 
.

### The Apple Tree

Lynette Sofras

Published by Lynette Sofras at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Lynette Sofras

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Art by Alexander Sofras

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Although actual locations are mentioned, these are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person - past, present or future – are coincidental.

### Previously published in the United States of America by Prism Book Groups (formerly Inspired Romance Novels) in 2011

### ISBN-978-0-9847645-3-2

Contact Information

http//www.lynettesofras.com

### 

# Chapter One

"Julie? Juliet Somerville. I don't believe it. Is it actually you?"

Julie had been busy dodging the lunchtime crowds but halted at the hearty exclamation and firm hand grasping her elbow. The force of this wheeled her bodily towards the voice. Impatient pedestrians, forced to stop in their tracks before sidestepping the pair, clucked their disapproval. She blinked at her assailant as recognition dawned.

"Robert? What a lovely surprise."

Robert returned her smile and Julie scanned his face, searching for the inevitable changes etched by the passage of time.

"What a blast from the past, as they say." He tilted his head to one side. "How many years has it been?"

She laughed. "I don't know. Five or six, I suppose. It's so nice to see you, Robert. How are you?"

"Five or six? Closer to eight I should say. We must celebrate... you're not too busy, I hope?"

"Not at all. Just idling. I'd like that."

He took her arm in a brotherly fashion and led her to the nearby Crown Inn. "Now let me think," he began after procuring drinks and settling himself beside her on the claret-coloured banquette, new to the Crown since Julie's last visit. "The last time I saw you would be when you went up to university. I haven't seen Lizzie in almost as long, although I hear she's doing okay for herself."

"Yes," Julie conceded, although he was wrong about the date. They'd met again the following year, at her father's funeral, but perhaps Robert was being tactful, or his memory selective. "Liz has just been appointed as consultant at the hospital. Father would have been so proud of her."

"Yes I'm sure. And of you too no doubt. Where are you working now?"

"I'm not at the moment. I suppose I'm what actors like to call 'resting'. But never mind that. Tell me about yourself," she urged, eager to change the subject.

"Me? I'm doing well, thanks. I have my own garden centre now, down on Longshore Road, and the business is doing pretty well." Robert would have been unable to conceal the note of pride from his voice even if he'd tried. "We're doing more and more landscape gardening these days. I have six full time staff and several part-timers. You must come and see the place, now you're home."

"Of course I will," she assured him. "And are you married?"

He paused, replacing his drink on the table and eyeing it for a moment before replying. "I was, yes. I married Linda Henderson—I don't think you knew her. But she died." He uttered this last statement with the brutal simplicity of someone who still found the subject acutely painful.

"Oh, how awful. I'm so sorry. Can you... I mean, would you rather not...?"

"I don't mind talking about it. It was quite a while back, you know, over four years now. A traffic accident... she was killed instantly... and she was... we were..." He gave a little cough to clear the thickness in his throat and took a small sip of his beer. "She was pregnant at the time, so we lost the baby, too."

Julie gasped and stared at him.

"It was bad at first, as you can imagine. We'd only been married eighteen months. I suppose I fell apart a bit, but time and good friends have helped. And the work, too; I couldn't have managed without that."

"Poor Robert." She'd known him for as long as she could remember. They'd been neighbours and he and her older sister, Liz were school friends. He always seemed to be present, somewhere in the backdrop of her childhood memories, always smiling, always cheerful. Good old Robert. To imagine him 'falling apart', in pain and suffering while she got on with her own life somewhere else in the world, was difficult. No stranger to the anguish of death, she might have done something useful for once in her little life if she'd known. A tear formed in the corner of her eye and spilled onto her cheek, but whether this was for Robert or herself, she did not try to analyse.

Robert, whose remaining speech had gone unheard by Julie, evidently saw the tear and jumped to his own rapid conclusions.

"Don't cry, little Julie. As I said, I've made peace with it now. I'm over it. Scout's honour." And like a good scout, he drew a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the tear, before handing the square of cloth to Julie. She looked at it and then at him.

He was so transparent. Her tears must have touched his simple vanity. Robert had always believed her to be too soft and vulnerable for the tough world of medicine and had told her as much years ago. He'd also said it saddened him to see her succumbing to the wishes of her father and sister. Of course, she'd been young and naïve enough to believe that just wanting something hard enough would guarantee success and succeed in setting the whole world to rights.

"Come on, now, this is supposed to be a celebration. Tell me about your life. Has some lucky, handsome doctor snapped you up, yet?"

Julie dabbed at her face with the soft handkerchief. What percentage of men still carried handkerchiefs? Was it the last sign of a true gentleman or just a sign that Robert had never quite made the transition into the twenty-first century? She grimaced inwardly at her frivolous thoughts and shook her head, so Robert might be forgiven for reading this gesture as a response in the negative to his question.

"No, I thought not, too busy forging a name for yourself in medical history, just like Lizzie, eh?" he said.

Julie grimaced. How typical of him to assume she should follow in her sister's successful footsteps. Elizabeth had never professed any interest in marriage, being, in a sense, married to her busy career. But she was in no mood to discuss the complexities of her failed marriage and aborted career and accepted his easy dismissal of the subject with good grace and without contradiction.

She suppressed a tiny pang of guilt, her medical training making her aware this behavioural trait was fast becoming a habit. It mimicked an early form of denial, this taking refuge behind the mistaken assumptions of others rather than setting things to right by explaining the truth. Psychologists or behaviourists would label it a weakness. She preferred to view it as the easiest way out of a tricky confrontation. But a nagging guilt pricked her conscience, nevertheless. Characteristic or weakness, she had to acknowledge that old friends always deserved the truth.

"I'm so sorry about your wife. I wish I'd known. But then, Liz never tells me anything. She's so cut off from the world by her work and research, and now this new clinic—she might as well be on another planet."

"That's understandable. Liz is a very selfless woman, she always was."

Robert's understanding almost made him sound pompous. His curious choice of adjective bemused her. Selfless? What did that mean? The opposite of selfish? Hardly, not Liz. Yet it was a curiously apt word to describe her older sister who, at thirty-five and a woman of striking good looks, had doubtless never paused longer than three seconds in front of a mirror to consider herself. Julie always thought that if anyone asked Elizabeth to give a physical description of herself, she probably wouldn't even be able to describe the colour of her own eyes with any accuracy. Her career occupied her far too much to allow time for mirror-gazing. She was the Mother Theresa of medicine, or cardiology, to be more precise. Mother Elizabeth. Saint Elizabeth...

"So you must come to dinner and meet her," Robert implored, gazing earnestly into Julie's face as she returned to the present with a guilty jolt. So engrossed in her musings about her sister, she'd caught nothing but the tail-end of his speech.

"Yes, of course." She agreed then worried about sounding too eager. "I mean thanks. I should like that very much."

"Excellent. I know you and Sonya will like each other. Shall we say Thursday, then? About eight?"

"Yes, that's fine." Who might Sonya be and what else had Robert said? She couldn't very well ask him to repeat himself.

"You're staying with Liz, I presume? Are you home for good? You've barely told me anything about yourself," he reproached with a sheepish smile, so typical of people who tended to monopolise conversations.

"I have no definite plans at the moment. Yes, I'm at home with Liz for now. I've been living and working in London, but I spent the last year in Saudi Arabia."

"Saudi? Good grief!" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Working?"

"Well, yes... but I was pretty miserable there. I'm just relieved to be home again," she added quickly, hoping that he wouldn't pursue the subject further.

He didn't, and they conversed on subjects of a far more general nature for a further ten or fifteen minutes until the throaty hum of his mobile phone, vibrating on the table, reminded him of his afternoon meeting and they took their leave of each other.

"Until Thursday, then." He handed her a small business card. "Addresses, phone numbers, everything you need is on here. Unless you find time to call in at the nursery before then."

"Oh, I certainly intend to do that," she assured him, before their final parting. And she meant it.

On the sidewalk outside the Crown Inn, Julie watched Robert's departing back until the purposeful lunchtime crowds swallowed him up. In her current state of lonely wretchedness, she felt his departure acutely. He represented an umbilical link with the 'triple S' of her childhood: safety, security and simplicity. He was a link with her mother and the uncomplicated bliss of childhood; with ponies and poetry, fun and flowers. And on top of those treasures, he had no connection whatever with the more recent past and the confined, suffocating world of medicine that had dominated her life for almost a decade.

After her brief bout of self-indulgent wallowing, Julie continued on her own purposeless way, treading time, trying to get a step ahead of the decisions that threatened to engulf her yet again.

* * * *

Conversation with Elizabeth on any other subject than medicine had always been a trial. Cardiology was her pet subject and with the clinical aspects of the heart, she was in her element, but the emotional vagaries of that organ were beyond her understanding. Liz had always taken an interest in Julie's career, ensuring she never deviated from the central road of medicine onto the rockier path of surgery.

When Julie met and soon afterwards married Simon Gardiner, during her final year of medical school, Liz made clear her concern that he might lure her into the surgical network. But if Simon had tried, he would have faced a spectacular failure. Without his tireless help during her six months' surgical rotation, she wouldn't even have been able to complete her first year. So fundamentally convinced was she that she'd chosen the wrong profession, she would have abandoned her career then, without his support. Since taking a break from both career and husband, those feelings returned more forcibly than ever.

Liz reproached Simon in his absence for his benightedness in marrying Julie too soon and in taking her off to Saudi Arabia so early in her medical career. Liz had never seen eye-to-eye with Simon, doubting his motives and resenting his intrusion from the outset. After all, she was in a far better position to help her sister in her career than some surgeon from the south of England.

"At least your year in Saudi Arabia must have allowed you plenty of time to study for the exam," Liz observed, referring to the all-important Membership examination for the Royal College of Physicians.

Julie steeled herself to reply. "Actually, Liz, I don't think I shall bother with it."

"Not _bother_? What on earth do you mean?"

"I'm thinking of throwing it in."

"Throwing _what_ in?" Liz demanded, as if they no longer shared the same language.

Julie sighed. "Medicine, Liz. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure I've made a terrible mistake. I just don't want to be a doctor."

"Nonsense! You _are_ a doctor. Unless you mean you're back on that silly flirtation with surgery. He's not persuaded you to take up surgery, I hope?"

Julie shook her head. This friendly rivalry between physicians and surgeons and their friendly name-calling had always amused her, though she had never taken sides in the opposing factions. To her mind, they all worked equally for the common good and neither specialty was superior. "No, of course not. I mean altogether. Give up medicine completely. I don't want to be a doctor, Liz."

Perhaps for the first time in her life, Julie's sister had no reply. She stared, as if seeing her younger sibling for the first time; as though she might be a weird alien being. After blinking hard for a moment, she recovered herself enough to articulate her thoughts. "Are you insane? Okay, so your marriage fails—these things happen—but, Julie, for goodness sake..."

"Can we discuss this another time?" Julie said to avoid, yet again, the detour down the path of failed marriages.

"Nonsense. We need to discuss it here and now. What would my poor father say?"

"He was _my_ father too." Julie knew that must sound sulky and childish. "And I think if he were alive now, I'd be able to make him understand." There has to be someone, somewhere who can understand that I just want _out_ , she ruminated in her wretchedness.

"Understand? But he's not here to understand anything, which is why we have a duty to respect his wishes. How could you consider abandoning medicine when that was his dearest wish for you?"

"Was it?" Julie's voice broke. "Are you quite sure it was _his_ wish, Liz? Only sometimes, I wonder why any father would want to put his daughter through such torment. Yes, you heard. I hate medicine. Always have. I hate dealing with human misery, with sickness, pain and fear. And I know I'll _never_ be a good physician."

Liz surveyed her sister at length before replying. "I do believe this business with Simon has upset you far more than you led me to understand. You're right, we should postpone this discussion for a week or two. You'll feel different after you've had a good rest."

*

Several weeks passed quietly for Julie as Liz made no attempt to resume the discussion. New text books appeared on her desk at regular intervals, which she idly perused, but her mind absorbed little information. She felt woolly headed and detached from the world of medicine now it no longer had a place in her daily routine. However, it surrounded her and engulfed her. She admitted, though only to herself, that before ever she could put it behind her, she must first confront it.

At last, Liz brought up the subject again. "I presume you've entered for the May exam. I'll quiz you tonight, if you like?"

Julie had _not_ entered her name for the May examination, nor did she feel equal to a night of 'quizzing' from her sister. "Liz, I'm sorry! I haven't been studying. I just can't manage to organise my thoughts properly at the moment. But I promise I'll enter for the November exam. And I'll study." Even as she said the words, she regretted them. She'd merely said what she knew Liz wanted to hear in order to buy a little peace for herself for a few extra weeks.

Mollified, Liz smiled. "Of course you can do it if you put your mind to it. Now I think we ought to start thinking about a job for you. Dr Richardson's rotation is coming up soon. It's obvious he'd prefer someone with at least a passing interesting in endocrinology, but I think I might manage to..."

"No job. Please. I don't want to work just yet. Don't worry about me. Just leave me alone and I'll sort things out for myself. I don't want to be organised any more. Let me do things my way."

But left to her own devices, she failed to sort out anything. She devoted an hour or two of each day to her studies but remained in a constant state of agitation, a fever to be away from her books and out of the house, driving or rambling through the countryside on long solitary treks or wandering the town gazing absently into shop windows. It was on one of these excursions that she'd encountered Robert Ashley.

*

The Thursday of her dinner engagement with Robert and the mysterious Sonya found Julie driving along Longshore Road.

R Ashley

Nursery & Landscape Gardening

Marquee Hire and Container Planting

The sign in buttercup-yellow letters on a green background caught Julie's attention, and she stepped on her brakes to swing her car in between the tall gates and into the broad, semi-circular drive, which afforded ample space for cars. At the centre of the arc squatted a wide, low, glass-fronted building with an abundance of greenery in the windows. To the right of this was a low, rambling structure, boasting on a blue and white sign 'Inside-Outside Marquees' with a second door displaying the word 'Cornucopia' in multi-coloured letters. To the left of the main building was a newer construction, smaller still and in the final stages of completion, but this had no sign to explain its function. A vast array of terracotta in all shapes and sizes lined the driveway, giving off a warm glow in the pale sunlight and lending a faintly continental air to the place. In front of the smaller building, straggled a motley assortment of statues, ponds, trellises, fountains and a huge quantity of garden ornaments continued for some distance behind it.

As Julie drew closer to the main building, gazebos, pagodas and other such incongruous dwellings appeared in the vast stretches of land to the rear. She peered through the jungle of greenery in the central building but could detect no sign of life. After entering the cool and dim interior, she allowed her eyes to adjust in the bosky gloom.

A man emerged from an open doorway, wiping his hands on a square of cloth. Dressed in tight fitting jeans with his shirt open at the neck and sleeves rolled up, all very workmanlike, he surveyed her, tilting his head to one side. He looked stunning. In spite of her natural reserve, she stared at him openly, unable to draw her eyes away from the sight in case it faded back into the greenish ether. His eyes, keen and clear and cool, met and returned her gaze. And still her eyes refused to drag themselves away.

"Can I help you?" he asked at last, a flicker of a smile playing about his lips.

It was then she remembered to close her mouth and breathe again. She gave herself a mental shake, a kind of pulling herself together exercise, and a strange, though not at all unpleasant tingle rippled across her skin. The exercise worked. She even managed a fairly normal smile. "I'm looking for Robert. Robert Ashley. Could you tell me where I might find him?"

A frown creased his forehead, and she resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it away with gentle fingers, restoring the face to its former perfection. "He's not here, I'm afraid. He's over at Nettlesby this afternoon. Have you tried his mobile? We usually close early on Thursdays," he explained.

It was Julie's turn to frown. She rummaged in her pocket and drew out Robert's information-packed card to scrutinise it. There it was, in small print _Early closing: Thursday_. She tapped her fingertips against her forehead. "Stupid of me. I'm sorry."

"It's not a problem, but since I'm here, perhaps I can help?"

Julie shook her head. "Oh no. But thanks. Robert suggested I might call in when I was passing and have a look around. I should have checked his card. Silly of me. I'll come back another day."

His attractive face broke into a smile and Julie couldn't help smiling too. It was involuntary, like the thrill she'd experienced as a child when the Christmas lights were switched on for the first time. His smile was every bit as delightful as those twinkling, coloured lights to a child's eyes. "But I'm here so why not let _me_ show you around?"

And of course she protested and a polite verbal fencing match began, each objection parried with speed and skill, until she gave in with gratitude and good grace and allowed herself to be conducted through cavernous greenhouses and long rows of hothouses sheltering exotic architectural plants, through shrubberies, orchards and tiny model gardens, while her good-looking guide answered her questions and drew her attention to anything worthy of more than a passing glance, such as the external root system of some exotic palm.

His exquisite hands mesmerised her as he pointed things out. She'd always thought Simon had attractive hands—typical surgeon's hands, she used to call them— but she loved the way the gardener lovingly caressed the plants with his long, sensuous fingers as he spoke. This gave her a tiny tingle of pleasure and she half-expected to see golden fingerprints or new life blossom wherever he touched. 'Green fingered' didn't nearly do justice as a description.

"You seem to derive great satisfaction from all this," she remarked as they made their way back to the main building via 'Cornucopia' which turned out to be an area devoted to hanging baskets and decorative container planting.

"Yes, I do. I find it quite therapeutic working with plants. I just wish I could spend more time here."

"Oh? Then you don't work here full-time?" She'd already determined from his mannerisms and speech that he was unlike any gardener she had ever come across. He must be one of those part-timers Robert mentioned. What else did he do with his time? He was too old to be a student, surely?

He laughed at her question. "Oh no. I wish I did. I'm just a casual helper."

A casual helper, working the half-holiday for a little extra overtime, perhaps? He might lose even this tenuous position if Robert returned and found him wasting time with her instead of working. She wanted to help and a sudden thought struck her. "My sister always complains about the state of our garden. Perhaps you could use a little extra work... In your free time?"

He frowned, looking more baffled than annoyed. "Gardening?" He sounded hesitant.

"Or landscaping," she added quickly. "I mean whatever you think necessary. I'm sure there's a huge scope for improvement. We have someone come in a couple of times a month but it's all he can do just to keep it tidy. And you could fit in the hours to suit yourself so you don't lose time here." The words tumbled out, and she realised she must sound far too eager. She'd thrown herself at him in the most blatant and uncharacteristic way. _Damn it Julie, get a grip!_

He replaced the frown with a grin of such evident amusement that it threatened to turn to laughter. "Well, I'm not sure I could take on such a big project myself, but I'd be happy to take a look and offer suggestions. A low-maintenance garden." He considered it for a moment. "That could be good practise for me."

_Not take it on himself_? _But it was a gift!_ What did he _do_ when he wasn't working for Robert? "Oh yes, and then you could give us your quote." How lame, but she wanted to make it clear she meant paid work, not a favour. He must think her very pushy. Her cheeks burned at what must seem like her eagerness to provide him with work. "Not that I can foresee any problems in that respect, of course." _Oh help_. _Dig, dig, dig. What a deep hole I'm digging for myself._ She drew one of Elizabeth's cards from her shoulder bag and handed it to him.

"'Dr Elizabeth Somerville'," he read aloud.

"Oh no, that's my sister," she explained. "I'm Juliet, though everyone calls me Julie."

His smile broadened. "And I'm Nicholas... Masserman." He offered her one of his exquisite hands to shake. She took it, savouring the thrill of touching those beautiful, long, sensitive fingers with her own. Perhaps he was a writer or an artist who tended gardens just for pleasure, or to supplement his income? She held onto his hand and he gazed at it with that same quizzical amusement that threatened to erupt into laughter. She released it quickly.

"Would Saturday afternoon suit you, Miss Somerville?"

"What?"

"To look over the garden?"

"Oh yes, for sure. That would be perfect. And it's Julie, remember?" He placed the card in the back pocket of his jeans and she experienced a twinge of guilt at her deliberate deception. Perhaps she should have said Julie Gardiner, not Somerville—Dr Somerville, maybe, but Mrs Gardiner, in the eyes of the law. She'd removed her wedding ring several weeks ago.

Like many married professionals, she'd retained her maiden name after marrying Simon. Since they both used to work in the same hospital, it avoided confusion. But that was in the medical world. To tradesmen, she was Mrs Gardiner.

"Julie," he repeated, as if trying it out for size. "And would you like to leave a message for Rob? I'll be seeing him around six."

"Oh no. I'll be seeing him tonight myself. I'm invited to dinner to meet his, um..." She faltered at the realisation that she'd forgotten the name of Robert's mysterious friend.

"Sonya," he volunteered.

"Oh yes, Sonya. Perhaps I should take some flowers." She glanced around at the cut flowers crammed into so many pots and vases.

"For Rob or Sonya?" His voice sounded teasing, amused.

She looked back, unsure how to reply. Was Sonya her hostess or not?

"I shouldn't bother," he assured her. "She always has a house full."

Julie frowned. That suggested that Sonya lived with Robert, but if she didn't, then bringing flowers might seem a bit presumptuous on her part. As well as stupid. The man owned the nursery; why would she bring flowers from his business to his house? And why hadn't she paid closer attention to what Robert said the other day?

"Perhaps flowers aren't the right thing, a bit... inappropriate?" she murmured, frowning.

"Not inappropriate," he corrected, "just unnecessary. And since I'm staying at Rob's house myself, I'll be seeing you again tonight too."

"You are?" She blinked, unable to think of any suitable reply because of the multitude of feelings rampaging her senses. Things were certainly looking up, but she felt suddenly exhausted, as if she was taking part in a play for which she'd received the wrong script. She turned towards the display of house plants. Good breeding has well-established roots. She ought to buy _something._ At random, she selected an architectural indoor palm.

"My sister adores these," she lied, doubting Elizabeth had any affection at all for house plants. He took the plant from her and proceeded, unskilfully, to wrap paper around its terracotta pot. "How long have you been lodging with Robert?"

He wrestled, all fingers and thumbs, with the sticky-tape dispenser. "A few years. Since Linda died. I trust you heard about that?"

"Yes, he told me." She handed him a twenty-pound note. Did she dare tell him to keep the change? No, better not. He might be offended. He had to turn a key and tap a code into the cash register, evidently getting it wrong, as the machine beeped in complaint and stubbornly refused to open. Julie had to turn away to hide her amusement. She remembered Robert's words about time and good friends helping him over his bereavement and was irrationally pleased to think that this Nicholas with the sensitive hands was one of those 'good friends'.

