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Assignment: Single Father
Caroline Anderson
Fran was thrilled with her new assignment. Working as a practice nurse for Dr. Xavier Giraud was blissfully calm after the high emotion and drama of the E.R. At least it was until Fran found herself falling for the intriguingly intense Xavier–a single father determined to fight his own feelings for Fran!It wasn't too late for Fran to accept a job with one of Xavier's wealthy patients instead. After all, where could her relationship with Xavier go? Somehow, though, she felt compelled to stay and find out…



He’d never meant to do this, had never thought for a moment that the evening would lead him here, to Fran’s bed.
Never in his wildest imaginings had he dreamed of anything as spectacularly all-consuming or earthy as their frenzied coupling. He’d never behaved like that in his life, never needed a woman as he had needed Fran tonight.
She moved against him, slowly waking, then lifted her head and looked down at him and smiled.
“Hi,” she said, and softly kissed him.
He felt tenderness well up inside him, tenderness and regret, and wished they could have a future together.
“Are you all right?” he asked her softly, and she nodded.
“I’m fine. You?”
“I’m fine,” he lied, but he wasn’t. He wished with all his heart that he could turn the clock back.


The right man for Fran?
When nurse Fran Williams reaches a turning point in her life she finds herself being offered work assignments with two very different men—men who will offer Fran more than a job! She doesn’t know it, but they represent her future happiness.
So which is the right man for Fran?
Is it rich, wealthy, energetic Josh Nicholson, injured, impatient but gorgeous hero number one? Or is it charming, sensual, tender Dr. Xavier Giraud, the single father who needs a woman to love him and his children?
Or is there more than one Mr. Right?
Find out and explore Fran’s parallel lives with each of these heroes in Assignment: Single Man and Assignment: Single Father from Harlequin Romance®.
DOUBLE DESTINY
There is more than one route to happiness
Like to see Fran’s introduction to Josh Nicholson and Xavier Giraud? Caroline Anderson’s prequel to this intriguing duet is available online. Look for Double Destiny at www.eHarlequin.com.

Assignment: Single Father
Caroline Anderson



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

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u43e78744-b552-5573-862b-49b41c4bf83c)
CHAPTER TWO (#u6369d830-b7b2-5145-a106-1099fd14971b)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue6f9a257-5b78-514d-8351-112a1864f3f0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
‘MISS WILLIAMS? It’s Xavier Giraud. I gather from Jackie that you might still be interested in my vacancy.’
That gorgeous dark-chocolate voice again, rich and mellow, with the slight French accent that gave it an edge of mystery. Despite her exhaustion and disillusionment, something Fran had thought was dead and buried flickered into life.
‘Yes—yes, that’s right,’ she replied. ‘I’d like to talk to you again about it. I’m sorry if I sound indecisive, but it’s so far from what I’ve done up to now and I do want to be sure before I make a commitment, for both our sakes.’
‘Of course. I understand absolutely. It’s rather a strange job—or rather, I suppose, a combination of jobs. Not many practice nurses work as nanny-cum-housekeeper as well, but don’t let me put you off, for heaven’s sake!’
His soft chuckle tingled over her nerve endings and brought them zinging to attention.
‘So, when could you come and see me again?’ he went on. ‘Are you in London at the moment?’
‘No—no, I’m up here now for good,’ she said, fingers crossed, wondering if it was true. She’d like it to be, but she did need somewhere to live, of course, and fast. She couldn’t camp on Jackie’s floor indefinitely.
‘Right. So you could be available at short notice? It’s just that I’m stuck for cover for the children at the moment, and I’m having to take the afternoons off, and it’s really not fair on my colleagues.’
There was the slightest hesitation before he added, ‘You do know, by the way, that my daughter doesn’t walk or talk, I take it? Jackie did tell you?’
‘She did mention it,’ Fran said guardedly. Actually, Jackie had said a great deal more when she’d told Fran about the post Xavier had asked her agency to fill, but Fran wasn’t about to repeat any of it to him. She’d wait and see for herself just how forthcoming he was about the circumstances behind his daughter’s accident.
‘And that’s not a problem?’
‘Not to me,’ she said, crossing her fingers and hoping she wasn’t being too hopelessly optimistic. ‘I assume I won’t be expected to carry her up and down stairs?’
‘No, of course not,’ he assured her hastily. ‘She can transfer from chair to stairlift and bed and so on without help, and she bathes and dresses herself pretty much unaided.’
There was a pause, and she could almost hear the cogs whirring. Then he spoke again.
‘Look, I have an idea. I’m tied up at the moment, but I’d like to see you as soon as possible. Could you get here for the end of surgery? About elevenish? We could have a chat, and I can show you round and introduce you to the others, and then, if I can persuade someone to do my calls, I could take you to my house and show you the setup. You won’t be able to meet the children, of course, because they’re at school until four o’clock, but it would be a start. What do you think?’
She hesitated for the merest instant, wondering how wise it was to involve herself with a widower and two motherless children, one of whom, according to Jackie, had been left with terrible, crippling injuries, not all of them physical.
Then she thought of working as a practice nurse, a quiet, orderly existence about as far removed from her work in A and E as it was possible to get, and dismissed her hesitation. Besides, she needed somewhere to live—fast.
‘That would be fine, Dr Giraud. Shall I see you there at eleven o’clock?’
‘That would be wonderful,’ he said, and she thought she could hear relief in his voice. ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Williams.’
The line cut with a little click, and she replaced the receiver thoughtfully. Well, he seemed keen enough to see her again, and he’d come over as a very decent sort of person. She could do worse than look after him and his children and do a few inoculations.
She left the agency’s little office tucked away behind Reception, and went through to tell Jackie about her imminent second interview and quiz her friend a little more about the man with the most fascinating voice she’d heard in years.
She didn’t get a chance. There was someone else in there, a man she recognised—a man with a sexy, lopsided grin and the most arresting blue eyes she’d ever seen. He looked up at her and her heart lurched and then settled again. Good grief! Twice in ten minutes. She was going to develop chronic arrhythmia at this rate.
His smile widened in recognition. ‘Well, if it isn’t the bodacious Sister Williams,’ he said, and Fran suppressed a smile.
‘Well, if it isn’t the accident-prone Mr Nicholson. It’s good to see you alive.’
‘Do you two know each other?’ Jackie chipped in, clearly agog, and he chuckled.
‘Let’s just say we met over a red-hot needle a little while ago.’
‘Yes. How is the chest?’ Fran asked him, and he gave a short, humourless laugh.
‘Oh, the chest is fine—it’s healed beautifully. Unfortunately, though, the rest of me is lagging behind a little, hence my visit here. I need a nurse.’
Jackie smiled at her encouragingly, and Fran sat down, rapidly getting a sinking feeling that her friend wanted her to take this assignment instead of the one with Dr Giraud.
