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Neurosurgeon . . . and Mum!
Kate Hardy


When Amy Rivers’ dreams of a family were shattered by her ex-fiancé, she dedicated herself to neurosurgery, where she’s kept her head—and her heart—ever since.Now, with her career in shreds, Amy needs a lifeline. She escapes to the one place she’s always called home—to find the new village doctor, Tom Ashby, and his motherless little daughter Perdy sharing her retreat.Amy tries to keep her longings locked up tight, but enchanted by the sad little girl…and captivated by Tom’s heart-melting smile…she finds her shattered dreams come flooding back. Life has been tough for all of them, but together can they make each other whole?







Praise for Kate Hardy:

‘THE CHILDREN’S DOCTOR’S SPECIAL PRO-POSAL is just as the title promises. Kate Hardy delivers a superb romance that resonates beautifully with the reader. Bravo, Ms Hardy!’

—bookilluminations.com

‘THE GREEK DOCTOR’S NEW-YEAR BABY is romantic storytelling at its best! Poignant, enjoyable and absolutely terrific, with THE GREEK DOCTOR’S NEW-YEAR BABY Kate Hardy proves once again that when it comes to romantic fiction she’s up there with the very best!’

—cataromance.com

‘SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH: I spent a lovely morning with this book, and I’d advise you to do likewise. Getit.You’ll love it. An unrestrained…Grade:A.’

—goodbadandunread.com

‘PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION: this story features a strong heroine who gains strength from her family and a hero who realises the importance of love and family before it’s too late. Add in their captivating romance and it makes for one great read.’

—RT Book Reviews


Tom turned round and smiled. ‘Hello, Amy. Let me introduce you. This is Perdy.’

Be polite, smile, but keep your distance, Amy told herself. It isn’t your job to fix this. ‘Hello, Perdy,’ she said, staying exactly where she was.



‘Hello, Miss Rivers,’ Perdy said dutifully.



That sounded so stuffy and formal. Completely not how Amy was. For a moment she was tempted to offer her own first name; then her common sense kicked in. Keep your distance. Formality would help her to do that. She gave the little girl a polite smile.

‘I’ll, um, let you get on,’ Amy said. ‘I just wanted to introduce myself—that was all. See you later.’ She fled for sanctuary.



Though not before she heard Perdy ask Tom, ‘Did she go because of me?’ And she could almost see the wobble in the little girl’s lower lip, the distress on her face.



‘No, honey, of course not. She’s just got things to do,’ Tom said.



Which made Amy feel even more horrible inside. She’d have to find some middle ground. Surely she could be kind to the little girl without taking down the barriers round her heart?



She’d make the effort later.



Just not right now, when the memories had come back to shred her heart all over again.





Neurosurgeon…And Mum!


By




Kate Hardy







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she helps out at her children’s schools. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.) Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She now writes Medical


romances and also writes for Modern Heat


. She says it’s the best of both worlds, because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com



Recent titles by the same author:

Medical™ Romance

THE DOCTOR’S LOST-AND-FOUND BRIDE

FALLING FOR THE PLAYBOY MILLIONAIRE

(The Brides of Penhally Bay)

Modern Heat




GOOD GIRL OR GOLD-DIGGER?

TEMPORARY BOSS, PERMANENT MISTRESS




Dear Reader


I really enjoy second-chance stories—and in this case Amy, my heroine, needs a second chance at her career as well as at love. When life steamrollers over her, it’s natural for her to come home to the place where she was so happy as a child (which just so happens to be on the Norfolk coast—my own favourite place in the world). But when she ends up sharing a house with her uncle’s locum, she finds herself having to confront the distant past as well as her recent difficulties.



Tom also needs a second chance at love—with someone who’ll love him and be a real mother to his beloved daughter.



Perdy stole my heart (probably because she has much in common with my own beloved daughter at that age—beachcombing and baking are such fun). And getting them all to have a happy ending, as a family, was a real joy.



Add in a gorgeous dog, the history of medicine, a medical specialty that really fascinates me, and a house with a turret (my fantasy house!), and I think you can see why I found NEUROSURGEON…AND MUM! such a pleasure to write.



I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com



With love



Kate Hardy




Chapter One


TOM finally found Perdy curled up in a chair with a book in the corner of the room; her face was wary, and she was clearly trying to be quiet and keep out of the way. Not for the first time, his heart burned in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Eloise should have been here beside him, making a proper family: the two of them and their precious daughter. And Perdy should have been a normal child, messy and laughing and seeing rainbows in every corner instead of shadows.

He clenched his jaw for a second, willing the anger to die down. Stop being an idiot, he told himself. You know it’s irrational, being angry with Eloise. Just stop blaming her for getting that tropical fever and dying.

But he couldn’t.

On my own, he thought, am I making a complete mess of bringing up Perdy? Eloise hadn’t exactly been a hands-on mother, but at least he’d been able to talk to her and come to a joint decision; on his own, he had nobody to bounce ideas off, nobody to warn him that he was doing the wrong thing.

He smiled at his daughter, but she didn’t smile back. Had he made the wrong decision, bringing her here, away from London? Maybe he should’ve toughed it out instead of dragging his daughter off in the middle of the school year to make a new start in a place where nobody knew them. But London hadn’t really been healthy for Perdy, either. All that pity for the poor motherless child had made Perdy withdraw further and further inside herself.

And he hadn’t been able to reach her.

Seeing the ad for a locum GP in a coastal town in Norfolk had seemed like the answer to his problems. Three months. Long enough to give Perdy a chance to settle and give them both the new start they so badly needed. He could rent out their little terraced house for three months; if it worked out in Norfolk, he could find a permanent job there and they could sell up, but if Perdy missed the bustle of the city too much they could still move back. Doing it this way kept all their options open. And Joe and Cassie Rivers had been so warm, so welcoming, even offering him somewhere to stay; the way they’d put it, they needed someone to house-sit while they were in Australia, so he and Perdy would be doing them a favour.

But although they’d been here for almost two weeks now, Perdy was still quiet. She’d been perfectly polite to everyone, but it seemed she’d put up this huge glass wall.

And Tom didn’t have anyone to ask to help him break it down.

His own parents were old, growing fragile; he couldn’t lean on them. And Eloise’s parents…well, they were the reason why his wife had been the way she was, why she’d never been satisfied with her achievements but had always striven to do more. No way was he going to let them do the same thing to his daughter.

‘Hey.’ He sat on the arm of her chair and ruffled her hair. ‘You OK?’

She looked up from her book. ‘Yes, Daddy.’

‘Good book?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

He tried again. ‘What’s it about?’

She shrugged. ‘A boy who has to dig holes.’

He could’ve guessed that from the title and the picture on the front cover. Clearly she didn’t want to discuss it; she kept glancing back at the page, as if wanting to be polite to her father but desperate to get back to her story.

Hell, hell, hell. He didn’t want polite. He wanted her to love him, the way he loved her. He wanted a normal child, one who was noisy and messy and cheeky…and secure.

He reached down to hug her, breathing in the scent of her hair. His little girl. She’d been the light of his life for the last eight years. Even now he looked at her and marvelled that she was his. ‘OK, honey. I’ll let you get back to your reading.’ Though he wasn’t going to stop trying to get through to her. He’d push just a little, each day. To let her know that he was there, that he’d still be there when she was finally ready to talk. He swallowed hard. ‘You do know I love you very, very much, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Daddy. I love you, too.’

