Christmas-Eve Baby (8 page)

And lowering his head, he took one into his mouth, rolling the other between finger and thumb, just gently, as if he knew how sensitive they’d be, and then his mouth moved on, feathering kisses over the baby, murmuring ‘Good morning’ on the way past, so she could feel the puff of his breath and hear the smile in his voice, and then he lifted his head.

‘I hope you don’t wear these outrageous knickers for your antenatal checks,’ he murmured, and, slipping a finger under the elastic, he eased them down, tapping her bottom so she’d lift it and he could slide them free.

‘Better,’ he said, bending his head and kissing her tummy once again. And then his mouth travelled lower, the devastating accuracy of his caress robbing her limbs of control and stealing her breath.

‘Ben!’ she screamed, and he shifted, stripping the little scrap of lace away from her feet, ripping off his boxers, rolling to his side and taking her with him, leaving her in no doubt about his need of her.

He was so gentle, so careful, but his touch drove her crazy, his hand never leaving her, taking her over the edge in a blinding climax that left her shaken to her core.

Dimly, she was aware of his body stiffening, the ragged cry, the long, slow shudder of his release, and then his hand, trembling, cupping her face, cradling her head as he leant forward and kissed her long and slow before folding her against his still pounding heart.

She felt the baby move, felt his hand splay over it in a gentle caress, and the tears welled in her eyes.

‘Are you OK?’

She nodded, squeezing her lids tightly shut, but his fingers caught her chin and lifted it. ‘Look at me,’ he murmured, and she made herself open her eyes and meet his, so blue, so gentle, yet still smouldering with the last embers of passion.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘So beautiful. I wish I didn’t have to go to work.’

‘Don’t worry. I have to go to work, too.’

‘I know.’

He leant forward and kissed her again, softly, lingeringly, then with a sigh he rolled away, threw back the quilt and stood up, walking unselfconsciously into the
en suite
shower room and turning on the water.

He left the door open, and she sat up in bed and drank her now tepid tea. She watched Ben through the steamy glass of the cubicle door and wondered how she could ever reconcile her father to the fact that the man he was convinced had caused the death of his wife was the man she loved.

Because, she realised, she did love him. She’d loved him for years, ever since they’d worked together, and if her mother hadn’t died, they might well have been together since that time.

But now it was all the most awful mess, and she had no idea where they could go from here.

‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, shrugging into his jacket and picking up his briefcase. ‘What time do you finish work?’

‘Six—but, Ben, I don’t know…’

‘Don’t know?’

‘If it’s a good idea.’

He stared at her, then rammed a hand through his hair,
rumpling the still damp strands and muttering something inaudible under his breath.

‘Look, I’ll call you,’ he said after a moment. ‘You drive carefully.’

‘You, too.’

He gave her a fleeting smile, hesitated and came back to where she was perched on the third step and pressed a quick, hard kiss on her lips. ‘Love you,’ he said, and went out, leaving her open-mouthed and speechless.

‘He didn’t mean it,’ she told the empty hall when she could speak. ‘He was just saying it. Figure of speech. Nothing more. Don’t read anything into it.’

But she couldn’t help the crazy, irrational joy that filled her heart. She tucked it away, a warm, cosy glow to keep her going for the rest of the day…

‘Morning, Lucy. Good time last night?’

She fought down a blush and smiled at her father. ‘Morning, Dad. Yes, thanks.’ Good? Try amazing. Incredible.

Love you.

Oh, more than amazing.

‘So how did it go with Carter?’

‘Car— Oh, the meeting? Fine. Very useful. Dragan couldn’t make it but I’m going to fill him in later. How was the house?’ she added, hoping to distract him.

‘Fine. All done. So, er, where did you say you spent the night?’

Sly old fox. ‘I didn’t,’ she said to make the point, ‘but it was late by the time we’d finished dinner and I was falling asleep, so I stayed over,’ she said, crossing her fingers under the edge of the desk. To her relief, Kate passed the door and stopped.

‘Morning, Lucy. Nick, I wonder if I could have a word? There’s a letter here from the PCT that really needs your urgent attention.’

‘Oh. Sure.’ He turned away.

