Kitabı oku: «Second Thoughts»

CHAPTER ONE

‘WOULDN’T it be nice to be pampered…’

‘Pampered?’ Andrew flipped the file shut, put the cap on his fountain pen and sat back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head and stretching his long body. ‘I suppose it would.’ He chuckled. ‘I haven’t really thought about it. Too busy.’

Jennifer gave a rueful little laugh. ‘Mmm – and we’re only halfway through. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Life-saver,’ he said with a grin. ‘I missed my lunch. Are you having one?’

She chuckled. On the sly. If the patients and their parents see me sitting down with a cup in my hand while they wait for another ten minutes I’ll be lynched!’

‘Messy — bring it in here and we’ll tell them we’re having a case conference — on second thoughts, bring in the cup and the next patient. It would be nice to get home tonight.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ she said with a laugh. ‘What is it they call Friday? Poet’s Day?’

‘Push off early, tomorrow’s Saturday.’ He snorted. ‘Fat chance.’

Jennifer picked up the stack of files and went out into the crowded waiting-room to be greeted by a chorus of dissent from the ranks.

‘Sister, are we going to be waiting much longer? We’ve got people for the weekend and we have to meet them off the train,’ one woman asked anxiously.

‘Yeah, if we sit here much longer we’ll be needing geriatrics, not paediatrics,’ a man put in.

She smiled assurance at the bored children and disgruntled parents. ‘I’m sorry we’ve had to keep you so long; Dr Barrett had to deal with an emergency earlier and it’s put him back. He’ll be with you all as soon as he can.’ She gave the secretary the pile of notes and picked up the next few, then went into the kitchen and found one of the domestic staff. ‘Beattie, do me a favour, could you? Dr Barrett would love a cup of tea in his office, and I could do with one, but for heaven’s sake don’t take it out of here!’

‘After you, are they?’

Jennifer laughed and tucked an escaping strand of red-brown hair back under her frilly cap. ‘Aren’t they always? There’s a joker out there, too. “We’ll be needing geriatrics soon”,’ she mimicked wickedly. ‘Just leave my tea on the side, I’ll come and grab it when I can.’

She went back into Andrew’s office and handed him the stack of files. ‘Here you go. William Griffin first.’

‘Ah, right, our little man who’s failing to thrive. Let’s see what the results turned up.’

They opened the file and pored over the notes. ‘Stool, urine and blood cultures all sterile, no blood in the stools, blood chemistry and liver function all normal, and thyroid, and sweat sodium. That rules out thyroid problems or cystic fibrosis, or any nasty liver problems. The serology all looks good — no sign of infection. Did we get a chest X-ray back? And there should have been a barium meal and follow-through.’

‘Yes, here we are, here’s the radiologist’s report.’ Jennifer pulled it out and handed it to him just as Beattie brought in the tea.

‘Wonderful, thank you.’ He flashed her a grateful smile and slipped it while he frowned at the report. ‘Do you know what I think?’ he said after a moment. ‘I reckon he’s got an intussusception.’

‘Really? What about the stools? No sign of occult blood, or abdominal pain or vomiting. I know he had diarrhoea, but what about the cough? And the weight loss?’

‘That could be due to the anorexia — if he’s off his food, he will lose weight. Anyway, the pain and vomiting and bloody stools are typical of acute, not chronic intussuseption. I think we’ll have another look, perhaps under sedation. Is there a surgeon we can call down?’

‘Yes, I think it’s Ross Hamilton today. Shall I get him paged?’

‘Not for a bit. I’d like an ultrasound of that bowel, and I’d like to examine him to see if I can feel anything this time. Could you call him for me?’

‘Sure.’ She popped her head round the door. ‘William Griffin, please?’

His mother carried him in, a little boy of two and a half who looked at least fourth months younger.

‘Sorry, he’s dozed off,’ the mother explained.

Andrew smiled apologetically at her. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting; we had a prem baby at lunchtime that needed my attention. Let him sleep for a minute while you tell me how he’s been getting on.’

‘Oh, I can see him going downhill in front of my eyes — he’s very reluctant to eat, and he’s been sick a couple of times now. I’m so worried…’

Andrew laid his large hand over hers and squeezed gently. ‘Don’t fret. We’ve managed to rule out a lot of very nasty things. There are a couple of other possibilities that I want to eliminate with a few more tests. Has he had any abdominal pain?’