They were the words he wanted to hear but her voice was quiet, colourless, and he didn’t quite believe them. The loss of Eloise had broken his little girl’s heart, and all the love inside her had seemed to drain away. And he didn’t know how to begin to fix things.

Should he try to find her a new mother, maybe?

No. It wouldn’t help Perdy and it certainly wouldn’t help him. Eloise had broken his heart, too, and he never wanted to get involved with anyone again. Though that wasn’t because he thought he’d be in love with his wife for the rest of his days; at times, he really hated Eloise. And then he felt guilty for resenting her so much, and the cycle of hurt began all over again.

‘Don’t read too late. You’ve got school tomorrow. Jammies, teeth and bed in twenty minutes, OK?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

A nasty thought struck him. Perdy was quiet and booky. A bully’s dream. Was she…? ‘Is school all right?’ Please, God, let her have made friends. Children who could make a better job of protecting her against the world than he had.

She nodded, and Tom had the distinct feeling that, if anything, his little girl was trying to protect him. Maybe he’d call her teacher tomorrow after morning surgery, have a quiet word with her and find out how Perdy had really settled. ‘OK, honey. I’ll let you get on with your book. And in half an hour I’ll come upstairs to tuck you in.’

This time her smile was pure gratitude.

And it broke the pieces of his heart into even smaller fragments.



Amy wrapped her hands round the mug of hot milk, but it wasn’t soothing her or making her feel warm. It wasn’t keeping the nightmare away.

The same nightmare she’d had for months. Seeing Ben on the operating table in front of her. Trying so hard to fix the nerves in his spine and the crack in his vertebra, trying to keep the emotion blocked off while she worked, trying to stem her growing horror when she realised that she couldn’t do it. And Laura’s voice in her head, full of pain and betrayal and misery: I trusted you…

The dream always made her wake in a cold sweat.

Worse still, because when she woke she knew it hadn’t been a dream.

Every single bit of it had happened.

She shivered, more from misery than cold. Right now she couldn’t see a way forward. A way to get rid of the shadows.

Fergus Keating had told her to take three months off.

What on earth was she going to do with herself for three whole months?

Though she knew the head of neurosurgery was right. She wasn’t capable of doing her job properly, she was a liability to the team, and she needed to sort her head out. He’d been kind enough to refuse her resignation and suggest a sabbatical instead.

He’d also suggested that she tried going to counselling, but she couldn’t see the point. Talking to someone wasn’t going to get Ben’s mobility back, was it? Or make her best friend forgive her. Her best friend of half a lifetime, who never wanted to see her again. She dragged in a breath. The loss of Laura hurt more than anything else. Now was the time she should’ve been able to support Laura through a rough patch, listen to her, be there for her. But how could you support someone when you were the one who’d caused all the problems?

Fergus’s other suggestion sat more easily with her: to get out of London, away from everything, and give herself enough space to decide what she wanted to do. And Amy knew exactly where she wanted to go.

Not that she was selfish enough to call her favourite aunt at four in the morning.

Somehow, she managed to stumble through the day, promising herself that she wouldn’t ring before the evening. That she’d pull herself together before she rang.

And at five to seven she punched the number into her phone with shaking fingers.

Please, please, let her be there.

‘Cassie Rivers speaking.’

‘Aunt Cassie? It’s Amy. I was wondering…can I come down at the weekend and stay for a bit, please?’

Amy’s aunt blew out a breath. ‘Love, you know you’re always welcome here, but I’m afraid Joe and I are off to Australia, the day after tomorrow.’

Of course they were. Her cousin Beth’s first baby was due in a month, and Cassie and Joe wanted to go and spend some time with their only daughter and their very first grandchild. Cassie had been bubbling about it for weeks. What kind of selfish, thoughtless person could forget about something like that?

The same kind of person who’d wrecked her best friend’s life.

She dragged her thoughts back together. ‘Sorry, Cassie. I wasn’t thinking.’

But maybe some of the misery in her voice communicated itself to her aunt, because Cassie said gently, ‘More like you’re too tired to remember. You drive yourself too hard, love.’

And had done so ever since she’d started her neurosurgeon’s training. She’d wanted to be among the best in her field. She’d been bang on target, until she’d screwed up so badly with Ben. And since then everything had fallen apart. Not that she’d talked to anyone about it; even if her parents hadn’t been thousands of miles away in the States, she couldn’t have talked to them about her failure, and she hadn’t wanted to lean on her aunt and uncle. In the circumstances, talking to Laura wasn’t an option: so she’d just had to suck it up and deal with it by herself.

She’d failed at that, too.

‘I’m OK,’ she said neutrally.

‘Look, love, even though we’re not going to be here, you’re welcome to come and spend some time here. How long were you thinking of staying?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘A few days? A week?’ Cassie suggested.

‘I’m, um, taking a sabbatical. Maybe a couple of weeks, if that’s OK?’

‘A fortnight isn’t a sabbatical, it’s a break. But you’re not on holiday, are you?’ Cassie asked perceptively. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I just need a bit of time to think things through,’ Amy prevaricated.

‘All right, love.’

Amy heard the subtext clearly: I won’t push until you’re ready to talk about it.

Bless her.

‘Stay for as long as you like. We’ll be back in six weeks, and you’re more than welcome to stay after we get back,’ Cassie continued. ‘You can house-sit for us while we’re away. And your being here means we won’t have to put Buster in kennels.’

Typical Cassie. Putting it in a way that made Amy feel she wasn’t doing all the taking—and in a way that she couldn’t refuse. ‘Thanks, Cassie. I’d like that. And I’ll make sure I take him for a walk every day.’ The chocolate Labrador was elderly now, but Amy could still remember her aunt and uncle getting him as a pup, when she’d stayed for the summer holidays before her finals.

‘Joe’s locum is staying, too, but there’s plenty of room—he won’t get in your way.’

Joe’s locum was the real house-sitter, Amy guessed. So Cassie probably hadn’t even booked Buster into kennels in the first place. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Of course we don’t, love.’ There was a pause. ‘Amy, why don’t you throw your stuff in a bag, get in the car and come down right now? It sounds as if you could do with a good meal and a chat.’

Amy almost cracked. Unconditional love and support was something she wanted so badly—but something she knew she really didn’t deserve. Not after what she’d done. Besides, Joe and Cassie were so excited about Australia and the new baby. She couldn’t bring herself to worry them with her own problems when they were about to go to the other side of the world. ‘Thanks, but I have a few things I need to sort out in London.’

‘All right, then we’ll talk now.’

Panic made Amy catch her breath. ‘You must be in the middle of packing. Don’t let me hold you up, Cassie. Honestly, I’m fine. I just need a bit of time off. You know how you’re always nagging me about working too hard.’

Cassie didn’t sound so sure about it, but to Amy’s relief she didn’t push it. ‘Well, we’ll leave the key in the usual place. And I’ll text you when we get to Australia. You know you can me call any time—though remember we’re nine hours ahead of you, in Melbourne.’

‘I will. And thanks, Cassie.’ For the bolthole. For the breathing space. For not pushing her.

‘Any time, love.’