Not a chance. Whatever her reservations about working for the GP, they paled into insignificance compared to this. This man, with his panther grace and lazy, sexy eyes, was trouble, with a capital T, and she had no intention of getting involved.
Grin or no grin.
‘I’ve got an interview at eleven with Giraud,’ she said quietly but firmly.
Jackie waved her hand. ‘You’ve got another one now,’ she said, and Fran gave an inward sigh and looked at Josh more closely. The situation didn’t improve with inspection.
He had fading bruises round his eyes, a cast on his arm and an external fixator on his leg. She asked him a few questions and didn’t like the answers.
He’d had an accident twelve days before; that she’d known because of all the news coverage. What she hadn’t known, and what he now told her, was the extent of his injuries, and it made an impressive list.
He’d had a blood clot removed from his brain, his liver and spleen had been damaged, his pelvis was cracked, his right wrist was broken, his right femur was pinned and the fixator on his lower right leg was holding together a collection of matchwood, from what she could gather.
Why he felt he was well enough to go home, she couldn’t begin to imagine, but there was no way she was going with him, however beguiling the smile or challenging the eyes. It was altogether too close to her recent work in A and E—she could imagine the carnage at the site of the RTA, the flashing lights, the controlled pandemonium in Resus—no way. Much too close to home.
When the accident had happened, right in the middle of her crisis at work, it had been all the more shocking to see it on the news because she’d only just treated him. He’d fallen over a cat and landed on a binbag full of rubbish, cutting his chest. She’d teased him, and then a few days later he’d nearly died.
She shot Jackie a slightly desperate smile. ‘Could we have a word?’
‘Sure. Just a moment, Mr Nicholson. We’ll soon have you sorted out.’
‘Just so long as you don’t leave me at the mercy of my mother,’ he said with a thread of desperate laughter in his voice, and Jackie smiled and made soothing promising noises that Fran hoped didn’t include her.
They went into the office and Jackie leant back against the door and rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, he is so gorgeous!’ she said under her breath. ‘I can’t believe you know him. You are going to take this job, aren’t you? You’re not going to be silly?’
Fran shook her head. ‘No. I’m going to see Dr Giraud at eleven and I’m probably going to take his job—if he offers it to me. And I don’t know Josh, I’ve only met him once.’
‘Well, surely you know who he is? Good grief, he’s famous.’
‘Yes, they talked about him at work. I’d never heard of him,’ Fran confessed. ‘I gather he’s got a bit of money.’
‘A bit? I think the expression is “fabulously wealthy”,’ Jackie said with a chuckle. ‘Anyway, what about the job? He needs looking after. It was a high-speed crash on the A12—something about a horse on the road. It was one of those really dark nights. Judging by the sound of it, he was very lucky to escape with his life. I’d forgotten all about it. Fran, it’s the chance of a lifetime. You have to take the job!’
For a brief moment she hesitated, tempted by the glamour, the wealth—and that grin. Then she thought of Xavier Giraud, the man with the incredible voice and the tragic children, and she shook her head slowly.
‘No. I don’t think so, Jackie. It would just bring back too many memories. I’ve seen too many young men like him die. I don’t need it.’
‘He’s not going to die.’
‘Please, I can’t. Anyway, I’ve said I’ll see Dr Giraud. I can’t go back on that. I’m sure you’ll find a whole queue of young women happy to take Josh Nicholson on, and probably loads of older ones as well, come to that. And if all else fails, there’s always his mother, by the sound of it.’
Jackie laughed softly. ‘Never mind the older ones and his mother, I might have to come out from behind the desk and look after him myself—if I hadn’t just met David, I might well be tempted.’ She squeezed Fran’s shoulder and smiled forgivingly.
‘You go and see your Dr Giraud. He’s lovely, too, in fact. Not as rich, and there are the kids, of course, but he’s a super guy. He’s got the nicest eyes, and all the patients are in love with him.’
‘Even the men?’ Fran said drily, then laughed. ‘Don’t answer that. You go and sort out Mr Nicholson, and I’ll go round to the surgery now. I’ll be a few minutes early, but I want to be sure of finding a parking place. I’ll let you know how I get on.’
She went through the back to the agency’s tiny car park and then debated walking along to the surgery for all of three seconds before she slid behind the wheel of her little car and eased out into the road. She’d had precious little sleep last night, what with one thing and another, and the last thing she felt like doing was racing along the quay to the surgery and arriving windswept and flustered for her interview. She looked bad enough already!
It was further by car because of the one-way system, but the traffic was quiet, as it usually was on a weekday morning in sleepy Woodbridge, and she drove slowly down through the winding streets of the little town to the surgery.
It was housed in a purpose-built complex near the quay, modern and well equipped, and she arrived with minutes to spare. Still, better early than late.
The surgery car park was almost full and for a couple of seconds she regretted her impulse to drive, but she just managed to squeeze her car into a tiny space at the end next to the wall. Not for the first time, she was thankful her car was small. It certainly made life easier.
Locking up, she went into the reception area and rang the bell. A pleasant woman in her thirties with a welcoming smile and a friendly manner came out and asked how she could help. She had a name badge on that said she was Sue Faulkner, Receptionist, and Fran returned her smile.
‘Hi. I’m Fran Williams—I’ve got an interview with Dr Giraud when he’s finished his surgery,’ she said, and the woman’s smile widened.
‘Ah, you’re the nurse! Come on in. I’m afraid he’s still got patients, but I’ll make you a cup of coffee while you wait. I could have warned you not to bother to be early, he’s always running late. He likes to give the patients a thorough hearing, so he always has too many because they all want him, and he always overruns. Still, it’ll give you a chance to meet the rest of us. I gather you were here last Friday?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Fran told her. ‘I didn’t see you then.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, I don’t work on Fridays. Still, I’ve met you now. Angie’s here, the full-time practice nurse, so she can show you round, I’m sure, and tell you a bit more. Come on through.’
While she was talking she lifted up a flap in the counter and opened the gate under it, and Fran followed her into the back of the reception area and through to the office.
It was a hive of activity, but nevertheless everyone turned and smiled a welcome, and the practice nurse put down the pile of supplies she was carrying and came over, her hand extended.
‘Hi, again. Everybody, this is Francesca Williams—our new team member, with any luck.’
‘Fran,’ she said with a laugh, ‘and I’m not counting my chickens.’
‘Oh, nonsense. You haven’t run screaming yet, that’s better than the others. Come and see the room you’ll be working in, and then we’ll have a coffee. Xavier’ll be ages, I expect.’
She followed Angie out through the waiting room and down a corridor, her words echoing in her head. Run screaming? From what? She felt a quiver of doubt and wondered what on earth Jackie had let her in for.