"Thank you again for the tour," she said.

He reached around her to open the door for her just as her hand touched the handle. For the briefest moment his hand covered hers and he smiled at her. He insisted on carrying the plant to the car and she unlocked the back door.

"My pleasure." He wedged the palm on the floor at the rear and tested it to ensure it was secure. "I look forward to seeing you again later."

She nodded _,_ thinking, and that, I can assure you, is entirely mutual.

After leaving the garden centre she continued along Longshore Road for a mile or so before turning right towards the town, where she bought chocolates and wine for the evening. She hoped that Sonya would not be one of those permanent dieters. And then, on a sudden impulse, Julie stepped inside one the town's leading edge boutiques.

# Chapter Two

Sonya was a tall and rather formidable-looking woman of indeterminate age, though Julie guessed her to be around thirty. An untameable mass of brown curls teased a face too asymmetrical to be described as beautiful, but still appealing because of her large eyes, softened by kindness and her ever-smiling mouth. Julie found her strident voice a little disturbing and her enthusiasm about meeting her guest and striking up a friendship with her seemed excessive.

"I've heard so much about you and your family, so it's nice to meet someone who knew my Robert as a child. Was he an obnoxious brat?" Sonya winked at Julie, surprising her.

"No, not at all." Julie fought to overcome her natural reserve. "He was one of the best."

"Told you." Robert linked arms with the pair of them and led them towards two voluptuous blue sofas flanked by matching armchairs. "My past is an open book, but needless to say, she doesn't believe that and will try to wheedle all sorts of new information out of you if you're not careful." He was grinning like a ventriloquist's dummy.

"Well, I doubt I know any of his secrets." After all, why should I, Julie thought. "I was too much in awe of him as a child." She smiled but Sonya's easy familiarity somehow put her at a disadvantage.

In contrast to Julie's shyness and slightness of stature, Sonya appeared Junoesque, but despite her loud voice and welcoming nature, there was a self-assuredness and inner calm about her that Julie found appealing. She appeared to be a perfect match for Robert. How did she compare with the dead Linda though?

Nicholas had been right about plants being superfluous. One wall, leading to a spacious conservatory, appeared to consist of nothing but foliage. Julie also heard the rhythmic trickle and splash of water on shingle emanating from the wall. There must be some kind of indoor water feature hidden among the greenery.

Introductions made, she began to relax, more at ease with the unaffected couple, when Nicholas made his appearance. Dressed all in black, he looked even more striking than earlier. The thoughts and feelings that coursed through her body shocked Julie, never having experienced such a thrill of sexual attraction to anyone before. This is pure animal lust, the same kind Lady Chatterley felt for her gardener. That thought made her shriek inwardly. _Interior hysteria._

"Ah yes," Sonya cooed. "We hear you've already met our Nicko."

Nicholas extended his hand to her for the second time that day. She noticed his well-manicured and scrubbed nails. Definitely an artist's hands, she thought.

"Yes, Mr Masserman kindly showed me around the garden centre this afternoon..." She halted, fearing she might have said the wrong thing and jeopardised his job, but Nicholas smiled.

"It's Nicholas," he corrected. "Nick, if you prefer."

But not _Nicko_ , thank goodness.

He helped himself to a drink before folding his lean frame with curious grace into a rather low armchair placed at an angle to her chair. Robert fired questions about his garden centre and whether Nicholas had omitted anything from his tour. She gave him unequivocal reassurance on both scores and Robert appeared satisfied at last while Nicholas laughed at the compliment.

"And I hear you're a doctor like your sister and father. Genius must run in your family." Sonya once again took the lead. Nicholas raised his eyebrows—his turn to be impressed—as Sonya continued. "What an exciting life you must lead."

"Far from it, I assure you," Julie said with a self-deprecating laugh, devoid of humour.

"And I don't believe you. I mean, you've just returned from Saudi Arabia. How can that compare with our humdrum little lives?" Sonya persisted.

A sinking sensation dragged at her insides. She didn't want to think about the past year, in fact, it was the last subject she wanted to discuss with anyone right now. From whichever angle she viewed it, it reminded her of her failure.

Saudi had been Simon's idea. With his own future success guaranteed, a break in Saudi suited him and Julie had viewed it as an escape route and jumped at the move. Too quickly. She believed it would be a place with space to breathe, to recoup, to discover herself and re-evaluate her future. But it had been nothing like that. As much as Simon enjoyed his life there, she hated it. Yet another mistake.

She shifted her unhappy gaze to her hands, which still held her glass of vodka and tonic. A cube of ice cracked and splintered into smaller lumps, which proceeded to chase each other around the glass. How odd. It wasn't until the liquid sloshed that she realised her hand shook. With excellent timing, Nicholas pulled a small table between their seats and set his own glass down, as if to demonstrate how it should be done, at the same time enquiring in a cool, polite voice, which part of Saudi, as if it was of no real consequence.

She looked straight into his eyes. "It was near Riyadh, and to tell the truth, I was pretty unhappy there. I'm just glad to be back in England."

"Sonya comes from Australia, originally," he said in reply before Sonya could speak again. "And like all Aussies who travel, she's done the seven continents and seen all the wonders of the modern world." His accent became more mock-antipodean with every word. Sonya was the first to convulse. "But you ask her and she'll tell you what she's always telling us. There's nowhere like dear old England anywhere else in the world, possums." He spoke the last words in a perfect Dame Edna mimic and somehow, in the general merriment that followed, the subject of Saudi Arabia was side-lined and forgotten.

From that time on, it was an evening of almost undiluted hilarity and enjoyment. Julie at last stopped resisting the magnetic pull of Nicholas' proximity when she realised with thrilling clarity at some point in the evening that the attraction was mutual. Every time she moved her head, they made eye contact and with each fresh little smile they exchanged, another layer of resistance peeled away.

But the conversation over dinner left her feeling uncomfortable and guilty, threatening to spoil her pleasant evening. The topic of marriage arose—Sonya and Robert's wedding in the autumn. And as sometimes happens, given the idiosyncrasies of human nature, the subject of marriage soon turned to its opposite state: divorce, which drew from Nicholas such a powerful polemic as to leave Julie breathless with surprise. Not so, Sonya, who was evidently familiar with Nicholas' opinions.

"We all know your views on _that_ subject, Nicko," she said amid peals of laughter and then turned to Julie and said in an exaggerated stage whisper, "For such an enlightened, twenty-first century bloke, he's more old-fashioned than my _grandfather_." Then addressing the table in general, "But you need have no fears on my account, Nicko. When Roberto takes me for his wife, he'll be stuck with me for the rest of his life."

Julie looked down at her plate, experiencing a sudden stab of irrational dislike for Sonya. How could the woman be so _gauche_? And where did this irritating, half-affectionate, pseudo-Italian habit of rounding off everyone's name with an 'o' fit in to things? Before the evening was out, she might have to respond to the name _Julio!_ And why was Sonya so self-deprecating, as if she couldn't believe her luck in finding a man to marry her? But as these thoughts coursed through her brain, Julie felt ashamed. The reason for her irritation stemmed from her own feelings and a vague, uneasy sensation of guilt.

She looked up and caught Nicholas' eye, not too difficult to do by this stage, "Since one in three marriages end in divorce, statistically that means if we all get married, then one of us around this table will end up divorced."

"Not if you marry Nicky," Sonya pointed out with a whoop of delight that almost crucified Julie with embarrassment. Robert and Sonya had to support each other through their hilarity. When she could raise her eyes again, Julie saw Nicholas trying to hide his own amusement as he watched her struggle to justify her views. _Dig, dig, dig_. _Will I ever get out of this hole_?

"You seem to have very strong views on divorce," she accused.

"I certainly do. The rising divorce statistics you referred to reflect all that's bad about our disposable society, if you ask me. It's the root of all the social and economic problems of our day..." A mock groan from Sonya interrupted his words.

"Not the rubber gloves brigade," she teased.

"And the lowering of standards caused by cheap fashions which allow people to slip in and out of marriage like disposable knickers," Robert put in.

Shocked and mystified by the banter, Julie looked on in silence. Nicholas sat back watching the little charade unfold as though he'd heard it all before.

"People shouldn't be allowed just to slip in and out of marriage," Sonya said.

"As they do a set of clothes," added Robert.

"Like rubber gloves."

"Or disposable knickers."

"Such people ought never to be allowed to marry in the first place," they chorused in unison.

Nicholas clapped, halting the performance. To Julie's relief, he didn't appear annoyed by this friendly mockery of his beliefs. If someone had attacked Simon's views in such a way... Here the speculation broke off, because she could not imagine how Simon might have responded. She turned to Nicholas. "But you must allow for human error? Sometimes people simply make mistakes." Like Simon and me, she thought.

Nicholas shook his head. "On serious issues, one should never make mistakes _simply_. But most people are too shallow and impatient to give sufficient consideration to the real meaning of the marriage contract and as soon as they encounter difficulties, off they run to consult their solicitors, which accounts for the appalling divorce statistics in this country; the breakdown of family life and decline in moral values."

"Nicko hates solicitors." Sonya gave her a wink. "And not just because they are all so filthy rich."

"Nick's friends have to consult the Masserman Marriage Manifesto before contemplating wedlock," Robert added. "I don't recommend it. By the time you're through reading it, you're too old for marriage anyway. He keeps adding clauses, you see, so it's impossible to finish it."

"Ah, then it's marriage itself that you're against?" Julie asked. She should just change the subject.

"Not at all," he assured her with an emphatic shake of his head. "And take no notice of this pair. They don't qualify as sane in normal society."

"Oh, Nicky..." Sonya's tone had softened and deepened with sincerity and an affection that sounded almost maternal. "When you meet the right person and you finally fall in love, it won't be be nearly so cut and dried as you think now."

Nicholas gave a magnanimous grin. "You think so now, but you wait and see. I have no fears on that score because I know my own mind."

"But can you, in all truth, claim to know someone else's mind?" Julie asked in a quiet voice.

He was all confidence. "Oh yes. I know I can trust my judgment well enough not to make such a mistake." He raised his glass to his lips.

After a brief silence, Sonya turned to Julie. "Why haven't _you_ married? You must have been inundated with offers from gorgeous, eligible doctors?"

Julie coughed on her sip of wine and replaced her glass. Now! Now is the time to disabuse them all of their common misconception and set them right once and for all, perhaps proving something to Nicholas into the bargain. People _do_ make mistakes; it's as simple as that.

But before she could gather in her thoughts sufficiently to reply, Robert announced with exaggerated solemnity, "I can explain that. You see, when I was fifteen I promised to marry Julie. We were, as they say, mutually attracted and, Julie had just lost her front tooth at the time and was going through a very bad patch." Robert shook his head in sorrow at the sad memory. "Unfortunately, because she was only six-years old, her parents refused their consent. But I vowed to wait for her, for as long as it took the tooth to re-grow and for her to regain her looks and confidence." This explanation, kindled by the wine, produced a fresh bout of laughter and drew a line under the previous topic of conversation, sparing Julie from baring her soul to people who were after all, near-strangers.

When Sonya had recovered enough, she began collecting the plates and Julie hastened to help. She would have a quiet word with Sonya in the kitchen; explain about Simon and her failed marriage and make her understand her difficulty in discussing it. But girlie-talk about failed relationships was the last thing she wanted right now, so she admired the spacious designer kitchen instead.

"Don't let them tease you." Sonya methodically re-stacked the dishes Julie had just finished piling haphazardly into the dishwasher. "You have plenty of time ahead of you. Look at plain old me, thirty-one and convinced I was on the shelf, and then along comes Rob."

Julie spun on her heel, her mouth open to correct the misunderstanding once and for all, but Sonya continued her tirade.

"After all, you can't be more than... let's see... twenty four? Five?"

"Twenty-seven this month," Julie snapped like a child confessing her age to an absent-minded uncle or aunt.

"This month? Really? What date?" Sonya asked, as if the date were of real importance.

Julie shook her head in an attempt to dispel the otherworldly feeling that engulfed her and drag herself back into the real world again. She needed to explain about Simon. But the gesture failed. Every sentence uttered seemed to send them spinning off at another bizarre tangent.

"The twentieth," she explained.

"So that makes you Taurus, the same as Rob. But only just. You must be on the cusp with Gemini."

"On the what?"

"Oh, don't mind me," Sonya said with a laugh. "It's just one of my little hobbies, astrology, you know?"

"You don't mean you believe in all that?" The thought of anyone being so gullible in this day and age amazed Julie.

"Oh yes. I'll show you, if you like by working out your natal chart for you. You won't be disappointed, I promise."

"I'm sure I won't," Julie said, far from convinced. Did she want to have a work out of her 'natal chart'? It had a disturbing clinical sound to it, but was in no way the kind of thing that would ever interest her. But Sonya's openness and complete lack of artifice intrigued her. _I bet she's never had a dark secret in her life. And she expects everyone else to be exactly the same. She's so different to me; to Liz; to just about everyone I've ever known. Except Robert, of course._

By the time Julie left, she had secured a lunch date with Sonya in town the following day and received Nicholas' assurance of his intention to view the garden on Saturday. She'd still not succeeded in correcting their wrong assumption but, with every passing moment, the past seemed to lessen in significance. She drove home still bemused, with thoughts of divorces and natal-charts scrambling her brain.

* * * *

Sonya owned a small shop a little way from the town centre called The Mulberry Bush, which sold a large assortment of wood carvings and small furniture items, most of them imported from south-east Asia. She also sold an array of flamboyant printed silk and cotton clothing, ethnic jewellery, crafted in silver and semi-precious stones and aromatic oils for diverse uses.

Sonya had once imported these items herself and distributed them wholesale all over the country as a one-woman enterprise, having made her contacts with the retail world at craft fairs and exhibitions. So great had been the demand for her wares that Sonya had to change warehouses three times in two years. At length, in exhaustion, she yielded to commercial pressure to sell out to a large chain of arts and crafts importers. She then spent six months scouring different towns in England, looking for the ideal spot to open a shop of her own before settling down to business as a retailer. She was a natural businesswoman however and foresaw the potential for a trading outlet at Robert's garden centre on her first visit there.

Her romance with Robert grew in conjunction with their business negotiations and together they were refurbishing one of the small out-buildings for a new branch of the business. They planned to open this, in partnership, after their autumn wedding and honeymoon in Indonesia, which would also combine a buying trip for new stock. Sonya explained all this as Julie wandered around the shop admiring its treasures.

"You give the impression that everything in your life just slots into its natural place," Julie observed.

"I suppose I do believe in a beautiful scheme," Sonya agreed. "No such thing as coincidence; what is meant to be, will be. But that doesn't make me any the less fascinated by all the mysteries of the universe."

"You seem to have caught a few of those mysteries in this shop." Julie picked up one of a collection of intricate pieces which appeared to imitate reptiles carved from strange pieces of wood resembling tan-coloured fungi.

"Those are my favourites. They're parasites of fruit trees which need removing if the host tree is to survive. In these eco-friendly days, this type of carving enjoys great popularity with the conservationists. Parasite carvers are considered the true artisans of the wood carving hierarchy," Sonya explained. "The skill required to visualise the creature 'inherent' in the parasite and carve it all in one piece is a rare gift."

Over lunch, Julie plied Sonya with questions about her life and work and her diverse new-age interests, but took care not to mention Nicholas' name. She would not use Sonya to pry into his life, deciding instead to adopt her attitude and leave things to 'the beautiful scheme'. If such a thing existed that is.

Sonya's mobile phone summoned her back to the shop for an appointment with one of her suppliers just as she was waxing lyrical in her defence of reflexology, one of the alternative forms of therapy in which she'd developed a strong interest.

"Come to lunch on Sunday so I can show you," she urged, making preparations to leave and cutting off Julie's protest that it was her turn to offer hospitality. "Oh, we don't stand on ceremony about such things and anyway, we have our non-working Sundays down to a 'T' these days. A very lazy 'T', I should add. Rob and Nicky like to take command of the kitchen, so don't expect anything epicurean, but it leaves me—us—free to put our feet up, literally in this case, and relax." Sonya laughed at her pun.

"But what about Nicholas, won't he mind?" Julie allowed herself the pleasure of saying his name aloud for the first time.

"Nicky? Oh no, it was his idea. Not that I wouldn't have thought of it myself that is. He just suggested it first after you left last night. He said if he left it until to tomorrow to ask, it might be too short notice for you. I reckon our Nicky is quite taken with you, Julie."

"I think he's very nice, too." she murmured, thinking what an enormous understatement that was.

"Of course you do. He's one of the best." Sonya grew serious. "I don't know how poor Rob would have managed without his support after Linda died. Oh yes, our Nicky is one in a million."

One in a million, Julie mused, but one of what?

"That's settled then. Sunday, midday." Sonya gave Julie an affectionate arm squeeze before they went their separate ways.

* * * *

Liz raised no objections to the subject of the garden survey and even ventured to agree that landscaping could be quite the thing.

"Garden make-overs seem to be all the rage these days. And I can't deny it's a bit of a wilderness out there." Liz peered through the breakfast room windows, perhaps for the first time in years.

Julie planned her tactics with care, for once, and before broaching the subject of holding a small dinner party, begged Liz for the loan of her medical school library pass so she could begin her revision of the neurological system. That was music to Liz's ears. "Of course, of course, but if you give Allison a list, she'll get you whatever you need."

"I'm sure your poor secretary has more than enough to do. Anyway, I'd rather go myself and find my way around," Julie explained. "If you leave your card for me, I can go on Monday. I should have finished nephrology today."

"Are you revising alphabetically?" Liz asked to Julie's great amusement.

Her response to the dinner party was less enthusiastic.

"I expect Mrs B. will cope," she said in a tone that suggested Mrs B. was incompetent. In fact, Julie had already put forward her tentative suggestion to the housekeeper. Mrs Bottomley fell into raptures of delight that her culinary skills were to give one of their rare performances and began polishing the silver at once. "But I don't know that I should have much in common with these people, I'm afraid. Robert Ashley," she pondered over the name. "The name sounds vaguely familiar. I wonder if he's a patient?"

"Oh, Liz! You were at school with Robert for years. You were never out of each other's company when you were children," Julie rebuked.

"Really? Oh, _that_ Robert? Yes, you're right, we were. But I doubt if it's the same person after all these years."

"Of course it is. How else should we know each other?"

Liz nodded but still looked unconvinced. "Yes, I see. What's Robert been doing all this time?" Liz's attention had already wandered back to the screen of her laptop that depicted a complex array of numbers and minimal prose. She flicked to the next screen of information.

Julie told her.

"What a coincidence. Didn't you say that the man coming here this afternoon is a landscape gardener?"

Julie sighed. "Yes, Liz. He works for Robert."

"Just look at this," Liz exclaimed, alternating between two pages of scatter graph information, both of which she was scanning at a dizzying rate. "Drat that wretched Henderson. These results are ridiculous. Just look at these readings. These dots mean nothing at all. The idiot's falsified the results. How dare he?"

Julie listened to the tirade against Dr Henderson, fearing for his future in cardiology. She tried to decipher the charts over Liz's shoulder and allowed Liz to explain to her how the findings failed to agree with the statistical data shown on the charts. She'd never seen Liz so angry before.

However, she had calmed down considerably by the time Nicholas arrived and even answered the door herself. No doubt she saw little or no need to interrupt Julie's studies and took it upon herself to show him the garden. Sometime later, Julie raised her tired eyes from the diagram of the renal system she had been studying and trying to memorise, and let them focus on the garden where Elizabeth and Nicholas appeared to be deep in discussion.

Liz, in her high heels, was almost as tall as Nicholas, so their faces, from Julie's higher vantage point, appeared to be in intimate proximity as they discussed a detail about the right side of the garden. Julie felt a little twinge—not jealousy, surely? What if Liz felt it too, that powerful chemistry, animal lust or whatever it was, and after all, why shouldn't she? She was a woman, even if that _was_ secondary to being a doctor, and could still be seduced by an attractive man, or even seducing him. What a thought. Yet it was easier to imagine Elizabeth seducing a man than being seduced _by_ one. A cougar. Had she ever been seduced? Powerful women like Elizabeth sometimes went in for the more rustic type, 'a bit of rough,' she'd heard it described. Like a Desperate Housewife, or Lady Chatterley. She was certainly eyeing Nicholas with close attention as she pushed away a stray lock of hair that the spring breeze persisted in teasing out of place. Nicholas, his dark blond hair sometimes sparking gold in the sunlight, appeared deep in concentration as he sketched onto his tablet with a slender stylus, all very professional. She was pleased to see that Robert provided the latest technology for his staff. Maybe he had made the twenty-first century after all.

Sometimes Nicholas' beautiful blue eyes would narrow in concentration as he paced back and forth, each time returning to Liz to discuss some new detail or other. Why did Liz stand there watching him, like a fox over a chicken? Shame flooded her heart at the thought. He glanced upward to her window. Was that a smile? She backed out of his line of vision. She couldn't very well not show herself downstairs now, having been caught spying on him. That would be rude in the extreme. Mrs Bottomley would be making coffee. She ought to go down and help.

Her sister came in just as Julie added the finishing touches to the tray. She looked windswept and a little flustered. "What a charmer he is, and so helpful," she murmured. "Oh good, you've made the coffee; shall I invite him in, or take it out to him, do you think?"

Julie shrugged, affecting disinterest and trying to conceal her growing irritation with Liz for her automatic assumption of the role of hostess. Lady of the Manor. Lady Chatterley. Leaving Liz to decide, Julie took her own cup into the breakfast room, which afforded a clear view over the garden. Nicholas followed Liz across the neglected lawn and into the house. She heard their voices in the kitchen.

"That sounds wonderful. I can hardly wait," Liz crooned.

Hands off, Elizabeth!

"As I said, I can't take on the job myself, but I'll do my best to supervise it at all stages. Subject to Rob's approval, if you and your sister agree we can start in a couple of weeks—the sixteenth or seventeenth, depending on the weather."

"Excellent." Liz spoke for them both, Julie observed. "Do bring your drink through."

Julie jumped up, anxious not to be caught eavesdropping as well as spying, and headed for the sitting room but Nicholas entered at once, catching her like a thief in the act.

"Hello Julie."

