Second Time Loving

But all men weren’t like Giles. There was Tom, for instance, who had been such a good friend to her over the years. Tom, and Paul, her second-in-command at the factory, both of whom she trusted implicitly, both of whom had proved their friendship and affection for her.

But then that was the difference between her relationship with them and the disastrous relationship she had had with Giles. They were friends—not potential lovers.

Perhaps she was the kind of woman who was safer establishing non-sexual relationships with men. The sort of woman who aroused affection in the male breast rather than adoration.

She realised abruptly that the hard arms imprisoning her had been removed, and that the owner of those arms was now leaning over her still frowning down at her.

He had nice arms, she reflected absently, firm and well muscled without being in any way overdeveloped. His skin was weather-beaten rather than tanned, as though he worked outside.

For the first time she was curious about him…About how on earth he had materialised so fortuitously in her time of need. About what he was doing in the first place in such a remote spot. About where he ought to have been rather than here, taking care of her.

‘You still aren’t well enough to get up,’ he told her firmly.

He had a pleasant voice, deep and faintly husky, but with no marked Welsh accent.

‘I’m feeling much better,’ Angelica protested. ‘I really ought to get up. I’ve taken up far too much of your time as it is.’ Her skin went faintly pink as she added uncertainly, ‘You really were a Good Samaritan. If you hadn’t arrived when you did…’She gave a tiny shiver, not wanting to dwell on what might have happened to her. ‘I had no idea there were two cottages here,’she told him as he slowly straightened up. ‘When Tom described this place to me he omitted to mention the fact that it was one of a pair of semis.’

She watched as his eyebrows rose a little, and for some reason felt obliged to add defensively, ‘Not that I’m not thankful to you for all that you’ve done, but I can’t impose on you any longer. You must have things of your own to do—your own cottage to—’

‘This is my cottage,’ he told her blandly, and when her mouth dropped a little he added coolly, ‘When I found you virtually out cold on my doorstep, I’d no idea who you were or what you were doing here and it seemed better to take you inside with me rather than wait for you to come round to find out. When I got the doctor out from Aberystwyth it was touch and go for the first twenty-four hours whether or not he’d have to find you a bed in our one and only local hospital.

‘By the time we’d managed to find out who you were and what you were doing here, it seemed easier from my point of view to keep an eye on you here than to move you next door.’

He said it all so matter-of-factly that Angelica could do nothing other than smile uncomfortably at him and say weakly, ‘I’ve put you to a good deal of trouble. I’m so sorry.’

‘No need to be. Being ill is no picnic. I know—I’ve been there myself. There are times when we all need a little help.’

Angelica frowned. What did he mean, he’d been there himself? Now that she looked properly at him, she saw that there was a gauntness about his face, a sharpness around those high sculpted cheekbones, narrow grooves cut either side of his mouth that hinted at pain and suffering.

She remembered how he’d limped when he walked into the bedroom and was suddenly and totally unexpectedly curious about him. And then she realised what he had said about the cottage. This wasn’t Tom’s cottage—it was his.

‘Look, I feel dreadful about all of this,’ she told him truthfully. ‘I must have caused you a great deal of trouble, but I’m over it now, and perfectly well enough to move into Tom’s cottage. I feel I’ve trespassed on your privacy for long enough.’

‘You aren’t going anywhere until the doctor says you can,’ he told her flatly.

Angelica eyed him uncertainly. There was nothing threatening in his attitude, nothing aggressive or domineering, and yet she had the inner impression that if she tried to defy him, if she tried to get up and physically remove herself from his presence, she would very soon find herself right back in this bed.

It startled her how very easy she found it to submit to the strength she could feel emanating from him; almost as though she was relieved to be able to do so, to let him make her decisions for her.

She shivered slightly, remembering how her own doctor had warned her that the stress she had been under could manifest itself in many different ways. Was this another of them—this reluctance to take charge of her own life, this unfamiliar desire to simply lie here and let this man, this stranger, make her decisions for her?

She shivered again, suddenly conscious of how much her relationship with Giles had changed her, how much it had undermined her self-confidence, and, although she was mercifully free of any shadow of the love she had once thought she felt for him, she was left with this weak indecisiveness, this inability to trust her own judgement, to make up her own mind, in a way that was completely at odds with the woman she had always thought herself to be.

‘Something wrong?’ enquired her rescuer.

The abrupt question startled her. She shook her head, a little nervous of his perception, wondering what he might have read in her unguarded expression.

‘Have you owned your cottage long?’she asked him quickly, trying to redirect their conversation into less emotive and personal channels.

He stood up and told her curtly, ‘I don’t own it. I’m renting it.’