‘Why should they run screaming?’ she asked, but Angie just laughed and shut the door of the treatment room behind them.
‘Oh, you know—mention kids and people either love them or hate them. So far everybody’s either hated them or had their own after-school commitments. Most people who want to work part time in the morning have kids of their own, or else they just want to dabble. Nobody wants to take on a disabled kid, and hardly anybody wants to live in, or at least not for the right reasons.’
Fran shrugged, wondering if being homeless was a good enough reason. ‘I haven’t got anywhere to live at the moment, so it suits me, at least on a temporary basis. I’ve only just moved back to the area.’ Very only just, she added to herself—about twelve hours ago, to be exact, but Angie didn’t need to know that.
The other woman cocked her head on one side and studied Fran thoughtfully. ‘You do know it’s a permanent job, don’t you?’
Fran nodded. ‘Yes—but I was told he needed someone now regardless and would take me on a temporary basis if necessary.’
Angie sighed and nodded. ‘Well, that’s certainly true. He’s run ragged, trying to cope with work and the children, and we’re certainly at full stretch here. I’m sorry, I can’t remember what Xavier said about you. Have you worked as a practice nurse before?’
‘No,’ Fran confessed. ‘I was an A and E sister until ten days ago.’
‘Oh, gosh, well, you’re going to be bored to death here, then,’ Angie said with a humourless laugh. ‘I’m afraid we can’t offer you drama and excitement.’
‘Good. I’ve had enough drama and excitement to last me a lifetime.’ She could see a question forming in Angie’s eyes, and cut it off deftly. ‘Will I need to train for this job?’
‘Yes—but I can do it as you go along. It’s not a problem. It’s just a pain having to keep retraining new people every few weeks, but it can’t be avoided and at least you’re up to speed with current treatment.’
‘Well, I’m good with first aid.’ Fran chuckled. ‘But I don’t suppose I know the first thing about leg ulcers.’
‘Easy. I’ll make sure you get lots of help. I’m always here in the mornings, so you won’t have to struggle. So, this is the room. Nothing flashy like you’re used to, I don’t suppose. Where did you work, Ipswich?’
‘No—London,’ Fran said, looking round and being deliberately uncommunicative. She didn’t want to go into her reasons with the delightful but very open Angie, at least not until she’d spoken to Dr Giraud again and knew she was at least going to be offered the job.
‘Tell me about the equipment you use,’ she said, deliberately focusing on the here and now, and for a few minutes they chatted about procedures while Angie showed her some of the more sophisticated kit at their disposal.
Then the door opened, and Fran turned to see who had come in and her heart skidded to a halt.
‘Ah, Xavier, I was just showing Fran the room,’ Angie was saying, but she was hardly aware of the other woman’s voice. Instead she was transfixed once again by the haunting quality of those smoke-grey eyes that seemed to be searching deep into her soul. A smile creased their corners, and she thought she’d never seen a kinder pair of eyes in her life.
‘Miss Williams, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. It was just one of those days. In fact, they’re all one of those days,’ he confessed with a wry smile, and held out his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you once more.’
That voice again—and she’d forgotten what a physical presence he had. He was tall, a shade over six feet, perhaps, with thick, springy hair and shoulders wide enough to lean on. His mouth was full and chiselled, his jaw strong, and there was enough character in his face for ten men.
‘It’s good to see you, too,’ she said, placing her hand in his. His fingers curled around the back of hers, warm and firm and confident, yet gentle at the same time, and she felt an inexplicable sense of homecoming.
‘Come on through to my consulting room—we can have a chat in peace. Have they offered you coffee?’
‘I was about to make it,’ Angie said, and he smiled at her.
‘You couldn’t make two and bring them through for us, could you? I’ve only got a few minutes, I’ve got a call to go out on—it’s not that urgent, I don’t think, but I want to be sure.’
‘OK, two it is.’
Fran followed him through the corridor and he ushered her through a door into his consulting room. It was bright and modern and well equipped, and there were pictures on the wall behind his desk which she hadn’t noticed on Friday.
His family, of course. A boy and a girl, and a woman, probably his wife, small and dainty and much more chic than Fran could ever be.
So what? she thought unconvincingly. You aren’t trying to compete with her.
He opened his mouth to speak and the phone rang. He gave a barely audible sigh and excused himself, then lifted the receiver.
It was obvious from the conversation that his patient was deteriorating, and he glanced at his watch and sighed again, ramming a hand through his hair. A tousled strand fell over his forehead and he pushed it back impatiently.
‘OK. Tell Mrs Donaldson I’ll come now and see him, and ask Stuart to take my other calls, please,’ he said, and turned to Fran with an apology in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, but she shrugged.
‘That’s the way it is. Why don’t I come with you, and we can talk while you drive?’
Relief washed over his face. ‘Would you?’ he said, and she wondered if he was afraid to let her go without her signing on the dotted line, if what Angie had said about the other candidates was true.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You can’t keep your patient waiting.’
His brow pleated thoughtfully. ‘It sounds as if it could be a GI bleed, but she’s a bit of a worrier, so it may not be. He hasn’t been suffering with gastric problems that I’m aware of, but that doesn’t mean anything. Still, I won’t know till I see him, so if you’re OK to come with me, we’ll go now. It’s a short way out of town, so we’ll have a few minutes to talk at least.’
He stood up and opened the door, just as Angie appeared with two cups of coffee.
‘Sorry, I have to go out and I’m taking Fran with me,’ he said with a rueful smile at her.
‘No worries, I’m sure I can find a home for it,’ Angie replied, and the look on her face suggested that it wasn’t the first time.
Just like A and E, Fran thought. Every time you thought you had a minute, something would happen. They picked up their coats from Reception and she followed him out to the car park. He had a people carrier, not the huge sort but easier than an ordinary car to get his disabled daughter in and out of, she imagined.
He threw his coat onto a back seat, slid behind the wheel and started the engine, fastening his seat belt as he pulled out of the car park. ‘I’m sorry about the coffee,’ he said as they drove off, but she just shrugged.
‘It doesn’t matter, I’m used to it. It happens all the time in A and E.’
‘That’s what you did before, isn’t it? Work in A and E?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t elaborate, but as she’d expected he didn’t let it go.
‘Tell me about it,’ he said, and, although it was a question and not an order, she felt she had no choice.
‘I was a specialist trauma nurse. I did it for a couple of years.’
‘And then?’ he pressed, and she swallowed hard and straightened up.
‘Then I gave up. I finished ten days ago.’
Even thinking about it made her feel sick, it was all still so raw and fresh, like an open wound. She hugged her arms round herself and hoped he’d give up, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, of course, because he had to find out about her. That was what her interview was all about, and she’d known it was coming, so she just braced herself and waited.
‘So recently? Forgive me for saying this, but it seems strange that you should leave when you had no other job lined up. Was it a sudden decision?’