"Nicholas!" She wanted to kick herself for sounding so surprised. What was wrong with her? She was making a complete fool of herself. She tried to summon her dignity. "I was just going into the sitting room where there's a nice fire. Please, come through." She pushed open the door and almost toppled the small table on which sat the exotic palm from the nursery. He's doing this to me, reducing me to ridiculous, clumsy adolescence, she thought.

Nicholas made a remark to Liz about her interest in the species of palm but Liz looked blank. She stared at the plant in puzzlement.

"Oh that? I can't imagine where that thing came from. I expect my housekeeper put it there."

Julie tossed an agonised glance at her sister while Nicholas' eyes sparkled with amusement. "Sit down both of you," she said. Liz still gazed in bafflement at the plant.

Julie sat, pursing her lips, determined to provide no more amusement for Nicholas at the expense of her own dignity. Better to let Liz monopolise her new gardener.

"I understand you're a hospital consultant." It was half-question, half-statement, perhaps made to break the silence.

"Yes. Cardiology is my subject, but I'm afraid it wouldn't interest you," Liz replied sounding, Julie thought with shame, horribly condescending. "It doesn't even interest Julie, and she's supposed to be entering the field herself."

Julie felt her cheeks flame but refused to rise to the bait. This was not the time to renew her old argument with Liz, whose expression looked particularly sour at this point.

"And do you think," Nicholas continued, "that the new clinic on Nettlesby Road will affect your workload at all?"

"I certainly hope so, since I've helped to found it. I should have twelve beds if and when it ever opens. The wretched place has been beset with problems from day one." Liz went on to outline some of the difficulties and frustrations encountered by the development.

"There's always been a lot of antipathy to privatised medicine in this town," Nicholas agreed.

"That's only because of propaganda and the general public's ignorance of the issues at stake."

"As I understand it, the main funding comes from tobacco money, which the government feels should be channelled into the Health Service; and that's what the public feel too."

"But we know, and the tobacco giants know, that if the government gets its hands on the money, it will just subsidise the Health Service budget and the people targeted to benefit will never do so." Liz rode her favourite hobby-horse.

"Meaning those who can afford private health care?" he asked dryly.

"But that's just the start. Everyone will benefit from the advanced facilities and the research, don't you see? And there'll be discretionary beds available. People go on about this country's so-called free health care, but do you know how rapidly it's being eroded?"

Before Nicholas could reply, Mrs Bottomley put her head around the door to summon Liz to the house phone. Julie hadn't heard it ring. She'd listened to the debate between Liz and Nicholas with mounting interest and admiration of Nicholas for his grasp of the subject and forthright argument. Anyone prepared to challenge Liz's dogmatic views deserved respect.

"I can't decide if you're studying law or corporate finance, but take it from me, you'll get nowhere trying to make Liz see any other point of view about her precious clinic," she told him.

"Who said I wanted to? I'd much rather discuss your career in cardiology," he countered with a teasing smile. "Are you afraid of setting yourself up in competition with your formidable sister or do affairs of the heart hold no interest for you?"

Julie grimaced. "I'll make a pact with you: I won't quiz you about _your_ career if you don't quiz me about _mine_."

He seemed to give the proposition serious consideration before agreeing, and then he glanced at his watch and rose to leave. "I have to go. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon." His tone held genuine regret. At the door, he paused for a moment, his face so close she felt his breath on her cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow. I'm glad you can make it." And he was gone.

Back in her room, she found it impossible to return to her studies, her curiosity about Nicholas more fired up than ever. Simple gardener or not, this man was having a very disturbing effect on her and she wondered how she could have been married to Simon for so long and been unaware of the disturbing depths of her sexual feelings. She rationalised that the feelings she had for Nicholas must stem from nothing more than sheer physical attraction. How else could they be explained? She knew nothing about him; they would doubtless have no common interests. She knew precious little about horticulture although she loved wild flowers.

Even if he were an artist or writer, there might be little common ground between them. Her knowledge of art was limited to the occasional London exhibition, a week in Florence and a long weekend in Paris, which had incorporated only the most fleeting tour of The Louvre. As for literature, her reading had been restricted to medical text books for years. There had never been time, since entering medical school, nay, even before then, for exploring artistic or literary preferences. She enjoyed music, the theatre and cinema whenever time permitted, but could never attend either without a sense of guilt, such a slave to her studies had she become ever since entering medical school.

She'd never been the kind of student to whom success in exams came with ease, unlike Elizabeth, who had distinguished herself in every exam she'd ever faced with what always appeared to be minimal effort. Julie had passed through medical school in part on the strength of Elizabeth's reputation, in part thanks to Simon's unstinting help and patience, but for the chief part through serious, hard slog. When her fellow-students indulged in the revelry for which students were notorious, Julie crammed feverishly for the next exam or piece of coursework. What others seemed to manage in a few hours always took Julie several weeks.

"I would have been happier stacking shelves at Tesco, I expect." She turned to her own bookshelves. On one of these she had stored some of her mother's favourite texts and her finger brushed along the old and dilapidated spines until it came to a slender volume, so worn that its title was no longer legible on its vellum spine.

She removed it with care. It was a collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets and even after all these years, it still fell open on what had without a doubt been her mother's favourite: _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_ A few pencilled annotations in her mother's neat hand littered the margin, too faint to read now, though Julie squinted and screwed up her eyes to try to do so. Underneath the poem, she saw a brief comment followed by a question mark in her mother's tiny, neat hand. She could just make out the single word 'immortality', but nothing else and she read through the sonnet trying to imagine herself into her mother's mind, seeking the same question she had sought all those years ago.

After reading it several times in silence, she found herself reading it aloud, though in a quiet voice, enjoying the sensuous softness of the iambic rhythm and words as they rolled off her tongue.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Or was it 'immortalising?' But immortalising what? Julie wondered. Poetry, perhaps? Was that what her mother had questioned? As long as people live and have eyes to read, then the written word lives on. Perhaps that's what Shakespeare was claiming? She squinted again at the faded lettering. Immortalising love? Of course it might be that too, keeping the beauty of his love alive by the written word, perhaps?

Julie felt a sudden burst of elation, a sudden sense of closeness to her mother's questioning mind. What she needed was to find an expert to show her the key. Could that perhaps be Nicholas, she wondered with mounting amusement. Could they have elevated conversations about Shakespeare? She laughed at herself, but all the same, took the book of sonnets to her bed where she lay on top of the soft duvet flicking over the pages, reading lines here and there as they caught her attention, and letting the lovely words speak to her heart until she gave into the urge to read and re-read lines slower and with greater concentration. She closed the book suddenly, eyed her laptop with some misgiving and then glanced at her watch. It was almost four o'clock. If she hurried, she might just catch the library before it closed.

# Chapter Three

Sunday dawned, bringing convincing—if false—promises of summer with its morning garments and Julie carried her coffee, books and newspapers out to the garden to commune with the flirting day; the garden that was soon, under the watchful ministrations of Nicholas, to be altered beyond recognition. Would he make dramatic, architectural statements with some of those huge, exotic palms or turn it into a cornucopia of flowers?

Julie thought she had changed since _discovering Shakespeare_ , as she now thought of her sudden journey from literary ignorance into enlightenment and she revelled in the mingled scents and colours of the spring growth, the busy thrum of insects already about their urgent life-work and the manic chatter of the frantic birds, making up for time lost by the late arrival of spring this year. A nervous butterfly fluttered around her head, test-driving its new wings, and for a moment, seemed about to settle on one of her dark curls on which the morning sun bestowed its kisses. Julie threw back her head to enjoy the sensuous warmth of the sun's flirtation.

"You look like the cat with the cream this morning." Elizabeth sounded tired as she entered the garden from the open French windows of the breakfast room, still in her dressing gown and with her hair springing about her narrow face in wild disarray.

"You should do something about your hair, you know. It's such a beautiful colour, especially when the sun catches it. With a good cut and perhaps a few more tones added, it could be stunning." Julie's words caused Liz to halt in her tracks for a moment in surprise to survey her sister with care, as if checking for further signs of dementia. After failing to find any clinical corroboration, she let her impatient fingers brush through her hair, leaving it standing out in every direction and almost, though not quite, smiled.

Julie knew that Elizabeth never gave much thought to her appearance, although she had that inherent good dress-sense, not to mention the money to afford clothes of such superior quality that she could not fail to look smart. Nevertheless, when it came to making herself attractive, she was at a complete loss and appeared touched and rather flattered by Julie's sisterly concern.

"Yes, I suppose I should do something with it, but I never seem to find the time for that kind of thing," she confessed.

"Then I'll search out the best salon and arrange an appointment for you," Julie offered.

"Better check with Allison first, I suppose." Liz peered at the assortment of books beside Julie's seat. She picked up one of them between her fingertips, like someone just cured of arachnophobia might pick up a small spider. " _The Sonnets Simplified._ " She sounded amazed. "What on earth can this have to do with the renal system?"

Julie smiled. "Offer a little light relief? I got it from a local book shop, it isn't too insightful, I'm afraid."

The library had been cleaned out of Shakespeare criticisms due, so the librarian informed her, to dwindling demand for what she called 'real books', thanks to the internet and the fact it was exam season. It was the only time of year the Shakespeare shelves were empty, thanks to those younger students or perhaps their parents who hadn't yet befriended search engines. The university had a vast library and the undergraduates and research fellows would never think of looking for literary criticisms in the town library, so stocks had never been extensive.

The librarian could not have been more helpful. It was near closing time and the library was all but empty. She was a great fan of Shakespeare herself, she confessed—loved Stratford, adored The Globe—seen many plays.

"With a name like Juliet..." She scanned the completed application form Julie had just completed. "I could hazard a guess at your parents' favourite play."

Julie smiled and asked her about the Sonnets.

"I once bought a volume for a man I loved. It seemed so appropriate at the time, but, well, he turned out to be married and somehow I didn't trust romantic poetry after that. However..." Her fingers danced over the computer keyboard and screen after screen of titles scrolled before their eyes. She scribbled down one or two of the more reputable publications, suggesting the local book shops.

Julie found a couple of the titles suggested by the librarian in the town's largest book shop and had spent the evening reading, comparing, considering and typing probing questions into Google hoping to find further elucidation. _The Sonnets Simplified_ disappointed her, leaving too many questions unanswered. She could have written a better analysis herself. Julie now watched her sister rummage through her books, looking, no doubt, for _Nephrology Simplified_ or some equivalent, but passing no comment until she found the little worn anthology.

"Goodness, where did this come from? It was mother's."

"I know. I have quite a few of her books in my room."

"You do? After all these years?" Liz began turning the pages with great care as she let her eyes scan from one sonnet to another. "I remember some of these—they were her favourites—she loved reading them aloud. I never cared for them myself, never understood them, never had the time... Oh! Look at this:

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

"I remember her reading this to us right here, under this tree. She was nursing you in her arms, yet looking at me, so I never knew who she was talking about, if indeed it was either of us." Liz's face took on a dreamy, abstracted expression.

A soft sigh escaped Julie's lips. "I wish I had your memories, Liz. I wish I could remember mother like you do."

Elizabeth, seeming not to hear, continued turning the flimsy pages of the fragile book, in much the same way as her sister had done the previous night, scanning lines picked out at random, and Julie eyed her almost in envy, thinking,

So long as men can breathe and eyes can see

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

How much better it would have been to have spent one's university years studying beautiful poetry and arguing finer meanings, instead of studying anatomy and learning how to dissect organs.

Julie watched her sister's quiet communion with her dead parent through Shakespeare's words and didn't interrupt. She'd expected a morning of quizzing and renewed discussions about her future in medicine, but somehow the whole world seemed to have changed this morning, turning somersaults and surprising them all. And now, here they were, before ten in the morning and from somewhere Julie could smell the pungent aroma of burning grass as she leant against the crumbly old trunk of the apple tree and let the wispy, fragmented memories of her childhood filter back through time with the smoke from the neighbouring bonfire. And through the smoke a flickering memory uncurled and played before her like an ancient film, fogged and almost drained of all colour and without sound, yet the words, "Push me, mummy... make me ride higher," rang in her ears and she knew the voice was her own and that somewhere this memory had been immortalised on celluloid, a little spot of time encapsulated forever. _So long lives this, and this gives life to thee_.

"Do you recall what happened to all those old home movies we had?" Julie broke into her sister's nostalgic reverie.

"No, what?" Liz asked as if on cue, like a childhood rehearsal of a comic act.

"Liz! I mean all the old films and the projector we used to have."

"In the loft somewhere, I'm sure. Mrs B. will be able..." But Julie had already crossed the lawn, heading for the house before Liz completed her sentence.

Walking into the incongruously clean and tidy loft was like stepping into a museum for Julie as she confronted the real memorabilia of the Somerville family, not the dredged up memories of someone else's distant reminiscences. She picked her way with care along an avenue of aging musical instruments, discarded sportswear from lost or won hockey, tennis, lacrosse and riding events, through an arcade of stacked and framed paintings, all wrapped in individual dust covers, crates of old, discarded toys and a virtual treasure trove of boxes full of relics from Elizabeth and Julie's school days.

It was like entering an ancient dream in those far reaches of the attic room when she raised the lid of a box and picked up exercise book after exercise book labelled in a painstakingly neat infantile hand _Juliet Somerville._ She pulled out a rolled-up picture from a dark corner and, as she opened it, a downpour of dried paint showered her lap. At the top left corner, in neat script—certainly not Julie's—was the title 'My Family' and underneath four shapes, one stage higher on the evolutionary ladder than stick-men, each labelled 'Daddy', 'Mummy', 'Elizabeth', 'Juliet'. She noted that Daddy, Mummy, Elizabeth and Juliet all appeared to be holding hands. Julie let the picture roll back into its accustomed shape, releasing another shower of paint dust onto her lap. She pulled out an exercise book and opened it at random. _My daddy is a doctor. He is very tall. He sometimes digs the garden on Sunday._ The words meant nothing to Julie, and she glanced at the cover of the book. _Miss E. Somerville_ had been crossed out and _Eliza Somerville Esq._ written beside it with a date some twenty-five years ago. She smiled, wondering how it had found its way into the wrong box in such a meticulous system.

_Juliet is a conscientious worker but tends to be somewhat diffident,_ she read from one of her old school reports. She remembered those old reports and hated them. At the time she thought _diffident_ meant the same as _different_ and had been both frightened and excited until Liz made her look up the word in the dictionary. She put the report back in the box and replaced the lid, aware that her sister had followed her into the loft and was also rummaging through boxes.

"Here they are," Liz exclaimed from the other side of the long attic room. She was lifting and shaking an enormous old hat box. "And what do you know, here's the projector, too."

Julie turned and hurried after her sister, down to their father's old study where the family had always gathered to watch the old home movies. She pulled down the white screen while Liz darkened the room and waited, fingers poised on the light switch, for Liz's order, "Lights!" and off they went, and before their eyes the years rolled away in an instant.

"There you are..."

"Just look at _you.._."

"Oh, how sweet..."

"Look! Oh look! There's mother."

"Is it really her?"

"And father, dear old daddy, see how proud he looks?"

"Is that me in that swing?"

"Of course; who else? You were so frightened at first, but then you couldn't get enough of it. You wore us all out. 'Higher, higher,' you'd shout. 'Make me ride higher. Over the houses. Higher, higher...' What a shame there's no sound on this batch. Father and I always said we were going to—"

The picture flickered, the film finished and flap, flap, flapped as the spool spun faster. Liz caught it and brought it to a halt.

"What, Liz? What did you and father plan to do?" Julie asked.

Elizabeth gazed at the blank white screen with an expression of immense sadness. "We said we would put sound to it one day. We planned to record an amusing sound strip to run simultaneously... I remember rehearsing the things we'd say. We laughed so much. But we never got round to it, I'm afraid. So long ago. Later, I planned to transfer it all to video—now of course it would be digital—how quickly technology moves on. But there never seemed to be time, then or now. Poor father was always so busy."

Julie sighed again. She wished she had these memories of her own instead of this vicarious reliance, on the unsatisfactory and often unimaginative memory of her sister.

"Oh how sweet, here's one when you first started walking..." Liz started the projector again and talked Julie through the events of her early life which had no reality, except in her older sister's mind and the cracked and jumpy celluloid images dancing on the screen before her. A child, quite a pretty little infant, tottering towards the old apple tree, where, hidden in the blossom-curtained shadows, strong and loving arms stretched out and raised the delighted little girl aloft until she could almost touch the branches, then reel after reel of the two little girls in their various stages of early development, all marked by small celebrations under the protective boughs of the apple tree. The later reels showed Liz, expert horsewoman, point-to-point champion, while a nervous Julie, in the background, held on to a small, docile pony.

"Nettlesby point-to-point. Oh, I remember that." Elizabeth exclaimed. "There's Robert and Bully. Do you remember how we quarrelled over that name? Such a beautiful chestnut and he gave it that horrible name. We didn't speak for almost two weeks over that."

Julie eyed her sister in astonishment. Only yesterday, she'd been hard-pressed to remember who Robert was and now today she remembered not just Robert, but her childhood quarrel about his horse's name. What a difference a day makes, indeed.

"And look, there's Eva Anderson and her brother Gareth—obnoxious brats. I remember, we were at this birthday party once and that little toad... Oh drat!" The screen looked as if a gigantic spider was eating it from the centre outwards. "Damn thing was always doing that. We must stop it before it chews up the film." Liz snapped off the power supply as Julie switched on the lights. "Caught it," Liz said in triumph and, prising open the side panel, she began to coax the strip of film back along its tiny teeth-like sprockets. "I'll splice that later. Now, if I remember correctly, I need to hold my finger on this little... Yes. Lights out, please." The years once again rolled away and the child, Julie, clapped her hands in joy at the rosette being placed on her sister's mare and there was a party in the garden, under the apple tree, to celebrate the event, and just behind the apple tree, but not quite out of sight of the camera, Robert and Liz settled their differences with a clumsy kiss and then the picture fogged and faded again.

"Oh curse it," Liz cried in exasperation. "It's the wretched lamp now. No wonder home movie making had to move on so quickly. People were dropping dead of exhaustion from this archaic system."

"Excuse me," Mrs Bottomley called from the doorway as Liz busied herself once again with the projector. "But I wondered if Juliet had changed her mind and is staying for lunch after all?"

"What?" Julie glanced at her wristwatch in alarm. "Oh, good grief... I'd forgotten all about that. Thank you so much. No, I don't need lunch, thanks. What I need is a time machine." And with a quick apology to Liz, she fled the room.

Forty minutes later, she drew the car to a halt outside Robert's expansive bungalow. He answered the door looking, Julie thought, a little drunk.

"Ah, here she is." Robert hugged Julie with rather more warmth an affection than was perhaps warranted. "One more drink and then we were about to launch a search party."

"One more drink and he's about to pass out, more like." Sonya gave an airy wave of greeting from a blue sofa on which she reclined in luxurious abandon.

"I'm so sorry..." Julie began but Sonya waved away her words.

"Don't apologise. The potatoes won't be burnt for ages yet and we always have burnt potatoes on Sunday, don't we Rob?"

Robert grunted in reply and threw himself down into an armchair in front of a TV the size of a small cinema screen and tuned to some antiques programme, with the volume turned right down.

"Come and apologise to me," Nicholas invited from the kitchen doorway. "I'm curious to know why you're so late even if no-one else is."

"Peace offering." Julie held out a bottle of wine as she entered the kitchen.

He scanned her face as he received the bottle from her. "I think you've been crying. Has your sister been bullying you about your career in cardiology?"

Julie smiled and raised herself onto the edge of the pinewood table. "Not at all. I've just been on a treasure hunt, in our loft. That's how I lost track of the time."

"But did you find the treasure?"

Julie nodded. "Reels and reels of old films. Lizzie and me as children—first steps, first day at school, Christmas concert—you know the kind of thing?"

"Indeed. I have my own private collection."

"Liz and I were lost in the past and I felt like I was seeing a different person, until the projector gave up the ghost and Mrs B. reminded us about lunch."

"Good for Mrs B."

"But it's a terrible excuse."

"No, it isn't, it's the best I've heard today. I can just picture you watching old movies and weeping for your lost innocence. Did you have pigtails?"

"Of course. And masses of freckles."

"White socks?"

She nodded.

He gave a mock sigh. "I should like to see them."

"Not likely, I'm afraid. The projector just gave up the ghost." she said.

"Ah the trials and tribulations of Super 8—I take it they were?"

Julie shrugged. "There was an eight in there somewhere. I'll have to check with Liz. We did get a camcorder later on, but I expect we recorded over those tapes. Nothing too exciting, though, I'm sure."

"Well, don't be so sad. I have about three old projectors; we can have a night of erotica." He moved in front of her perch and placed his arms on her shoulders, clasping his hands together behind her neck. She had to part her knees a little to allow him access. "Pigtails, freckles, gymslip..." he whispered in her ear, "it didn't take you long to find my weakness, Julie."

"Fool." She laughed. "So tell me how you appear in your old films?"

He gave a mock groan. "Terrible, I wore a brace on my teeth and short pants, the better to show off my fat and dirty knees. Quite the street urchin, in fact."

"Who's got fat knees?" Robert demanded from the doorway. "I came to check the potatoes."

"They're fine. Go away," Nicholas ordered over Julie's shoulder. "Can't you see this conversation is x-certificate?"

Convulsed with laughter, Julie let her head fall onto Nicholas' chest as she strove to regain control. She wished very much that he would kiss her or that she could bring herself to kiss him.

"Is Robert a good landlord?" she asked at last.

"The best. He lets me live here rent-free."

"That _is_ the best kind." Robert's act of kindness filled her with affection for him. She leaned back to survey him. "I don't believe you were ever fat."

"Oh, I was. And what's more, my mother was immensely proud of it," he assured her.

"I should like to see your old movies."

"And I should like to see yours."

"Do you think we would have liked each other as children?"

He considered for a moment before shaking his head. "I doubt it. I preferred my friends to have four legs in those days. And the two-legged ones had to be exceptional at football, which somehow I don't think you were."

Julie bit her lip. It was clear Nicholas was not much of a romantic after all. She thought of a ragamuffin boy with dirty knees, perhaps he'd had a hard childhood. "Is your mother still alive?"

He nodded in surprise.

"Tell me, did she ever read you poetry in the garden?"

