A Surgeon with a Secret Read online

  She was watching him as he couldn’t resist a long look at her body, from head to toe and back again, but, unlike the first time he’d done that, this time she didn’t seem to mind at all. She was waiting to capture his gaze as it returned to her face and there was the hint of a smile on her lips.

  ‘Your turn,’ she whispered...

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘YOU LOOK ABOUT as good as Lady J. does this morning.’ Mrs Tillman was frowning as she looked up to see who was coming into the kitchen. ‘And that’s not a compliment, by the way. Coffee?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please. I might need the whole pot. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

  Flick combed her hair back with her fingers and then wound a band around the short ponytail she’d created as Mrs Tillman got milk from the fridge and a mug from a hook. She was hoping there was no hint showing on her face of why she hadn’t slept much. She had crept back to her own room at some point before dawn and had even drifted into sleep for a brief period before the alarm on her phone had sounded.

  Then she’d tapped the snooze function button on the screen at least twice. Not because she wanted to snatch a few minutes’ more sleep but because she wanted to remember why her body felt like this. Revel in it, even. In that almost bruised feeling in places that hadn’t been touched for so long they had been forgotten but the border between pain and pleasure was too blurred to define.

  She was also weary in a way that wasn’t due to a lack of sleep but the aftermath of the release of a surprising amount of tension that she hadn’t even known she was living with. Probably because it had simply become part of her way of life. One of those things you learned to accept because they couldn’t be changed.

  Mrs Tillman put a mug of fragrant coffee in front of Flick and then shook her head.

  ‘It’s rattled everybody, this business. I saw young Lachlan out walking as soon as dawn broke.’

  ‘Oh?’ Flick couldn’t control the sudden jump in her heart rate but she could crush that inappropriately fierce flash of disappointment. ‘He’s already had breakfast, then?’

  What had she been expecting—that he would be waiting to see her? That she’d know, just by looking at him, that last night had been more meaningful than simply a one-off escape from overwhelming emotional upheaval? How ridiculous. It wasn’t as if she would even want that to be the case.

  ‘He said he’d pick something up later. He’s back to London for the day.’ Mrs Tillman was back at the sink, reaching for something on the windowsill. ‘He left this for you. Maybe he knew you wouldn’t have had a great night either.’

  It was a small jam jar she was holding, with a tiny bunch of flowers in it.

  ‘Or maybe he’s scared that you won’t want to hang around and work for Lady J. any longer with the family skeletons coming out. That he’ll come home and find that you’ve packed your bags.’

  ‘I’d never leave someone in the lurch, even if I did want to change positions.’ But the idea that Lachlan was worried she might disappear made Flick smile as she buried her nose in the blooms. ‘I love bluebells,’ she said. ‘They smell like the woods. And spring. And...’

  And these ones made her realise that Lachlan had been thinking about her at the same time she had been lying in her bed, thinking about him. He’d given her something that had meaning, too, because he’d told her that he’d given his mother bunches of bluebells to try and win her love but she’d thrown them away. Flick was not going to throw these away.

  ‘I’ll take these to my room when I go upstairs,’ she said aloud. Maybe she knew what else these flowers smelled of now. The start of something new? Not that she had any idea of what that something might be but she was again aware of how different her body felt this morning. That was certainly new.

  And it was...unexpectedly nice...

  More than nice. Lachlan was probably halfway to London already but this feeling gave her a connection that was not about to break, even if it was being stretched over that kind of considerable distance.

  ‘I’d better head up now, in fact,’ she added, picking up her coffee as well as the jam jar. ‘I’m a bit worried that you think Lady Josephine’s not looking well.’

  * * *

  He didn’t really have anything urgent enough to require a trip to London but the pull towards St Bethel’s Hospital and the Richmond International Clinic was too strong to ignore. Maybe he needed to reconnect with the life he’d had only days ago, before it had been turned inside out. Some time in his modern apartment with the stunning view over the Thames would also make a welcome change from the sombre stone walls of his ancient family home and the woodland that surrounded it.

  Family home...as if...

  There was still a pull from that direction, though. Lachlan could feel it even as he soaked in the feeling of power beneath his hands and played with the boundaries of the permitted speed limits as he passed every other vehicle on the motorway. It was raining but his automatic wipers were maintaining perfect visibility and the way the car was stuck to the road with its built-in safety features gave him the confidence to push just a little further. The adrenaline rush was almost enough to banish the fatigue that was only to be expected after a totally sleepless night.

  The tug of that pull to the house he’d left behind him was suddenly sharp and it was centred deep in his gut and...and it felt like desire.

  Was that what this pull was all about? Flick...and the most amazing sex he’d ever had in his life?

  It wasn’t clear cut, though, was it? Their night together had been in his childhood home and it had only happened because he’d been completely thrown off balance by what had happened yesterday. To find he had a brother. To learn that his mother had never wanted him. It was no wonder that he’d sought comfort in someone’s arms and the chance to escape reality briefly.

