The One Man to Heal Her

‘I talk too much about her when I do go out. Mum says I need to do some speed dating to get back into the way of speaking to women. She says Charlotte needs a mother and she’s probably right.’

Serious brown eyes met Alex’s across the table.

‘But I’ve got out of the dating habit,’ he admitted, before adding ruefully, ‘Not that I was ever that good at it. Do you remember Isobel telling me—some time that year—that I should write out a list of things to talk about before going to a party? Questions, she said, ask women questions about themselves and actually listen to their answers—that’s very flattering.’

Alex smiled.

‘I suspected at the time she was talking to me as well. She kept encouraging me to go out and meet young people. As I remember, you were all of a dither because you thought this girl you liked would be there, right?’

She studied Will, whose entire attention now appeared to be on his meal.

‘Did it work for you?’ she asked.

He looked up and smiled, and although the now-familiar reactions to his smile tumbled through her body, they stilled when he answered.

‘It did,’ he said quietly. ‘The girl was Elise.’

Which killed that conversation dead, Will realised as the words landed between them with an almost audible thump.

He had to think, to say something—anything—because talking to Alex was making him feel good inside, while looking at Alex—well, best he didn’t consider how that was making him feel!

But where was his list?

Ask questions, Isobel had told him way back then.

He stopped pretending to be eating and looked up at the woman across the table from him, delicately cutting morsels of lamb from her cutlets.

‘How did you feel about coming back to Port?’

She met his eyes, and smiled.

‘Ask questions, huh?’ she teased, then looked thoughtful, as if actually considering her reply.

‘Hearing from my father—that was a shock. After so many years, it took a while to take it in, but then I reread his letter, saw the bit about his health, and coming back seemed the only possible thing to do—the natural thing. As if it was time …’

How could he not reach out to rest his hand on hers?

How could he not squeeze her slim, warm fingers?

‘It must be hard,’ he said, and her smile brightened.

‘I don’t really know yet,’ she said. ‘In the taxi, coming from the airport, seeing the river and the sea, well, it felt right. In fact, I felt a surge of excitement, as if this was where I should be. But since then I’ve been at the hospital and then here—not really home at all.’

‘But you’ll go home—to your old house—stay there?’

She nodded.

‘I think so—for a while at least, while Dad convalesces, then we’ll see how it works out. It’s been nearly twenty years since I left home, Will, and I don’t really know him any more.’

Her smile this time was less joyous, nothing more than a slight curl of her lips, and her eyes held Will’s as she added, ‘It might sound strange but up to that time I was happy here, you see. I had a wonderful childhood with the river right beside us. I think I’ve let what happened to me affect my life for far too long. I want to start again, back in the place where I belong.’

He wanted to kiss her, in praise of her courage, nothing more—well, almost nothing more.

‘If anyone can do it, you can,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ she said softly, lifting her hand from under his and replacing it on top, where it sat, warm and comforting, although wasn’t he supposed to be comforting her?

She really should stop holding his hand. This was just a dinner between colleagues—old friends—not a date.

But holding Will’s hand felt … nice. Pathetic word but it covered the situation.

Very nice would be even better—

A low ping of a message arriving on Will’s mobile broke into her thoughts, and the gravity on his face as he read the message told her it wasn’t good news.

‘I’m sorry, Alex, but your father’s had a setback—heart attack or stroke. His surgeon is on his way, but I’ll have to go.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Alex said.

Will was on his feet, asking the waiter to put the dinner on his account, shrugging into the jacket he’d hung on the back of his chair.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said to Alex as he walked her to the door, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug. ‘His surgeon was worried about him undergoing the operation when he’d had a heart attack three years ago but the leaking heart valve was restricting his life and eventually would have killed him. Now this!’

Will insisted on driving her to the hospital.

‘I can drop you back at your car later,’ he said.

‘No car. I got a cab from the airport earlier and walked from the hospital this evening,’ Alex whispered, while all the ‘what ifs’ clamoured in her head. She should have come sooner, tried harder to heal the wound between herself and her parents, at the very least thanked Dad for getting in touch with her in the end.

Now it might be too late. A post-surgical patient was too fragile to have heroic lifesaving measures practiced on him.

‘He’d signed a health directive stating he didn’t want to be resuscitated,’ Will said quietly as he opened the door of his car for her.

Alex found a wan smile.

‘I was just thinking he was hardly a candidate for the more heroic revival techniques.’

Will patted her hand. ‘Let’s wait and see.’ He closed the car door and walked around the hood to get in beside her.

They arrived at the ICU to find a flurry of activity as they prepared to take the patient to Radiography for a CT scan of his brain, a stroke now seeming the most likely cause of his deep unconsciousness.

Alex stood beside her father’s bed, with Will on the other side.

‘If it’s a stroke it would have to be haemorrhagic, rather than a clot—he’d be on blood thinners post-op,’ Alex said, trying to think professionally so she could block out the emotion and nerves.

Will nodded glumly. ‘Any bleed with already thinned blood could be catastrophic.’

Alex watched helplessly as gentle hands stripped away the tubes and monitors before lifting her father onto the scanner’s stretcher and sliding his head into the machine.