He shot her a look suggesting he thought she was mad, before replying, "Never. For one thing, very few of my childhood homes ever had gardens and for another, well, let's just say that my mother had other things than poetry on her mind in those days—and in these days too, come to think of it," he added as a reflective afterthought.

Julie pursed her lips together. The intimate bubble that had been softly expanding around them, cocooning them together in a sweet, sensuous way, seemed to pop without warning and she wondered what she was doing sitting here trying to re-invent the two of them in this silly sentimental way, to justify her flirtation with a gardener.

She always seemed to succeed in saying the wrong things to him, ending up ashamed or embarrassed, or both, which was not what she wanted at all. Just now she had humiliated him because of her tactlessness, because of her naïve desire to experience a mutual childhood magic. How could she have been so insensitive? No gardens, a mother too pre-occupied to care. A fleeting vision of mother and child moving from one dreary flat to another, keeping one step ahead of the bailiffs, flashed through her mind. She concluded she was not ready for the fun and games the dalliance with this gardener promised at the outset, and resolved to let it go no further. She was no Lady Chatterley. It was foolish to imagine herself as such a woman of the world.

"I'm sorry," she told him when she could at last find her voice. She tried to slide off the table but found herself trapped by his body. How embarrassing. He watched her with a puzzled expression on his face but made no move to release her. Instead, he once again locked his hands behind her neck, flexing his arms to tilt her face up towards his.

" _O speak again bright angel_. Sorry for what may I ask? The lack of gardens or the lack of poetry? Believe me, I was never aware of having been deprived of either until this moment." And before she could open her mouth to protest, his lips found hers and invited them into an altogether more pleasurable occupation. Her resolve melted in an instant at the warm touch of his sensuous mouth, though not before the thought had crossed her mind that the fragment of poetry he had just quoted had, by a strange coincidence, come from Shakespeare.

* * * *

"If you can imagine your foot from my viewpoint..." Sonya cradled Julie's left heel in her hands. "Then you can imagine that I'm facing a miniature version of your whole body, right?"

Julie nodded, filled with doubt. She lay on a small sofa in what must be Sonya and Robert's large bedroom. Sonya had prepared a foot bath which had been therapy in itself, so silky and aromatic had the water been. She still tingled all over from Nicholas' kiss and wondered how such a simple and natural little thing could have left her entire body feeling so flustered. Now, as the two men fussed and fretted in the kitchen, stubbornly refusing all offers of help, Julie had soaked her feet in aromatic oils and was about have them massaged by Sonya. It was a sensualist's paradise.

"Now I can make a superficial examination of the main organs of the body by examining your foot."

Julie bit her tongue. The idea was ridiculous. _No way, Sonya. Impossible, old girl._ A foot massage is bound to be pleasant and bound to make one feel good but under no circumstances can it be diagnostic. Despite her resolve, an involuntary giggle escaped her lips as an image of Simon's disapproving face flashed into her mind.

"Of course, you're sceptical." Sonya spoke with surprising calmness. "You orthodox medics always are. Don't worry, I'm not offended. I'm used to it. Now I'm just going to palpate your foot, I'll try not to tickle. You're lucky to be young and in reasonable shape; some chronic tiredness, that's all. You've been pushing yourself too hard and now your body's telling you to take it easier. You should take note of its messages, you know. Now this here—" She exerted a little pressure with her thumb. "This is the whole of the lumbar region and I can sense something here, quite high up... a problem with the kidneys."

"I'm certainly having problems studying them," Julie agreed with a giggle.

"Don't be smart. There's a weakness here, and this is a warning..."

Julie sat up at once. "You're right. I did have a problem, early last year, about three months after moving to Saudi. It was a renal infection, very painful. I felt like I was going to die at the time." In fact, Simon had been so concerned about her that he'd booked flights back to London, but then the antibiotics at last kicked in. It had left her very debilitated for several weeks. They'd put it down to contaminated drinking water and been much more careful about using bottled water thereafter.

"Well there you are," Sonya said, without sounding complacent. "As you're a doctor, you know what sort of precautions you need to take in the future. But that seems to be it. A clean bill of health, more or less. You need to relax more though. You're too uptight."

In a corner of the large room stood a beautiful free-standing, hand-carved and painted cabinet crafted by a dear friend of Sonya's in Java. When she opened the doors, the interior revealed a veritable apothecary's treasure trove of phials containing aromatic oils and measuring and mixing bowls in glass, wood and marble. Julie was enchanted by the tiniest pestle and mortar she'd ever seen. Sonya had already mixed a blend of oils for her, but now wanted to create something special and, she claimed, deeply personal. She measured out droplets of geranium and jasmine and blended them with clary sage and other delightful sounding names, then in went something citrusy, and a minute amount of oil of black pepper, which was an aphrodisiac, Sonya explained.

"Are you a witch?" She tried to memorise the ingredients.

Sonya laughed. "I suppose I am in a way. But I promise this won't harm you and I'll write out the recipe if it works."

"If it works?"

"Well, it's a whole-body cure, you see. You don't just need to relax and you don't just need to take care of your renal status; you need a little bit of soul repair too."

Julie burst into laughter. "Soul repair? My God, you _are_ a witch. Is this going to change my life?"

Sonya smiled, not in the least offended. "I don't know if this will, but _something_ will. I've been looking at your birth chart and you're going through a major life-change right now. Now sit down, I want to try this blend out. I think you'll find it very exciting."

* * * *

An epiphany. Had she read that in one of her sonnets or was it something dredged up from her dim and distant school days? Who was it who had talked about epiphanies in something other than the biblical sense? A poet, for sure. And what was it? Wasn't it something to do with an unparalleled experience, or a moment of extreme joy? Going through a major life-change? Oh yes! Every day was opening and blossoming and making her view herself in ways she'd never considered before, because she'd never really considered herself before. She'd always been too busy being Henry Somerville's daughter, or Elizabeth Somerville's sister, Simon Gardiner's wife or struggling to live up to the expectations of consultants and patients; so many vague identities, none of which, in all truth belonged to her.

This day was her epiphany, so acute was her sense of pleasure in it, her sense that everything would radiate outwards from this day, this moment of complete relaxation in the comfort and company of these delightful new friends who accepted her on her own merits and expected nothing from her but the simplicity of her presence. No stepping stones to the hierarchy, no introduction to her sister, no quiet words in her husband's ear, no passing of exams, no commitment to the higher causes, etc. Here she could find the space to find herself. In her imagination she saw herself caught in a time-loop, forever re-enacting this day, or one identical to it with just these people.

After lunch they sat around in pleasant relaxation, Robert lending half-a-mind to the football, Sonya to repairing an intricate piece of fabric-work and Julie and Nicholas to solving the crossword in one of the Sunday newspapers, but mostly engaged in swapping quiet thoughts and discovering how similar their likes and dislikes were. If every Sunday from now on doesn't follow this perfect pattern of intimate discovery, then my life will be threadbare indeed, she thought _._ She glanced at Nicholas. And it has nothing at all to do with Sonya's 'soul-repair'.

At length, with the crossword completed and both Robert and Sonya deep in wedding discussions, Nicholas whispered in Julie's ear that they might go out for a walk and they slipped away like guilty children.

Outside, Nicholas glanced at the three vehicles in front of the closed doors of the double-fronted garage and, with a shake of his head, suggested taking Julie's car. Twenty minutes later, they drew to a halt on the edge of Nettlesby wood.

"I want to introduce you to some friends of mine." He took her hand and led the way with care along leafy avenues, his sure feet picking out a safe footpath across the spongy earth, until they came upon shy and fragile banks of lilies-of-the-valley cowering beneath their protective, fleshy leaves. "And do you see over there?" A short distance away, velvety-petalled violets, snuggled close to the earth, yielding up their sweet scents with seeming reluctance. "I didn't realise it would still be so damp," he apologised to her murmured exclamations of pleasure. "What I most want to see is if the columbine has made it yet. It's over here."

Julie watched, spellbound, as his deft fingers pulled away grass and weeds to let the delicate blue heads find the spring sunlight and thought, he is a gardener, no matter what else he might also be, first and foremost, he is a gardener. But he handles these tiny flowers with all the reverence of an artist or even as if he created them himself. She wondered if his earlier deprivation had been responsible for his love of gardens and flowers. She leaned back against a mossy trunk to give him space to work and to admire him at work, and soon became preoccupied with her own thoughts. When he'd finished, he looked around as if to seek her approval and smiled at her.

"When you begin work on our garden, will you promise to be as kind to our old apple tree?" A sudden surge of sentimentality overwhelmed her.

He smiled down at her. "Given a half-way reasonable defence, I expect I could be persuaded, though as a physician you must know it's not a healthy tree."

"Isn't it? No, I didn't know that." The thought filled her with alarm.

"Would you like to outline its medical history?"

All of a sudden, the future of the old apple tree took on vital significance to Julie. "It's where all the important things of my early life happened. I took my first steps under its branches and it was where my mother used to love to sit and read. I always knew I would find her there if nowhere else. She made me a swing from one of its branches and I loved that swing. And apart from everything else, it's got something to do with today just being so special." As a child she'd dreamed of being married under the apple tree, its snowy blossoms becoming her confetti, but that dream died long ago. She'd married Simon in a London registry office.

"Say no more. I never harm sacred property," he promised.

Later they collected Julie's box of films and that evening the child Julie and the child Nicholas almost became acquainted with each other, following as they did so close upon one another's heels across the small screen in Nicholas' room, while their older selves laughed and teased each other. Immortalised on celluloid. How would Shakespeare have reacted to that? Julie wondered. This archaic form of home movies already seems almost as far removed from us in this digital age as Shakespeare does. Does that make film the new poetry? Or was the world just moving forward at a head-spinning pace, impossible to keep up with?

But not for long did she think about Shakespeare or the progress of cinematography. Their two shadows had grown in significant ways and some twenty or so years later had rediscovered each other in the flesh, celebrating the reunion in a night of intense lovemaking more sweet and tender than anything Julie could ever before have imagined, much less experienced. And every other thought and concern dissolved into the ether as she gave herself up to the exquisite joys of the sensory feast the physical union of their bodies delivered.

# Chapter Four

Julie dismissed any guilty doubts that nagged at her conscience after that night. If the past had finished for her then it should mean nothing to anyone else. Maybe she should tell Nicholas, but her attraction to him was far too strong to be denied, and nor could she come up with any reason to deny it. Their affair, once begun, must be allowed to run its course, she sensed this on an instinctive, almost primitive level rather than a rational one. To deny it would be wholly unnatural and even dangerous for her rather fragile mental state. At the same time, she knew it wouldn't last; that it offered nothing more than a pleasant interlude in this strange hiatus in her life. Was it so wrong to seize the day and enjoy it to the full for the first time in her life? What harm could that do to anyone?

According to Sonya, the forces dictating all aspects of her life were in a powerful state of flux, rendering her vulnerable in every respect, so if anyone would be hurt, it would be her. Not that she subscribed to such nonsense, but it affirmed what she wanted to do. She rounded off her argument by reasoning that if their relationship should ever develop into anything permanent—most improbable given the uncertainty and diversity of their futures, hers in medicine, his in gardening, the arts or whatever else he did to support his existence—then it would be their struggling future together and not their pasts that would occupy all their energies.

As she luxuriated in her bath, to which she had added seven drops of Sonya's aromatic mixture as prescribed, late the following morning, her body tingled with pleasure as her mind relived the ecstasies of the previous night. How had she been married to Simon for so long without experiencing anything half-way equal to such exhilarating sensations? Sensations so exquisite that even the memory of them seemed physical enough to send intense ripples through her insides. And she a doctor who ought to be familiar with the workings of the human body.

Simon's love-making had always been perfunctory and efficient, not insensitive or selfish, but nothing like the slow, sensuous, wonderful experience of the night before, as they'd discovered each other's bodies in languorous ecstasy. But then her own actions and reactions had borne no relation to the way she behaved with Simon. She was a different person with Nicholas. Recreated.

Mrs Bottomley tapped on the door. "There's a nice young man on the phone for you. He says his name is Nicholas and you're expecting his call."

Julie smiled, pleased on two counts. Mrs Bottomley preferred taking messages to trudging upstairs for anyone; she considered taking messages to be far more professional. Julie often sat in the kitchen with her during the mornings, chattering away while she drank her coffee, or helping out with some culinary chore, and had become acquainted with Mrs Bottomley's views on life. She now felt as if she had passed a test. That Mrs Bottomley referred to Nicholas as a 'nice young man' pleased her almost as much as his unexpected phone call.

She pulled on a robe over her still sudsy body and took Liz's bedside telephone into her own room, where she curled up on her bed. "Hello?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice," he told her. "And ask why, in the name of modern technology, don't you have a mobile phone?" Julie heard an exaggerated sigh and smiled to herself, through compressed lips. People always berated her for this, but she and mobile phones could not live in harmony. "I called the house but there was no reply. I seem to remember telling you to stay in bed."

"I don't like mobiles because they hate me, and I can't sleep away the whole day like a sloth."

"Pity. I was looking forward to finding you curled up waiting for me."

The image his quiet words created sent a shiver through her. He'd left early that morning, explaining first how to set the house alarm should she go out but exhorting her to rest for the day. "I'm used to functioning on next to no sleep," he told her.

She laughed and reminded him that so was she. On her on-call weekends she would have been lucky to get more than two hours' worth of uninterrupted sleep a night.

She'd considered searching his room after he left for clues about his life, but found the idea repugnant. He trusted her and she was no snoop. She saw no telltale signs in the room of any artistic occupation, no half-finished canvasses stacked against the wall, no sketchpads or jars of assorted bristles. Nor was there any tangible evidence of literary pursuits. There was a whole wall of shelves but the books were haphazard collection of philosophies, biographies and an array of popular fiction and non-fiction. Many of these, of course, could have belonged to Robert.

She'd switched on a laptop sitting on a tidy desk near the window and even pulled up the start menu, noting the absence of clues on the stark, tidy screen of the desktop. After letting the mouse hover over his personal folder and documents for a tentative moment, she shut it down again. She didn't want to poke around looking for personal-sounding files and folders. That was a betrayal of trust.

She'd ask him one day soon to explain himself, and perhaps prepare herself for a similar confession, but not just yet. She enjoyed her little guessing game and this exhilarating sense of them both existing only in the moment, with no tiresome baggage. So instead she investigated outside the room and found a cupboard full of clean laundry supplies, courtesy of a well-known local laundry service and later amused herself by changing the masculine midnight-blue bed linens for a pristine white set. Did Sonya and Robert use the same laundry service? Was that ultra efficient-looking washing machine in the kitchen ever allowed to live up to its well-advertised reputation? Needless to say, she quizzed Nicholas about none of these mundane thoughts as she whispered into the telephone that morning.

* * * *

In the days that followed, Julie forgot about nephrology and was incapable of progressing to neurology. She would on idle occasions flick through her anatomy tomes, but her mind wandered off into the realm of daydream at the first oblique connection it made. Nicholas was no help at all in encouraging a stable study routine for her, luring her away from her books at every opportunity. She'd confessed to him she wanted nothing more than to give up medicine and, according to his philosophy, she should therefore not be punishing herself in studying for the forthcoming Membership exam.

"I'm sure a reluctant doctor must be worse than a reluctant teacher, no good to society at all," he argued. "Besides, it bothers me to think of you doing something that makes you unhappy."

"But we don't all have your luck. Or your diverse talents," she countered.

She wanted to embrace what she described as his hippie philosophy but felt she'd been born thirty years too late, and then into the wrong family, so she continued to go through the motions, pretending to study but in reality waiting for her next meeting with Nicholas.

She was not long to remain in ignorance about her gardener-lover, however. That would have been impossible given the amount of time they were now spending together. One day he announced his intention of enlisting Julie in a day's truanting to enjoy the summery weather, which had arrived so suddenly and unexpectedly, as is often the wont of the British climate at this time of year.

"Spring is such a beautiful time of year. I missed it very much when I was out in Saudi," she told him one day.

"It could snow next week, or turn just as quickly into summer and you'd miss it again," he said, ever the pragmatist.

So they'd spent a day in Yorkshire's renowned national park at one of his favourite haunts that he told her he seldom found time to visit. They spent an idyllic day and a night of exquisite romance in an unobtrusive, though elegant, small country inn. They walked all day, hand in hand, lost not just in the beauty and clarity of everything around them but also in each other. It struck her, however, how seldom they were alone. Every other rambler in the north of England, out celebrating the fine weather, seemed to stop and chat to them about one subject or another.

"Maybe they think we're famous?" Nicholas suggested.

"I certainly _feel_ like a celebrity." She was sated with happiness. They say all the world loves a lover, but how can the world _tell_?

In the evening they ambled around the cobbled streets of the little village where, in a dusty gift shop, just before closing time, Julie spied a glass paperweight in the shape of an apple and Nicholas insisted on buying it for her. When she wiped off the dust and held the smooth orb up to examine it, her hand and face glowed red in the ruddy light shining through it.

With reluctance, they returned the next afternoon for Nicholas to attend to some piece of business, which he claimed he could not avoid. To Julie, study by now meant occupying the spaces in between the time spent with Nicholas. She toyed with the pages of text books but saw little of the texts. It seemed to her that she floated in some airy space, removed from all her worries, where she could enjoy the clarity and freshness and take deep, rejuvenating breaths without fears or restrictions. She enjoyed this exhilarating sensation, but knew it couldn't last and that made it all the more precious and intense. She spent a lot of time soaking in Sonya's aromatic oils and smoothing various lotions and potions into her skin. It sometimes seemed as if she were trying to nurse back to life something half dead, something precious and almost forgotten. When she caught herself at it she laughed and shook her head at Sonya and her silly ideas. But when she looked in the mirror, she saw herself as if for the first time, and soon she learned to appreciate the view.

* * * *

" _It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!_ " Nicholas held her at arm's length and surveyed her in admiration when he called for her that evening to take her out for dinner.

Julie laughed. He'd told her a girlfriend had obliged him to sit through _Romeo and Juliet_ on countless occasions as a young teenager, before he realised that the girl—who claimed it to be so necessary to her studies—wasn't even studying Shakespeare, just obsessed with the actor playing Romeo.

If the sight of Nicholas in a suit surprised her, the sight of the car he drove left her almost speechless. "Where did you get _this_?" She gaped at the gleaming red Ferrari. Until now they had driven everywhere in her car.

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "Present from a rich admirer. She knows my penchant for beautiful cars."

"Nicholas, I'm being serious."

"So is my penchant for beautiful cars. Come on, get in, I've booked the restaurant for eight."

Julie stroked the tan leather upholstery, savouring the moment before slipping into the luxurious seat on the passenger side. "I've never been in a Ferrari before." She felt almost reverent as she breathed the earthy leather smell deep into her lungs.

"Then make the most of it, It's not mine for long," he told her.

So it was just _borrowed_ , she mused, from 'a rich admirer'—did that mean a woman? The memory of Liz in the garden flashed into her mind's eye. Why hadn't she considered this before? A man as attractive as Nicholas must be plagued by the attentions of wealthy women as he tended their gardens. Why should other women feel different to Liz, or herself? Could Nicholas be a gigolo, a male escort or toy boy to some wealthy woman—or women? She shuddered at the idea. He didn't seem the type, but then, how would she know that? This kind of thing was becoming more and more common these days, as the photographs of ageing film and television stars parading their gorgeous young lovers across the front pages of the tabloids daily proved. But she wasn't an ageing star and she wasn't sure if she was _that_ broad-minded! This enigma had gone beyond a game and she would have to get to the bottom of the puzzle, and soon.

Because of his joking and teasing, she found it difficult to question him on the subject in an effort to elicit the truth, and he seemed disinclined to volunteer much information. How do you ask a man if he's a toy boy? It's not the kind of question she could just blurt out. Not now, at least. They'd agreed not to quiz each other about work. But how much longer could she let this go on? And what rights did she have to question him about his life in this way? After all, how much different were her motives to those of the other women?

It was a small consolation to know that at least an out-of-work junior doctor couldn't be expected to buy such fantastic love-tokens as classic cars. But what would this woman say if she knew Nicholas was entertaining another woman in her car? She suppressed another little shudder. Who cared? She had her own good time to worry about.

Nevertheless, her uneasiness continued, but at least now, she needn't be so concerned about his finances. She'd suffered pangs of guilt over his insistence on paying for the inn last night, which included dinner; not to mention the lovely gift of the antique paperweight. To appease her conscience, she had determined to make sure she picked up the bill this evening. She'd wanted to offer him money, but was too embarrassed to do so.

The restaurant was French and Julie could only guess how expensive because her menu had no prices on it. _Such antediluvian assumptions_. But her attention was soon diverted in trying to make sense of the conversation, in fluent and rapid French, between Nicholas and the maître d'.

"Do you come here often?" she asked; an inane question considering the obvious familiarity between the two. When she caught Nicholas' eye, they burst into simultaneous laughter. "Oh dear, I must enrol on a course in small talk." She dabbed at her eye with her napkin. "Where did you learn to speak French like that? You speak it like a native."

"I just picked it up. I spent quite a few holidays in France as a child; never saw the advantage at the time, but I do now. Do you speak any?"

Julie shook her head. Compared to him, her stuttering schoolgirl French was non-existent. She'd had no real head for languages and when it was no longer obligatory, had dropped it to focus on more useful subjects. "I suppose you come here with your...um...admirer? She has good taste." _Feeble_ _!_ _Why did I_ say _that?_

Nicholas gave her a modest smile. He actually looked flattered. "I like to think so. The food here is fabulous. The trouble is I never get the chance to experiment. It's always decided for me."

Julie's heart sank. It seemed they had more in common than she'd first imagined. People always seemed to want to decide about her life for her, too.

Without questions and without proper consultation of her own feelings, she had followed in the footsteps of her father and sister. They'd both assumed she would go into medicine and she gave into their expectations without demur. And then when she met Simon, she let him take over the management of her life in that same unquestioning way. Like a puppet. Was Nicholas really as weak as her? Someone who had allowed others to dictate his life for him? She hoped not.

"I'm sure _you_ could refuse?" She wanted his strength to compensate for her weakness.

He laughed. "As if. Gervaise would probably commit suicide. You wait and see. You may think you've ordered your own meal, but what you'll _get_ is entirely up to him."