‘Pretty much.’
He paused, then said cautiously, ‘May I ask why?’
No, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Instead she shrugged. He had to know, in case it happened again. ‘It just happened one day. I just froze up,’ she said bluntly. ‘I suppose if you want a technical term for it, you could call it burnout. Whatever, I couldn’t do it any more, and after a few days, I had to stop.’
He nodded his understanding. ‘I’m sorry, that’s tough. It does happen, though. In all branches of medicine, I suppose, but especially on the front line. Sometimes it just gets too much, doesn’t it?’ he said, and suddenly she found herself telling him all about it, about the blood and the waste of life and the endless failures, day after day, even though it was never their fault.
‘We had a run of fatalities,’ she told him. ‘One after another, all young, all foolish, all so unnecessary. I just realised between one patient and the next that I couldn’t go and talk to another set of bereaved parents and try and make sense of it for them where none could be made. I just couldn’t do it any more.’
‘So what happened?’
‘My boss sent me home, but the next day wasn’t any better, or the one after that, so he told me to go away and think about it, and he’d have me back when I was sorted, if ever. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to go back, though. It’s only ten days ago, but it feels like a lifetime, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again. And now I just feel so lost. I thought I knew what I was doing with my life, and now suddenly I don’t, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.’
She shrugged again, just a tiny shift of her shoulders, but he must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye because he shot her an understanding smile.
‘It’s hard when everything seems to be going smoothly and then fate throws a spanner in the works. I know all about that and the effect it can have on you.’
She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Oh, what an idiot! ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s nothing like as bad as what’s happened to you and your children, and I didn’t mean to imply—’
‘You didn’t. It was me that drew the parallel, and it does exist. In my case it was a bit more dramatic, but yours is no less valid. Life-changing moments are usually pretty drastic, by definition. Let’s just hope we aren’t going to find one here.’
He swung into a driveway and cut the engine, and Fran followed him up the path of a neat little bungalow. The front door was open by the time they reached it, and the elderly woman waiting for them was wringing her hands with worry.
‘Oh, Dr Giraud,’ she said, clutching his arm. ‘Oh, he’s worse. He looks all grey and waxy—come in.’
Fran followed them down the hall to a bedroom at the back. An elderly man was lying in bed, his skin every bit as grey and waxy as Mrs Donaldson had said, and Fran took one look at him and her heart sank. He was obviously hypovolaemic and shocky, and his condition was all too familiar.
Please, no, she thought. Don’t let him bleed to death. Not the first patient I’m involved with.
‘Mr Donaldson, tell me about the pain,’ Dr Giraud said, quickly taking his blood pressure and pulse, scanning him with eyes that Fran sensed missed nothing.
‘It’s just here,’ he said, pointing to his midsection. ‘So sore. It’s been getting worse for days.’
‘Any change in bowel habits? Change of colour of stools?’
‘Black,’ he said weakly. ‘I read about that somewhere. That’s blood, isn’t it?’
Xavier nodded. ‘Could well be. I think you’ve got a little bleed going on in there. Fran, could you get a line in for me?’ he asked, turning towards her and giving her a reassuring smile. ‘A large-bore cannula and saline to start. I’m going to phone the ambulance station and bring the oxygen in from the car. Are you OK to do that?’
‘Sure,’ she said, quelling her doubts, and found the necessary equipment in his bag. Part of her interview, or just another pair of qualified hands? Whatever, within moments the line was in, she was running in the saline almost flat out and checking his blood pressure again with the portable electronic monitor.
‘What is it?’ Xavier asked, coming back in just as the cuff sighed and deflated automatically.
‘Ninety over fifty-two.’ It had been ninety over fifty-six before, she’d noticed, so it was falling too fast for comfort.
He frowned. ‘OK, I’ve told them to have some O-neg standing by. We’d better take some blood for cross-matching and a whole battery of other tests while we wait for the ambulance, because once they start the transfusion it’ll be useless. Could you do that for me? There are bottles in my bag.’
He turned to the patient. ‘Right, Mr Donaldson, let’s put this mask on your face and give you some oxygen, it’ll help you breathe more easily.’
Once that was done he sat on the edge of the bed and explained to them what was happening and what Fran was doing.
‘The ambulance is on its way—Mrs Donaldson, could you find him some pyjamas and wash things to take with him? They’ll be here in a minute and you don’t want to hold them up.’
‘Of course not. I’ll get everything ready.’
She started going through drawers, clearly flustered and panicked, and Mr Donaldson watched her worriedly.
‘Betty, not those, the blue ones,’ he said as she pulled out his pyjamas, and while he was distracted Fran caught Xavier’s eye.
‘I’ll check his BP again,’ he murmured, and while she labelled her blood bottles he repeated the test. It was eighty-seven over forty-eight, and he winced almost imperceptibly. Only a slight drop, but in a very short time, she thought, so the fluids weren’t holding him stable.
‘Open it right up,’ he said quietly, indicating the saline with a slight movement of his head. ‘I’ll call the ambulance station again, ask them to hurry. I’ve spoken to the surgical reg on call and told him to stand by, but there’s not much else we can do here.’
An endless five minutes later the ambulance arrived, and Mr Donaldson and his worried wife were whisked away, leaving Fran and Xavier standing on the drive watching them go.
They didn’t speak. There was nothing much to say. They both knew it was touch and go, and Mr Donaldson was already weakened from the slow and steady blood loss he’d suffered over the last few days.
Reaction set in, and Fran’s legs started to tremble. She didn’t think he’d noticed, but once they were in the car and driving back towards Woodbridge, Xavier shot her a weary smile.
‘Bit close for comfort, eh?’ he said softly, and she swallowed and nodded.
‘I thought it would be easier—less cutting edge.’
‘It is—or your part of it is under normal circumstances. Don’t forget, you wouldn’t usually have been there. Still, I’m glad you were with me. I needed that extra pair of hands, and you got the line in amazingly fast considering his low pressure. Thanks for that. Thanks for all your help, in fact, you were great.’
Odd, how those few words of praise and thanks could make her feel so very much better. She’d done nothing she hadn’t done hundreds of times before, but to have gained his approval was somehow extraordinarily uplifting.
She put Mr Donaldson firmly to the back of her mind, settled back against the seat and let the tension drain away. ‘So where to now?’ she asked after a minute.
‘My house. We can have coffee without interruption, I can show you the accommodation which goes with the job and if we get really lucky we might even find time for some lunch.’
‘Sounds good,’ she said, realising she was starving hungry.
‘And then,’ he added with a grin, ‘if I still haven’t managed to put you off, you can meet the children.’

CHAPTER TWO
THE house was wonderful. It was situated in one of the best parts of town, the gateway set in a high brick wall, and as Xavier swung in off the road, Fran’s breath caught in her throat.