Lucy met Kate’s eyes gratefully over his shoulder and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

Kate just smiled and escorted him away, and Lucy closed the door with a sigh of relief. It dawned on her that if Kate knew the baby was Ben’s and was on her side, she could make life a great deal easier. But, then, she’d thought yesterday that Dragan knew, too. And Marco? The smouldering, passionate Italian? He knew about love, although his own marriage was up the creek. Would he see the love for Ben in her eyes and know?

Which only left the reception and nursing staff and her father. And if they talked—

Her phone rang, and she lifted the receiver, banishing the little flutter of panic. ‘Hello?’

‘Your first patient’s here, Lucy, and Toby Penhaligan’s just come in—he thinks he’s broken his arm. Are you free to see him?’

‘Sure. I’ll do that first. I’ll come out,’ she said.

Toby was a local fisherman, a good-looking young man in his twenties, and it wasn’t the first time she’d treated him or another member of his family. He was standing in Reception, still in his oilskins and cradling one arm in the other hand. ‘Hi, Doc. Sorry about this. Stupid of me—caught my toe on something and went down on deck. I thought I was OK, but I’ve got no strength in my arm at all and Dad reckons I’ve broken it.’

‘Let’s have a look,’ she said, and led him up to the MIU.
‘Toby, can you get your oilies off? Don’t want to go cutting your jacket if we can avoid it, do we?’ she said.

He shrugged the good arm out of the jacket and with her help he gritted his teeth and eased the coat down over his hand. By the time she’d sat him down his face was colour-less and he was grim-lipped and silent. There was nothing obvious about the arm, now she could see it, and his hand was warm with good capillary refill, but he was cradling the forearm ultra-cautiously in his other hand and she’d bet her life the radius was broken, and probably the ulna as well.

‘Can you squeeze my fingers?’ she asked, and he tried, but he wouldn’t have crumpled a tissue with that much pressure.

‘Right. Can you feel your fingers?’

‘Can feel the whole darned thing,’ he said in disgust. ‘It hurts like a proper cow. Dad’s right, isn’t he? It’s broken.’

‘I’m afraid it almost certainly is. I’ll put a splint on it just to get you to hospital a bit more comfortably, but you’ll have to go to St Piran and get a cast on it.’

‘Pity you can’t do that here.’

‘It is, and we’re working on it, but it’ll be a while yet, Toby. Sorry.’ She smiled apologetically at him, wrapped his arm in wadding and taped it to a flat support. ‘There. That should stop it moving around too much until you get to St Piran. Rest it on a pillow or a cushion on your lap for the journey. And when you get there, if you see Mr Carter, can you ask him to give me a ring and let me know how it is?’

‘Sure. Thanks, Doc. It’ll be a while yet. Dad’s got the fish to unload and if he doesn’t get it away soon he’ll miss the market.’

‘Well, don’t leave it too long. Can’t you get someone else to give you a lift?’

He shook his head. ‘They’ve all got things to do—boats
to clean down, nets to repair. Nobody’s got time to run about after me. I could take the bus.’

‘Not with a fracture. You could call an ambulance.’

‘What, and waste their time? No, Doc, it was my own fault. I’ll wait for my dad.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll give Mr Carter your message,’ he said, opening the door, and typically her father was just outside.

‘What message?’ he asked, stepping through the door after Toby had gone out and scowling.

‘What?’ she asked, pretending ignorance.

‘For Ben Carter.’

‘Oh. About Toby’s fracture. I think it’s exactly the sort of thing we could treat here—I wanted his opinion. It’s really difficult for Toby to get to St Piran. He won’t call an ambulance because of the waste of resources, and his father can’t leave till they’ve unloaded the fish and got them away. And they’ve been out all night and they’re exhausted. X-ray and plaster facilities here would improve things so much for people like him.’ She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a full surgery and I’m already running late.’

He grunted, gave her a fleeting hug—the first for how long?—and opened the door for her. She gave a quick sigh of relief, went back down to her consulting room and carried on with her work.

‘L
UCY
?’

‘Ben—hi. I take it you’ve seen Toby Penhaligan?’ Her voice was light, as if she was pleased to hear from him. He hadn’t been sure how she’d react once she’d had time to think about last night, but at least she wasn’t cool and distant, and he felt a surge of something he couldn’t quite analyse. Relief? No, more than that…

‘Yes. He had a simple undisplaced fracture of both radius and ulna. Were you worried about him, or thinking you could have treated him there with the right facilities?’