When the food arrived, Julie admired its stunning presentation, head on one side. "This looks amazing, a real work of art. Are you _sure_ we're supposed to eat it? Perhaps we should hang it on the wall and just sit around admiring it?" It would probably take a junior doctor's entire month's salary cheque to pay for this meal.

Nicholas laughed. "But if you don't desecrate the work of art, you'll devastate the chef."

On the subject of art, he told her he'd heard from a friend about an antique bronze fountain which would look perfect in her garden, since Liz had expressed a particular desire for a water feature. He wanted to establish whether Julie would like it before mentioning it to Liz and the subject changed to discussions about the auction, then the garden, then...

*

After that she didn't have to wait much longer to solve the mystery about Nicholas and all was revealed at last when she arrived at Robert's house the following evening. She found Nicholas sitting with Robert and Sonya, discussing the merits of various properties of which he'd received details, and was trying to draw up a potential short list. He explained that he'd been house-hunting in a half-hearted way ever since Robert and Sonya had first talked of marriage, but was now determined to search in earnest for a new home to ensure his vacation from Robert's place by the time of the wedding. There were five houses under consideration, the details of which he handed to Julie for perusal. She glanced through the folder of glossy papers and photographs from estate agents, at first briefly and then with much greater care. Of the five houses, the smallest, being Oak Cottage, had five bedrooms and just over half an acre of land.

"That's only in there because of the tree," Nicholas explained. The tree was a two-hundred-year-old oak in the garden. "Brackenbury House sounds more promising," he went on, peering over Julie's shoulder. "The grounds back onto Nettlesby Wood so it would be like a country park."

With its acre and a half and ten rooms, it almost _is_ a country park, Julie mused. He has to be crazy. He's so obsessed with large gardens that he's lost his marbles. Surely his 'sugar-mummy' couldn't be setting him up in a house as well?

Sonya gave a tactful little cough. "I'm not sure _I_ should want to live at Brackenbury House. In the first place, it's so isolated and in the second it looks like an old fort; the windows are so pokey."

"It's meant to look like an old fort," Robert said, looking up from his laptop on which he'd been stabbing out customer email responses with two fingers. "That's what its name means. It's Anglo-Saxon."

"Well, I think the cottage is much cosier, except I wouldn't want the responsibility of that old tree." Sonya busied herself applying an intricate stencil in acrylic paints to a small, painted wooden cabinet. It demanded great concentration and her eyes seldom left the Celtic-looking design as she spoke.

They're all at it, Julie thought. They're barking mad. Why are they humouring him? Is this some weird role playing game?

Glebelands was another mansion with a garden the National Trust could take over and open to the public. Nicholas liked the idea of the stream running through the grounds.

"Dangerous for children," Sonya said, stepping back to survey her artistry.

Children? _What children?_ Julie's brain raced like wild horses. Does Nicholas have children? Surely not, when it's obvious he's still such a child himself.

"Whose children are you thinking of?" Robert asked with a chuckle.

I must get out of here, Julie thought. I've walked into a madhouse. She turned to Nicholas and smiled at him in uncertainty. "They all sound lovely. Why don't you buy them all?" She tried to laugh. "And every time you pass 'Go' you can collect two-hundred pounds to pay the rent."

"What?" Nicholas asked, his mind too preoccupied with the papers she had relinquished to comprehend her words. "Damn... I've left out The Cedars. It must be in my room." He looked at her as if just realising she'd spoken. "What did you say?"

She shook her head in despair as he rose to leave the room. The moment the door closed, Julie jumped to her feet and confronted Robert, all the agitation she'd tried to suppress now suffusing her face.

"What _is_ this game?" she demanded.

Robert and Sonya exchanged questioning glances before turning blank faces to Julie.

"Why are you _doing_ this? It's so childish. He's actually sent off for details of all these properties and you're playing this silly game with him. This is madness. It's _immoral_."

"What is?" Robert sounded baffled as he looked at her, his hand poised over his keyboard. "Is it wrong for us to give our opinions when asked? Isn't that what friends are for?"

Julie again searched their faces and then glanced down at the wad of papers Nicholas had left on the sofa. Her head spun. Could they all be serious about this and she missed some essential clue? Was it possible that Nicholas could afford to buy one of these houses?

She faced Robert once again. "Who _is_ Nicholas? I mean apart from being your friend and your lodger and employee. Who _is_ he?"

Robert stared at Julie with the same blank countenance for a moment, his expression turning to astonishment as some degree of understanding then flickered across his face. Then he began to laugh. "My employee?" he repeated, by now enjoying the joke enormously. "You think Nick works for me?"

"Yes. He told me he did. Well, part-time anyway, landscape gardening?"

"Nicky told you _that_?" Sonya gasped.

Julie turned her furious thoughts inward for a moment. "Yes. Of course he did." She was a little less certain now.

"And you genuinely don't know who he is?" Sonya's concern sounded real, and she dropped her brush into a cup of water as Robert convulsed in a fresh paroxysm of merriment.

"Then perhaps you'd better ask Nick." Robert spluttered as Nicholas appeared in the doorway.

"Ask me what?"

"What stories have you been telling our Julie?" his friend accused, rather than asked.

Nicholas looked at Julie bemused. After registering her agitation, he took a step towards her. She took a step back in involuntary retreat.

"You told Julie you worked for Robert as a _gardener._ She doesn't know who you are. What a rotten trick to play," Sonya said. Julie noticed she had a smudge of green paint on the side of her nose, which made her appear faintly comical and detracted from the severity of her remonstration.

"I'll tell you one thing, Nick," Robert chuckled. "At least it shows our Julie's not after you for your money. She was worrying about how you'd ever manage to afford the mortgage." Then he turned to Julie and asked with feigned innocence, "Do gardeners in Saudi drive around in Ferraris, Julie?"

Julie's cheeks burned. She could only speak in a whisper. "You said the car wasn't yours."

He frowned and shook his head. "No, I didn't." Realisation dawned. "Oh! I said it wasn't mine for much _longer_. This Japanese chap has been plaguing me for months—a business associate—he wants to buy it. I've ordered a Lamborghini." He said it as most people might say, 'I've ordered a pizza.'

"But... what about your _rich admirer_?" She had difficulty articulating the words.

"Julie, I was _teasing_ you. The car was a present from my mother. She's my 'rich admirer'." He smiled and again took a step closer as she lifted her face and looked at him open-mouthed. "What did you _think_ I meant?"

"But you said your mother... I thought your mother..." She stopped and raised her hands to her face, unwilling to go any further. She'd made so many mistakes that she needed to be very careful about accusing him of anything else.

"Quite apart from the lies he's been telling you, Julie," Robert cut into her bewildered thoughts, "you must have heard of Masserman Enterprises? You must have made the connection?"

Julie glanced from the seated Robert to the standing Nicholas, her mind blank. "What's Masserman Enterprises?"

Nicholas bit his lip to prevent the smile that threatened to break out while Robert released a loud guffaw.

"Kitchen, Roberto," Sonya ordered with commendable force. "Enough of your _Men Behaving Badly_ act. I need your help with something. _Now!_ "

Robert rose in obedience, thrusting his laptop into Julie's hands as he passed. "You're looking right at it," he told her in parting. "Masserman Enterprises own half this town. You must walk around with your eyes closed, Julie. Hold onto this girl, Nick. I told you she was priceless."

Julie glanced at the screen which now displayed the impressive-looking welcome page of 'Masserman Enterprises' with a photograph of Nicholas smiling out at her from behind a desk that could house a small village. She gazed at this for a moment before snapping the laptop closed and spinning on her heels to faced Nicholas squarely. "Let's just recap, shall we? Am I right in understanding that you are seriously rich?"

He gave non-committal shrug, relieving her of the computer. "Well, you could say I'm comfortable, I suppose."

"And your mother is perhaps even richer?"

"Indisputably." He nodded, averting his solemn face as he deposited the computer onto a nearby table.

"And you're not a poor gardener working for Robert?"

"Now that's not _entirely_ my fault," he protested. "You should have told me you were coming to dinner _before_ you offered me a job doing your garden." His expression betrayed his guilt. "If I'd realised I would be seeing you again anyway, I wouldn't have had to go along with the act. It was too good an opportunity to miss. But I thought your mistake was delightful. I _want_ to do your garden, Julie. I find gardening very therapeutic. Sometimes I wish I were a full-time gardener."

"How come you never had a garden as a child?"

"I told you, we were never in one place long enough—we lived in apartments in New York and on the Riviera and always stayed in hotels when we were in London or Paris—when I wasn't away at school that is. And what a concrete jungle that was."

"And I thought your mother was heartless for not reading poetry to you." Her face flamed with embarrassment at her stupid mistake.

"Oh, she _was_. And I intend to tell her so the next time I speak to her."

"I feel like such a _fool_."

"I didn't mean to deceive you, please believe me. It was just a bit of fun and I was vain enough to assume you'd work it out pretty soon. And I was sure you had by the time I came to your house. Otherwise, why didn't you just _ask_?"

"To tell you truth, I still haven't worked it out. Does your company really own half this town?"

He laughed. "Of course not. That's just Rob exaggerating as usual. And don't forget, it was _you_ who made the pact not to discuss our careers. That's why I assumed you knew about mine. I thought you were the mysterious one."

She smiled and shook her head, more at herself than in answer. It seemed they'd both been guilty of leaping to wrong conclusions about each other. "But what exactly is your company?"

"Property development, corporate financing, that sort of stuff, probably would interest you about as much as cardiology. Come to my office and I'll give you a grand tour if your interest is genuine. It's in Longchamp Square."

Julie wrinkled her nose as she considered. Longchamp Square was not one of her usual haunts. "But the only places in Longchamp Square are the Town Hall, The Court Hotel and that great ugly glass office block."

"That ugly glass office block is Masserman Enterprises." He sounded rueful, even apologetic. "But I accept no responsibility for the architecture. That's another of my mother's mistakes. At least you've noticed it."

*

Later that night, he asked, "Did you really think I was a poor, struggling gardener?"

"Well... with a few other talents on the side, of course," she teased.

"What kind of talents?" He scattered kisses across her face.

"Artistic ones, apart from the obvious—you know—the ones you just demonstrated."

"And it didn't bother you? Making love to a simple gardener?" His lips moved down to her neck, stopping just below her ear, which he kissed and nibbled gently.

"Why should it? It didn't bother Lady Chatterley, did it?" She wriggled in pleasurable anticipation.

"Lady Chatterley did it with the game keeper," he corrected. "Not the gardener." Then another idea struck him. "You thought I was some rich old woman's toy boy? What does that make you?"

"Infatuated. Now just shut up and do that again."

"Not until you explain yourself." He moved in towards her anyway.

"Shh... How can I concentrate with all this chatter? Can't you see I'm studying?"

"Studying what? Evasion?"

"No, anatomy. Now no more talking, just let me know what you think of this." And she turned her attention to demonstrating that she, too, had hidden talents to share.

* * * *

"Masserman Enterprises?" Mrs Bottomley repeated, averting her eyes for a moment from the two kinds of chocolate she was melting with care in identical double saucepans. "I should hope so. I was at the opening of the new shopping mall, you know, with Angela. We actually saw the duchess in person. In fact, I was so close to her, I could almost reach out and touch her." She went back to her gentle prodding of the melting chocolate as she eyed the strawberries for the fifteenth time with no less suspicion than the first. "Are you sure those strawberries aren't genetically modified? They're enormous."

"That's because they come from California. They make everything bigger over there," Julie explained not for the first time, but with unflagging good humour.

"Yes, but will they _taste_ the same? I always think of strawberries as being _English_ , not _American_. And up here, they're not at their best until June or even July."

"Do try one and see what you think. Anyway they're really only meant for decoration."

"You've brought strawberries from America for _decoration_?" Mrs Bottomley shook her head as she contemplated the offending fruits with a serious expression. "Are you sure you won't let me make one of my lemon tarts? Everyone says they're as light as air, or I could do my glazed apple, always very popular, especially with the men."

Julie laughed. "Of course you can make your lemon tart. I was just trying to save you some work when you've already done so much. You said the photos with the little shortcakes and meringues looked very nice in the book."

"Oh, in the _book._ " She gave a meaningful nod. "But they're all artists' pictures, aren't they? Dipping strawberries in chocolate and adding a few little macaroons isn't exactly making a pudding, is it? I mean, those plates looked very empty."

"Let's do the lemon tart in a moment. First, I want you tell me about Masserman Enterprises."

"Oh, yes. Well, you see Angela—that's my friend, Mrs Fenwick—used to be Taylor before she married poor Andrew, worked in the Town Hall and was a good friend of the Mayor's secretary. This chocolate looks ready now. You have to be very careful with this type, you know. I'll just move them off the heat for now."

Julie glanced at the bowls of melted chocolate, one dark, one white, and then back at Mrs Bottomley, completely lost. "The Mayor's secretary?"

"Yes, of course. You see, it was on account of him we had such good places. That's how I got so close to the duchess. Angela bought this beautiful suit in Marmadukes. Linen, it was. Well, she needed smart things, working at the Town Hall. And do you know it had the tiniest mark on the hem, you'd need a magnifying glass to see it and I said, 'Oh that will come off with a dab of that new stain remover you can use on anything,' but she showed it to the assistant and got £30 knocked off the price. Can you believe it?"

Julie shook her head and glanced around her for signs that Mrs B. might have been drinking. The conversation was becoming very hard work.

"Of course, it was them that made it possible." She seized one of the bowls of solidifying chocolate and thrust it at Julie with an accusing frown.

"Who?" Julie asked in a faint voice.

"Massermans, of course. Well, I say Massermans, but I understand there's only one of them running the organisation now, and him hardly more than a boy. He can't be above thirty. Not married yet either and very good looking, I hear. A bit of a playboy though. Drives around in those flash sports cars. The red ones."

"But what has he got to do with the shopping mall?" Julie asked, excited now she seemed to be getting closer to the mark.

"Well, his firm started it, didn't they? Financed it too, or most of it, Angela said. The original developers ran into all kinds of problems, and the council was under such pressure. They had no choice but to call in the trouble-shooters—that's what people round here call Masserman Enterprises. But it's a lovely place to shop, and it has these beautiful little coffee gardens. Just like real gardens they are."

I'll bet they are, Julie thought, especially if Nicholas had anything to do with the design features. Gardens in shopping malls, wasn't that an innovation? She'd seen the new shopping complex on her forays to the town centre, but had avoided it with a passion. Seen one, seen them all had been her motto. She found such places claustrophobic and exhausting as well as predictable. In her experience, they were all cloned from the same prototype and always had the same shops, since only the larger chains could afford the rates. She much preferred to explore the little side streets around the outskirts of the town where interesting little shops like Sonya's lurked. However, she now couldn't wait for her next expedition to the town centre to visit one of Nicholas' coffee gardens.

The dinner Julie and Mrs Bottomley worked so hard to prepare turned out to be a huge success. Julie had urged Mrs B. to join them, which gratified the good lady's vanity, but she refused the invitation and, leaving step-by-step instructions about the serving of the food, went out to visit her friend Angela, no doubt to reminisce about the time they saw the duchess.

Elizabeth succeeded in forgetting about the evening altogether, so engrossed was she in the vagaries of Dr Henderson, whose future in medicine was still very much in the balance, and in rectifying and clarifying important research findings to prepare the paperwork for her forthcoming spate of lecture tours and conferences, both national and international. She arrived as the evening drew to a pleasant and relaxed close and, despite her tiredness, brought a second wind to the small party at the rediscovery of her childhood friend. She seemed to slip almost at once into a comic double act, for the entertainment and pleasure of them all.

Watching them together, Julie wondered whether the pair might not have made a good partnership had their paths not taken such radical forks in their late teenage years, but then she felt a stab of disloyalty to Sonya, who was so generous in her love for Robert that she took genuine delight in his pleasure at this old friends' reunion.

I'd rather be like Sonya than Liz, Julie thought as she watched the cabaret being enacted between her sister and Robert. Sonya knows herself. Liz hasn't even begun to discover herself yet and she doubtless never will, so obsessed is she in following in father's footsteps and living up to the image he pioneered for his family. Poor Liz.

"You look very pensive," Nicholas whispered in her ear.

When she was sure no-one was looking, she let her lips flutter lightly against his face. "I was thinking about how much I want to give up medicine," she said under her breath.

"What, not specialise in cardiology ever?"

She shook her head.

"That was never my plan anyway. It's all in Liz's mind."

"Then tell her. Why are you so afraid of her?"

The question surprised her. Was she really afraid of Liz? Surely not. Watching her now, she experienced a vague sense of pity for her. Yet all her life, she had submitted to Liz. And all her life, she'd watched other people do the same. Even Robert, as a child, had given in to Liz's wishes more often than he held out against them. After all, he'd changed his horse's name from Bully to Bonnie at her insistence.

# Chapter Five

The day Nicholas had chosen to start the garden transformation happened to be Robert's birthday and Sonya organised a party to celebrate the event. Since the seventeenth fell on a Wednesday, the party was deferred to the following Saturday, which by coincidence—and to Sonya's profound delight—happened also to be Julie's birthday, thus doubling the need for celebration.

During the preceding week, Julie found herself drawn into clandestine meetings to plot and scheme over suitable surprise gifts for Robert, and Sonya attacked the event with as much energy and enthusiasm as a doting parent might put into the first proper party of her firstborn. Should the party take a theme, or perhaps be fancy dress? Should they risk a marquee in the garden, or decorate the house? And of course, there was the paramount question of the cake.

During the same period, Nicholas viewed all five houses on his list and at his request Julie had accompanied him to three of the viewings. A tree surgeon had examined the oak, an architect the 'fort' and a surveyor was exploring the source and history of the stream.

Julie was all curiosity about the houses, but worried at first about appearing too eager to accompany Nicholas. After all, their relationship was still in its infancy and to go viewing houses with him might seem to suggest she was escalating it to a more mature level than either intended, or than would be considered appropriate given the short time she'd known him. She didn't want him to consider her too eager. Besides which, their opinions were so similar that she knew she would contribute little objectivity. For this reason, she suggested Sonya might make a better viewing companion, but Nicholas only laughed.

"I've no doubt she'll involve herself soon enough, but I want to get the feel of the places myself first before I worrying about energy lines and missing spaces and whether staircases will need to be moved."

Julie smiled, secretly delighted. Sonya was a firm believer in the principles of Feng Shui and had already poured over her charts and maps to ascertain the most propitious timing and best directions for Nicholas to move. She had also disqualified Glebelands, on the grounds that it lay in the wrong direction and Oak Cottage, after glancing at the plans and realising that the immense oak was in a threatening position and sending 'secret arrows' towards the house.

"That cottage has probably had one occupier after another and all will have moved away due to relationship break-ups or ill-health, you mark my words," she lectured.

Julie considered Glebelands too austere though she didn't share her thoughts with Nicholas. The house was large and uninviting and there was a harshness to the way the natural light entered several of the rooms, for which Julie could not account, though Sonya doubtless could. The grounds were large and featureless except for the corner where the stream cut across. She could tell Nicholas was unimpressed.

At the second house, they were met by a rather unctuous estate agent who almost danced a jig at the sight of the Ferrari and who kept referring to Julie as Nicholas' 'good lady', which made her cringe, but afforded Nicholas immense amusement.

"That horrible man thinks we're married," Julie whispered as they followed the loquacious agent up the stairs.

"No, he doesn't," Nicholas teased. "He's just trying to flatter you into exerting your feminine wiles over me about this place."

The 'place' was a sensible five-bedroom detached house that had been well lived-in and had a few attractive period features. It was convenient for the town centre whilst maintaining something of a rural air because of the open space on one side and the village green at the front. The garden was spacious and well laid-out with some unusual architectural features and mature plantings. Julie could see it would make a very comfortable family house. Nicholas seemed reluctantly impressed by it, she could tell, but he wasn't _in love_ with it. It was a good house, but not a perfect one.

Another agent showed them The Cedars. This time it was a woman who introduced herself as Annabel Campbell-Turner. Tall, sleek and very attractive, if in an over-groomed way, her blonde hair and flawless make-up made her look more like a glamour model than an estate agent. She exuded sex-appeal and, from her first words, projected it all at Nicholas. If she formed any opinion about Julie's relationship with him, she kept it to herself. She seemed to know Nicholas, claiming a former though brief acquaintance with him, which Nicholas was at a loss to recall.

"Don't you remember the Barrington-Jones' riverboat party last August?" Annabel Campbell-Turner prompted. "You were with—" here a quick glance at Julie and a lowered voice heavy with meaning, "Clarissa at the time, and she introduced us."

Nicholas made polite noises. Annabel linked his arm and led him towards the house, pausing at the front door to turn and beckon Julie to follow. "I guarantee you are going to adore this place, my dears and it has vacant possession too, so the vendors are hoping for a quick sale."

They did adore it, and Julie was sure she, for one, would have adored it even more without Annabel's rapacious flirting.

The house was light, clean and airy, but with none of the harsh brightness of Glebelands. Julie was sure that the two tall trees, after which the house received its name, must doubtless be in the best position possible for the house, while at the far end of the mature garden she could make out a promising cluster of exotica, including a dramatic black stemmed bamboo and something resembling a banana palm. Already the garden was a riot of colour and shape from well-placed shrubs and flowering plants that looked as if each one had been chosen to present a feast to the eyes all year round.

"This garden's taken a great deal of careful planning over a long time." Nicholas stood close behind Julie and murmured in her ear as they gazed out through one of the tall windows. His lips were tantalisingly close, and she allowed herself to relax for the briefest moment against him, enjoying the sensuous luxury of his nearness, which always caused her flesh to tingle with pleasure.

"It's a real work of art. Not short of TLC," sang out Annabel. "Not like some of _us_ , eh?"

Julie turned her head towards Nicholas. "Don't you wonder why the owners want to sell?" she whispered, but not quietly enough for Annabel's sharp ears.

"Oh, I can tell you all about _that_. Their reasons are a hundred per cent genuine and benign. But you haven't seen upstairs yet, Nicholas. You must look at the master bedroom. It's to die for." She seized his hand and pulled him away from the window. He threw a quick grimace at Julie followed by an almost imploring look.

Julie continued to wander around downstairs for a while, relieved to be away from the awesome Annabel. The house had been stripped of its furniture downstairs and Julie presumed there was none upstairs, least of all a master bed in the 'to die for' master bedroom. There were six rooms downstairs as well as a modern spacious kitchen and utility room. She tried to guess how Nicholas might use them all as she wandered from room to room, her heels clip-clopping along floorboards sealed and polished to silken perfection and glowing with warmth in the sunlight filtering in through the tall windows. I could be so very happy here, she thought. With Nicholas.