‘Once or twice he’s complained about tummy-ache, and then a while later he’s had diarrhoea.’

Andrew nodded and made a couple of notes. ‘I’d like to feel his tummy, but I don’t want to wake him if I can avoid it. The more relaxed he is, the more I can feel. Do you think you could lay him down in your arms so I can try?’

She shifted carefully, and William made a tiny noise and remained asleep.

‘He’s out for the count, isn’t he?’ Andrew chuckled softly. ‘OK, let’s see what we can feel.’

He eased up the little T-shirt, slipped the shorts down a fraction and very gently and carefully made a minute inspection of the whole abdomen. After a moment he returned to the upper right quadrant, and then pulled the T-shirt back down and looked up at the mother.

‘Right, I’d like him to have an ultrasound scan of his tummy. Did you have one when you were pregnant?’

She nodded.

‘So you know it doesn’t hurt at all — in fact, he’s so drowsy he might not even know he’d had it done. Sister will give you directions to that department, and then when we’ve got the result I’ll see you again. All right?’ Handing her the completed request form, he smiled reassuringly. ‘Give this to the receptionist in the ultrasound department.’

Mrs Griffin stood up carefully, cradling William against her chest, and Jennifer showed her out, directed her to Ultrasound and went back in.

‘You found something.’

‘Mmm. A soft mass, nothing specific. Could well be a small section of ileum intruding into the colon. Then again, it might not.’

‘So what else could it be? A tumour?’

‘Could be. Let’s hope not. We won’t know, I don’t suppose, until we open him up. As soon as he comes back I’d like Ross Hamilton down here, I think.’

She nodded. ‘Will do. Who’s next?’

He glanced at the file. ‘The Robinson triplets.’

‘You won’t recognise them. They’re huge!’

He grinned. ‘Good! We could do with a happy ending.’

She called Mr and Mrs Robinson and their three delightful little baby girls, who had been born prematurely at thirty weeks. Now almost five months, they were definitely thriving!

‘Oh, let me help you,’ Jennifer said with a smile, and took one of the babies from the mother. ‘Now, who’s this?’

The mother peered at her. ‘Megan.’

‘Right, come on, Megan, let’s go and see that nice Dr Barrett.’ The baby beamed at her, and made a grab for her pens in the top pocket. ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ she laughed. ‘Come on, madam.’

She led the little group through into Andrew’s consulting-room and watched while he greeted the whole family with his warm enthusiasm. The babies had been in his care since birth, and for a long time their grip on life had seemed fragile to say the least. Then, one by one, they grew stronger, but the smallest, Megan, had still been troubled by a slight chestiness for some time, and Andrew had felt it advisable to monitor them for three months after their discharge. Now, his delight reflected the depth of his concern in their early days.

‘Oh, well, I don’t have to lay a finger on them to tell they’re doing magnificently!’ he said, but nevertheless he inspected each one with great care, and asked endless questions about their developmental progress, feeding problems and so on. Megan’s chest appeared to have resolved itself, and Andrew declared himself well satisfied. ‘I should say they’re only about three weeks behind now, which is excellent! Give them a bit longer and you would never have known. Well, I think we can safely discharge you young ladies from our care now,’ he said to the babies, and they all gurgled on cue.

‘Heartbreakers, all of them,’ he said with a laugh, and, after answering the parents’ last few questions, he showed them out with almost visible reluctance.

‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you’d grown attached to those little girls,’ Jennifer teased.

‘Me — would I?’ he said innocently. ‘Right, who’s next?

The clinic proceeded without any hitches, and shortly before they finished little William Griffin and his mother returned to the department.

They called Ross Hamilton down, and he arrived just as they dealt with the last patient.

They called Mrs Griffin in after Andrew had filled Ross in on the results to date and examined the ultrasound image. There was an indistinct but abnormal mass shown on the picture, and after examining William Ross agreed with Andrew that it was most likely an intussusception.

They explained the implications to Mrs Griffin, and told her that he would need surgery as soon as was reasonable. Ross glanced at his watch. ‘Well, it’s getting on to do anything today. Can we admit him now and go for tomorrow morning? I’d rather have lab staff around.’