The house was Georgian, built of old Suffolk White bricks that had mellowed to a soft greyish cream, and with a typically Georgian observance of symmetry it had a porticoed front door in the centre and tall windows each side. Across the upper floor, just like a child’s drawing, were three more windows nestled under the broad eaves of the pitched and hipped roof, but unlike a child’s drawing the proportions were perfect.
Despite the elegance of the house, it wasn’t so grand that it was intimidating. It looked homely and welcoming, the garden a little on the wild side, and the fanlight over the front door was echoed in the sweep of gravel in front of the house on which he came to rest.
One thing was sure, she realised. It might not be intimidatingly grand, but he hadn’t bought this house on a doctor’s salary, not unless he had a thriving and possibly illegal private practice!
He ushered her through the door into a light and gracious entrance hall, and Fran tried to keep her mouth shut so her chin didn’t trail on the ground. It was gorgeous.
The floor was laid in a diamond chequer-pattern of black and white tiles, and on the far side the staircase rose in a graceful curve across a huge window that soared up to the ceiling on the upper floor.
The simple beauty of the staircase was marred by the presence of a stairlift, but apart from that and the ramp by the steps to the front door, it was just as it had been built, she imagined.
The doorways were wide, the rooms large enough to accommodate a wheelchair with ease, and as she followed him through to the kitchen at the back, she felt a pang of envy. She’d always loved houses like this, always dreamed of living in one, and here he was owning it, the lucky man.
Then she caught sight of another photograph of his wife amidst all the clutter on the old pine dresser in the kitchen, and the envy left her, washed away by guilt and sympathy.
Lucky? No, she had no reason to envy him. The house was just bricks and mortar, and living in it were three people whose lives had been devastated by their loss. How could she possibly have envied them that?
Xavier was patting the dogs, two clearly devoted and rather soppy Labradors, and when he’d done his duty he turned to her.
‘Are you OK with dogs? I forgot to mention them.’
‘I’m fine. I grew up with Labs. Come on, then, come and make friends.’
They did, tongues lolling, leaning on her legs and grinning up at her like black bookends, one each side. ‘You soppy things,’ she said to them, and their tails thumped in unison.
‘The thin one’s Kate, the fatter one with the grey muzzle is Martha, her mother. Just tell them to go and lie down when you’ve had enough. Shall I put the kettle on?’
Fran straightened up and grinned at him. ‘That sounds like the best thing I’ve heard in hours. I could kill a cup of tea.’
He chuckled. ‘Ditto. And while it boils, I’ll put the dogs out for a minute and then show you the flat.’
He went through a door at the back of the kitchen into a lobby and opened the outside door to let the dogs out, then turned back to her with a smile. ‘Right, you need to be careful, the stairs are a little steep.’
She followed him through a door in the corner of the lobby that led to the narrow, winding back stairs, and at the top they came out onto a little landing in what must have been the servants’ quarters. To the left, its ceilings atticky and low, was a small but comfortable sitting room overlooking the garden; to the right was a bedroom with a double bed under a quilted bedspread, all whites and creams and pretty pastels.
Fran looked around her in slight disbelief and felt a lump in her throat.
‘Oh, it’s gorgeous,’ she murmured.
‘There’s a bathroom there, and a tiny kitchen so you can be independent if you want. And through here is the rest of the house.’
He opened a door at the end of the landing and went through it onto the much larger landing at the head of the main stairs. There was a wheelchair parked by the stairlift, in readiness, Fran imagined, for his daughter’s return, and she could see through the open doors into their bedrooms.
One was immaculate, one reasonably tidy, the last chaos.
‘That’s Nick’s room,’ Xavier said with a wry smile, indicating the messy one. ‘This one’s Chrissie’s.’
He pushed open the door of the reasonable one, and she looked around it, at all the pictures of horses and boy bands and other images dear to the heart of a young teenager, and she wondered what Chrissie was like and what had really happened.
‘Tell me about her,’ she said softly, and he sighed and tunnelled his fingers through his hair.
‘She’s…complicated,’ he said slowly. ‘She’s in a wheelchair, and she doesn’t speak, but they can’t find anything wrong with her. They’ve done a million tests and can’t detect anything, and she moves and talks in her sleep, but when she’s awake, she just won’t communicate—well, not a great deal. She has a little hand-held computer that she uses for important stuff, but mostly she doesn’t bother. And it’s not that she can’t, because she’s doing fine at school, even without speaking. There’s nothing wrong with her academically. It’s bizarre.’
‘Was she badly hurt in the accident?’
‘No. Nick had a broken arm, and Sara was killed instantly, but Chrissie was untouched. That’s the odd thing about it. She’s seen therapists and psychiatrists and every other sort of “ist”, but nobody’s found the key. She’s locked in there, and I can’t let her out, and I’m a doctor, for God’s sake!’
He broke off and turned away, his voice choked, and Fran lifted her hand to touch him, to reach out to him. She didn’t, though. She let it fall to her side, because there was nothing she could say to make it right, nothing she could do to make it better.
Well, only one thing.
‘If you were hoping to put me off, you’ve failed,’ she said softly.
Xavier turned, a flicker of hope in his anguished eyes, and his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. ‘Well, so far, so good. Of course, you haven’t met them yet.’ He looked down, studying his hand as it rested on Chrissie’s doorknob, and then looked up at her again.
‘I really am in a bit of a fix with this at the moment. I don’t suppose there’s any way I could talk you into taking it on immediately, even just temporarily, at least the domestic side? I’m more than happy with your nursing skills, but this week I’m stuck completely on the domestic front unless I can get some help, and I can’t expect you to take us on without trying it. Would you consider a week’s trial? Give the kids a chance, give me a chance? And if you hate it, maybe I can find someone else…’
He finally ground to a halt, the flicker of hope fading in his eyes as she watched. He thought she was going to refuse, she realised. Well, she wasn’t.
‘That sounds fine,’ she said, and his eyes fell for a moment. When he raised them to her face the hope was back, hope and relief in equal proportions.
‘Thank you,’ he said fervently, then he dragged in a deep breath and pulled himself together visibly.
‘Right, now that’s sorted, how about that cup of tea? And if you’re really unlucky, I might even cook you lunch.’
They went back to the surgery after lunch, Xavier to his antenatal clinic, Fran to acquaint herself further with Angie and familiarise herself with the room she would be working in from the following morning. At three-thirty promptly, Xavier came into the office where she was talking to Angie about her routine.
‘I’m going to collect the children from school. Do you want to come? It would help you to see it at first hand, before you have to do it yourself.’
‘Good idea,’ she agreed, and wondered why she hadn’t thought of it. Lack of sleep, she decided, or just plain shell-shock.