‘Give my love to Beth. I hope she gets an easy de-livery—and I want to see a picture of the baby as soon as you’re allowed to take one, OK?’

‘You can count on it, love,’ Cassie said. ‘Drive safely.’

‘I will,’ Amy promised. ‘Have a good trip.’




Chapter Two


ON Thursday morning, just as the rush hour ended, Amy left London for Norfolk. By lunchtime, she’d reached the large seaside town where her uncle had lived ever since Amy was tiny. The place where she’d spent many happy summers. The place that might just help her to sort her head out.

She parked on the gravelled area in front of Marsh End House; there was no other car there, so she assumed that the locum was on duty at the surgery, unless maybe he didn’t have a car. She went to the fifth large cobble stone in the flower border to the right of the front door and lifted it; as she expected, the front door key sat underneath it. She let herself in and heard a volley of excited barks from the kitchen; as soon as she opened the door, Buster nearly knocked her flying.

She knelt down on the floor and made a fuss of him. ‘You’re meant to be a staid old dog, not a bouncy pup,’ she admonished him with a smile. ‘Look at all the grey in your face. And you’re still just like you were twelve years ago.’

Buster responded by resting his front paws on her shoulders and licking her face enthusiastically.

‘You big old softie,’ she said. ‘OK, let me bring my stuff in and have a cup of tea and then I’ll take you for a run.’

His tail thumped madly, and she grinned. ‘It’s so good to be home.’ Funny, Cassie and Joe’s place had always been home to her—more so than her parents’ house in London or her own flat, even. Marsh End House was a Victorian Gothic masterpiece, built of red brick with arched windows, lots of pointed gables and an elaborate turret that had been the centre of the games she’d played with Beth and her two younger brothers in those long, hot summers. Games of wizards and princesses and magic castle—followed by sandcastle competitions on the beach, games of cricket and football and exploring the rockpools at low tide. Here was where she’d always been happiest.

And best of all was the kitchen, right in the heart of the house. Where scraped knees had been washed, kissed better and covered with a dressing; the cake tin had always been full; and, as they had grown older, the kettle had always been hot and Cassie always there to listen and not judge.

So many wonderful memories.

Would they be enough to heal her now?

There was an envelope with her name on it propped against the biscuit tin in the middle of the kitchen table. Recognising her aunt’s handwriting, Amy opened it.

Have made a bed for you in your old room.

In the turret. Fabulous. She’d be overlooking the marshes towards the sea, her favourite view in the world, and the sun would wake her every morning. And maybe here she wouldn’t have the nightmares.

Tom will introduce himself and Perdy to you at some point.

So the locum was married? Well, that wasn’t a problem; the house was big enough for them not to get in each other’s way.

Make sure you eat properly.

She couldn’t help smiling. The first thing Cassie did to everyone was to feed them. Though Amy knew her aunt had a point; she hadn’t been able to summon up the energy to make a proper meal for months. She’d been living on sandwiches and canteen food, and picking even at those. Maybe the sea air would help to bring back her appetite.

There was a postscript in Joe’s atrocious handwriting: if she found herself at a loose end, there was a box in his study with some of Joseph Rivers’s casebooks. She might want to take a look through them and put them in some sort of order. There were more in a box in the attic, if she wanted to bring them down.

Joseph had been the first surgeon in the family, back in the late 1820s; for years both Joe and her father had talked of sorting out his papers and doing something with the casebooks. But her father had been offered a professorship in cardiac surgery in the States and Joe had been busy with his GP practice, so it had never happened. Once or twice Carrie had suggested that maybe the next generation would like to do it but, the last time the subject had been raised, Beth had been busy carving out a career in computing, Joey and Martin had been studying for their finals and Amy had just switched specialties to neurosurgery, which had absorbed every second of her time. And so nothing had ever happened with Joseph’s papers.

Maybe looking through his papers might help her remember why she’d become a doctor in the first place, Amy thought. Or give her a clue as to where her path led now. Because, right now, she had no idea what was going to happen with the rest of her life. It was like staring into a tunnel without even a pinprick of light at the end. Even thinking about it made her feel as if she were suffocating in blackness. And she felt so very, very alone.

She lugged her suitcase upstairs to her room and left it at the end of the bed before heading back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She was halfway through a cup of tea, a sandwich and the cryptic crossword in the newspaper she’d bought on impulse that morning when the front door opened.

Buster gave a sharp bark to warn her that someone was there, and then a warmer, more welcoming woof, and skidded up the hallway to greet the person who’d just walked in.

‘Hey, Buster. Go find your Frisbee and we’ll have ten minutes in the garden.’

This must be Tom, the locum, Amy thought. He had a nice voice, deep and calm with the slightest trace of a London accent.

Just as she registered it, he walked into the kitchen. ‘Hello. You must be Amy. I’m Tom Ashby.’

He was in his early thirties, she’d guess, around her own age; he had a shock of dark wavy hair that he’d brushed back from his forehead, very fair skin, and hazel eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. His smile was polite enough, but there was a seriousness to him and an intensity that made her wonder what he’d look like if he let himself relax and laughed. Whether his mouth would soften into a sexy grin and his eyes would crinkle at the corners.

Not that it was any of her business. She already knew that Tom was unavailable; in any case, relationships weren’t her thing. Since the wreckage of her engagement to Colin, ten years before, she’d kept all dates light and very, very casual; she was just fine and dandy on her own.

‘Hello.’ Amy shook Tom’s proffered hand. ‘Cassie left me a note. She said you’d introduce yourself and Perdy at some point.’

‘Perdy’s at school.’

So Tom’s wife was a teacher. ‘I see,’ Amy said, giving him a polite smile and hoping that by the time Perdy came home she’d have managed to find a stock of small talk.



Amy Rivers was nothing like Tom had imagined. For a start, she was gorgeous. Too thin, and there was a pallor in her face to go with the bagginess in her clothes that told him she hadn’t been looking after herself properly, but she was still beautiful. Her sea-green eyes reminded him of Joe’s; her dark hair was cut very short and yet managed to be feminine rather than making her look aggressive or butch. Her mouth was a perfect rosebud; it made him want to reach out and trace her lower lip with the tip of his finger.

Not that he was going to give in to the impulse.

Apart from the fact that Amy Rivers could already be involved with someone and wouldn’t welcome his advances, there was Perdy to consider. She’d had enough upheaval in her life, and the last year had been seriously rough. She really didn’t need her father forgetting himself and behaving like a teenager. So Tom knew he had to treat Amy just as if she were another colleague, even though they didn’t actually work together. Polite enough to avoid any friction, but distant enough not to get involved. Keep everything to small talk.

‘How was your journey?’ he asked politely.

‘Fine, thanks. I got stuck behind a tractor three miles out of town, but that’s par for the course around here at this time of year.’ She indicated her mug. ‘The kettle’s hot. Can I get you a coffee or something?’

‘That’d be nice. Thanks.’

‘How do you like it?’

‘Just milk, no sugar, please.’

She switched the kettle on and shook instant coffee into a mug. ‘So Buster’s suckered you into playing Frisbee with him. Have you taught him to drop it yet?’

‘I wish. He normally leaves it under the trees at the bottom of the garden and waits for me to fetch it.’

