, and I don’t look after anyone. There’s just me. And that’s fine.’
‘Not even a goldfish or a cat?’
‘No.’ She would’ve loved a dog, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone all day. Hospital shifts and pets didn’t mix that well, unless you were in a family where you could share the care. Not to mention the clause in the lease of her flat saying that she couldn’t have pets. ‘You know what the old song says about not being able to take a goldfish for a walk.’
‘I guess.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, Isla. I’ll think of somewhere and text you. Shall we meet there?’
She knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. Because, if they travelled to the pub or café together, someone was likely to see them and start speculating about whether they were seeing each other. Harry obviously didn’t want to be the centre of gossip, and neither did she. ‘Deal,’ she said.
After his shift finished, Harry texted Isla the address of the wine bar and directions on how to find it.
Funny, she was the last person he’d expected to take him under her wing. She didn’t date, whereas he had the not-quite-deserved reputation of dating hundreds of women and breaking their hearts. He’d been at the London Victoria for years and she’d been working there for just under a month. And yet she’d been the only one in the department who’d picked up his dark mood; and she’d been the only one who’d offered him a listening ear.
Harry didn’t tend to talk about his family.
But maybe talking to someone who didn’t know him that well—and most certainly didn’t know any of the other people involved—might help. A fresh pair of eyes to help him see the right course of action. Because this wedding was really getting under his skin and Harry didn’t have a clue why it was upsetting him so much. It wasn’t as if his father hadn’t got remarried before. So why, why, why had it got to him so much this time?
Harry was already halfway through his glass of Merlot when Isla walked into the wine bar, looked round and came over to his table. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi. You look lovely. I’ve never seen you wearing normal clothes instead of your nurse’s uniform.’ The words were out before he could stop them and he grimaced. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t hitting on you.’
Much.
Because he had to admit that he was attracted to Isla McKenna. That gorgeous creamy skin, her dark red hair, the curve of her mouth that made her look like the proverbial princess just waiting to be woken from her sleep by love’s first kiss …
He shook himself mentally.
Not now.
If he told Isla what was going through his head right now, she’d walk straight out of the bar. And it would take God knew how long to get their easy working relationship back in place. He didn’t want that to happen.
‘You look odd without a white coat, too,’ she said, to his relief; clearly she hadn’t picked up on his attraction to her and was just responding to his words at face value.
‘Let me get you a drink. What would you like?’ he asked.
‘I’ll join you in whatever you’re having.’ She gestured to his glass.
‘Australian Merlot. OK. Back in a tick.’
Ordering a drink gave him enough time to compose himself. He bought her a glass of wine and walked back to their table, where she looked as if she was checking messages on her phone. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m just texting my mum, my sister and my brother to tell them I’ve had a good day.’
‘You miss your family?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Sometimes the islands feel as far away as Australia.’
‘The islands?’ he asked, not sure what she meant.
‘The Western Isles,’ she said.
So she was from the Outer Hebrides? You couldn’t get much more different from London, he thought: mountains, pretty little villages and the sea, compared to the capital’s urban sprawl and the constant noise of traffic.
‘It isn’t that bad really,’ she said. ‘I can fly from here to Glasgow and then get a flight to Lewis, or get the train from Glasgow to Oban and catch the ferry home.’
But the wistfulness in her tone told him how much she missed her family. Something he couldn’t quite get his head round, because he often felt so disconnected from his own. And how ironic that was, considering the size of his family. Eight siblings, with another one on the way. OK, so he didn’t have much in common with his two youngest half-brothers; but he wasn’t that close to the ones nearest his own age, either. And he always seemed to clash with his middle sister. Guilt made him overprotective, and she ended up rowing with him.
‘But we’re not talking about me,’ she said before he could ask anything else. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re very direct,’ he said, playing for time.
‘I find direct is the best way.’
He sighed. ‘Considering how much you clearly miss your family, if I tell you what’s bugging me you’re going to think I’m the most selfish person in the universe.’