She went with him out to the car park, noticing for the first time that his people carrier had a rear seat missing, presumably where Chrissie would go in her wheelchair. The enormity of what she was taking on suddenly sank in, and she felt a little flutter of doubt about her ability to do this part of the job.
She must be crazy, she thought. She didn’t know the first thing about looking after children of that age—except, of course, that she’d been thirteen once and had had a younger brother, so she knew all about the dynamics of that! But—Chrissie?
Still, she had no choice. It was a job, it was a home, albeit perhaps only for a week, and with a steadying breath she put the doubts aside.
If Xavier was prepared to take her on, she’d give it a go, at least for this trial period. She knew enough about children to cope for that long, and, besides, Chrissie had problems. Maybe she could help get to the root of them. She’d certainly give it her best shot, although if the girl’s own father had failed, it seemed unlikely that a total stranger could do better.
Except, of course, that it was often easier for an outsider to see the situation clearly.
‘I phoned the hospital, by the way,’ he was saying as he drove. ‘Bernard Donaldson’s made it through surgery—he had a perforated duodenal ulcer.’
Fran dragged her mind back to the earlier events of the day and nodded. ‘Figures. I’m glad he’s OK. They seemed a sweet couple.’
‘They are—truly devoted. Hopefully he’ll be all right now. OK, we’re at the school. You need to go through this set of gates, not the ones further down, so you can get right up to the school to collect them. Otherwise you can’t get close enough.’
Xavier went slowly along the drive and over the speed ramps, parked the car, and then they waited. Children were pouring out of the school, running and pushing and laughing, heading in their droves for the bus pull-in, others going down the drive to their parents, and then the crowd cleared like mist and she saw them.
A slender girl in a wheelchair, her hair hanging long and blonde around her shoulders, her trousers dangling on skinny legs, she looked tired and defeated.
Behind her was a boy the spitting image of Xavier, with a big smile and untidy hair. His shirt was un-tucked on one side, his tie was hanging askew, his face was grubby, but he looked bright and cheerful and disgustingly healthy in contrast to his frail older sister.
He was pushing the wheelchair towards them, and Xavier went over to them and hugged him, bending to kiss his daughter’s cheek. She didn’t respond, just sat there expressionless, and Fran felt the flicker of doubt return in force.
Give her time, she thought, but the girl was looking straight through her as she stood there beside the car, waiting.
‘Children, this is Miss Williams,’ he said. ‘She’s going to stay with us for a while and help me look after you.’
‘Can you cook?’ Nick asked her directly, and she laughed.
‘Most things. It depends what you want.’
‘Pizza—and Chrissie likes spag. bol.’
Fran nodded thoughtfully, transferring her gaze to the unresponsive girl. ‘I think I can manage that.’
Chrissie looked away dismissively, and Fran thought that even without words she managed to communicate her feelings—and just now, her feelings were less than friendly.
‘She’s vegetarian, though,’ Nick was adding. ‘So no meat, worse luck. She doesn’t do meat.’
‘I’m sure Miss Williams knows what a vegetarian is, Nick,’ Xavier put in drily, and opened the side door of the car. ‘Fran, this board slides out of the floor like this, and locks, and then you can push the chair up and it clips into place.’
He pulled and clicked and then wheeled Chrissie effortlessly into the car, then with a clunk her chair was secure and he was sliding the board home and closing the door.
Fran decided to practise with the empty wheelchair before she had to do it for real. She didn’t want to mess up and dump Chrissie on the drive, and she was sure Xavier would be less than thrilled, too, not to mention Chrissie herself!
Nick was piling all their bags into the back and climbing into the seat behind Xavier, chattering nineteen to the dozen about what he’d done and the goal he’d scored in football and that he needed new football boots and could he go on the field trip in February to France, and Harry had been kicked in the chin and had to go to hospital after football because his jaw might be broken.
Finally he ground to a halt, and Xavier shot Fran a wry glance. Still not put off? it seemed to say, but in truth she thought Nick was delightful, just a normal, healthy boy bursting with energy.
Chrissie, on the other hand, was almost unnerving with her silent watchfulness, and Fran wondered how on earth she would communicate with her. The hand-held computer would surely have its limitations, but she’d just watch Xavier and see how he did it, and then talk to him later after the children were in bed.
She’d already established to herself that Chrissie could convey her feelings. It was her needs that were more of an issue here, and of more concern to Fran. She didn’t need to be liked. She did, however, need to be able to do her job, and she was on a week’s trial. The last thing she wanted was to screw up yet another job.
Xavier couldn’t believe his luck. He’d actually found someone—and not just anyone, but a highly skilled professional who by a freak of fate needed a live-in post, just when he was getting desperate.
He wouldn’t trust Chrissie to an amateur—he couldn’t. There was too much at stake, and a nurse of Fran’s experience would be alert to any slight change in her. Not that it was likely, after all this time, but he still wasn’t sure he really believed there was nothing wrong, and all the time he felt as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But Fran—Fran was a gift from the gods, and he hardly dared believe it. He’d phoned her old boss at the London hospital and had received such a glowing reference that he daren’t tell her about it because she’d be so embarrassed. It seemed a tragic shame that her career in trauma had been cut short, but he wasn’t complaining, not if it meant she was free to work for him.
He went into his study, the dogs in tow, and dropped into the chair behind his desk, swinging his feet up onto the worn and battered top and resting his head against the high leather back of the chair with a sigh.
He had some phone calls to make and one or two bits of paperwork to deal with, but he just wanted to grab a few precious, quiet minutes to himself. The children were tucked up in bed, the television was finally silenced and Fran was unpacking her possessions in her flat.
He closed his eyes and pictured her, those beautiful blue-grey eyes that said so much, bare lips the colour of a faded rose, full and soft and ripe. There was something incredibly English about her looks, the pale alabaster of her skin, the warm glow in her cheeks, the fine cheekbones. Her hair had been up, the dark, gleaming tresses scraped back into a loose knot and secured at her nape with a clip.
It made his fingers itch. He’d wanted to remove the clip, to free her hair and watch it fall in a curtain around her shoulders, to thread his fingers through it and touch the softness.
He’d wanted all sorts of things, like the feel of her body against him, the taste of her mouth on his tongue, the slide of her skin against his own, but he would never know these things.
She was an employee, a member of his team at work, a pivotal part of his home life, please, God, and he needed her in that capacity far more than he needed the mere gratification of his sexual desires. He’d managed without since Sara had died, and he could manage for as long as it took to sort Chrissie out.
Maybe then he’d allow himself the luxury of an affair—if he could find anyone stupid enough to take him on.
With a short sigh he swung his feet to the ground and went out to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle in the fridge. It was nothing special, just a supermarket cheapie that he’d picked up the other day, but it was cool and refreshing and it might blur the edges a bit, if he was lucky.