‘You’d never believe his pedigree’s full of field trial champions, would you?’ Amy finished making the coffee and handed the mug to Tom.

His fingers brushed against hers and desire zinged down his spine.

Not good. It was the first time he’d felt that pull of attraction since Eloise. Given how badly that had ended, he wasn’t prepared to take a second risk—even if Amy Rivers turned out to be single.

‘Cassie says you’re staying for a while,’ he said, deliberately putting the whole length of the table between them. Not that it stopped him noticing her face was heart shaped. Or how fine her fingers were, wrapped around her mug of tea. No ring on her left hand: not that that meant anything nowadays. You didn’t have to be married to be committed. But she had beautiful hands. Delicate hands. An artist’s hands, maybe? Neither Cassie nor Joe had told him much about Amy. Just that she was their niece, she lived in London, and she was taking some time out from her job. Cassie had looked worried, which implied that there was a problem with Amy’s job, but Tom hadn’t pressed for details; it wasn’t his place to ask.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way,’ she said, her face shuttering.

And now he’d put her back up. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to suggest that you would. There’s plenty of room for all of us. I was just thinking, maybe we could all eat together. It seems a bit pointless, cooking separately. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to do all the cooking,’ he added hastily. ‘Maybe we can share the chores.’

‘Sure.’ She still looked slightly wary: a look he’d seen all too often on his daughter’s face. Meaning that she wanted space.

‘Look, I’ll go and wear Buster out a bit, then I’ve got a couple of house calls to make,’ he said.

‘You’re not stopping for lunch?’

‘I’ll get something later.’

She bit her lip. ‘Look, I meant it about not getting in your way. And don’t feel you’re obliged to entertain me or anything.’

‘Ditto,’ he said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we’re sharing the house and looking after the dog for Joe and Cassie. And we’re sharing chores because it makes sense. It’s more efficient.’

She was silent for a moment, and then she nodded. ‘Agreed. Well, I ought to stop lazing around and unpack. I’ll catch you later.’

‘What about your sandwich?’ he asked. She’d eaten less than half of it, he noticed.

‘Did Cassie ask you to watch my eating?’ Amy asked.

He felt himself flush. ‘No. Just that I didn’t want you to feel I was pushing you out of the kitchen before you’d finished.’ Was that what the problem was? Amy had some kind of eating disorder and it had caused her to have a breakdown at work? In which case she must have interpreted his suggestion of eating together as pushing her, too. This was going to be a minefield.

To his surprise, she smiled. ‘Thank you. And, no, I don’t have any kind of eating disorder.’

He groaned. ‘Did I say that out loud? I apologise.’

‘No, you just have an expressive face,’ Amy said dryly. ‘I admit, I haven’t been eating properly lately, because I’ve been busy at work and when you’re under pressure and rushed for time it’s easier to grab fast food. That, or wait until you get home and it’s so late that you’re too tired to bother with more than a bit of toast. But you don’t have to worry that you’ll starve when it’s my turn to make dinner. Cassie taught me to cook.’

Why hadn’t Amy’s mother taught her? Tom wondered.

Or maybe Amy’s mother was the kind of mother that his wife had been. Distant. Feeling trapped. Wanting to do her own thing and wishing that she’d never got married and had a child to hold her back.

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be prying,’ he said. And he certainly didn’t want to answer any questions about his own past. ‘How about I cook for us tonight?’

‘You’ve been at work.’

He shrugged. ‘And you’ve had a long drive, which I’d say is more tiring—especially as I know there are roadworks on the motorway and you’ve probably been stuck in traffic for a while. It’s no problem. Really.’

‘Then I’ll wash up,’ she said.

‘Deal.’ Though he didn’t offer to shake on it. Because he had a feeling that once he touched Amy Rivers, he’d want more. A lot more. And it would get way, way too complicated.

She’d vanished by the time he’d finished playing with Buster. He made himself a sandwich, checked the dog’s water bowl was full then headed out on his house calls.

‘I hear young Amy’s back,’ Mrs Poole, his first patient, said as he removed the dressing to check the ulcer just above her ankle.

He looked up at her, surprised. ‘Wow. The grapevine’s fast around here.’ Amy couldn’t have arrived more than a couple of hours ago.

‘Well, a car with a registration plate saying “AMY” parked outside Marsh End House has to be hers, doesn’t it?’ She shrugged. ‘Not that she’s been down here for a while now. Funny that she decides to turn up this week, with Joe and Cassie just off to Australia.’

Tom didn’t appreciate gossip about himself and he had a feeling that Amy would be the same. ‘She’s house- and dog-sitting for her aunt and uncle.’

‘I thought that was what you were supposed to be doing.’

‘You know what they say. Many hands make light work,’ Tom said with a smile, and concentrated on checking the ulcer for granulation.

‘Used to spend every summer here, she did. Too quiet by miles for the first week, but by the end of the summer she was getting as grubby as the boys and plotting all kinds of things with young Beth.’

Too quiet. Just as his own daughter was. But Amy had had her cousins to help her out of her shell. Perdy had nobody except him, and so far he was a big fat failure.

He changed the subject swiftly. ‘I’m really pleased with the way you’re healing. So you’ve been keeping your leg up, as I suggested?’

‘Yes. Though I hate sitting still.’ Mrs Poole tutted. ‘I’ve never been one to sit and do nothing.’

‘Gentle exercise is fine,’ Tom said. ‘But if you overdo it, the ulcer will take longer to heal. You don’t have to sit around all the time, just make sure you rest with your leg up for half an hour, three or four times a day, to take the pressure off your veins.’ He cleaned the ulcer gently then put a fresh dressing on, topping it with an elastic bandage. ‘Can you circle your ankle for me, Mrs Poole, so I can check that bandage isn’t too tight for you?’

She did so, and he smiled. ‘That’s fine. I’ll come and see you tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, if it starts to hurt more or your foot feels hotter or colder, or you notice it’s changed colour, ring the surgery straight away—please don’t wait.’ In his experience, elderly people fell into two camps: the ones who were lonely, desperately wanted company and would ring up if they so much as cut their finger; and those who didn’t want to make a fuss and would leave it until their condition had really deteriorated before they admitted that they needed help. Mrs Poole was definitely one of the latter, or her ulcer wouldn’t have spread so badly.

‘I’ll be fine, Doctor,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

He rather thought he did. ‘I want a promise from you,’ he said, giving her his most charming smile, ‘or I’ll have to go and chat to your neighbours and ask them to set up a roster to check on you every couple of hours between now and my next visit.’

‘You can’t bother them with that!’ She looked aghast.

‘Promise me, then.’ He squeezed her hand gently. ‘I appreciate you want to be independent, which is great, but there is such a thing as being too independent. If you catch a medical condition in the early stages, it’s usually easier and quicker to treat it—and it won’t hurt you as much.’

‘I’m not like that Betty Jacklin—straight on the phone to the surgery, convinced she’s got a brain tumour, every time she has a headache.’ Mrs Poole rolled her eyes.

Tom hid a smile. He’d already been warned about Betty Jacklin, but hadn’t come across her yet. ‘I can’t possibly comment on other patients. I know you wouldn’t call me for something little. But I also know you’re the sort who’s too stubborn to ring when she really ought to.’ He squeezed her hand gently again. ‘And guess which kind of patient I lose more sleep over?’

