Accidental Rendezvous

‘What do you mean, no longer relevant?’ he asked, pulling her to a halt again.

Sally swallowed and forced herself to meet his eyes, praying that the emotion she was feeling didn’t show.

‘She died.’

He sighed and thrust a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, Sal, I’m sorry. Someone special?’

She rammed down the huge wave of pain that threatened to rise up and swamp her.

‘Yes. Very special,’ she said honestly, and turned away, blinded by sudden tears. ‘Very special,’ she repeated in a whisper, and all but ran away from him down the corridor to the stores.

There she dumped the bag, hung her coat up on the peg and headed back out to the work station. Angela, the senior sister, was there, filling out notes, and she looked up and smiled distractedly.

‘Good grief, Sally, isn’t it time you went home?’ she asked.

‘Do you need me?

The smile softened. ‘We always need you, but you look bushed.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘In fact, you look like hell. Go home. Have a nice strong whisky in the bath—it’ll do you good.’

‘I might do that,’ Sally said with a vain attempt at a smile. ‘How’s my pneumothorax?’

‘Doing fine. She’s gone up to the ward.’

‘Good. Right, I’ll go, then.’ She fumbled her things out of the locker in the staffroom and headed for the door, only to find Nick standing in her way.

‘Not now, please,’ she said wearily, right at the end of her tether.

‘When, then? Tomorrow? The next day? Or never?’

She closed her eyes, her control hanging by a thread. ‘Please, Nick,’ she begged, and she felt his hands close over her arms and support her.

‘Sweetheart, are you all right?’ he asked gruffly, and she felt the unwanted tears welling again.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, a little choked. ‘Just tired. Let me go, Nick.’

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her, and she all but ran to her car, driving away as quickly as the traffic would allow. She held on until she got home, until the door closed behind her, and then finally the dam burst.

CHAPTER THREE (#ufbae4c60-2757-5e8e-bd8e-dea7695ce053)

TROUBLED, Nick watched Sally go, not at all convinced that he believed her story—or at least, not all of it, and not in the form in which it had been presented to him.

There was something she wasn’t telling him—something major, something that had torn her apart. He knew her too well to be fobbed off, just as he knew she was hurting now.

‘Ah, Nick, just the guy I was looking for,’ Ryan said, coming up behind him. ‘Could I put you in charge of the waiting-room contingent? I think we’re OK on the RTA now, it’s just tidying up, but that lot in there could use some fast professional decision-making and they’re a bit short-handed—Toby’s rather out of his depth. You want to handle it for me?’

‘Sure. I reek of diesel, though—I ended up kneeling in it. I need a minute to change.’

‘I don’t suppose they’ll even notice,’ Ryan assured him.

Dragging his eyes from the door, he nodded and went in search of a white coat and clean trousers. He couldn’t deal with Sally until later and, besides, he didn’t have her address. He’d have to find a way to wheedle it out of someone—but who? Ryan would never give it to him, always assuming he knew it anyway, but one of the girls might if he used his charm.

He smiled grimly. It was unfair and unethical, but there were times, like this, when that was just tough. He headed for the waiting room and bided his time.

It wasn’t hard, in the end. As he was finishing off, he simply asked Angela, the senior sister on duty, if she had Sally’s phone number. ‘She left something in Ryan’s car, and I don’t know if she needs it. I thought I’d ring her—if it’s important I could drop it round to her on my way home.’ He cranked up the charm, and she crumpled like a paper bag.

Stage one, he thought, pocketing the number. Now for the telephone directory. He looked up Clarke, scanned down the ‘S’s until he found her number and, bingo, he had her address.

Excellent. All he had to do now was find it, and a walking road map strolled into the department at that point. With a grim smile, he approached the policeman and showed him the road name.

‘It’s a colleague—I have to drop something round there and I don’t know the area. I wonder if you could direct me?’

‘Sure. Know the Old London Road? It’s off there—small, fairly new development. You can’t miss it.’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m new here. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘No matter, I’ll jot it down for you.’ The policeman took the piece of paper with Sally’s address on it and sketched out a neat map. ‘There you go, that should get you there.’

Nick wondered if the small victory showed in his eyes. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he said, clapping the man on the shoulder, and within minutes he was on his way.

He dived home first and showered and changed to wash the smell of blood and diesel off his skin, and then, dressed in clean jeans and a polo shirt, he checked the sketch map against his road atlas, got back in the car and set off.

It was impossible to miss, as the policeman had said, but a real maze. Still, at least it was well lit and he could see the road names clearly. He turned into Sally’s road, crawled along until he spotted her number and pulled over, studying it for a moment.

It was a pleasant little house, he thought. Neat, tidy, nothing fantastic, but there were trees in the street and it looked a decent neighbourhood. The house was semi-detached, but staggered so that only part of it was linked to the next house, and it gave the illusion of more privacy.

There was a car on the drive, a sensible little navy blue Fiesta not quite in its first flush of youth, exactly the sort of car he pictured her driving—exactly like the car the injured woman had been trapped in today. Had it worried her? Very likely.

Pondering his reception, he got out of his car and approached the house. There were lights on at the back, but the hall was dark behind the glass door and the outside light remained firmly unlit. He rang the doorbell and wondered idly if she owned the house. Probably. She’d always wanted security. She would have bought one by now, he was almost sure of it, and this was probably within her reach.

The hall light came on, and through the glass he saw a figure approaching. She opened the door and looked up at him, and her face hardened.

‘Nick, no,’ she said, trying to shut the door, but the pain in her eyes was more than he could bear and he eased the door open and went in, closing it softly behind him.

She turned away and he followed her, catching her shoulders and turning her gently to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but she held his gaze defiantly.

‘I don’t recall inviting you in,’ she said, and her voice was cold. ‘You might like to leave before I call the police.’

A sensible man would have walked away, but Nick had never been sensible where Sally was concerned. He shook his head.