Not a chance. Fran came down the back stairs and through the door, her hair down around her shoulders, wearing jeans and a simple sweater that hugged her waist and showed off the soft, ample fullness of her breasts, and desire slammed through him like an express train.
Dear God. He was going to have to live with this woman, work with her, share almost every detail of his life with her.
Mere sexual gratification? Mere? He set his glass down with exaggerated care and forced himself to meet her eyes. ‘Wine?’
‘Oh, lovely, thanks. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the children, particularly Chrissie, and I wouldn’t mind a lesson in pulling out that ramp thing and clipping in the wheelchair, if you can be bothered.’
‘Sure,’ he said, glad to have something positive to focus on apart from the gentle swell of her breasts and the way her hair fell in those soft, shining waves across her shoulders. He pictured it spread out over a pillow, and stifled a groan. ‘Let’s go and do that now before it gets even colder,’ he said, and, shrugging on his coat, he grabbed his car keys off the fridge and headed for the door, collecting the wheelchair as he went.
He seemed a little abrupt, Fran thought. Tired and preoccupied, perhaps? Worried about the children?
All of the above, probably. She hurried after him, practised slotting the ramp in and out and clipping in the wheelchair until she was sure she could do it blindfolded, and then they went back inside and he poured her the glass of wine he’d promised her and picked up his own.
‘Let’s go into my study,’ he said. ‘It’s comfortable, and there’s no danger of being overheard by the children.’
She nodded and followed him yet again. She seemed to have spent a great deal of time doing that today, she thought, but it was quite an interesting view, one the dogs must be quite used to as well. She stifled a smile and went into his study after him, the dogs trotting along beside her, and closed the door softly behind them all.
It was a lovely room, the walls completely lined with books, a battered desk of some considerable vintage set at right angles to the big, low window overlooking the drive. There was a huge leather swivel chair behind the desk and a toning leather chesterfield beside the fireplace.
Shoving the dogs off onto the floor, Xavier dropped into the chesterfield, waved at the other end of it and watched her as she settled into the other corner, a brooding look on his face.
She wondered what she’d done wrong, but apparently it was rather what she’d done right.
‘You have no idea how grateful I am to you for stepping into this post with so little warning,’ he said quietly. ‘I was at my wits’ end. I’d literally run out of options, and the kids were going to have to come to the surgery by taxi and sit in the office till I’d finished every night. Can you imagine Nick sitting still for that long? He’d be murdered by the staff before the week was out.’
Fran could believe it. He was certainly a live wire, she thought, although she couldn’t imagine Chrissie being any trouble if you could cope with the cold-shoulder treatment. She’d come in that evening, settled herself down at the kitchen table in silence and ploughed her way steadily through her homework.
Nick, on the other hand, had had to be retrieved from his bedroom and practically screwed to the chair by his exasperated father before he’d finally given in and opened his books.
‘Tell me about that little computer thing Chrissie has,’ Fran said, remembering how she’d communicated with her father and brother during the evening.
‘Her palm? It’s just that, a tiny computer that fits in her hand and means she can communicate without writing—well, she does write, simplified letters that the computer reads and then brings up into print on the small screen for us to see. It’s slower, but it means she doesn’t ever run out of paper and, besides, it’s cool. It gives her street cred, and I suppose in her position that’s important.’
Fran nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ She hesitated, then plunged on regardless. ‘I hate to bring it up again, but—do you have any idea what it might have been about the accident that made her stop talking?’
A shadow came over his face and he shook his head. ‘No. None. To be honest, I’ve hardly discussed it with her. Every mention of it distressed her so much in the beginning that we just avoided it, and opinion is divided on the efficacy of counselling in post-traumatic stress disorder—if it is PTSD. I still don’t know if I believe that. I can’t believe a healthy, active teenager would deliberately confine herself to a wheelchair and restrict herself to immobility and silence, no matter how traumatised.’
‘What do the experts think?’ she asked, curious as to their opinions, but he just laughed, a humourless, rather sad sound.
‘Oh, the experts couldn’t agree. Some wanted to try pressing her, forcing the issue; others said it was profoundly dangerous and she’d come out of it in time on her own. So what do you do? Who do you believe?’
‘What did you do?’
Xavier shrugged. ‘Nothing helped. The therapy made her even more withdrawn, so we stopped it and we just manage the situation as well as we can. She sees a physio twice a week and I do resisted exercises with her every evening, and she goes swimming on her games afternoon at a special hydrotherapy session, and I just hope to God she comes out of it before her body’s permanently damaged.’
He looked down into his wineglass, his face taut, a muscle working in his jaw, and Fran had an overwhelming urge to take the glass out of his hand and lay him down and massage the tension out of his shoulders. He was like a bowstring, she thought, strung so tight he would break, and she wondered if he ever did anything for himself, took any time to be himself and not a father or a doctor.
With one hand he was idly fondling the ear of one of the dogs, propped lovingly against his leg, and the other dog had her chin on his foot.
Such devotion. It wasn’t hard to see how he inspired it, she thought. He was so kind, so generous with himself, so thoughtful. He’d brought her things in out of her car, the few pitiful possessions she’d brought with her from London, and put them upstairs in the pretty little flat that was her new home.
He’d found her some clean linen and helped her make up the bed, turned up the heating to air the rooms and then left her alone to settle in and count her blessings.
All this after he’d cooked for them all, fed the dogs, supervised homework and chivvied the children through their bedtime routine.
He must be so tired, she thought, so tired and stressed and worried. If her presence here helped him, regardless of what she could do for Chrissie, then she’d feel she’d done her job well.
Nick she wasn’t worried about. Nick was a normal, healthy, well-balanced young boy, and he just needed keeping in order. Well, she could do that. She’d done it for years with her brother.
‘May I ask you something?’ he said quietly, and Fran looked up to find those lovely, haunted eyes studying her face.
‘Of course.’
‘If you were living in London, how come you’re looking for a job up here and haven’t got anywhere to live?’
She’d wondered when it was coming, and thought of lying to him, but somehow she didn’t want to. Anyway, she knew instinctively that he’d be easy to tell.
‘After I stopped working at the hospital I just felt lost. I’d been wandering around aimlessly for days, and I spent yesterday in the park doing more of the same, thinking over your job offer and wondering what to do. I was on my way home because my boyfriend was coming round, and someone was knocked down in front of me in the middle of Camden High Street. And I froze.’
He made a sympathetic noise and she shrugged and carried on. ‘Luckily someone else came along who could help him, so I don’t have to have his death on my conscience, but by the time it was all over and I got back, I was late, of course.’
‘And your boyfriend had got sick of waiting?’
She gave a strangled little laugh. ‘You might say that. He was in bed with my flatmate.’
He said something under his breath in French that she thought was probably rude, and she gave him a wry grin.