Mrs Poole sighed. ‘All right. I promise I’ll call you.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea before I go?’

She shook her head. ‘You don’t have time for that, Doctor.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Actually, I do.’ It would only take a couple of minutes. And if it meant getting her to drink a bit more, he was all for it. Too many of his elderly patients didn’t drink enough and ended up with bladder in-fections—which, if not treated fast enough, led to fever and confusion and being cared for in hospital until the antibiotics did their job, not to mention a huge worry for their families. He believed in pre-empting things where he could. ‘So, if I remember rightly, that’s a dash of milk and half a teaspoon of sugar?’

‘You’re a good lad, Dr Ashby,’ Mrs Poole said. ‘And, with your looks, you must have the women lining up for you.’

Tom just smiled. He hadn’t noticed any line of women—and even if there was one, he wasn’t interested. His daughter came first. And he’d never put himself in the position where his heart could be broken again.



At half past three, Amy was sitting at Joe’s desk, starting to look through the box of Joseph’s papers, when Buster left his position at her feet and bounded through the door, tail wagging.

Clearly Tom was home.

She could hear a child talking. Odd: Tom hadn’t mentioned anything about a child. Unless maybe his wife was doing some extra tuition and one of her pupils had come back with her?

Better get the introductions over with, she thought, and headed out of the office. She followed the sound of voices to the kitchen, noting the child’s rucksack hanging up in the hallway. And she blinked in surprise when she walked into the kitchen. There was a little girl sitting at the table—around eight years old, Amy judged—with a glass of milk and a book in front of her. She had Tom’s colouring and that same shy, slightly hesitant smile.

Buster pattered across the tiles to her, alerting Tom to the fact that he and the little girl were no longer alone. He turned round and smiled at Amy. ‘Hello, Amy. Let me introduce you. This is Perdita—everyone calls her Perdy.’

Perdy was clearly Tom’s daughter, then, not his wife.

Carrie hadn’t mentioned anyone else. So where was the child’s mother? Was Tom divorced? But Amy knew it wasn’t that common for fathers to be given custody of the children, which meant that the break-up must’ve been messy with a capital M.

No wonder Perdy looked quiet and withdrawn.

Amy remembered another little girl being like that, too. A little girl whose father had been awarded custody. A little girl she’d grown to love so much, as if Millie were her own daughter rather than her intended stepchild-to-be.

But then Colin had suggested that they move to the States, to let Millie see more of her mother. And while Amy had been tying up loose ends in England, thinking that she was going to start a new life with the man and child she loved, Colin had changed his mind. He’d called Amy with the news that he and his ex had decided to give their marriage another go, for their daughter’s sake. That had been hard enough to take; but then he’d added that he thought that a clean break would be the best thing for Millie.

Amy knew it had been the right thing to do, for the little girl’s sake. But it had ripped her world apart, and she’d retreated into work afterwards, concentrating on her career rather than her private life.

Which had worked just fine—until her career had gone so badly wrong, too.

OK, so this wasn’t quite the same. She wasn’t in any kind of relationship with Tom Ashby. But, right now, she was bone tired and she just didn’t have the strength to help anyone else.

Be polite, smile, but keep your distance, Amy told herself. It isn’t your job to fix this. ‘Hello, Perdy,’ she said, staying exactly where she was.

‘Perdy, this is Miss Rivers.’

Miss rather than Doctor. Did he know that she was a qualified surgeon? Or hadn’t Joe and Carrie told him that she was a medic of any kind? Not that it made much difference. She wasn’t a neurosurgeon any more.

‘Hello, Miss Rivers,’ Perdy said dutifully.

That sounded so stuffy and formal. Completely not how Amy was. For a moment, she was tempted to offer her own first name; then her common sense kicked in. Keep your distance. Formality would help her to do that. She gave the little girl a polite smile. ‘Hello.’

‘Joe and Carrie are Miss Rivers’s aunt and uncle. She’s staying here for a while,’ Tom explained.

Perdy looked worried for a moment, and then carefully made her face blank. ‘Does that mean we have to go and find somewhere else to live?’

It sounded as though they’d moved around a bit, and Amy could remember being much happier here as a child because she was settled for the summer instead of dragging round after her parents with nobody to play with. Guilt flooded through her. What was the old saying? What goes around comes around. Joe and Cassie had been kind to her. She really ought to offer the same kindness to Perdy. It wasn’t the little girl’s fault that her presence brought back memories of Millie and a sense of loss that Amy would prefer to suppress.

‘No, darling, it just means we’re sharing the house,’ Tom said, ruffling her hair.

‘So I can still play with Buster?’ Perdy asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Tom reassured her.

Amy should’ve guessed that Perdy would respond to the dog in the same way that Amy herself had responded to Joe and Cassie’s dogs as a child. Guilt twisted in her stomach again. But this wasn’t her problem and she had enough to deal with. She had nothing to offer a lonely little girl. Right now, she had nothing to offer anyone.

‘Are you here on a summer holiday, Miss Rivers?’ Perdy asked.

‘Sort of.’

‘Perdy, you’re asking too many questions,’ Tom said quietly.

The little girl flushed, and shut up.

Amy raised her eyebrows at Tom. OK, so she didn’t particularly want to talk about why she was here, but he could have just distracted his daughter instead of putting her down like that.

He looked right back at her, and Amy found herself flushing as deeply as Perdy when she read the message in his eyes. Just who did Amy Rivers think she was, to judge him?

He had a point. She hadn’t exactly helped matters, had she? And he was clearly trying to do his best with his little girl.

‘I’ll, um, let you get on,’Amy said. ‘I just wanted to introduce myself, that was all. See you later.’ She fled for the sanctuary of Joe’s office.

Though not before she heard Perdy ask Tom, ‘Did she go because of me?’ And she could almost see the wobble in the little girl’s lower lip, the distress on her face.

‘No, honey, of course not. She’s just got things to do,’ Tom said.

Which made Amy feel even more horrible inside. She’d have to find some middle ground. Surely she could be kind to the little girl, without taking down the barriers round her heart?

She’d make the effort, later.

Just not right now, when all the memories had come back to shred her heart all over again.




Chapter Three


THAT evening, after Tom had settled Perdy in bed, he walked into the living room and saw Amy curled up in a chair, reading a book. In Perdy’s favourite chair, Tom noticed, the one with a view through the French doors into the garden. Amy was completely engrossed in the words, just like Perdy always was when she had her nose in a book.

And he was intruding.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were here,’ he said, and began to back away.

She looked up. ‘It’s not a problem. If you want to watch the television or something, that’s fine. You won’t disturb me.’

‘No. But my daughter clearly does.’ The words were out before he could stop them, and he kicked himself mentally as colour shot into her face. Couldn’t he have found a more tactful way to broach the subject?

‘I’m sorry I was a bit abrupt with her,’ Amy muttered.

Tom knew he should accept the apology and leave it. But, now he’d started, he couldn’t stop himself. Amy hadn’t even had dinner with them that evening—she’d made an excuse and shut herself away in the study. And for some reason Perdy had got it into her head that it was because Amy didn’t like her—that she was in the way. ‘She’s eight years old. And it’s not as if she’s a spoiled brat or running wild.’

‘I can see that.’

‘So what is it? You don’t like kids?’