‘Oh, the latter. I thought he seemed just the sort of case I was talking about, and it was so frustrating that I had to send him to you.’

‘Absolutely. You know he did it yesterday, don’t you? But they were out all night and couldn’t get back until they’d hauled in the lines.’

‘And his father couldn’t bring him to you till the fish were unloaded and away, or they would have lost their money for the catch. It’s a tough life for our fishermen, and I wouldn’t want to be doing it in those rough seas, I’m not good on the water,’ she said, and then went on with a slightly
self-conscious laugh, ‘That’s by the by. I wanted to know—so I can use it in an argument with the powers that be—what time he arrived, when he was seen and how long it took, so I can compare it to what would have happened if I could have put a cast on it when I saw him at eight forty-five this morning.’

Of course she did. All business. Ben forced himself to stop thinking about the sound of her voice and concentrate on her words. ‘Let me check the notes. Right, he arrived at the department at ten-fifty, was seen by the triage nurse and sent to wait until eleven twenty-five, then he was seen by one of the doctors, X-rayed and then a cast put on it at twelve-ten. He was discharged from the department at twelve forty-two. I got the staff to log it because I knew you’d want to know.’

He could hear the smile in her voice. ‘You’re a regular sweetheart,’ she said, then went on in a more businesslike tone, ‘So he had a wait for the doctor, a wait for X-ray, a wait for the doctor to confirm the diagnosis and a wait for the cast. And it took one hour fifty-two minutes.’

‘Yup. Which is pretty good for here. And then there’s the travelling time and parking—say another hour to an hour and a half.’

‘Three hours, then, on a good day, not to mention the added discomfort of the journey.’

‘And you could have done it in—what? Forty-five minutes?’

‘Something like that,’ she agreed. ‘So he would have been out of here and on his way home by nine-thirty, instead of one-thirty—four hours earlier—and his father wouldn’t have been taken away from his work. And, of course, if one of the nurses was trained to take X-rays, it would cut down the time I or one of the other doctors would be tied up as well. That’s fantastic. Thank you so much for all that information.’

‘My pleasure. I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you, actually,’ he added, trying to sound casual. ‘I thought you might have gone home for lunch.’

‘No, Kate nipped out and bought us all sandwiches from the bakery. I’m just eating them now.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes. I’m in my consulting room.’

‘So—about tonight,’ he murmured, trying very hard not to think about what they’d done that morning and how very, very much he wanted to do it again. ‘How about supper?’

There was a slight pause, and his heart sank. She’s going to say no, he thought, but then she said, ‘That would be lovely, but can we make it early? I’m really tired. I could do with getting back for an early night.’

His heart, on the way up, sank again, but he told himself not to be selfish. She was pregnant. She needed her rest. ‘Good idea,’ the doctor and father in him said. ‘So are you coming to me, or shall I bring something to you, or are we ready to go public?’

She laughed softly. ‘You think coming to me isn’t going public? Dream on, Ben. This is Penhally.’

Of course. ‘So—where, then?’

‘Yours?’

‘Sure,’ he said, disappointed that he didn’t get to take her out and spoil her, but glad that he’d be seeing her anyway. ‘Want me to pick you up, or would you rather drive yourself?’

‘I’ll drive. Shall I come over as soon as I’ve finished?’

‘Good idea. Anything you particularly fancy?’

‘Fish,’ she said promptly. ‘Sea bass. There are some in the fridge here, courtesy of the Penhaligans. Shall I bring two?’

‘That would be good. And I’ll make you something irresistible for pudding.’

She chuckled, and the sound did amazing things to his nerve endings. ‘Chocolate,’ she ordered, and he laughed.

‘How did I guess?’ There was a tap on his door and his specialist registrar stuck her head round it. Ben lifted a hand to keep her there. ‘Lucy, I’m sorry, I have to go now, but I’ll see you later,’ he said, and replaced the phone on its cradle. ‘Jo, thanks for coming by. I’ve got an appointment at two-thirty. It’s only a few minutes away—fifteen at the most. Can you hold the fort?’