Andrew nodded, understanding his unspoken thoughts. If it proved to be a tumour rather than the loop of bowel tucked inside itself that they thought it was, then they would need biopsies and frozen sections and tissue analysis to determine further treatment. It was important to have the full backup of all necessary staff, and they were more likely to be available during the day. Also, while a minor delay would make no difference at all to William, it would give the parents time to prepare him — and themselves — for the operation and his stay in hospital.

‘Right, Mrs Griffin, can you take him home, give him a light supper and bring him back by seven this evening, and we’ll sort him out tomorrow morning. Is that OK?’

She nodded, and Ross went back to his ward, leaving Mrs Griffin looking worried. ‘Will I be able to stay with him?’

‘Oh, yes — he’s far too young to leave. He’ll need you around, if you can possibly manage it.’

‘How long will he be in?’

‘A few days — a week at the most. Is that a problem?’

She shook her head, and after a few more questions Jennifer gave her a leaflet about the paediatric unit and what she would need to bring, and showed her out. When she went back into Andrew’s office, he was just closing the file.

‘And another week bites the dust,’ he said with weary good humour.

She returned his smile. Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.’

The clinic secretary tapped on the door and came in. ‘Can I have the files, Dr Barrett?’

‘Sure. Here we are, the last few. I’m admitting William Griffin, so his file needs to go up to the ward.’

‘I’ll pop it in on my way out. Have a good weekend.’

‘Thanks, Janet. You too.’

‘Uh-huh. Bye, Sister. See you on Monday.’

‘No doubt,’ Jennifer said with a little sigh as the door closed behind the secretary. A tiny yawn escaped her, and she laughingly apologised.

‘Tired?’

She nodded. ‘Aren’t I always? Friday’s a killer, isn’t it? The clinic always seems endless.’

‘Never mind, you’ve got the weekend to look forward to.’

‘Mmm.’

‘You don’t sound very convinced.’

She picked up the blanket on the examination couch and refolded it, hugging it against her chest. ‘Oh, I just wish it could be different for once. To have someone say, “Come on, drop everything, I’m going to take you away from it all” — wouldn’t that be wonderful?’

‘Is it really so grim?’

She sighed and put the blanket down. ‘No. Now I’m sounding like a spoilt brat, and I don’t mean to. It’s just that I know that in company with X million other working women I’ll have to clean the flat and do the washing and wrestle with Tim’s homework and repair his uniform, and it would be nice if, just now and again, it could be different…’

Andrew frowned at her. ‘When did you last get away?’

She blinked. ‘Me? Heavens, I don’t remember. Tim went to his father in July for a week, and I had that fortnight off to be with him in August, but I haven’t been away for years.’ She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘I don’t think I’d know how to relax now if I had the chance.’

Andrew stood up slowly and took his jacket off the back of the chair, shrugging into it thoughtfully.

‘What are you doing this weekend?’

She looked up at him, all six foot three of warm brown eyes and gentle smile, and wondered if he’d gone suddenly deaf.

‘Cleaning the flat, doing the washing ——’

‘What else? Anything you can’t just drop?’

She tipped her head on one side and her brows twitched together in a little frown. ‘No — not that I can think of. Why?’

He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘How do you fancy being pampered?’

She felt her jaw drop slightly. ‘What?’

‘I wondered if you’d like to come out to the cottage for the weekend.’

It was totally unexpected, and Jennifer floundered. Oh, sure, they’d had the odd drink together after work, but the weekend? ‘Um — I don’t think — I mean, Tim ——’

Andrew flushed slightly. ‘I don’t want you to misconstrue my invitation. I just thought you and Tim might benefit from a weekend in the country, but if you’d rather not please say so. I don’t want to embarrass you.’

She looked away, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course he wasn’t suggesting a weekend of unbridled sex. Heavens, the very idea! If there was one thing Andrew Barrett wasn’t, it was a ladies’ man. He was also painfully honest, with himself and everybody else. If he had meant to seduce her, he would have made it perfectly clear. As it was, he had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t. And anyway, they would have Tim as a chaperon. Not quite sure if the flicker of something she felt was disappointment or relief, she looked back at him.

He was packing up the things on his desk, tidying everything neatly away.

‘Andrew?’

He glanced up.

‘I — that would be lovely, but I really do have to the washing ——’

‘Bring it with you. What time would you like me to pick you up?’

She blinked. ‘Bring it?’

‘Bring it. What time? Seven?