‘Quite. So I left. I flung my clothes and a few things into the car, and turned my back on my entire life. I didn’t know where to go, because my parents don’t live here any more. They live in Devon near my brother and his wife, and none of them have any spare room, so I headed up here and camped with Jackie and just hoped your job was still on offer. Jackie’s an old friend from school and nurse training days, and I spent the night with her last night and went to work with her this morning.’
‘And rang me again.’
‘Yes. Then Josh Nicholson tried to talk me into working for him instead.’
Xavier frowned. ‘Josh Nicholson? But he’s still in hospital, surely? He nearly killed himself, just a few days ago.’
‘Quite. Having seen him, I’m only too ready to believe that. Is he a patient of yours?’
‘Yes—and, of course, a well-known public figure. The news was full of it. But, yes, as it happens, I believe he is a patient, though I’ve never had to see him except for inoculations for foreign holidays and so on. He’s never been unwell that I’m aware of.’
‘Oh. Well, he doesn’t look so hot now, so you might want to stand by for an emergency call!’
He laughed under his breath, then his eyes locked on hers again. ‘So this was only—yesterday, is that right, that you found the boyfriend and your flatmate together?’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. It seems about three lifetimes ago.’
‘Well, that might be a good thing. Hell, I’m sorry. Was it serious? With the boyfriend?’
She thought of Dan, frivolous and uncommitted, and shook her head. ‘No. It might have been eventually, I suppose, but, then, probably not. I’m not sure he had what it takes to be serious, and I’m not into casual sex.’ She smiled brightly and tried to inject some light humour into her voice. ‘So, anyway, here I am, utterly free, and scared to death.’
She didn’t fool him for an instant. Instead of laughing, as he was supposed to, he smiled understandingly. ‘There’s no need to be scared, Fran. You have a home now, and a job. How long you stay is up to you.’
She nodded again, and to her disgust her eyes filled. She looked away, blinking hard to banish the too-ready tears. ‘Thank you,’ she said, a trifle unsteadily. ‘Thank you for everything.’
‘My pleasure. More wine?’
She dredged up a smile. ‘Do you know, I think I will. I don’t suppose two glasses will kill me.’
‘Probably not, although it’s pretty awful,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I just grabbed it in the supermarket on Sunday. I had a feeling this week would call for it.’
He eased himself off the sofa and the dogs were at his heels instantly. Fran wondered a trifle hysterically if she should fall into place behind them, and nearly laughed aloud.
She was losing it, she thought, and then inexplicably her eyes filled again. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself, but the events of the past two weeks caught up with her in a rush, and she curled over on her side on the sofa, buried her face in a cushion and sobbed as if her heart would break.
She didn’t hear Xavier come back, but then the sofa shifted under his weight and he was there for her.
‘Ah, Fran,’ his voice murmured, and then strong hands were on her shoulders, lifting her against his chest, and his arms were round her, rocking her slowly against him, holding her safe until the storm of weeping was over.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, and pulled away, scrubbing her nose on the back of her hand. ‘What an idiot you must think I am.’
‘You’re not an idiot at all. Here,’ he said, passing her a tissue, and she blew her nose and scrubbed her eyes and sniffed hard, burrowing back into the corner of the sofa in an attempt to retrieve her dignity.
‘Your shirt’s all soggy,’ she said unevenly, and he just smiled, a slow, crooked smile that nearly reduced her to tears again.
She was shredding the tissue, so he took it from her and replaced it with the glass of wine, and she took a gulp and dragged in a huge deep breath and smiled.
‘Thanks,’ she said, her throat still clogged with tears, but he just shrugged.
‘Sometimes it’s better to let go,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve had a lot to deal with. Now, drink up and tell me what you like to eat, so I can go shopping tomorrow. We can’t have you starving to death.’
How odd. The day before she wouldn’t have cared. Now, suddenly, she did, and it was all down to him.
‘I eat anything,’ she told him truthfully. ‘Usually everything, in fact!’
‘I’ll see what I can do. I normally call in at the supermarket on my way home for lunch, or do a big shop with the kids at the weekend, which is always a nightmare.’
‘Can’t I do that for you?’ she offered, and he shrugged.
‘Well—if you want to. I can get you some cash. Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘I’ve got hours between the end of my work in the morning and picking the children up from school, so it’s not a problem. Do you come home for lunch every day?’
He nodded. ‘If I can, if there’s time. It gives me a little time alone to relax and think—unwind a bit. Don’t think you have to cook for me, though. I usually have beans on toast or something like that—something quick.’
He couldn’t have given her a bigger hint, she thought. She made a mental note to keep out of his way at lunchtimes. ‘I’ll make sure there are plenty of things in the cupboard for you to choose from,’ she said, and wondered why she felt disappointed.
How silly. ‘Right, can you tell me exactly what I have to do each day with the children—in fact, could you write it down so I have it in black and white what’s expected of me, so the kids won’t pull the wool over my eyes?’
He snorted softly. ‘You obviously know kids.’
‘I remember being one,’ she corrected. ‘A new babysitter was a great opportunity not to be missed. I don’t suppose yours are any different.’
His smile was wry. ‘No—and don’t imagine Chrissie’s innocent either. She might look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but really she can be just as naughty as Nick, and she’s more devious. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not a bad girl, but she is a normal one in many ways. Don’t let her fool you.’
The warning rang in Fran’s ears the following morning while she was rushing to get them ready for school and get herself to the surgery in time.
So far, so good, she thought as she arrived only a minute late. Considering the wrangling and chaos and lost shoes and missing books, it was a miracle she was here at all, she thought, and having to put the people carrier into the tiniest space in the car park was a bit scary.
She wasn’t used to driving such a big car, and if it hadn’t been for the lack of choice, she would have protested. She didn’t know how Xavier had got to work either. She hadn’t even thought about it, but he hadn’t said anything. She wondered if he’d want to borrow her car rather than walk—because how would he do his house calls after surgery if he was on foot? Still, surely he would have thought of that?
Puzzled, she headed for the surgery entrance, and then noticed a silver sports car parked in his space, a low-slung, mean little machine, and she smiled to herself. So he had another car, the absolute antithesis of the people carrier. Interesting.
She went inside, apologised for her lateness and grabbed the notes for her morning’s patients. She was wearing her old Sister’s uniform of a royal blue dress, but she’d put on weight since she’d worn it. She hadn’t needed it recently because the uniform in her hospital had changed to tunics and trousers and the dress had been flung in a drawer for the past two years, so she hadn’t realised that it had become a little snug over the bust and hips.
Still, it would do until she got another one, she thought, and with all the running up and down she’d done this morning, she’d very likely lose weight anyway. Tugging it straight, she went through to her room, took a steadying breath and pressed the button for her first patient.

CHAPTER THREE
‘SO, HOW did it go?’

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