‘Sure. It’s pretty quiet at the moment.’

‘Don’t say that,’ he warned, and glanced at his watch. Five to two. Just time to catch up on some paperwork before he had to leave.

So this was it. Tregorran House, Lucy’s grandmother’s family home and the house of her dreams. Ben walked slowly up to the open back door and called out, and a young man in a suit appeared and strode towards him, hand outstretched.

‘Mr Carter? Come on in.’

He shook hands and went into what seemed to be a lean-to scullery or boot room, and through to the dirty and desperately dated kitchen. ‘Sorry about the back door, the front door won’t open,’ the agent was saying. ‘They’re never used in this part of the world, and the key seems to have gone missing. It’s a shame because it’s a lovely way in and out, you get to see the views from there. Come on through and have a look around.’

It was smaller than he’d expected. Low ceilings, but here and there were old oak beams that hinted at a concealed structure crying out to be revealed. There was a huge granite inglenook in the kitchen, an ancient and filthy cream Aga
fitting easily into the space once occupied by the range, and smaller, more functional granite fireplaces in the two living rooms that bracketed the front door. The rooms weren’t huge, but they were cosy, overlooking the garden, and he could imagine them with fires crackling in the grates.

Upstairs the fireplaces were boarded over, but he’d bet his bottom dollar there were pretty little cast-iron grates behind the boards, or there had been in the past.

But the outstanding thing about the whole property, once you got over the poor state of the decor and the fact that it clearly needed a serious cash injection, was the view. All the principal rooms faced west, looking down the coast towards the Atlantic Ocean, and the sunsets Lucy loved would be spectacular.

‘Does it go down to the beach?’ he asked, and the agent shook his head.

‘No. The plot’s quite small, just the half acre of garden the house sits in, but there isn’t really a beach here anyway, just a pile of rocks. You can get to the beach about half a mile away over the fields, though. They’re owned by the neighbouring farmer. It’s a lovely little cove and there’s quite a good road to it, too. It’s very pretty, and the path’s well maintained—it’s part of the Cornish Coastal Path—but, no, it hasn’t got beach access. Otherwise the guide price would be a great deal higher. There’s nothing the London buyers like more than their own private beach. And, of course, because the planners have ruled out any development of the site other than extension of the existing house within the realms of permitted development, that’s also going to keep the price a bit more accessible. That said, we’ve had quite a keen interest in the property,’ he added, as if he was worried he’d put Ben off. Or was it agent-speak for ‘This is highly sought after and you’d be foolish to miss it’?

Maybe.

Whatever, it was irrelevant to Ben. The house was awful at the moment, dingy and rundown and outdated, but it had the potential to be a lovely cosy family home, and it was Lucy’s dream. If he could get it for her without bankrupting himself into the hereafter, he’d do it.

‘I’m sorry to rush you, but I’ve got another viewing to get to. Could I leave you to go around the outside on your own?’ the agent asked, and Ben nodded.

‘Of course. I’ve seen all I need to.’ More than enough to make up his mind.

He spent a few minutes looking around the outside, checking out the structure and exploring the rundown and tangled garden that Lucy obviously remembered through rose-tinted specs, and then he headed back to the hospital.

To his relief Jo had coped without him, and it was still quiet, so he shut himself away in his office and rang his solicitor.

‘What’s the procedure for buying a house at auction?’ he asked. ‘Because I want you to do it for me. Friday, two o’clock, Tregorran House. And I don’t want to take any chances.’

‘Ah, Lucy. Got time for a chat?’

‘Dragan—hi. I’ve been meaning to catch up with you.’ She sat back in her chair and stretched out the kinks in her neck. ‘How’s Melinda?’

‘Oh, fine. Thank you both so much for sorting her arm out.’

‘Pleasure—well, hardly, but you know what I mean,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’m sorry you missed our meeting. How’s the dog?’

He smiled. ‘Really sweet. She’s got a broken leg and a
huge laceration on her side, but nobody’s come forward yet to report her missing. Melinda’s set the leg and she’s looking after her for now.’

‘No more biting?’