She shook her head dazedly. ‘Seven?’ She glanced at her watch. Quarter to six. She would just have time to collect Tim and pack a bag. ‘Yes, that would be fine — thanks. Are you sure — ?’

‘Quite sure.’ His smile was warmly reassuring and she relaxed.

‘We’ll be ready.’

The four-wheel-drive off-roader suited him, Jennifer decided. Big, rugged and capable, devoid of frills but immensely practical.

He loaded their few things and the bag of washing into the back, buckled Tim in safely and held the door for her with quiet courtesy while she climbed up into the front passenger seat. It was quite a step and she was glad she had opted for jeans and not a skirt, although she was sure Andrew wouldn’t even have noticed. She had let her hair down and brushed it out, but the layers looked a little ragged unless she finger-dried it upside down, and there hadn’t been time between collecting Tim from the childminder and Andrew arriving to pick them up. She found time, though, for a quick swipe of lipstick, more for her self-respect than any attempt at glamour. After all, it wasn’t going to be that sort of weekend.

One thing was certain, they were going to eat, if the carrier bags in the back were any indication. He had obviously been shopping since she last saw him, and she had a twinge of guilt that they were causing him a lot of bother — it went with the twinge about ducking out of the housework, and she chewed her lip.

He must have read her mind, because he threw her a teasing grin. ‘Just lie back and relax,’ he instructed firmly. ‘No fretting about the housework. It’ll still be there when you go back.’

She laughed without humour. ‘Isn’t it always?’

‘Without fail — like the weeds. They grow regardless of whether I’ve got time to pull them up.’ He turned and winked at Tim over his shoulder. ‘OK back there?’

Tim nodded.

‘Good. Do you like cats?’

‘Oh, yes — I think so.’

‘Pets aren’t allowed in our flats, so he doesn’t get to see all that many animals,’ Jennifer explained.

‘No? What a shame. I’ve got two cats — I used to have just one but a week ago this other cat turned up and just adopted us. Bit of a problem, really; it seems she’s going to have kittens, and I don’t know if Blu-Tack is going to like it.’

‘Blu-Tack?’

‘Mmm. The other cat. He’s a Russian Blue — beautiful pedigree cat, but he’s only got three legs. He lost the other one in an accident and the owners didn’t want him any more. He’s lived with me for two years, two bachelors together, and now we’ve been invaded.’ He laughed briefly. ‘It’s a little odd.’

She felt suddenly uncomfortable, unsure if he was referring to them or just the pregnant cat. Well, too bad, she thought. He had invited them, and Tim was so excited by the thought of going away for the weekend with her that there was no way she was going to spoil it by being petty. She would just have to make sure they didn’t get in Andrew’s way.

It was nearly half-past seven by the time they arrived, and the last rays of the September sun were gilding the cottage, sparkling on the latticed windows and setting fire to the riot of flowers that flanked the soft pink walls.

‘Oh, Andrew, it’s lovely!’ she exclaimed, enchanted.

He gave a dry chuckle. ‘You’re definitely seeing at its best. In the winter without the roses and the perennials it can look a bit bare, and it’s sometimes a bit draughty inside if the wind gets up. Still, I like it. Here, Tim, take the key and go and open the door for your mother, there’s a good chap.’

He opened the back of the car and picked up four shopping bags, and ushered Jennifer into the cottage. ‘Go and sit down — make yourself at home. I’ll bring the shopping in then make some tea.’

‘I could make the tea ——’

‘No. Sit down.’

‘But ——’

‘No buts. Pampered, you said, and pampered it’s going to be. Sit.’

Overruled, she gave him a tiny smile and surrendered. ‘Yes, sir.’

She followed the wave of his arm and went through into a cosy little sitting-room, heavily beamed and furnished with affection. There was nothing even remotely designerish about it, from the elderly chair covers to the faded velvet curtains and the worn rug in front of the old inglenook fireplace, but it was unbelievably homely.

There was a chair that was obviously his, pulled up near the fire with a remote-control unit on an old oak table beside it. A large grey cat with unblinking emerald-green eyes stared at her from its depths, then tucked his nose in his paws again and went back to sleep. Blu-Tack, obviously.

She chose the chair on the other side of the fireplace and sat down, almost vanishing into its welcome embrace.

Bliss. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her tired feet up under her bottom and fell instantly asleep.