When she at last went upstairs, Annabel appeared to be trying to wrap her slender body around Nicholas, who was growing irritable, and after a cursory glance at the upstairs rooms, said he had seen enough.

Annabel appeared undaunted about the loss of a sale, but the prospective loss of Nicholas was a different matter altogether. "Take my card. Call me any time, I mean _any_ time. That's my office number, my mobile and—I don't give this one out to just anyone—my home number." She scribbled a row of numbers on the back of the card. "And this is my e-mail, or you can find me on Facebook and such. Or perhaps you'd prefer if I called you?"

Julie went to wait beside the car so she couldn't hear Nicholas' reply. She watched him see Annabel into her own car, a sporty Mercedes, red like the Ferrari, about which he paused to offer a few appreciative comments.

At least they have one passion in common, she mused, expensive red cars. I wonder if he's arranging to test-drive hers. As Annabel drove off spewing gravel behind her, Nicholas walked towards his own car and eyed Julie across its roof in silence for a moment. Then he looked back towards the house.

"What did you think of it?" He still sounded irritable.

"The house, the car, or the man-eater?"

He released a small explosion of grim laughter, which seemed also to release the tension. "Oh, you notice, then? I wondered if you were being tactful and aloof or just didn't care."

She came around the car to face him and spoke in a severe voice. "Nicholas, you are a seriously attractive, seriously wealthy and, even more astonishing, a seriously eligible man. I imagine that last credential alone means you must be an expert in dealing with women like that by now? You didn't _really_ imagine I would scratch her eyes out for you, now did you?"

"Tell me you wanted to, though," he urged, putting his arms on her shoulders and cupping his hands behind her neck in the now familiar gesture, all irritation vanished from his voice.

"Tell me you didn't know she would be meeting you here," she challenged.

"She gave me a name. I had no idea who she was. If only women like that realised what a turnoff they are."

"I thought she was very attractive."

"True and she had a very attractive car. I expect she has admirers coming out of the woodwork, but she's not my type." He delivered the last words with slow emphasis.

"What about the house?"

Nicholas deposited a kiss on the top of her head and gazed back at the house for a moment in contemplation. "Now, _that_ just might be. I think I'll contact the agents again, see if I can bribe them into giving me the keys to look at it again next week sometime, without an agent breathing down my neck."

* * * *

On the morning of the seventeenth, Nicholas arrived with three young men from the garden centre and spent the better part of the morning in instruction and discussion with them. On the days following, he would arrive at various hours of the day to make brief inspections and talk over details with the gardeners. The weather, during that week, had turned much colder again and Julie and Mrs Bottomley fretted over the three industrious boys working outside, often without jackets. Mrs Bottomley cosseted them with a steady stream of hot drinks and snacks 'to keep up their strength' and during one of their many refreshment breaks, Nicholas arrived and ordered Julie, with mock severity, to stop pampering them. She suggested that they postpone the work until the cold spell passed, but Nicholas only laughed.

"They're used to it, and they also recognise a soft-touch when they see it. Apart from which, if we postpone the work now, it will be the summer before they can fit it in, and I don't want you to be deprived of your garden during the summer months. So no postponing, and if you attempt to undermine my authority again, you'll have _me_ to answer to." His voice was stern, but the threat came sealed with a lingering kiss that nullified its severity. They were standing beneath the apple tree, which gave a sorrowful creak under a sudden blast of wind. They both looked up into its branches at the same time.

" _Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,/And summer's lease hath all too short a date_ ;" she quoted.

"I'm afraid this tree's lease may well be _very_ short if we don't do something about it soon," Nicholas informed her with a sad smile. "You can see how few 'darling buds' it has. I've had Jackson's report, and he claims it's not worth the cost of treating it."

"Oh, no!" The idea filled her with sadness and she knew it must show on her face.

He kissed her again and smiled. "But I've told him to do what he can. We're not giving up on this old patient yet," he promised.

And she thanked him with a profusion of kisses, which he accepted as his due.

* * * *

By Saturday the weather had changed again and Julie looked out of her bedroom window onto a golden morning. The garden by now was unrecognisable, little more than an oasis of mud. It was impossible to imagine the transformation that would soon take place before her eyes and she scrolled through the digital images she and Nicholas had taken the previous week so she would be able to make before-and-after comparisons. Nicholas had arrived one afternoon with his camera to find Julie already clicking away in the garden. Both had shared the same belief, that no matter how good the new garden was, the old one would always hold special memories. It was just one of those harmonious coincidences they shared that seemed to demonstrate how much in tune they were.

But some coincidences are not so fortuitous. Some, indeed, can be catastrophic. It was no real coincidence that Simon telephoned that afternoon. He had never forgotten Julie's birthday before, so the likelihood of him forgetting now was slim.

"It's good to hear your voice, Jules. _Happy birthday_. How's everything with you?"

"It's nice of you to remember. Thank you, Simon. Everything's fine, what about you?"

"You're the birthday girl, we should talk about you. What have you been doing and what's it like being back home with Lizzie? No regrets?"

She smiled. He meant about going to live with Elizabeth, not about leaving him. Simon and Liz had never been the best of friends though they tolerated each other with commendable civility. "I don't see much of her. She's always at the hospital."

"Ah yes, the busy consultant. Is she cracking the whip over your Membership exam?"

"To be sure. I'm planning to take a stab at it in November." Julie experienced a pang of guilt at the glib lie. She hadn't given the exam a moment's thought in the last few weeks. "How are things in Riyadh? How's Arnold?" Arnold Jefferson ran Riyadh's busiest clinic, where Julie had worked alongside Simon.

"He's fine. Sends you his love. I've been wondering about the house, Jules." He meant their house, their marital home in London, which now stood empty.

" _I_ don't want it, Simon. I don't want to live there. Do you suppose _you_ ever will?"

There was a long pause before he answered. "No. I doubt it. I think we should sell it. Would you mind looking into it for us?"

"Of course I will, Simon. Whatever you want." Julie turned suddenly, as people so often do when they become aware of another person's eyes on them. She was just in time to witness Nicholas spinning on his heels and walking away. "Oh! Sorry, Simon, I must go. I'll call you soon."

After bringing the conversation to an abrupt end, she walked through to the breakfast room to scan the garden. There was no sign of Nicholas, so she wandered into the kitchen hoping to catch him, red-handed, being pampered by Mrs Bottomley, but the housekeeper was alone at the Aga.

"Did you see where Nicholas went?"

"Who?"

"Nicholas; he came in a few moments ago," Julie explained with a slight smile to hide her remorse. Mrs Bottomley still did not know Nicholas' real identity. She assumed he was the foreman overseeing the garden work.

"Oh, _that_ young man." Mrs Bottomley gave a loud, aggrieved sniff. "He came asking for you. I told him you were busy on the telephone talking to your husband, but he just pushed past me. Barged straight past me, he did. Very rude, I thought."

Julie registered this information with acute anguish. She could almost feel the colour draining away from her face. Her legs suddenly felt hollow, and she leaned against the doorpost for support.

"You told him _what_?"

"How you were busy on the telephone. Long distance, too, I told him, but would he listen to me? Oh no. He just walked straight past me, as if he didn't believe me. Like he owned the place." Mrs Bottomley, too absorbed in her feelings of injustice to notice her distress continued, "Then he came out again, without even so much as a thank you. And I thought him such a polite young man, being so nicely spoken. But it's no good people being nicely spoken if they don't have manners to match."

Somehow Julie found herself back in the breakfast room, staring out at the garden, but seeing nothing except the absence of Nicholas. _What have I done? What have I done?_

After a while she roused herself, collected her keys and left the house. Some explanation was called for and on her drive to Robert's house she mentally rehearsed, and rejected, several. Sonya answered the door, greeting Julie in a cheery sing-song voice and wishing her happy birthday.

"Is Nicholas here?" Julie followed Sonya into the kitchen where trays of party food adorned every surface.

"Nicko? Of course not. I thought he was spending the day at yours."

"He was, but then he... disappeared."

"Disappeared?" echoed Sonya, casting a critical eye over a tray of empty canapé cases. "He'll be planning his little birthday surprise, no doubt. I wasn't expecting you so early, there's nothing much to do just now. In fact, I'm wondering if I haven't started on the food too early. I'm afraid some of these things might become soggy by tonight."

Julie gazed at the food without seeing it and then left before Sonya could focus her attention elsewhere and start asking questions. She sat in her car for ten minutes to gather in her own scattered thoughts before switching on the ignition. It's not the end of the world, she reassured herself. Granted, I should have told him myself, but it's fair to say we've both been a bit guilty in that respect. Perhaps this would turn out not to be such a bad thing. Now that he knew, she could tell him the whole story and they could put it behind them, move on like mature adults.

I can discuss it with him now, she thought. I couldn't have done that three weeks ago. That realisation filled her with courage.

She hadn't been ready to talk about it all before, but felt different now. It was all in the past where it belonged and, thanks to Nicholas, she was now ready to move forward, to face the future and whatever it might hold for her... for them.

She spent further time in reflection in her own room until the sight of Nicholas talking to two of the boys near the apple tree caught her attention, and she hurried downstairs.

"There you are," she called, approaching the tree as the boys dispersed. His hand had been resting on a low branch of the tree and she noticed his grip tighten so that his knuckles looked white against the tanning skin of his hand. "Nicholas, I think we should talk."

He turned slowly, and she saw his face, hardened with coldness, his angry eyes gleaming into her own.

"You think _we_ should talk?" He said in an icy voice. "I think that's something _you_ should have done some time ago, don't you?"

"Yes," she confessed in a quiet voice. "I'm sure you're right. I'm so sorry, Nicholas."

"For what exactly are you sorry?" He sounded furious. "For being a married woman or for lying to me?"

"Both, I suppose. But, you know, I didn't exactly lie..."

"No, of course you didn't. You just failed to tell the truth."

"Yes, I suppose, rather like you—"

"No, Julie! Nothing like me," he cut in, his voice like a knife sculpting ice.

She bit her lower lip and turned her unhappy face to the trunk of the old tree. Nicholas in his fury was frightening and unrecognisable. "What can I say?" she cried. "That it's not true? Oh, I wish it wasn't true. I can explain everything if only you'll listen, but... but, Nicholas, aren't you over-reacting? It's all in the past. Is it so very important now?"

His eyes flashed with rage and incredulity. "I don't believe you asked me that. Yes, it's important. Correction; _was_ important. So spare me your explanations now. If it's true then they can't be of any interest to me now. You lied, you cheated us all. I hope you enjoyed your little game at our expense? Now you'll have to excuse me. I have more important things to do than listen to your lies." He turned to walk away. The contempt in his voice made her shudder.

"Where are you going?" She ran after him and caught hold of his arm, filled with panic.

He stopped at the old, weatherworn garden door leading to the side of the house and shook off her grip with such vigour that the back of her hand smacked hard against the flaking green wood and rusty nails. The moment he realised what he had done, he half-turned to try to catch her hand and prevent injury, but too late.

"Please don't leave like this. At least give me a chance to explain..." she begged in misery, but he turned away to unlatch the gate, ignoring her entreaties. Her own irritation at his continued stubbornness mounted and in a petulant act, she pushed the gate closed in front of him. "Okay then, go off and sulk. If you refuse to talk to me, I won't bother you any further. Will you at least make some excuse to Robert and Sonya for me? I won't be going to their party now. But I hope you enjoy it."

He caught the hand he had so recently flung away and kept a tight grip of the wrist. "Oh? What will you do, instead? 'Go off and sulk'? No, I won't make excuses for you, Julie. You may have played your warped little games with _my_ feelings, but I won't stand by and watch you treat my friends as shabbily. You _will_ go to their party. No doubt, being nicer people than me, they'll be more willing to listen to whatever pathetic explanation you can dream up to excuse your lies."

"Then I'll telephone Sonya now," she muttered through teeth clenched in part because of anger at his chauvinistic arrogance and in part because of pain from his grip on her wrist. As much as she cared for him, she would not allow him to dictate to her.

"No, you won't. You'll face her _and_ Rob and give your explanations in person. It's the very least you can do," he said, his voice scathing. He examined the bleeding graze across the knuckles. "And you'll need to put some antiseptic on that."

"I'm the doctor, remember," she snapped in frustration, unable to pull her wrist free from his grasp.

Nicholas turned to call to the nearest of the three gardeners. "Steve, I'm leaving now. When you're finished here, bring the van around to Rob's; he's expecting you all early for drinks and you can wash up and change there."

Steve nodded a cheerful assent as Nicholas led Julie away from the garden and towards the kitchen door. She was thankful Mrs Bottomley was not around to witness the indignity of her entrance.

"I'll wait for you in here," Nicholas said as they reached the sitting room.

"There's no need for you to wait," she protested, but he turned his cold eyes on her and repeated himself.

"I'll wait."

"Well... help yourself to a drink or... something," she muttered before escaping to be alone with her misery. As she examined her damaged hand, she passed Elizabeth, with a wad of notes, crowned by her faithful laptop in her hands, on the stairwell.

"Goodness, what have you done to your hand?" she demanded. "Come with me, let's get it dressed."

"I _am_ a doctor, Liz," Julie snapped, overwhelmed with frustration. She ran to the bathroom as the tears began to fall, leaving her sister gazing after her in puzzlement.

Julie cleaned her hand and cried away all her tears under the steady hot stream of the shower. She reproached herself over and over for not having cleared up all their misunderstandings about her. Nicholas was right, it _was_ the same as lying. And like all liars, now she'd been found out, she was humiliated and ashamed.

How would she ever persuade Nicholas to calm down for long enough to listen to her reasons for not wanting to talk about her past earlier, to understand how irrelevant it all was now in view of how she felt about him? There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she loved him and that he loved her in the same, extraordinary, undeniable, beautiful way. The totality of that left no room to dwell on the past. They belonged together in a way she could never have imagined possible before she had met him. She knew that with a conviction almost too deep for words.

Of course she had never known love before because she hadn't known Nicholas before. And so she had made her mistakes. Everyone made mistakes; it was impossible to go through life without making them. If Nicholas had made a similar misjudgement, she wouldn't punish him with the coldness and cruelty he was inflicting on her now. It was an overreaction. A sign of immaturity, too, because everyone knew people grew through their mistakes. She would just have to find a way to make him understand.

Back in her room, she applied light make up and then surveyed the silky dress she had planned to wear that evening. It was a beautiful dress in rich, fiery colours, a seductive dress, chosen with care for Nicholas and a night of love and passion. She tossed it aside in anger and picked out a simple cotton shift with tiny printed blue flowers that looked demure and a little old fashioned. Not the sexy, raunchy love-goddess she had planned at all. She also tied back her damp hair with a heavy, antique clasp. She looked young and vulnerable, but her appearance had no visible effect on Nicholas when she returned to the sitting room to find him engrossed in conversation with Elizabeth about the latest problem the new clinic faced.

Julie stood waiting as Nicholas all but ignored her, apart from the merest tilt of his head when she first entered the room, so she knew he'd seen her, but was keeping her on tenterhooks on purpose.

Her irritation peaked again when Nicholas took her car keys, which she had been idly dangling from her fingers, swaying, pendulum-like as she waited for him to finish conversing with her sister, who was far too wrapped up in his charms to tune into Julie's body language. When he did at last extricate himself, he led her to her car, helping her into the passenger seat. Like most men, he preferred to drive than be driven, but what an arrogant, gesture. She swallowed her annoyance, however, to deny him the satisfaction of more supercilious remarks and neither spoke on the short journey to Robert's house _._

I'm seeing a brand new side to Nicholas' character, she thought with sadness. I want the old one back.

As soon as they arrived, Nicholas disappeared towards his own room to shower and change, leaving Julie gazing in sorrow after him, wondering if she dare follow and plead her case. She had spent so many nights with Nicholas in that far corner of the house she now felt a sense of co-ownership or, or at of least belonging. Often she had played the wifely role of tidying up, sorting laundry, cleaning the adjoining bathroom and arranging small vases of flowers and scented candles with loving care.

She knew every part of it by now, how those shelves of airport pulp fiction concealed a panel of instruments that revealed an amazing treasure-trove of high-tech equipment, from an enormous television screen mounted flush into the wall to the state of the art surround sound system and latest video games consoles. When he first revealed these to her, she had been merciless in her rebukes about his decadence.

Most important of all was that king-sized bed in which they had, night after night, made love with so much passion, coupled with such profound, such exquisite tenderness such as she could never even have imagined before and, without Nicholas, could doubtless never hope to experience again. The prospect of losing him was beyond endurance.

Julie gazed at the mountain of food in Sonya's kitchen and felt sick.

"Has Nicko given you his gift yet?" Sonya quizzed, sounding mischievous as she handed Julie an apron to protect her dress.

Julie shook her head in silence. She tried to remember when she had last been so unhappy and then realised that what she should try to remember was when in her life she had ever been happier than these last few weeks with Nicholas. That was an easy one—never. She was used to unhappiness. Ever since her mother's death, it had been her constant companion. What she was not accustomed to was happiness. It was not so much the unhappiness of losing Nicholas that she feared as the sudden withdrawal of the happiness she had experienced through him. It was like another death, but worse. This realisation caused such a paralysing stab of pain that she could do nothing but gaze at the butter knife in her hand.

"I expect he's planning to surprise you later," Sonya went on, her excitement undisturbed. "And Rob and I have a little surprise for you too, well, more a favour to be accurate. We'd like you to be our bridesmaid, or maid of honour, I think they call it. Since Nick's to be best man, we thought how appropriate if you were best woman."

Aghast, Julie dropped the butter-knife onto the work top and at last released the sob of pain that had been rising like a tidal wave within her.

Sonya looked at her in concern as if unsure whether she had offended or not. "Oh, don't worry, I won't insist on mauve frills and lace or any of that kind of thing. You can wear whatever you want. But I thought as Rob's so insistent on this church wedding, I might as well go the traditional route, you know. After all, it will only happen once for me. Please don't look so horrified _,_ Julie. We thought you'd be pleased."

Julie dropped her head and the tears fell in great wet splashes onto her hands as they rested on the granite counter. "Oh Sonya, it's not that," she sobbed. "It's wonderful to be asked, but... I can't be a bridesmaid."

Before Sonya could move close enough to offer comfort, Robert appeared between the two women, stretching an arm around each. "My two angels; what can I do to help?"

"I think you should take Julie across to 'The Ship' for a drink." Sonya gave a quick and meaningful nod of her head in Julie's direction. "I'm sure Nicky will help me with these few sandwiches."

He glanced from one to the other, nodded at Sonya, deftly untied the bow of Julie's apron and led her to the door.

A few minutes later, Robert had secured a table inside 'The Ship Inn' and given his order for drinks to the barman. The small pub was almost empty so early in the evening and being so close to Robert's house, he was well-known to all the staff. The barman lingered to chat, but was sensitive enough to Robert's body language to move away after a brief exchange. In the meantime, Julie had composed herself somewhat.

"Sonya just asked me to be her bridesmaid," she told Robert in a flat, quiet voice.

"Is that what made you cry?" His voice was light and teasing.

"Yes. I mean, no. Oh, I don't know, Robert. It's just that, according to tradition, you're supposed to be unmarried to be a bridesmaid, aren't you? Well, I'm not. And that's the problem, you see. Nicholas found out and he says I've cheated you all. I should have told you, I know it was wrong..." Her voice trailed away as tears threatened again.

"You're _married_?" was all Robert could say in his surprise. Then after a moment, he added irrationally, "You _can't_ be."

She sighed. "It's true. I married in my final year of med. School, almost four years ago."

Robert continued to stare at her, shaking his head in surprise. "Four years? And Nick didn't know?"

Despite the irrationality of the question, she shook her head and bit her lower lip. Somehow Robert's repetition of 'four years' made it sound so much worse.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

She looked straight into his eyes. "I really don't know, now. But I haven't committed a crime. I suppose I just couldn't bring myself to talk about it. I wasn't ready to discuss it with anyone. It's over, of course."

"Was it so... painful?"

"No," she said with an honesty that surprised them both. "Not at all. It was an amicable parting. The marriage was a mistake from the start, we both realised that. I left him in Saudi. Perhaps that's why it all seemed so separate and, well, unimportant. It's in the past and he's in a different country."

"Who is he?" he quizzed, more for want of something to say than out of real interest, she could tell.

She gave a dry little laugh. "His name is Simon Gardiner, a surgeon, just as you all predicted, and perhaps the best friend I ever had before... before now." That much was true. He had been her aide and mentor throughout medical school and her first exhausting and miserable year of pre-registration practice. Without Simon she would doubtless have abandoned her career in that first, punishing year.

"But not the best of husbands?" Robert asked.

She shrugged. It was wrong to assume Simon was at fault; her innate sense of justice could not allow that. "Perhaps I wasn't the best of wives. Statistically, marriages between doctors have an appalling success rate."

She'd married Simon out of a bewildering combination of gratitude and confusion. He had taken her under his protective wing and, with his infinite patience and careful guidance, had turned her into a doctor. She had been very grateful at the time, only later realising how crushing to her fragile spirit Simon's ambitions for her were. To confront her failed marriage was to acknowledge more than a failed relationship.

They both fell silent for a moment, mulling over their thoughts. One or two people entered the pub, deep in argument, which continued as they stood at the bar behind them. Robert shook his head several times and pulled his chair closer to Julie's.

"And what made you choose today to tell Nick?"

"I didn't. That's the awful thing about it. I would have told him myself soon enough, but he found out for himself, and now he hates me. But his reaction is way over the top. He won't even let me explain."

"It's a bit late for explanations though, isn't it?" Robert's surprised tone caused her to wince. "Damn it, Julie, what were you playing at? You knew Nick's feelings about divorce. Not to tell him you were married and to string him along like this is just... dishonest. And you should know by now you only get one shot at proving yourself to someone like Nick. Lose his trust in you and it's lost forever. He happens to be a first rate friend of mine and you were the last person in the world I would have expected to behave in this... this shabby way."