  That didn’t explain why he’d been drawn to the woods at first light this morning, mind you. Or why he’d searched through the swathe of flowers to find the few that were open enough to give the scent he remembered so well from his childhood. Why had he wanted to do that so much? He’d told Flick the flowers had been one of the unwanted gifts he had given his mother. Was he so confident that she would understand that he was trying to thank her for her understanding? For being there? That she would recognise the symbol for what it was?

  Yes...he was that confident. Nobody had ever touched him quite like that in his life—both physically and emotionally.

  Felicity Stephens was an extraordinary woman. She might not be in his life for very long but he had to thank his lucky stars that she’d happened to be there last night, when he’d needed someone so badly. Not just anyone, either. Lachlan was quite sure that nobody else on earth could have made him feel like she had. As though he was truly worth caring about. As though she cared that much...

  The text message on his phone came onto the dashboard screen as Lachlan slowed for the first set of traffic lights on the outskirts of the city.

  Josh here. Don’t know about you but I didn’t get much sleep. How ’bout we meet again tonight? Here’s my address—

  Another great feature of this new car was the ability to answer a text verbally.

  ‘Sure thing,’ Lachlan dictated. ‘I’m in the City for the day but should be back by seven p.m. See you then.’

  Looking up from the screen, he caught a glimpse of the top of his face in the rear-view mirror. Good grief...how could he look this wrecked with just one night’s sleep missed? The skin around the bottom of his eyes looked blue enough to be bruised—as if he’d been in some kind of fight.

  How battered his spirit felt matched that notion as well, come to think of it.

  It didn’t occur to him to send a message to Tilly to let her know he wouldn’t be back for dinner. Maybe he didn’t want his mother to know where he was. It wasn’t simply that it was none of her business. He didn’t want the reminder tha
t she didn’t actually care—because she never had...

  * * *

  The rain had set in by early afternoon.

  Lady Josephine looked as tired as Flick was feeling and she was in a very strange mood. Even one of her cutting comments would be preferable to the awful silence that filled the room as Flick went through the routine of checking and recording vital sign measurements. With the weather making the room as dingy and dismal as the atmosphere, it was obvious that something had to be done.

  ‘Would you like me to bring you up some afternoon tea? And light the fire, perhaps?’ Oh, that suggestion might not have been the best. It reminded Flick instantly of lighting the fire in Lachlan’s room last night. And everything that had followed...

  She cleared her throat. ‘It’s a bit of a dull afternoon, isn’t it?’ she added hastily.

  Lady Josephine snorted. ‘I thought it was a uniquely English attribute to resort to talking about the weather to avoid anything more awkward.’

  Something in her tone suggested that she would rather be talking about the awkward things and Flick hesitated only a moment before putting both of her suggestions into action. Carrying the tray up from the kitchen a short time later, she was confident she was doing the right thing. Okay, the family’s private business was not something she should get into, but it was affecting her patient enough to have potentially serious consequences—like that asthma attack yesterday—so, if Lady Josephine wanted to talk, it was actually part of Flick’s job to listen.

  Preferably without judgement, she reminded herself as she poured the tea and buttered one of Mrs Tillman’s excellent cheese scones, although that might prove difficult. This involved Lachlan, after all, and she had shared his heartbreak yesterday in a way that made her far more involved than was strictly professional.

  Professional boundaries didn’t seem to be concerning Lady Josephine, either.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she announced as Flick offered her the milk jug. ‘You’re about the size I used to be at your age. I’m too scrawny now, of course.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To wear my dresses.’ Lady Josephine took a sip of her tea but pushed the plate with the scone aside, before looking up at Flick. ‘You don’t need to look so shocked. I’m not suggesting some kind of macabre fashion show. I just thought...if you wore a dress for your next lesson, it might make a difference. You might understand what it is about dancing that’s so...wonderful...’

  ‘My next lesson?’ It had been the last thing on Flick’s mind today.

  ‘You’re not giving up already, are you? I’d thought better of you than that.’

  ‘No, I’m not giving up.’

  Yet. There had been an errant thought in the back of her head, however, that her position here might not be tenable after what had happened last night. Oh...and there it was again...that rush of sensation that was her body announcing that it was properly coming back to life again. Like pins and needles in your foot after it had gone to sleep, only this was less painful and far more pleasurable.

  ‘Choose a dress then. For next time. Not today because I’m too tired.’

  It occurred to Flick that Lady Josephine might be asking for an assurance that she wasn’t about to be abandoned so she complied with the odd request. It was easy to find a dress that she knew she’d love to try on. A ripple of silk in the darkest blue, with diamantés covering the bodice and scattered across acres of fabric that made up the ballerina-length skirt. She held it against her body, still in its plastic cover, and knew it would make her look more beautiful than she possibly ever had. It was a real Cinderella moment that reminded her of how she’d felt when she’d decided to stay in this remarkable old house—that she’d stepped into some kind of fairy tale and was up for the role of being a princess.

  And...oh...after last night there was no one else who could be the prince other than Lachlan McKendry.