‘It’s not that.’

But she didn’t look him in the eye; it was obvious that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Well, that was her choice. She was an adult, able to make her own decisions; and his main concern was his daughter. ‘Look, I don’t know how long you plan to be here, and I’ll try to keep Perdy out of your way as much as I can, but I’d appreciate it if you could try to be pleasant to her when your paths cross.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Amy’s breath shuddered, as if she was suppressing a sob, and the distress on her face was obvious.

Ah, hell. He’d blundered straight in and made this whole situation worse. Tom raked a hand through his hair. He had to face it, he was hopeless with women. He’d let his wife down, he’d let his daughter down, and now he’d managed to upset the woman he had to share the house with for the next however long. Time to compromise and make the best of this mess. ‘So am I. We’re guests here in your family’s home, and I shouldn’t be having a go at you.’

‘I’m a guest here, too,’Amy said. ‘And you were standing up for your daughter. It’s a parent’s natural reaction.’

He could see the pain in her eyes before she masked it. So was Amy a parent? And, if so, why wasn’t her child with her now?

It was none of his business. He wasn’t going to pry. But he had to say something. Give her an explanation for the way he’d snapped at her, at least. ‘I’m probably being over-protective. It hasn’t been a good year.’

‘Yeah. This year’s been…’ She blew out a breath.

It sounded as if she’d been through the wringer as much as he and Perdy had lately. So maybe they had something in common after all. He sat down. ‘That’s why we came here. This job seemed like the perfect opportunity—somewhere to make a new start.’

His admission made her expression soften slightly. ‘It’s a good place,’ she said. ‘I used to spend my summers here.’

‘Holiday home?’ he guessed.

‘Sort of.’ She grimaced. ‘My parents were always away on lecturing tours, so it meant either being stuck in London with a nanny, or spending the holidays here with Joe and Cassie.’ She smiled, clearly remembering something happy. ‘I loved it here. The house was always full of laughter, and I didn’t have to be quiet in case I disturbed anyone. I had Cassie and Joe and Beth and the boys, I could share their dog—and, best of all, I knew I was here because they wanted me here, not because they were paid to look after me.’

Amy’s childhood sounded very similar to Eloise’s, with ambitious parents who didn’t pay her enough attention. So had she been damaged the same way as Eloise, Tom wondered, making her desperate to save the world to gain her parents’approval? ‘That’s why I became a GP rather than working in a hospital—the hours are more regular, and in the days before the practice started using the after-hours service Eloise and I could usually muddle through school holidays between us and not need to use too much child care.’

‘Eloise being Perdy’s mother, I take it?’

Tom felt the muscle tensing in his jaw. ‘Yes.’ Now he’d opened up this far, no doubt Amy would ask questions. If he told her the rest, she’d start pitying him. And he’d had enough pity to last a lifetime.

To his surprise, Amy uncurled from her chair. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘we need to agree a truce. And some boundaries.’

‘A truce.’ That wasn’t half of what he was tempted to do with this woman. But he had a feeling that both of them were too mixed up to cope with any kind of relationship right now—not to mention the fact that Amy might be involved with someone.

‘I won’t ask you about whatever’s messed up your past,’ she said, ‘if you don’t ask me about mine.’

‘Agreed.’ He paused. ‘And Perdy?’

She curled up again and wrapped her arms round her legs, resting her chin on her knees. ‘I’ll try not to be so abrupt.’

‘Thank you.’ He couldn’t ask any more than that. ‘So do you know how long you’re staying?’

She shrugged. ‘My plans are flexible. You?’

‘Until a week or so after your uncle and aunt get back from Australia.’

‘And you’ve settled in OK?’

He knew she was being polite rather than really wanting to know. ‘Fine.’ He had, at least; he wasn’t so sure about his daughter. Not that he could discuss that with Amy. She’d made her views on children pretty clear. ‘I like it here. Though the village grapevine is pretty effective,’ he said ruefully.

‘Grapevine?’

‘When I saw Mrs Poole on a house call this afternoon, she knew you were back. Though I didn’t feed her any gossip. I told her you were dog-sitting.’

The corners of Amy’s mouth quirked. ‘Tomorrow, you can expect to hear that you’re having a hot affair with the wild child from London. So if you have someone in your life who’s going to be bothered by that—except your daughter, who already knows we’re not involved—you’d better warn her now.’

‘There’s nobody.’ Tom hadn’t intended to say that much. But the picture she’d just put in his head…Oh, lord, he could just imagine it. A hot affair with Amy Rivers. Her mouth softening under his. Her hands in his hair. Finding out how warm and soft her skin was.

He just hoped none of that showed in his expression, or she’d run a mile. ‘So were you really a wild child?’ he asked.

She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Far from it. But since when did truth get in the way of a good story?’

‘I’m sorry if sharing the house with me is going to make life difficult for you.’

‘It won’t.’ She shrugged. ‘If anyone says anything to you, just laugh and ask them if they know where you can get a few more hours in a day, because with a little girl to look after you really don’t have time for a love life.’

‘That,’ Tom said, ‘is absolutely true.’ And he’d do well to remember that. Any fantasies he might entertain about Amy Rivers had to stay exactly that: fantasies.



On Friday afternoon, Tom was in surgery seeing his last patient before he had to pick up Perdy from the after-school club. Max Barton had passed out at work, and when his colleagues had brought him in Max had said that he felt tired all the time and had to get up at night more frequently to go for a wee. He’d put it down to getting older and putting in more hours at work, but the symptoms—together with Max’s ample girth—made Tom suspect something else. He’d also noticed a plaster on Max’s thumb, and Max had eventually admitted that he’d cut his hand several days before but the cut just wasn’t healing properly. Tom had checked his blood pressure and sent off blood samples, and now the results were back.

‘Let’s start with the good news, Mr Barton,’ he said. ‘It’s not cancer or heart disease.’

‘But?’ Max asked.

‘Your blood tests,’ Tom said gently, ‘show that you have type two diabetes. That’s the late-onset type, so we can keep it under control with diet and tablets. The good news there is that you’re not going to have to inject yourself with insulin.’

Max blew out a breath and relaxed back against the chair. ‘I’m so glad. Dad died from a heart attack and I was scared stupid that it might happen to me and the kids would have to grow up without me.’

Yeah. Tom knew all about that feeling. Especially now there was only him; and he resented the fact that Eloise hadn’t seemed even to give it a thought before she’d left. Of course saving other people’s children was a good thing to do, but did it have to be at the cost of your own?

He snapped his attention back. Not now. His patients had to come first. ‘You can put your mind at rest there,’ he said gently, ‘though I’m afraid there will be a few needles for a bit—you’ll need to keep testing your blood sugar levels so we can fine-tune the tablets to suit you. And there are also some things we need to keep an eye on, complications that sometimes come with diabetes, so I’ll book you in for the clinic here once a month. Can you remember the last time you had your eyes tested?’

Max spread his hands. ‘I’ve never had a problem with my eyes.’

‘Sure,’ Tom said, ‘but you need to book yourself in and have eye tests at least once a year now, because diabetes can sometimes cause problems with eyes.’

Max frowned. ‘So why have I got it? Why me, why now?’