It was Angelica’s turn to frown. His words were innocuous enough and certainly there was no real reason for the warning bells to ring so loudly in her ears. But Angelica had been running her own business and dealing with people for long enough to recognise ‘keep off’ signs when they were posted. She had after all been posting enough of her own recently to be instantly aware of when she had trespassed on to forbidden ground. And yet what could there have been in her innocent enquiry about his ownership of the cottage to draw that curt, rejecting response that warned her it was a not a subject he wished to pursue?

Shrugging mentally, she told herself that it was no real business of hers. She wasn’t particularly interested in whether or not he owned the cottage anyway. She had only been trying to make conversation.

And yet…And yet…as he stood there with his back to her, the muscles in his shoulders and back so obviously stiff with tension and anger, she felt a totally unexpected surge of sensation, not strong enough to be an actual emotional pain, and yet certainly strong enough to be rather more than conventional pique.

She trembled a little, hugging her arms around her body, not liking the idea that the physical intimacy forced on her by her illness had somehow or other forged within her mind, albeit unconsciously, the right to feel affronted and hurt by his obvious desire to shut her out.

As he stood there he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his palm absently rubbing the muscle in one thigh as though it was causing him pain.

‘I’ve been in touch with your friend Tom, by the way,’ he told her, turning back to her.

‘You’ve been in touch with Tom? You know him, then?’

She was puzzled, confused that Tom had not mentioned this neighbour.

‘No. We’ve never met, but you had his telephone number scribbled down on your map.’

Angelica nodded. Tom, bless him, had taken the precaution of jotting down his new London telephone number just in case she couldn’t follow his directions. He had moved house a fortnight ago and she had not as yet memorised his new telephone number.

‘I didn’t ring him until after the doctor had confirmed that you were suffering from salmonella. He wanted to drive down here to be with you, but it seems he had other commitments.’

‘Yes,’ Angelica agreed with a smile that was fond and more betraying than she knew. ‘He was going to spend the weekend with his new girlfriend’s parents. It’s the first time they’ve met and since he suspects that they’re a little concerned at the age gap between them—Tom’s thirty-two and Sarah is only nineteen, although a very mature nineteen—I know he wouldn’t have wanted to put them off. Nor would I have wanted him to. In fact, grateful though I am to you, you really shouldn’t have burdened yourself with me. Surely a private nurse…?’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Maybe, but they are not easy to come by in this part of the world, especially at such short notice. Your Tom warned me that I was going to have trouble with you once you were over the worst. A very independent lady was how he described you…’

A very independent lady. She had been once and had prided herself on it. Now she wasn’t so sure, and neither, she knew, was Tom. But, bless him, like the good friend he was, he would have taken care not to betray her vulnerabilities to anyone else.

‘What time is the doctor due?’ she asked quietly. She had imposed on this man for long enough. The intimacies that had passed between them while she was incapable of looking after herself were something she had to accept, and yet now, confronted with the reality of a man who before had simply been a shadowy, unfamiliar figure, a gentle, capable pair of hands that seemed to know instinctively how to help and soothe, a calm, understanding voice, she was beginning to feel acutely self-conscious and vulnerable.

The look he gave her seemed to slice right through her defences and fasten on all that she was feeling. He had coldly clear pale blue eyes that in some lights looked almost grey; dangerously seeing eyes, she recognised uncomfortably, that went well with what she was beginning to suspect was an equally perceptive mind.

She wondered obliquely what he did for a living. There was no obvious industry in this part of the world; it was an idyllic spot for holiday-makers, for those in search of solitude and peace, but for those who lived locally…And what kind of work allowed a man to take days off without any notice, to nurse a complete stranger? Did he in fact work at all, or was he perhaps one of that breed of people she had occasionally read about and puzzled over but never met: a genuine drop-out from society?

She eyed him covertly, registering the wellworn jeans, the slightly too thin frame. If he didn’t work how did he manage to pay the rent on this place? How did he feed and clothe himself?

‘I can hear a car outside,’ he told her. ‘It will probably be the doctor now. I’d better go down and let him in.’

His hearing was as acute as his perception, Angelica recognised as she too heard the approaching sound of a car engine.

The doctor, when he came into the bedroom, proved to be a middle-aged man with a soft Welsh accent and tired eyes. WhenAngelica apologised for causing him so much trouble, he shook his head and told her, ‘There’s nothing worse than a nasty bout of food poisoning. You were lucky that Daniel was here when you collapsed.’

‘Very lucky,’Angelica agreed hollowly, shivering a little as she remembered her physical agony and distress when she first became ill. So his name was Daniel. Foolish of her not to have asked him herself.

‘Your friend gave us the name of your London doctor.’ The shrewd, tired eyes studied her. ‘Come down here for a bit of a rest, have you?’

Angelica pulled a face. ‘He says I’m suffering from stress. When Tom offered me the use of his cottage…’