He was quite surprised at how right she looked, sitting curled up in the other chair with her head resting on one hand like that. Her wrist was bent, so he carefully eased her arm down and replaced it with a cushion.

It didn’t disturb her. Her grey eyes fluttered open for a second, she made a funny little noise and snuggled further down, and then was still again.

Andrew scooped Blu-Tack off the chair opposite and settled himself into it, the cat on his lap, and touched the remote control. Soft music flooded the room, and he rested his head back and relaxed, content to watch her sleep.

There was something strangely intimate about it that touched him, deep inside. It surprised him, just as her Tightness here had surprised him.

He hadn’t meant to issue the invitation. It was quite out of character, but perhaps it was time to break out a little. Oh, true, he’d taken her out for the occasional drink, but he’d never kissed her goodnight — unless you counted a peck on her sweetly scented cheek. He supposed it was in part a reluctance to disturb the balance of their working relationship, a relationship that had meant a great deal to him in the six months since he had taken up his consultancy.

The children’s outpatients sister was one of the most important people on the team, and he had come to rely very heavily on her. Apart from her background knowledge of many of the patients, her gentle efficiency and firm kindness had to be seen to be believed. She would be a wonderful mother — was a wonderful mother, he corrected himself, thinking of the serious, intelligent but delightful child asleep upstairs.

While Jennifer dozed, he had cooked Tim a prawn omelette with salad and a microwaved jacket potato — Tim’s choice. Another surprise. Andrew had been quite prepared to do fish fingers and beans and chips, but the child had looked doubtful — not rude enough to decline, but definitely not enthusiastic. Andrew had asked him to choose, given him a list of possibilities and that was what he’d selected.

‘We don’t have chips and things like that at home,’ Tim had told him guilelessly. Only when I go out for the weekend with Dad. I don’t like them much.’

Interesting. Andrew had filed it for future reference. Likewise the business of the bath.

‘Do you usually have a bath before you go to bed?’ he’d asked.

‘Mum always makes me. Dad doesn’t.’

‘I think you’d better have one, then,’ Andrew had said, and put that in the file, too.

After Andrew tucked him into bed in the little room overlooking the orchard, he had left him reading for a little while and gone downstairs to prepare a meal for himself and Jennifer. When he’d gone back up half an hour later, Tim was asleep, his book still in his hand.

Andrew had looked at it and was surprised at how advanced it was, well beyond Tim’s seven years. He stroked the soft brown hair back off his little brow, tucked the quilt in round his slight shoulders and then turned down the light, leaving a soft glow in case he woke. Then he had gone down to Jennifer.

As he watched her sleep, a curious contentment stole over him, together with a touch of regret because he knew that when they went back the house would seem empty. For now, however, it was just exactly right, and he would enjoy the moment and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Jennifer woke to soft lights and the haunting sound of a flute — and pins and needles in her right foot.

She straightened up and blinked. ‘Oh — you shouldn’t have let me sleep,’ she said, embarrassed.

‘You were tired.’

‘But Tim ——’

‘Tim’s in bed. He’s had supper and a bath, and he’s out for the count.’

She dropped her head back against the chair. ‘Oh. Thank you. You shouldn’t have done all that.’

‘I’m pampering you, remember?’

His smile was kindly teasing. She returned it, then winced as the circulation came back into her foot.

‘Pins and needles?’ he guessed, and she nodded, wriggling it. He turned the cat off his knee and crouched in front of her, taking her foot in his large, warm hands and massaging it gently.

‘Ow,’ she mumbled.

‘Hell, isn’t it? How’s that?’

She felt suddenly uncomfortable with this big man kneeling at her feet.

‘Better, thank you,’ she told him and almost snatched it out of his hands, further embarrassed by the growl from her stomach.

‘Hungry?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Apparently.’ She laughed a little awkwardly.

‘Supper’s ready when you are. There’s a cloakroom at the bottom of the stairs if you want to freshen up.’

She looked dreadful, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were flushed and crumpled from the cushion and she looked — wanton was the nearest she could come up with, and it unsettled her.

She splashed her face with cold water and went back into the big farmhouse-style kitchen, where Andrew was just setting the huge old refectory table.

‘OK?’

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘Eat,’ he said with a grin.

It was no hardship. The meal was wonderful, a seafood concoction with mushrooms and a delicious creamy sauce under the lightest, fluffiest mashed potato she had ever tasted. It was served with fresh sprouting broccoli and glazed carrots, both homegrown, he told her.