‘We don’t know why some people get it and not others,’ Tom said honestly. ‘It’s known as late onset because it tends to happen in your forties. Sometimes it runs in families, but not necessarily. Men are twice as likely as women to get it, and you’re also more likely to get it if you’re overweight and don’t do enough exercise.’

‘I’ve always been big,’ Max said. ‘Everyone in my family’s big-boned. But I’ve cut down on the beer and I always have fruit when someone brings cakes in to work.’ He sighed. ‘I know I ought to go to the gym or something, but there’s never enough time, and to be honest I don’t really fancy all that bodybuilding stuff.’

‘The fitter you keep yourself,’ Tom said, ‘and the better you control your diabetes, the less likely you are to develop complications. You don’t have to go to the gym. Find something you enjoy doing with your family—that way you’ll all get the benefit, whether it’s going for a walk or a swim or just kicking a ball around in the park.’

‘I suppose we could do that,’ Max said.

Tom ran through what the condition involved, how to take the tablets he was about to prescribe and how Max could take readings of his blood sugar and what they meant he needed to do next. ‘I’m also going give you some leaflets to take home, including how to get in touch with the local diabetes support group,’ Tom said, ‘and I’ll arrange an appointment for you at the diabetic clinic here at the practice. You’re bound to have questions, and we can answer them all there—and your wife’s very welcome to come along too. I’ll get in touch with the dietician, too. It’s a good idea to keep a diary for a week of what you eat, how much and when, and take it along with you to the appointment—it’ll save you some time in working things out.’

‘So do I have to eat special diabetic foods?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Tom fished out one of the leaflets and handed it to him. ‘It’s all about eating healthily. Regular meals, plenty of fruit and veg and foods with a low GI—that means your body absorbs them more slowly and your blood sugar doesn’t suddenly spike—and cutting down on salt, sugar and fats. You don’t have to eat anything special, and everyone in the family can eat the same as you—it’ll be good for them, too.’ He smiled at the older man. ‘It’s a lot to take in all at once, which is one of the reasons why we have leaflets—they’ll answer the questions you wish you’d thought of when you’re halfway home. But if you’re worried about anything at all, just give us a call.’ He tapped into the practice system and booked an appointment. ‘And Jenny, the practice nurse, will see you on Tuesday morning at ten.’

‘Do I have to tell my boss?’ Max looked stricken. ‘I might lose my job.’

‘It’s not compulsory, no. But it’s a good idea to tell your boss and your colleagues, so they know what to do to help you if you suddenly have a hypo.’ Tom explained what would happen if Max’s blood sugar suddenly dropped and how people could deal with it. ‘You will need to tell the DVLC and your insurance company. But as long as your diabetes is well controlled, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

Max closed his eyes and blew out a breath. ‘It’s a lot to take in. But it’s such a relief to know I’m not going to just drop down dead like my dad did.’

Yeah. That was Tom’s own biggest fear. If anything happened to him, what would happen to his daughter? He and Eloise had both been only children. There wasn’t a family network who could take over. His parents were too old, and Eloise’s were as uninterested in their granddaughter as they’d been in their daughter. The only thing they were interested in was her end-of-year school report; and for Tom that was only part of who his daughter was. No way was he going to let them pressure her, the way they’d pressured Eloise.

He pushed the fear aside and concentrated on answering Max’s remaining questions, then glanced at his watch. He was going to be late picking Perdy up from after-school club. But he couldn’t have rushed his patient out of the door. Sometimes, he thought, juggling single fatherhood with his job was too tricky. And he still hadn’t thought about how he was going to cope with the long summer holidays.



Joseph’s papers. They were here somewhere, Amy thought, opening a fourth box.

And then she blinked. It was full of books. A quick glance at some of the covers told her they were the ones she and Beth had devoured when they’d been around Perdy’s age. Given that Perdy had been reading at the kitchen table yesterday, maybe this would be a good way of apologising for being abrupt. A gesture. Some were probably too old-fashioned now, but she was pretty sure that Perdy would enjoy some of the others. She picked out an armful of the ones she’d enjoyed most, and left them stacked on top of the box while she searched for the box containing Joseph’s papers. Once she’d located it and had taken the papers she needed downstairs, she returned to the loft to collect the books. Then, just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Tom walked through the front door with his daughter.

He brushed a hand against her face and Amy nearly dropped the books as desire shimmered through her. Oh, this was ridiculous. She knew he was single and not involved with anyone, because he’d told her so the previous night; but that didn’t mean he was interested in getting involved with her. Whatever had happened between him and Perdy’s mother had clearly made him as wary, as Perdy was; and of course there was Perdy to think of.

Not to mention the fact that Amy didn’t make the same mistake twice. She’d learned the hard way, through Colin and Millie, that getting involved with a single father was a seriously bad idea. There were way too many complications; and it meant that more than one person ended up with their heart broken when it all ended.

She frowned at Tom, and he said, ‘Cobweb.’

Oh. So that was why he’d touched her face. And it wasn’t really surprising that she was covered in cobwebs, considering how she’d spent her afternoon. ‘I’ve been rummaging around in the attic,’ she explained.

And now for the biggie. Perdy’s eyes were averted and she looked uncomfortable. Hardly surprising, given how unwelcoming Amy had been, the previous day.

She took a deep breath. ‘Perdy, when I was your age, I used to read a lot, too. And while I was in the attic, I discovered that my aunt kept the books that my cousin Beth and I liked best. So, um, if you’d like to borrow any of them, feel free. I’ll leave them stacked on the bookcase, shall I?’

‘Thank you, Miss Rivers,’ Perdy said politely, though Amy noticed that the little girl still didn’t make any kind of eye contact and her face was etched with worry.

First-name terms didn’t mean getting involved, did it? Amy swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘As we’re going to be sharing the house and Buster for a while, until I go back to London, perhaps it’d be easier if you called me Amy.’

She saw the little girl look at her father for guidance, and Tom’s brief nod, and her heart ached. How much this reminded her of the time when she’d met Millie. Colin’s daughter had been four years old, sweet and shy. Her eyes had been the same serious grey as her father’s, and when she’d smiled Amy had discovered that Millie had the same charming dimples as Colin, too. At first Amy had been ‘Daddy’s friend Amy’. And then she’d earned smiles and hugs in her own right. The night that Millie had asked Amy to read her bedtime story instead of Colin was the moment Amy had realised how much she loved father and daughter, how deeply she’d wanted to be a proper family with them…

‘Thank you, Mi—Amy,’ Perdy corrected herself, breaking Amy’s train of thought and bringing her back to the present.

The expression of pleasure on the little girl’s face told Amy that she’d done the right thing. She wasn’t getting involved—this time, her heart was definitely going to stay unbroken—but she was making life just that little bit easier for someone else who’d had a rough time.

‘What are those?’ Tom asked, gesturing to the pile of notebooks on the table in the hallway.

‘Joseph’s casebooks. He was my…’ Amy counted on her fingers ‘…great-great-great-great-grandfather. The first doctor in the family. He trained in London, but he married a girl from Norwich and moved there.’ She smiled. ‘Joe’s named after him. Actually, it’s a family tradition that the eldest son of the eldest son is called Joseph.’

‘Why are you looking at his papers?’ Perdy asked.

‘Uncle Joe asked me if I’d take a look through them while I’m here. He and Dad always meant to sort it out, but as they’re both doctors—another family tradition—they were really busy at work and never got round to it.’