  Flick had to close her eyes and take a very deep breath to try and centre herself before she took the dress back into the sitting room to show Lady Josephine, whose nod advertised satisfaction at her choice, if not approval.

  ‘I won a national competition in that dress.’

  ‘Shall I take it with me? I’d better try it on and make sure it fits before we have that lesson.’

  The older woman shrugged. ‘If you like. You can take the tray away, too.’ She had turned to stare at the fire. ‘Have you spoken to Lachlan today?’

  ‘Um...no. Not since yesterday evening.’

  The look she received didn’t suggest disapproval or annoyance. Rather, it seemed like a request for information and Flick couldn’t be anything less than honest.

  ‘He’s...upset. But...’

  ‘But what?’

  How much should she say? How much did Lady Josephine want to say? Flick could only follow her instincts here and they were personal rather than professional. She carefully draped the dress over the back of a chair and sat down on the edge of it herself.

  ‘I don’t think he was totally surprised to learn he was adopted,’ she said quietly. ‘He told me that he never really felt wanted.’

  Flick could feel the ache of unshed tears. Last night, Lachlan’s tears had captured her heart.

  And there was no getting away from the fact that his lovemaking had captured her body and soul.

  How could she keep working for the woman who was responsible for what had happened to make Lachlan feel that he’d had half his life stolen? Who had never felt loved?

  ‘He wasn’t my son.’ Lady Josephine’s words were fierce, as if she was being forced to admit something against her will. ‘My sons died. All of them...’

  Flick’s indrawn breath was a gasp. ‘All of them?’

  ‘Three. There were three.’ Lady Josephine wasn’t looking at Flick as she spoke. ‘The first one, William, lived for three months and I loved him with all my heart.’ She shook her head. ‘As much as I adored my husband, even though I knew he was never faithful.’

  She closed her eyes and stopped talking but Flick couldn’t break the silence. She knew there was something more to be said and that it was important that she hear it. She listened to the rain now pelting the windows, instead, and just waited. She needed another piece of this puzzle. She even had the odd thought that she was meant to be here. To hear this. To be able to help people who needed more than her nursing skills?

  ‘My second baby lived for a day,’ Lady Josephine said finally, so quietly her voice was almost a whisper. ‘The third was born dead, a month before he was due, but I didn’t cry that time. I didn’t even care any more...’

  ‘It was too painful, wasn’t it?’ Flick suggested gently. ‘Loving a baby and losing him is the kind of pain nobody feels they could ever bear to go through again.’

  She knew that. Dear Lord, she knew that too well. She could almost feel the weight of an infant in her own arms who had never had the chance to take a breath. And maybe her knowledge of that pain came across as being as genuine as it was.

  ‘I was glad—’ Lady Josephine was watching her as she whispered ‘—that I didn’t have to feel it again.’

  ‘How long was it, after your last baby died, that you adopted Lachlan?’

  Lady Josephine shrugged. ‘I forget. A few weeks.’ The breath she pulled in was wheezy. ‘A couple of months, perhaps.’ She had to take another breath after only a few words. ‘It was Douglas who arranged everything...including the nannies.’ She was reaching for her inhaler on the table. ‘He made it easy for me to agree... Impossible not to.’

  Flick got to her feet to help with the administration of the bronchodilator. Supporting Lady Josephine with her arm around the older woman’s shoulders and her other hand holding the inhaler to press the top at just the right moment as a new breath was being taken felt like more than a simply professional touch.

  It felt like a hug. An acknowledgeme
nt that her story had touched Flick on a very deep level even though she was so sympathetic to Lachlan’s side of the same story. She could separate the strands to find herself alone but involved on both sides. Pulled in two directions, in fact, but it was easy to choose which one to focus on at this moment. She watched her patient carefully for signs that her respiratory distress was starting to ease but she decided another dose was necessary just a short time later.

  ‘I’m going to give your doctor a call,’ she said. ‘That’s two attacks in two days. You’re under a lot of stress at the moment and it could be that you need something extra to help control things.’

  Lady Josephine didn’t put up an argument, which was an indication that her own life had been turned upside down as much as Lachlan’s. The afternoon sped past with the doctor’s visit, a new medical plan to be formulated and initiated, and new medications to be collected from the village pharmacy. It wasn’t until much later that Flick had time to realise that perhaps Lachlan wasn’t coming home tonight.

  It was a shame, because she wanted a chance to tell him about that revealing conversation with his mother. It wasn’t an excuse for the emotional damage done by the way he’d been raised. It might not lead to any kind of forgiveness, even, but it did provide a background that could at least offer a level of understanding. Flick was the right person to talk to him about it, as well, because she already understood.

  She could imagine herself in Lady Josephine’s position, with no escape from repeated grief that had left her too numb to be able to love that poor adopted baby. Fighting a depression that hadn’t been recognised, let alone treated. Flick had been able to run from her grief and she’d kept running for years because it had been the perfect way to avoid loving anything enough for its loss to be painful. A job. A place. A person. Another baby would be unthinkable.