‘Where did you learn to cook like that?’ she asked him, replete, as she sat at the table under orders not to move and watched him clear up.

He laughed. ‘Self-defence. I can’t stand canteen food and I can’t afford a housekeeper. Anyway, I enjoy it. Coffee?’

‘Mmm. Can I —— ?’

‘No. Go and sit down, I’ll be with you in a tick.’

‘Actually, I think I’ll go up and check on Tim, if you really don’t need my help.’

‘Top of the stairs, turn left and follow your nose. He’s in the little bedroom at the end.’

‘OK.’ She ran lightly up the stairs, noticing as she went the higgledy-piggledy collection of pictures on the walls, etchings and pen and ink drawings and little watercolours, the occasional photograph, an oil on wood. There was no theme, except perhaps the straightforward one of personal choice, pictures collected for no better reason than that he liked them. And what better reason was there?

She found Tim, his cheek cradled on his hand, fast asleep in a wonderful old captain’s bed, the forerunner by some hundred years of the modern chipboard equivalent. His lashes dark against his pale cheeks, he looked terribly vulnerable and very small. He also looked as if he belonged in this room, with its distinctly Boys’ Own flavour.

She brushed a kiss on his cheek, whispered ‘Goodnight,’ and tiptoed out.

‘OK?’

She jumped slightly. Big as he was, she hadn’t heard him approach. ‘Yes, he’s fine. Where did you get that wonderful bed?’

‘The bed? It used to be mine when I was a child. I couldn’t bear to part with it when my parents died. Obviously I couldn’t keep everything, but that I refused to get rid of.’ He pushed open a door. ‘I’ve put you in here next to him,’ Andrew told her, ushering her in.

It was a delightful room, with high twin beds and pretty lace bedspreads. Her suitcase was lying on one of the beds, and on the table between them was a small vase of roses.

‘Oh, Andrew…’ She reached out and touched the blooms with her finger. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me ——’

‘Pampered, you said. How can you pamper a woman without roses?’ His voice was husky and much too close.

The room seemed suddenly very small, his presence filling it, and for the first time she was shockingly, intensely aware of him.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured a little breathlessly, and after a second’s hesitation he turned and ducked under the doorway.

‘Coffee’s ready when you are. I’ll see you downstairs,’ he told her, and she wasn’t sure if his voice was a little strained or if she had imagined it.

When she went back down, though, she decided she had imagined it because he was all quiet courtesy and the perfect host. The pregnant black and white cat made herself at home on his lap for a while, and he sat and absently fiddled with her ears while they talked about the children they had seen in the clinic that afternoon.

‘We shouldn’t be talking shop — you’re supposed to be getting away from it all,’ he said after a while.

‘Do you ever truly get away? Especially with paediatrics. It’s rather like being a vet, all those great big trusting eyes. They do something to your insides.’

He laughed. ‘And you accused me of getting attached to the Robinsons!’

‘Well, they are delicious,’ she said with a forgiving smile.

‘Mmm. They’re very lucky people. And unlike most parents, they realise it. Probably because they had such a struggle before IVF finally gave them their family. Most people just take their children for granted.’

Jennifer nodded and sighed. ‘It’s easy, though, isn’t it? I just wish Tim meant more to his father.’

‘Why did you get divorced?’ Andrew asked quietly.

She shrugged. ‘Who knows? Nick decided one day that he couldn’t handle the responsibility any more, and he went. Crazy, really. We’d got through his house years when he was never at home — perhaps that was it? Perhaps once he reached the point where he was at home more, he realised we weren’t what he wanted. Whatever, he left. He’s always been very good about helping financially, though. Whatever his other failings, he’s always been meticulous about that. Well, he is meticulous. Everything always has to be just so. He’d rip this room apart and re-do it all, because it’s not perfect.’

Andrew glanced round, and shrugged. ‘I know it’s not up to much, but I like it.’

She flushed, mortified. ‘Sorry, that was unbelievably tactless, but I really didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s just that Nick’s taste is — well, let’s say clinical, shall we? And I became so indoctrinated that now I can’t seem to make our flat homely, but this house — I think it’s charming, restful, cosy … everything a home should be. I don’t know quite how you’ve done it, but I love it and I think it would be a great shame to change it.’