She smiled. ‘Apart from the fact that there are usually two sides to every story, I very much doubt you’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met.’
There was a tiny flicker in her expression, as if she was remembering something truly painful. And that made Harry feel bad about bringing those memories back to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, never mind. Let’s just have a drink and talk about—oh, I dunno, the weather.’ Something very English, and very safe.
She laughed. ‘Nice try. Iain—my brother—squirms just like you do if we talk about anything remotely personal.’
‘I guess it’s a guy thing,’ he said, trying to make light of it and wishing he hadn’t started this.
‘But sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘it’s better out than in. A problem shared is a problem halved. And—’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘No, I can’t think of any more clichés right now. Over to you.’
Despite his dark mood, Harry found himself smiling. He liked this woman. Really, really liked her. Which was another reason why he had to suppress his attraction to her. He wanted to keep her in his life instead of having to put up barriers, the way he normally did. ‘I can’t, either.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I hate talking about emotional stuff. And it’s easier to talk when you’re stuffed with carbs. They do fantastic pies here, and the butteriest, loveliest mashed potato in the world. Can we talk over dinner?’
‘Pie and mash.’ She groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re planning to make me eat jellied eels or mushy peas as well.’
‘Traditional London fare?’ He laughed. ‘No. For vegetables here I’d recommend the spinach. It’s gloriously garlicky.’
‘Provided we go halves,’ she said, ‘then yes. Let’s have dinner. As friends, not as a date.’
Why was she so adamant about not dating? He guessed that maybe someone had hurt her. But he also had the strongest feeling that if he tried to focus on her or asked about her past, she’d shut the conversation down. ‘Deal.’
Ordering food gave him a little more wriggle room.
But, once their food had been served and she’d agreed with him that the pie was to die for, he was back on the spot.
Eventually, he gave in and told her. Because hadn’t that been the point of meeting her this evening, anyway? ‘My dad’s getting remarried,’ he said.
‘Uh-huh. And it’s a problem why exactly?’
‘Speaking like that makes you sound like Yoda.’
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. ‘Don’t try to change the subject.’
‘You’re a bossy lot, north of the border,’ he muttered.
‘And you Sassenachs have no staying power,’ she said with a grin. ‘Seriously, Harry, what’s wrong? Don’t you like his new wife-to-be?’
Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t really know her that well.’
‘So what is it?’
‘This is going to stay with you?’ he checked.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a gossip. I know you’re not. I don’t …’ He blew out a breath. ‘Well, I don’t tend to talk about my personal life.’
‘And I appreciate that you’re talking to me about it now,’ she said softly.
He sighed. ‘Dad wants me to be his best man.’
‘And you don’t want to do it?’
‘No. It’d be for the third time,’ Harry said. ‘And I really don’t see the point of making such a big song and dance about the wedding, considering that in five years’ time we’ll be going through the exactly same thing all over again.’
She said nothing, just waited for him to finish.
He sighed again. ‘My father—I don’t know. Maybe it’s a triumph of hope over experience. But this will be his seventh marriage, and this time his fiancée is younger than I am.’
His father’s seventh marriage? Seeing that many relationships go wrong would make anyone wary of settling down, Isla thought. ‘Maybe,’ she said softly, ‘your father hasn’t found the right woman for him yet.’
‘So this will be seventh time lucky? That’d go down really well in my best man’s speech. Not.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you or take it out on you.’ He grimaced. ‘My father’s charming—that is, he can be when it suits him. He can be great company. But he has a seriously low boredom threshold. And I can’t understand why none of his wives has ever been able to see the pattern before she actually married him. Well, obviously not my mum, because she was the first. But every single one after that. Get married, have a baby, get bored, have an affair, move on. Nothing lasts for Dad for more than five years—well, his last one was almost seven years, but I think Julie was the one to end it instead of Dad. Or maybe he’s slowing down a bit now he’s in his mid-fifties.’ Harry sighed. ‘I really liked Fliss, his third wife. Considering she had to deal with me as a teenager …’ He shrugged. ‘She was really patient.’
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