"But I wasn't _stringing him along,_ that's a horrible thing to say. It's just that everything happened so fast," she protested through her tears. "In the beginning, it didn't seem to be anyone's business but my own. You all jumped to your own conclusions, and I let you because it saved me from talking about it. It's not exactly something to be proud of, or something I wanted to discuss with virtual strangers. I just wanted to forget it. Was that so very terrible of me? Of course, I liked Nicholas from the outset, but I imagined it was just a physical attraction that would run its course for both of us with no harm done, especially not to him."

"That doesn't sound much like the Julie I used to know." His scathing tone made her cringe in shame. "And your misjudgement of Nick does you no credit at all. You don't have _flings_ with someone like Nick. He's never strung anyone along in his life. Did you never wonder what a guy like that was doing lodging with me? Then let me explain." He took a sip of his drink to afford him a moment to compose his thoughts.

"I cracked up in a bad way after Linda died. My reason to go on living had disappeared with her. I met Nick through Linda in the first place—he was dating a friend of hers for a short while, so we double-dated on occasions. We got on well enough but he's five or six years younger than me and we didn't have that much in common really, different backgrounds and all that, except that he loved plants. I mean he cared about living, growing things in a way I'd never seen in anyone, except my granddad, before. It's rare to find people like that nowadays. He started coming down to the garden centre to potter around and learn about the different plants. The place was a lot smaller then. It's thanks to Nick's shrewd business sense I've been able to expand so much these past few years, but that's a different story.

"I was surprised when he turned up at Linda's funeral and then at how much time he spent just being around, always on hand for a word, a chat, a bit of company, a genuine Good Samaritan. At first, that's what I imagined he must be, you know, some sort of born do-gooder or religious nutter, but then I realised he was just an all-round good bloke. There were very few people I could tolerate seeing in those days... so few people possess his sort of... sensitivity. It's hard to describe it. He never intruded, just made himself available whenever I couldn't stand my own company any longer and I started relying on him to help me take my mind off... the torment."

The mental images conjured by Robert's words were almost too much to bear. Seeing the person she loved through the eyes of someone else made her yearning for Nicholas acutely painful.

Robert released a heavy, heartfelt sigh. "Five or six months after her death, I... decided... well, that I'd... just had enough of it all." He broke off and stared into his drink. Julie could tell from his fragmented speech how much he struggled to talk. He had to clear his throat several times before continuing. "I drove out to Nettlesby Wood one night. I was perfectly calm and rational, or so I thought. There wasn't a soul around and I picked my spot with care and pushed a pipe into the exhaust and..."

Julie gasped in horror, her own misery for a moment submerged by the shock of this appalling news.

He gave a grim nod and continued. "It seemed like the easiest thing in the world to do. I never gave it a second thought. God alone knows how Nick found me there. They told me afterwards that another two or three minutes and he would have been too late. Anyway, not to prolong the story, when I came out of hospital, Nick had given up his penthouse in town and installed himself as my lodger.

"Not even a handful people know about what happened, but I'm sure you'll respect that. I'm a hundred per cent over it now, so don't look so stricken, little Julie. The reason I'm telling you about it is because if it hadn't been for Nick, I wouldn't even be around now, looking forward to my second shot at real happiness with Sonya. Now tell me how that fits in with _your_ picture of Nick?" he concluded.

Julie shook her head in abject dismay.

"There are so few women in the world I would vouch for to Nick. It looks like I made a big mistake. I was _proud_ to introduce you to him. Not that he needs any help from me or anyone else in that department, but the minute I met you again, I thought to myself _perfect! What a perfect match._ I knew he wouldn't be able to resist you. Well, not the Julie you used to be anyway. How could you have become so devious...so shallow? And when he met you, I imagine he thought he'd discovered you like some rare, shy little woodland flower like a wild orchid or a larkspur." Robert shook his head and looked mournful. "Instead, you turned out to be a sly little monkshood."

"What do you mean? What's that?" She was almost fearful of the answer.

"Just another wild flower, beautiful but deadly poisonous."

She took in a sharp breath, a pain knifing her throat.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," he apologised at once.

"No, it wasn't. I expect you're right," she said in a dull voice. "And one thing I know you are right about is that I don't deserve him. If it's any consolation, I don't imagine Nicholas will suffer as long or as much as I shall. Look Robert, would you mind if we left now?" The pub had filled considerably, and the noise was becoming unbearable for her throbbing head.

As they walked back to Robert's house, she turned towards him again. "I don't know if I can ever make any of you believe it, but I'm deeply sorry about all this. Will you apologise to Sonya for me? There's no way I can attend your party or talk to anyone else tonight. I feel I've been criminalised enough for one day."

They halted beside her car in the drive. He glanced up at the house—it was lit up like a Christmas tree—and then at Julie. "What about Nick?"

"Nicholas! Oh, Robert, I've just remembered, he has my car keys," she exclaimed.

He eyed her levelly for a few seconds. "I suppose you want _me_ to go and get them for you?"

Julie leaned against the car, hugging her arms around her for protection from the chilly night air. The first party guests began to straggle towards the door. The garden centre van sat on the road outside the drive. A frosty-looking moon peered down from the misty sky. It was almost full and she could discern the cold, opaque outline of its swollenness and the dark shadows on its nearly round face. One or two stars splashed pin-points of light here and there across the heavens. No clouds filtered the flinty little spots. Somewhere in the distance, a cracked-sounding bell jangled, or she imagined, until she turned to face Nicholas holding her key-ring between thumb and forefinger.

"You wanted your keys?" His voice sounded flat and cold.

Her heart gave a sickening lurch, and she gazed into his handsome, hostile face. "Nicholas, please don't let it end like this. I wish you'd let me explain..."

"Explain? Julie, why can't you understand? I don't think there can be any possible explanation you could offer me right now that I could find acceptable for what you've done."

"You might if you tried hard enough," she said in a tiny, miserable voice, but he just held out the keys in silence.

She looked in despair at the garden centre van as she blinked hard to fight back yet more tears. "I can't get my car out of here. That van is blocking the exit. You'll have to move it."

"You did pass your driving test, I presume?" His voice oozed contempt. "You ought to be able to reverse a bus through that space."

"Sonya was right, you know, for a twenty-first-century guy, your ideas are really antediluvian," she snapped at him before snatching her keys from his hand and climbing into her car. She slammed the door, switched on the ignition with a fierce jab, and rammed the car into reverse. Still biting back tears of anger and frustration, she struggled to manoeuvre the car through the allotted space as Nicholas stood looking critical, arms folded across his chest. Within seconds she had struck the van with the car's rear bumper. She registered the sickening scrape of metal on metal before collapsing into tears over the steering wheel. _Dammit, dammit, dammit_! _Couldn't I have just managed to do one thing right in his eyes?_

"I'm guessing you failed the test," Nicholas observed, pulling open the door and indicating that she should get out. Wrapped in misery, she clambered from the driving seat.

"Nicky! Darling," exclaimed a look-alike for Annabel Campbell-Turner—her younger sister, perhaps. Her mannerisms were decidedly similar, Julie noticed as she watched the leggy blonde wrap herself around Nicholas. "I haven't seen you around for _e_ _ons_ , you heartless creature," the girl admonished. "Why didn't you return my calls or texts?"

Julie shuddered, but remained silent as she witnessed the renewal of old acquaintanceship. The name of this one, it transpired, was Livvie, short, Julie presumed, for Olivia, rather than Olive. She wondered if all Nicholas' old girlfriends were blondes with fancy names and if she was the only plainly named brunette in his extensive collection. With beautiful women throwing themselves at him like that, it's not surprising he doesn't feel the need to shift with the times.

Nicholas told Livvie that he'd been very busy and suggested she wait inside where he would catch up with her in a while.

"Okay, Nicodemus, but hurry. We have so much to catch up on," replied the blonde, casting a cursory eye over the wretched Julie before moving in for a further embrace to emphasise her meaning.

_Nicodemus?_ Julie turned and walked away.

A little further down the road and at a right angle to Lilac Close, was a short cul-de-sac in which a rather stark, modern church huddled in its meagre grounds and Julie flung herself onto a wooden bench facing the rather uninspiring building. She thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her light linen jacket, moodily surveying her outstretched legs as she pondered over the scene she'd just left behind and wondered just how much 'catching up' there was to be done between 'Nicodemus' and the blonde siren. What she wouldn't give to take Livvie's place in that embrace right now. Then she wondered if she would ever see Robert and Sonya again and a surge of jealousy and desolation threatened to swamp her. She'd been ousted from paradise. What had been the name of that poisonous flower Robert had called her? Something beautiful but toxic, he had said. She wondered if she'd ever come across one without knowing during her woodland rambles. She suspected not. It took someone like Nicholas to discover rare beauties. You'd think someone of his experience would know the difference between a flower and a weed.

She gazed at a street lamp in front of her, watching the moths jostling for position as they flapped round and round. Nicholas was like that light, attracting all the moth-like creatures, the Annabels, the Clarissas, the Livvies and perhaps many more, all irresistibly drawn to his lovely flame. He could have married any one of them and made the same mistake as her. Had he always been entirely truthful with them all? Had he never come close to that intensity of emotion he seemed to have shared with her, close enough at least to have wrong-footed somewhere _en route_? Could he really know himself so well and be so perfect? Robert certainly thought so. He made him sound like a saint. Saint Nicholas, no, sorry, got one of those already—and he was a do-gooder too.

Some ten or fifteen minutes elapsed, and she wondered if Livvie and Nicholas had finished 'catching up' and whether Nicholas had been left with sufficient strength to manoeuvre her car from the drive without further damage to either it or the van. Damage her insurance company would now need to sort out for her.

"There you are," he exclaimed from a point close behind her. "I've seen to your car for you."

"And Livvie too, I trust?"

He actually managed the merest flicker of a smile, if it wasn't just a tic in his cheek, that is. Livvie's 'catching up' must have been very therapeutic, Julie thought.

"She's an old friend," he explained sounding disinterested, dismissive.

But not very old, Julie thought. Then she caught her breath as Nicholas came to sit on the bench beside her. At last he was coming to his senses.

"Can I ask you one question, Julie? Was it because you thought I was a simple gardener that you felt you had free license to trample on my feelings?"

She groaned. "Oh Nicholas, you _know_ that isn't true."

"Then it seems I know very little," he replied dryly. "I suggest you go home now before you freeze to death."

She jumped up from the bench, her feet, in their flimsy shoes, smarted with the cold as she planted them in front of him and gazed down at him. "My marriage was over long before I met you. It was a mistake that should never have happened. I was ashamed of it. It was like my career in a way. Passing your exams doesn't automatically make you a good doctor in exactly the same way that signing a book in a registry office doesn't automatically mean you'll have a good marriage, or even a proper one. Simon and I were never really husband and wife, we were just good friends."

"Simon?" He nodded and repeated the name in a voice heavy with sarcasm. "Simple Simon? Simply making mistakes?"

Julie knew he was referring to her observation that sometimes people _simply_ made mistakes in their choice of marriage partners, so it was a double-edged insult. "You have no right to insult him." she reproached in a low voice.

"No, of course not. He's your husband."

"No, Nicholas. Not anymore, but he is my friend."

"Really? That's what I thought I was. It seems you treat all your friends the same way. Badly. In my book, friends don't cheat and lie. You should have told me instead of deliberately letting me believe you were someone... something else."

"How could I, knowing your views? I grew too attached to you."

"All the more reason for telling the truth, don't you think?"

"But I couldn't bear to risk losing what we had."

"We could never have anything built on a foundation of lies. If I asked your husband, would he tell me you were never really his wife? Would he betray you the way you betrayed him? Do you hate all men, Julie? Or is it that you _simply_ don't know the difference between right and wrong, or the truth and lying?"

His tone wounded her as much as his words but still she pressed on, her voice little more than a shaky whisper. "I don't hate you, Nicholas. I love you."

"I'll leave your keys on the bench." His voice sounded icy.

She backed away a pace and stared down at her feet in misery. Was there nothing she could say to move this man with whom she had shared so much love? Was the damage she had done to their relationship so irrevocable? How could he have changed so much, her tender lover? Had _she_ done that to him?

She wanted a glimpse of the old Nicholas to reassure herself that he had existed, that she hadn't dreamed him up. This cold, hard stranger bore no resemblance to him.

When she raised her head, Nicholas was no longer there. She had told him she loved him and he'd simply walked away. How much more humiliation could she take?

Very slowly she moved towards the bench and reached for her keys before turning and retracing her steps along Lilac Close, her eyes never lifting from the puddles of light glowing on the pavement beneath her feet.

He stood in the shadows beside her car. She wasn't surprised to see him because she didn't doubt the strength of his feelings. But people with such deep feelings, also hold on relentlessly to their principles. She had none of his pride or dignity however and she walked straight to him, placing herself directly in front of him again.

"I'm so sorry, Nicholas. You're the last person in the world I'd ever want to hurt. I'm not a shallow person, but I don't understand your reactions. Is there _nothing_ I can say to make amends?" She searched his face. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek for a moment, tracing the contours of his dear, lovely face, but he removed it, just as gently and shook his head.

"Please go, Julie. That's probably the kindest thing you can do for me now," he said, sounding weary and she realised at last he was right, and further argument would be pointless. She had read that in his face. _You only get one shot with Nicholas_ , Robert had said. And she'd had that—and blown it. She would never do for him now because she was flawed and not what he had every right to expect from life. According to his friend, he was far too good to accept the second-rate. He had set his standards high; how dare she imagine _she_ had any right to try to bring them down by offering him damaged goods? He was, gentleman to the end, simply waiting to make sure he discharged his duties in the correct way in ensuring she got safely and neatly out of his life. He was a very organised person after all.

And so, aching in her heart and wretched in her soul, without a further word, she climbed into her car and drove off down Lilac Close. She even denied herself a final glance of him in her rear-view mirror.

# Chapter Six

"Lizzie... I've decided to go away for a few days."

"What, now? Tonight?"

"Yes, now."

"Where will you go?"

Julie stared down at her travel bags. "London. I need to sort out a few things about the house. I promised Simon I'd take care of it."

"I see. But why tonight? Isn't it rather late to be driving down to London?"

Julie gave a faint smile. "Not really. After all, it's open all night. Anyway I feel like driving."

"I see," Liz repeated. "How long will you be away?"

"I'm not sure. How long before the garden will be ready, do you suppose?"

"The garden?" Liz echoed in surprise. "I really don't know. Not for at least another fortnight, I should imagine. I thought you'd spoken to Nicholas today. I hope it will be finished before the Paris conference begins, especially if you're not going to be around."

"Oh yes, Paris," Julie murmured vaguely. "When is that?"

"The third. And then, of course, I have to go straight off to The States; such tight-timing this year. I do hope Brendon will manage in my absence."

"I'm sure he will," Julie replied without conviction since she couldn't recall who Brendon was.

"Well, _he_ thinks he will, but that wretched Henderson will be very little use to him, I suspect."

Julie did not want to hear about Dr Henderson and his dubious results yet again, so she gave her sister a quick kiss on the cheek and gathered up her travel bags, promising to telephone Liz and keep her informed of her plans.

* * * *

It was one-fifteen on Sunday morning before Julie left the M25 near Heathrow and joined the M4 eastbound towards central London. Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the small gravel drive fronting the house that had once been her marital home. The house had not been entirely deserted in the past year, because Giles, a close friend and colleague of Simon's, had been in residence until two or three months ago. But Giles had been a tidy tenant and to Julie everything looked the same as she and Simon had left it.

She groped about in the silent darkness until she found the main electricity box. Slowly the forlorn house began to beep and buzz with electronic life as the refrigerator hummed, the central heating kicked in, the microwave light flashed and the clock on the electric cooker began its tinny ticking. Julie closed the door of the empty refrigerator and looked around her kitchen. With none of the ingredients for tea or coffee to hand, she poured herself a brandy and walked through to the sitting room whose silence startled her.

She fell into a chair experiencing a vague sense of disquiet in the silent room. It was the clocks, she realised with relief, Simon's antique clocks, all watching her in broody silence. She hurried to the old long case clock and adjusted the weights. This was Simon's favourite and indeed her own, if she were to confess any enthusiasm at all for old clocks. Simon had neglected to mention the clocks in his telephone conversation and she began to worry about their future as she watched the old pendulum swing with ponderous regularity. "It will have to be storage for you, old man, I fear. Just until Simon returns." Next she wound the walnut mantle clock with its ancient calendar dial, resuscitating its sonorous old heart.

Ten minutes later, she returned to her chair feeling much easier and less alone as the five clocks ticked and whirred busily from their various perches in the room. She wondered if Giles had bothered with the clocks during his stay at the house.

On Sunday morning, she rose early and set out for a brisk walk down towards the Common that was already alive with dog-walkers and children with footballs. The sun was gathering strength with the passing minutes and by the time she had made her purchases in the small supermarket and begun the walk homeward, she could remove her jacket and enjoy the warmth of the sun on her arms.

She busied herself in the house until late afternoon, that time on a Sunday when restlessness reaches its zenith, and Julie could find nothing satisfactory to occupy her mind or body. She stared in moody silence at the television set, which she had switched on without the volume but could not then be bothered to explore the channels. A middle-aged man made a silent tour through the ruins of an abbey, gesticulating with wild hands to direct the camera to its crumbling walls and disintegrating architectural features. The clocks compensated for the lack of words. She tried to keep her mind off Nicholas and the past few weeks of happiness. Just three weeks; was that to be her frugal allocation of bliss in this life? She always knew it was too good to last, but surely, _surely_ she deserved a little bit more than that? It seemed not as even that had been stolen or ought never to have existed since she evidently had no claim on happiness. She was a poisonous flower, a monkshood, beautiful but deadly.

The telephone shrilled and roused her from her inertia. She picked it up before the answering machine kicked in, but it was a wrong number. Another mistake. Foolish to have hoped for anything else. She clicked on the answering machine and heard Simon's voice saying,

"You're through to the residence of Simon and Jules Gardiner, though you may know my wife better as Dr Juliet Somerville..." She remembered the message well; Simon had recorded it prior to leaving for Saudi and it continued in an upbeat vein quite uncharacteristic of him. She flipped the record button and began recording a new message but after two or three stumbling attempts to recite something suitable, abandoned it and set it back to the original. She also switched the telephone to mute and added the words 'disconnect phone' to her list of tasks for the forthcoming week. At the head of the list was 'contact estate agent'.

Simon seemed sure he would not be returning to the Ealing house and his Welsh friend, Giles, had now bought his own place, so Julie should dispose of it as she considered best. She knew she would not live there alone, even if she remained in London. The house was too large for her and anyway, she needed a complete change. A small flat would be all she would require where she and her unhappy heart could shrivel and grow old together; true downsizing.

She turned again to the crumpled journals and re-read the advertisement she had seen, before taking a pair of scissors and neatly cutting around the lines of the box. She took the square of paper into the study and opened her laptop to update her CV and standard letter of application. It was essential to keep occupied, to force her mind from dwelling on those blissful Sundays spent with Nicholas, but it was a painful task and the evening yawned ahead of her, cavernous, empty and dreary.

On Monday morning, she embarked upon her list of tasks, arranging first of all for an estate agent to view the house the following day. She pushed away the memory of Annabel Campbell-Turner, which threatened to trespass. She must not allow it houseroom. The sense of emptiness at the loss of Nicholas gnawed at her inner core, causing an ache inside her that was physical and made her feel quite sick. How could he have so completely filled up her life in such a short space of time to make the loss so acute? It felt like being bereaved, but denied the right to grieve. She needed to push all thoughts of him and anything connected to him away from her. The only way to cope with this intense pain was to refuse to acknowledge it and fill her mind with anything else but Nicholas.

She returned to her list. The electricity and telephone could wait until the last moment, she decided, and began making an inventory of the things she imagined Simon might like to keep. Her attention wandered to the unposted letter leaning against her apple paperweight, and she seized the envelope and scrutinised it, as if seeing it for the first time. Perhaps she should discuss it with Simon or Liz? No, Professor Robinson would be the best person to advise her, and she knew just where he could be found on a Monday afternoon.

*

A damp, sickly sensation engulfed Julie as she parked in the hospital car park _._

I seem to be swapping one malady for another; I never realised it was humanly possible to feel so wretched, she mused as she travelled up in the shuddery old lift to Professor Robinson's office on the fifth floor, directly above the medical wards. The last lift she had been in was a modern glass and chrome bubble that had glided with effortless speed up to Nicholas' top floor office suite...

She tapped on the door and entered. Bertram Robinson sat behind his large desk, ostentatiously dictating pearls of wisdom to his secretary, Annie.

"Juliet, my dear," he said, rising from his seat and Annie jumped up and gave her a warm hug before hurrying out of the room.

"Oh dear, I really ought to have telephoned first," Julie apologised, more to the disappearing figure of Annie than to the Professor.

"Nonsense, my dear, I've been expecting you," he assured her, stepping around his desk and encircling Julie's shoulders with his large arm. This display of avuncular affection took her aback. He had justly earned his nickname 'Bertie the Bully' many years before she had joined his unit.

"Expecting me?" she repeated, puzzled.

"Yes, of course. I wondered when you'd seek out your old friend. Words cannot express how sorry I was to hear about Simon, my dear."

She stared at him, perplexed. Her old friend? And how did he know about her break-up with Simon? Surely not through Simon, who was the epitome of discretion.

"Yes, well..." she murmured, aware of her colour rising. "These things do happen, especially in the medical profession. Don't they call it an occupational hazard?" The last thing she wanted to do was exchange clichés about failed marriages with her old boss.

"This is true," he agreed with a sad shake of his head. "But nonetheless, it's so very distressing when it does happen—especially to one's dear friends."

She considered he was being far too theatrical and decided it was time to change the subject before he became maudlin. Perhaps he had suffered a broken marriage in the past, but she had no desire to go down the road of reminiscences and comparisons.

"Professor, I came to ask your advice." She tried to sound brisk.

"But of course, of course. It's not my subject, you realise, but I've been reading up a bit on it and I've arranged with Ralph to be kept informed every step of the way. I popped in to see him this morning. I expect he told you?" The Professor beamed with self-satisfaction.

"Who? Professor, what are you _talking_ about?" Julie asked, all of a sudden feeling very nervous.

He eyed her with some scepticism for a moment over his bifocals as if deciding which of his many tones he should adopt. He chose his most sympathetic.

"Why, poor Simon, of course. Who else?"

"Simon? You've seen Simon... _today_?" she demanded with mounting agitation.