‘Are you a doctor, too?’ Perdy asked.

‘I was,’ Amy said.

‘Does that mean you aren’t a doctor now?’

‘Perdy,’ Tom said quietly, ‘shall we go and get you a glass of milk, and a treat for Buster?’

Distraction technique: Amy remembered that one. Although she appreciated it, at the same time she knew that this was something she needed to face. ‘It’s OK, Tom. The only way you find out answers to things is to ask questions. Sometimes, Perdy, adults have to make difficult choices. That’s why I’m taking a sabbatical—that’s a kind of long holiday—to think about what I want to do next and make a decision.’

Perdy nodded. ‘Like Daddy, when he had to decide whether to come here or stay in London.’

There was a long, long pause. Amy glanced at Tom, and said quietly, ‘Well, I think he made a good decision. This is the best place in the world to think, when you’re walking along the sand and listening to the waves swishing in and the seagulls crying.’

‘I’m not allowed to go on the beach on my own,’ Perdy said.

‘Your dad’s absolutely right. Neither was I, at your age—there always had to be at least two of us, so if one of us got into trouble the other could run for help,’ Amy said solemnly. ‘And we had to pay attention to the tide warning siren—as soon as we heard it, we had to pack our stuff and come straight home. The tide comes in really quickly here, and people have been cut off.’

‘Were they drowned?’ Perdy asked.

Amy looked at Tom for guidance, and saw his slight nod. ‘Sadly, yes, some of them. But the last one was about five years ago, and it was someone who’d completely ignored the siren. As long as you listen to what the coastguards tell you, you’ll be fine.’ She smiled to take the sting from her words. ‘I’m going to cook dinner. I’ll call you when it’s ready, shall I?’

‘That’d be great,’ Tom said. ‘Perdy, you need to get changed out of your school uniform, honey.’

‘Yes, Daddy.’ She scampered up the stairs.

Tom looked ruefully at Amy. ‘Sorry about the questioning.’

‘Not a problem.’ Perdy hadn’t pushed for details.

But then she made the mistake of glancing at Tom again. Remembering how it had felt when his hand had touched her face, so briefly. And it made her wonder what it would be like if his hand cupped her face properly and his head dipped so his mouth could brush against hers. How his mouth would feel against hers—warm and sweet, or hot and demanding? Something in the curve of his lips told her that Tom would be a passionate lover.

She really had to stop this. Talk about inappropriate. And hadn’t they already agreed boundaries?

‘I’d better sort dinner,’ she said quickly, panic lancing through her, and disappeared into the kitchen.

She’d regained her equilibrium by the time she called Tom and Perdy for dinner.

‘This is really nice,’ Perdy said. ‘I love spaghetti. It’s my favourite.’

‘Mine, too,’ Tom agreed.

This was so much like the times Amy had spent with Colin and Millie. She’d even cooked Millie’s favourite meal, acting completely on automatic. All except the ice cream. Forgetting where she was for a moment, Amy said, ‘I was thinking about making some ice cream this weekend.’

‘Please can I help?’

Perdy had the same brightness in her eyes that Millie used to have whenever Amy had suggested a baking session. The memories put a lump in her throat so she couldn’t speak for a moment; but when she glanced at Tom she could see he looked surprised. Clearly Perdy didn’t usually ask something like this. Given that they’d had a rough year—and Amy guessed that the little girl had gone into her shell—it would be cruel to knock her back. And yet the idea of sharing a kitchen with the little girl, getting close to her…

Tom came to her rescue. ‘Perdy, honey, I’m on duty tomorrow morning, so you won’t be here.’

‘Am I coming to the surgery with you?’

He shook his head. ‘I was going to ring one of your friends’ mums to see if you can play there for the morning and maybe your friend could come here and play in the afternoon.’

‘But I haven’t got any friends,’ Perdy said quietly.

‘Oh, darling.’ Tom scooped her onto his lap and held her close.

Amy could see in his face that he had no idea what to say, that he was too shocked and dismayed to respond.

And she’d been in Perdy’s shoes. She knew exactly what it felt like, not fitting in as a kid. How could she possibly stand by and watch the two of them hurting like this, when she could do something to help?

She reached over and took the little girl’s hand. ‘Sure you do—you have your dad and Buster.’ The thought of what she was about to offer made her voice wobble slightly. ‘And me. I mean, we don’t know each other very well yet, but we both like Buster and we both like ice cream, and that’s a start to becoming friends.’

Perdy’s eyes were full of tears. ‘But you’re busy.’

‘With Joseph’s papers?’ No, she was hiding behind them. She shook her head. ‘It’s up to me when I work on them. Actually, I was going to get some strawberries tomorrow. If your dad doesn’t mind, you can come with me to the shops and then we’ll make the ice cream. And if he’s not home when we’ve finished, maybe we can do some baking.’ Something Millie had loved doing. And Amy had missed that so, so much.

‘Can I, Daddy?’

‘I…’

Amy could see the doubt in his face. Well, of course: she was practically a stranger. Or was he worried that they were encroaching on her time? Was Perdy’s mother a high-flying career woman who was always too busy, never had enough time? She gave him a smile that felt just a bit too quivery. ‘As the saying goes, trust me, I’m a doctor.’

He still looked worried, but then nodded. ‘Thanks for the offer.’

Given what Perdy had just said, he didn’t exactly have any other options. ‘Look, I’ll give you my mobile number. If you give me yours,’ Amy said, ‘I can text you to let you know when we get to the strawberry fields and again when we’re back here.’

‘Right. Thank you.’ Tom looked slightly relieved, but still wary.

And Perdy’s eyes were full of worry.

Just what had happened to the two of them? Amy wondered. Despite the agreement she’d made with Tom, she needed to know—to make sure she didn’t make things worse for Perdy.



Later that evening, when Perdy had gone to bed, Tom came to find Amy in Joe’s study. ‘Thank you for what you did at dinner,’ he said. ‘I’ve met some of her classmates’ mums at the school gate and thought one of them, who seems very nice, might help out. But when she said she didn’t have any friends…’ He still felt sick at the memory. ‘I was so shocked I didn’t know what to say, how even to begin to comfort her.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, hell. I’ve made the wrong decision, bringing her here.’

‘Not necessarily—children are more resilient than you give them credit for.’

He frowned. ‘Were you a paediatrician? Child psychologist?’

‘No, I wasn’t. I’m talking from experience.’ She paused. ‘I’m trying to respect your boundaries, but there’s something I need to ask you.’

Yeah. And he knew what it was going to be. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, playing for time.

‘I need to know,’ she said, ‘which topics I need to avoid with Perdy. Anything that’s going to bring back bad memories or upset her. I’ll try to stick to neutral things—dogs and books and baking—but kids have a habit of coming out with stuff you’re really not expecting.’

Just like Amy herself had. And how come she sounded so clued up about kids? The way she’d acted the night before, Tom had thought that she was the type who concentrated on her career and avoided kids because she didn’t know how to deal with them. But today she’d offered to do things with Perdy that he knew his daughter would absolutely love—and the way she’d offered, it was as if it was something she was used to doing. ‘I’m trying to respect your boundaries,’ he said carefully, ‘but why did you offer to look after Perdy?’




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