He shook his head and smiled again. ‘No. She’s a sweetheart. She was just scared. Anyway, this meeting…’

‘Yes—really useful. Ben thinks we could do it. If we could build on out the back as we’d discussed, then he thinks it’ll be fine. Maybe reorganise upstairs a bit and have downstairs as a fracture clinic, essentially.’ She ran through the key points of their discussion. Dragan nodded at intervals, and then she sat back and stretched again and sighed.

‘You OK?’

‘Oh, Dragan, I’m so tired. Just the thought of another six or eight weeks before I can give up is enough to send me to sleep!’

He frowned in concern. ‘Lucy, you shouldn’t be overdoing it. You should be resting now. We can manage.’

‘You’re sounding like my father,’ she pointed out, and he gave an embarrassed laugh and sat back.

‘OK, it’s not my job, but I care about you. We all do.’

She flapped her hand at him, touched but still not having any of it. ‘I’m fine. I think we ought to have a meeting. Kate was talking about setting something up with the local NHS trust architect and Ben here on site, but Dad’s so anti.’

‘Don’t worry about him, Lucy. He wants what’s best for the patients.’

‘He’s just so blinkered,’ she said, thinking not only of the forthcoming meeting but also of the news she yet had to give her father—news that couldn’t possibly make the situation any easier.

‘I take it he doesn’t know?’

She jerked her head up and met his eyes, her mouth already opening to deny everything, and saw the gentle understanding in Dragan’s eyes. She swallowed and looked away. ‘No. He doesn’t know.’

‘That will be hard.’

‘It will be impossible,’ she said softly, ‘but it has to be done.’ She sucked in a breath and straightened up. ‘Right, I have to get on. I’ve got a clinic in a minute. If you let Kate know when you’re free for this meeting, she’ll try and organise it.’

‘I’ll do that,’ he said, and got to his feet, then hesitated. ‘Lucy, if there’s anything I can do…?’

He left it hanging, and with a fleeting smile he went out. He was so kind and thoughtful. So was Marco. The two of them fussed over her like a couple of clucky old hens. It was only her father she had a problem with.

And she was going to have to deal with it.

Ben cooked the sea bass beautifully.

Outside, on a charcoal barbeque with the lid shut, in the bleak and windy garden, and then brought them into the house with the skin lightly charred and the inside meltingly tender. He’d prepared a green salad and hot jacket potatoes, and then he produced the wickedest hot chocolate sauce pudding she’d ever seen in her life.

‘It’s a fabulously easy recipe—my mother taught it to me,’ he said with a grin, and put a big dollop of it on a plate and handed it to her. ‘Here, you need this,’ he said, and gave her a dish of clotted cream.

‘Define need,’ she said wryly, and he chuckled.

‘You have to have some treats. Anyway, it’s probably full of vitamin D.’

‘You don’t have to talk me into it,’ she said, plopping a generous spoonful onto the top of the chocolate goo and then tasting it.

‘Mmm,’ she said, and then didn’t talk any more for a few gorgeous, tastebud-melting minutes. Conversation would have been sacrilege.

‘Good?’ he asked when she’d all but scraped the glaze off the plate, and she laughed and pushed the plate away and arched back, giving her stomach room.

‘Fabulous,’ she said emphatically. ‘Assuming I don’t just burst. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. Coffee?’

‘Mmm—thanks. Can I help wash up?’

‘No—the dishwasher’ll do it all. You can go and sit down in the sitting room and put your feet up.’

‘Is that an order?’ she asked, and he tipped his head on one side and studied her closely.

‘That’s a loaded question,’ he retorted after a moment, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. ‘I don’t think I’ll answer it.’

Chuckling to herself, she went into the sitting room and curled up on the sofa, not because he’d told her to but because she wanted to anyway. She’d had a busy day, starting with Tony Penhaligan and ending with an overrunning surgery, and she’d hardly had a minute to herself in between. So she was more than happy to sit down, and after a moment she stretched her legs out, rested her head back and closed her eyes.

There was a gorgeous smell of fresh coffee drifting from the kitchen, and she sniffed it appreciatively. It would set off
the chocolate pud to perfection. She heard him come in, heard him set the tray down and felt the end of the sofa dip under his weight.

‘White, no sugar,’ she murmured, and he chuckled and rubbed her feet affectionately before pouring the coffee.