"Yes, that's what I said. I felt it my duty, poor chap. Knew you'd be expecting me to lend my support. He seemed quite pleased to see me, tells me you're ready for a stab at Part One. How's the old bookwork going?"

"Professor Robinson _,_ " she shouted in alarm. "I don't know what you're talking about. Simon is in Saudi Arabia. He called me from there on Saturday."

The professor stared at Julie in astonishment as he considered her words carefully and then his own. He stalked back around his desk and spread his large, well-manicured hands out on its polished mahogany surface. He scanned them for a moment as if they were a script. At length he removed his spectacles, placed them with extreme care on his desk and fixed Julie with his small, myopic eyes.

"What are you doing here, Julie?" His voice sounded measured and careful.

"I came to talk to you about a job."

"Then you really don't know?" Her expression was evidently answer enough for him. "Simon admitted himself on Friday night. He's down in Isolation now."

She stared at him in incredulity. "You're mistaken, Professor. He called me from Saudi on Saturday." She found herself struggling to breathe properly.

"From the Isolation Wing, maybe. Saudi, no. I'm afraid Simon's in the acute stages of viral hepatitis."

" _Oh my God._ "

"Ralph Mayhew..." he began, but Julie didn't wait to hear the rest of his sentence.

She hurled herself down two flights of stairs and fled across the narrow bridge leading to the new pathology block, where she took a short-cut through the Biochemistry lab. Using the fire-escape staircase she reached ground level sooner than any lift might, and sprinted through the hospital grounds, past the old mortuary and chapel, until she reached the low, grey building on the outskirts of the hospital land. She flung open the doors and only then halted, gasping for breath.

"Juliet! Oh, my dear, I'm so relieved to see you." Her mother-in-law, Helen Gardiner, uttered the words, before throwing herself at Julie in a fierce embrace. Julie surveyed Simon's mother, still panting to regain her breath. Mrs Gardiner continued speaking in a rapid, confused flow. "I only found out myself today. I suspect he didn't want me to know, but Ruth called me—Sister Porter, you remember? But he won't allow me into the room until I've spoken to Dr Knight. Oh my dear, I'm so pleased you've come. Simon said you were studying for your exams and didn't want me to disturb you. It's such a relief to see you."

Julie stared at her mother-in-law in confusion as her heart tried to find a more regular rhythm. So Simon had not told his mother they had separated. How like Simon, wanting to spare her. But the truth will out, or will it? If she hadn't decided to come and see Professor Robinson today, when would _she_ have discovered the truth? _No such thing as coincidence. What must be, will be_.

"You will talk to him, won't you, my dear? I _must_ be allowed in to see him."

"Mrs Gardiner, Simon's worried about your renal status. You're well aware of the rules following a transplant. He wants you to check with the nephrologists as a safeguard," explained the pleasant voice of Giles Fairchild in its musical Welsh lilt. Giles was Simon's close friend, colleague and recent house-sitter, with whom Julie had never succeeded in achieving much of a rapport. He acknowledged Julie's presence with distinct coolness.

"Hello, Giles. What's happening? How is he?"

Giles eyed her with what looked like distrust before shrugging in a non-committal way and indicating Simon's room with a nod of his head. "See for yourself," he suggested, unhelpful as ever. "I'm waiting for Ralph Mayhew now."

Without thinking, Julie strode towards the indicated room.

"You can't go in there," snapped an officious nurse. "Oh! It's you, Dr Somerville." Her voice softened in contrition. "You'll find the protective clothing through here."

Arrayed in an oversized gown and clumsy overshoes, Julie entered Simon's small room, where he lay on a narrow bed, looking pale, tired and out of place; his blonde hair sweeping his forehead and looking untidy.

"Simon," she cried, hurrying towards her husband's bed.

"Jules? How did you..."

No such thing as coincidence.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she wailed and then bit her lip, recalling that she had terminated their telephone conversation without allowing him very much time to tell her anything in any detail. "Oh, Simon, forgive me. I'm _so_ sorry. Tell me what happened." She pulled out a stool from under his bed and seated herself as close as was possible to him.

"There's not much to tell," he confessed in a tired voice. "I must have been careless in theatre at some stage, as well as damned stupid for not recognising the signs sooner. When I did, I brought myself back here at once. Old Arnold was fantastic—arranged everything for me. I wonder if you'd give him a call for me, Jules. Just to let him know?"

"Yes, of course. How are you now, Simon?"

"Tired. Nauseous. Bit of a sore throat, you know, but not too bad otherwise. Have you spoken to anyone?"

"No. Only Prof. Robinson."

"Ah, Bertie. Had a visit from his lordship this morning. Jules..."

"Yes, Simon?" She leaned forward and impulsively took hold of his hand, which he jerked away at once.

"Don't," he ordered. "And maybe you ought to scrub. Are you wearing scent?"

She drew back. "Yes, does it bother you?"

"It's a bit strong."

She moved back further. "I'm sorry. Your mother is..."

"Don't let her in unless Knight agrees." Another order.

"I'll talk to him myself," she promised.

"It's good to see you again, Jules. But when you come again, will you leave off the perfume, old thing?" He tried to joke but Julie felt his rejection like yet another slap in the face. Could she do nothing right by those she cared about? _If I asked your husband, would he tell me you were never his wife_ _?_ Nicholas' cruel taunt came back to her. Would she ever be able to do anything right again?

"Of course, I will. I'm sorry, Simon, but I didn't know. Look, I'll go down to the residency and take a shower now if it's bothering you."

"No, don't go just yet. I think I'm getting used to it now. It's your favourite, isn't it?"

No it's yours, she thought. You chose it, you bought it, I just got used to wearing it. "What are they doing for you, Simon?"

He gave a mild snort which bore only a faint resemblance to laughter. "Bleeding me dry, for one thing. And watching me as if I were some rare, tropical fish in a bloody tank."

"Poor Simon."

"Poor Simon? The one thing we are all taught to watch out for from our first days in medical school and Simple Simon misses it. How could I have made such a fundamental mistake?"

"Don't," she pleaded, again remembering Nicholas' cruel taunts. "It's not your fault. And you'll recover."

"Do you think so, Jules?" he asked without any enthusiasm.

"Yes," she said, emphasising the word. "We just have to be patient, that's all." And yet again Sonya's words flashed across her mind: _what must be, will be._

*

She followed Dr Mayhew into his chaotic-looking office off the Liver Unit. Neither had spoken beyond light pleasantries on the walk over there. Giles Fairchild followed behind them.

"Have a seat, Mrs... Dr Somerville," offered the sour-faced consultant.

Julie pushed aside a pile of journals and sat on a hard, black vinyl chair. She took a deep breath. "Can you please tell me what you think, Dr Mayhew?"

"What I think?" he mused, raising an eyebrow and fixing a cold pale-blue eye upon her. "I think he has hepatitis, almost certainly viral and in the acute stage. It's early days and you'll understand that we have very few results through as yet, and until I've seen more test results, I'm not prepared to speculate further."

"Are you planning a biopsy?" she asked, nervously, at the same time thinking: I heard you were a cold-hearted bastard.

His eyebrow lifted even further. "For the moment, I'm planning to wait for the liver function tests and IgM levels, Dr Somerville. That should give us a good idea of the exact extent of the liver damage and then we'll proceed from there."

"I'm... he... I mean, there doesn't appear to be any jaundice," she pointed out with uncertainty.

"No," he agreed, turning towards the window so that his face was hidden from Julie's scrutiny. "And I understand he's AA negative. But his liver is definitely enlarged and very tender and his history is quite characteristic, I assure you. I might be able to tell you more tomorrow, Dr Somerville."

Julie rose, sensing the pending dismissal and anyway too distressed to articulate further coherent questions. Now she wished she _had_ studied alphabetically; that way she would have covered the hepatic function before nephrology.

She sought out the housekeeper of the residency and arranged to rent one of the spare rooms. She showered, using the hard, unscented hospital soap and returned by way of the dialysis unit, only to learn that Dr Knight had not appeared in the hospital all that day.

"The dinner looked awful," fretted Mrs Gardiner. "And he hardly touched anything. I saw his tray. I really ought to call Alice, she'll be so worried."

"Why don't you stay in Ealing for the night and you can see Dr Knight early in the morning? I've taken a room here to be near Simon, but I'll drive you to the house now. Then we can see Dr Knight together tomorrow if you like."

"Oh, yes. Thank you, my dear. Then I can return to Brighton afterwards, now you're here. I can trust you to keep me informed."

But Dr Knight made no appearance on the following day and the general consensus was that Helen ought not to risk the possibility of infection in such an environment. Her friend and companion, Alice, arrived and bore her off to Brighton after Julie's repeated assurances that she would keep her mother-in-law informed in detail of Simon's progress.

It was late the following afternoon before Ralph Mayhew sought Julie and gravely handed her the computer print-out of Simon's initial liver function tests, which she stared at in dismay.

"The damage might be more extensive than I had thought," he told her quietly. "Do you know if he's managing to eat?"

She shook her head.

"Hardly at all. He vomited this morning and retched just at the sight of the lunch tray. He says even talking about food makes him nauseous."

"Anorexia is not uncommon, of course, but if it doesn't improve, I'll start him on intravenous glucose. You haven't noticed any neurological abnormalities, I suppose?"

"No." Julie shook her head in fear, searching her brain in a frenzy of alarm. "What are you thinking...?"

"Everything and nothing," he assured her. "We'll just keep a close eye on him and continue the screening. Oh, this is my S.R. by the way, Andy Farrow. I daresay you've met before?"

She nodded towards the senior registrar.

"Well, if you have any problems, he's your man whenever I'm not around," Dr Mayhew assured her gruffly before preparing to enter Simon's cubicle.

Julie sank into a chair, still holding the sheet of results. A nurse handed her a cup of tea, which she stared into in gloomy meditation for a long time.

The following morning, an intravenous glucose drip was inserted and Simon appeared more cheerful for a time. As the day progressed, however, he grew fretful and moody, alternately chiding Julie for spending too much time with him thus neglecting her studies, and then giving way to gloom and self-pity so she had to muster all her resources to soothe and reassure him. He would curse the laboratory technicians and junior medics for what he called 'abusage' of his veins and the nurses for their constant fussing, but monitored everything with a forensic intensity to make sure nothing was omitted or changed from the routine. It's true that doctors make the most difficult patients, she reflected.

A weary Julie fell into her hard, narrow bed that night, to be awakened at two a.m. by a sharp rap on the door and her name being called. Giles Fairchild's Welsh lilt sounded more pronounced than ever. "He's just had a G.I. bleed. I thought you ought to know. Andy Farrow's down there now."

Julie threw on some clothes and hurried to Isolation.

"Is he all right?" she gasped, still panting from her sprint.

"Ralph is on his way."

"But the bleed..."

Giles grasped her shoulders with firm hands. "Let's wait for Ralph. You may not think it, Julie, but he's monitoring every step in minute detail. I've never seen him more concerned about a patient. Simon's in excellent hands. He's extremely popular in this place and everybody is very concerned."

"I know, I know! Everyone keeps telling me." she cried, trembling with confusion, fear and tiredness.

Her trembling did not abate at the sight of Dr Mayhew, his clothes in complete disarray. He looked as if he had gone to bed fully clothed and suffered a whole series of nightmares. Dumbly, she stood aside as he held a hurried conference with his senior registrar before walking into the nurses' room to don protective clothing prior to entering Simon's room. Julie waited, her mind woolly and distant due to lack of sleep. She tried to pull her wandering thoughts into some coherent shape but they danced and roamed around just out of her grasp. A coffee jingle, snatches of Shakespeare and Nicholas' accusations all spun around in her head in a monstrous but soundless cacophony, filling every private space with their repetitive, senseless, screaming tirade.

"Dr Somerville," Dr Mayhew addressed her as he pulled off his protective garments. She followed him into the nurses' room. "Yesterday you asked me what I thought and I told you I was reluctant to speculate."

She gazed at him blankly without replying.

"Well, perhaps I ought to tell you what I think now," he continued, his voice made unrecognisable by the weariness softening its tone. He released a great, tired sigh before continuing. "I trust you have heard of fulminant hepatitis?"

Her mind's eye roved across pages of text books, trying to recall what she might have read, but she saw only a jumble of illegible words and she nodded at first, but then shook her head, aware that a tear was trickling down her cheek. She had failed again.

"Yes. I mean, I've read about it, but..."

"It's a severe variant of infectious hepatitis."

"Yes." She let her head fall back against the headrest of the chair. That much she remembered. "But how do you treat it? What can you do about it?" There were a lot more tears now, but she let them fall freely. There seemed no point in trying to mop them up. She suspected the supply was endless.

"Little more than we're doing right now," he told her, his voice thick with compassion. "It's pretty much a wait and watch scenario. Andy's already started a dextrose and water infusion and I've added in Vitamin K. If he has a further bleed, we'll pass a tube to compress the varices. Meanwhile, all we can do is just wait and observe." He pressed his outstretched palm onto her shoulder and the gesture explained the unspoken words. "You look all-in, Juliet. May I suggest that you go and get some sleep?"

"No. I must see Simon."

"That will benefit neither of you. He's exhausted after losing all that blood and the best thing for him is rest. He was very drowsy when I left him. And you'll need all your strength for tomorrow."

She rose wearily and followed him out into the mild night air. She could smell the sweet scent of some nocturnal flower in the hedgerows as she walked back through the dark, silent grounds with Andy Farrow. Before climbing back into bed, she opened one of her text books at the index to search for fulminant hepatitis. It was a short section and when she had read it, she wept again.

*

"Jules?" Simon said after a long silence. "Do you remember old Lebe?"

"Yes, of course I do. I often wonder why he never contacted us." She remembered telling Nicholas about Lebe in one of her diatribes about inter-hospital politics and the prejudices inherent in the system.

"He's dead."

"No!"

"Suicide, apparently."

"Simon, how do you know that?"

"One of the staff nurses told me. She kept in touch with his wife."

"Oh poor, poor Lebe," Julie exclaimed in genuine sympathy.

"Yes," her husband agreed, sounding bitter. "Poor bloody Lebe. He never stood a chance, did he?"

"He had such rotten luck," Julie agreed with a sigh. That was not quite the way she had explained it to Nicholas in one of her polemics on inter-hospital politics.

"Luck? He drew the short straw on everything. You call that luck? Everything this lousy, corrupt system doled out to him, he took and all we ever did was pat him on the back and say 'better luck next time'. We should have done something at the time, Jules. We had a responsibility."

"You did, Simon," she reminded him with gentle firmness. "You more than anyone, helped Lebe. Remember that. You can never reproach yourself. He was very grateful to you."

"For what? A few lousy books and bit of coaching for the Fellowship?"

"And more, Simon. You found him a job. You helped him over and over. He worshipped you for that and he would be heartbroken to hear you speak like this now."

Simon lay in silence in the dimly lit room for a while before betraying his emotions with a quiet sob.

"But it wasn't enough, Jules. He blew his brains out. So it wasn't enough."

She hurried towards the bed and seized his hand in her own. This time he didn't resist. Tears coursed down his cheeks, startling Julie, who had never seen him cry before.

"Simon, don't," she beseeched in an anguished voice, but the tears continued. She dabbed gently at his face with a tissue. "Is this really for Lebe?" she asked, gazing into his eyes.

Simon sniffed. "Sorry, old thing. It's just this place. Might as well have stayed out in Riyadh for all the difference it would make."

"Stop it! How can you say such a thing? You know you don't mean it," she reproached, making no attempt to keep the hurt out of her voice.

He twisted his head from side to side as if trying to burrow into the pillows.

"No, I suppose not. It's good to have so many friends around here. Except my mother. Jules, I wish you'd keep her away from here. I don't care what Knight says. She depresses me with all her fussing and moaning. I can't cope with her fears."

"I'll persuade her to go home tomorrow," she promised. "But it's only natural she should want to see you. She loves you." She saw little point in reminding him that his mother had returned to Brighton several days ago.

"What time is it, Jules?"

"Around nine," she replied, taking up her book and removing to an easy chair, knowing he would soon drift off to sleep. She kept her books with her to keep up the pretence of studying for Simon's sake. Nicholas would call it cheating, she thought, but how could she concentrate on anything else but Simon's progress, or lack of it? She watched him now drift into a fitful sleep. His discomfort was obvious as he jerked and twisted in his bed, sometimes kicking out at his sheet and blanket.

"Jules!" he called suddenly. She was at his side in an instant.

"What is it, Simon?"

"The clocks... did you see to the clocks?"

"Yes of course," she reassured him. "It was the first thing I did."

"I feel like that damned cuckoo."

"Cuckoo?"

"In the clock. Stuck in its little wooden box. I think I'll fix it tomorrow, Jules."

"I'll bring it in for you. Try to sleep now," she coaxed, watching him fall back in exhaustion against his pillows.

"How is he?" Andy Farrow asked, approaching Simon's bed.

"A bit feverish. I just wish he could sleep and get the benefit of proper rest," she lamented.

"He's not the only one who needs proper rest," Andy replied as he cast his expert eye over the drip leads. "I think you're spending far too much time down here. Have you even had any supper?"

"I'm not hungry."

"That's what you said when I asked you at lunch time. Come down to the mess and have a bite of supper with me."

"No. He keeps waking and I don't want to leave him alone."

"Giles Fairchild is outside. He'll sit with Simon. Come on Julie, if you carry on like this, Ralph will no doubt ban you from visiting altogether."

So she rose and meekly followed the senior registrar out of the cubicle. Giles Fairchild, already gowned, waited outside the door.

"Any change?" he asked as she pulled away her hat and mask. She shook her head, too miserable for words. Giles swallowed hard and turned to study a fading poster on the wall. "It can go on for a long time, this thing," he told her in a low voice. She nodded as the tears spilled down her cheeks. Giles turned on her in fury. "And you'll be no bloody use to him at all at the rate you're going," he accused.

She could say nothing. She touched the wall behind her and let herself lean back against it as she watched him in silence.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he pointed out, and the information came as a surprise. A whole week passed in a twilight world. A whole week since she'd last seen Nicholas. "I'm off for the weekend and so are one or two of Simon's friends who'd like to spend some time with him. Why don't you take yourself off—get right out of the hospital—I won't leave the ward for the rest of the day, I promise you. And if there's any change, I'll let you know in person."

And Julie thought whatever I do is wrong. Now she was monopolising Simon and preventing his friends from being with him. How selfish. She was just a selfish, shallow woman, not helping Simon at all. _Would he betray you the way you betrayed him?_ Nicholas' words returned again and again to haunt her. So she nodded her acquiescence and even managed to mumble a faint, but nonetheless sincere, "Thank you."

# Chapter Seven

A bulky envelope, addressed in Liz's scratchy hand, lay on the mat as Julie let herself in to her house. She left it on the table while she directed her attention to sorting out her laundry and feeding it into the washing machine. Later she read Elizabeth's brief note, a short enquiry and explanation of the enclosed letter _left with Mrs B. by your friend._

She opened the letter. It was from Sonya and dated the preceding Sunday.

My dear Julie,

Please don't worry about the party, I understand everything now. All went well last night but of course we missed you.

I've been told you've gone away for a few days but your housekeeper is unable to say where I might reach you. If you need a friend, you know where I am.

Nothing need change about the wedding. No one worries about that sort of thing these days. I hope you will accept.

Please contact us as soon as possible.

Sonya.

Julie sighed over the letter, but without hesitation, walked into the study and took up a sheet of writing paper and her pen.

Dear Sonya,

_Thank you for your kind note,_ she wrote and then stared vacantly ahead of her, chewing at the tip of her pen. Maybe an email would be easier? People expected those to be curt. But then she realised she didn't have Sonya's email address. With another sigh, she hurriedly scribbled, _Urgent business keeps me in London indefinitely._

But surely it would be easy to find a contact address for Robert if not Sonya through either of their businesses? No time. She frowned over the archaic and formal construction of the sentence but shook her head and made no attempt to alter it.

_I'm extremely grateful for your kindness but don't think I'll be able to accept the tribute._ Tribute? she wondered. Oh well.

Please forgive my rudeness.

Yours,

Julie

Without re-reading the missive, she folded the paper and addressed the envelope. She placed a call to Dr Arnold Jefferson in Riyadh and then telephoned Elizabeth but received no answer from the house. Nor could Liz be traced by the hospital switchboard and her mobile phone appeared to be switched off, so Julie abandoned her efforts, remaining in the house only long enough to talk to Arnold Jefferson and pick up fresh clothes.

*

"How is he?" she whispered.

Giles Fairchild's eyebrows knitted together, and he pointed towards the door. Julie saw the deep lines of concern etched into his face.

"He's sleeping now, but he's been rambling a bit. Ralph was here half an hour ago."

"What did he say?"

"Not much he can say, really. He's added saline with potassium and started steroids."

Julie digested that news first.

"And Simon, you said he was rambling?"

"Bad dreams, I think. He's lucid enough in between."

"Thank you for staying with him, Giles."

He eyed her with distrust. "I didn't do it for you. I've known Simon a long time—longer than you have."

"I know... I just meant..."

" _I_ don't abandon my friends," he said, before stalking into the nurses' room.

Meaning I do, thought Julie wretchedly. When she wasn't deliberately deceiving them that is. She'd walked out on the best friend she had and then denied his existence _._ She turned and entered Simon's room.

He lay sleeping, his breathing irregular. She crossed to the bed to take his trembling hand into her own. The unpleasant smell of ammonia pricked at her nostrils as she sank onto the low seat, her gaze fixed upon her husband. Simon muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and Julie stroked his hand to soothe him.

"I hope you scrub thoroughly after each visit," Andy Farrow remarked on entering the room.

"Yes, of course," Julie murmured, not lifting her eyes from Simon's face. "He's deteriorating, isn't he, Andy?"

Andy sighed and leaned against the wall beside the upturned bottles of fluids.

"Well, there hasn't been any improvement yet," he admitted in a quiet voice. "He's gone into pre-coma rather fast—a result of that damned bleed, I expect."

"Can't we do anything?" she moaned, not for the first time.

"Yes Julie, keep hoping," came the simple reply. "And reassuring him," he added as an afterthought. "Most of all he needs that."

*

"Jules?"

"Yes, Simon?"

"I'm growing sick of this place."

"I remember," Julie said, attempting to keep her voice light, "when I used to say the same thing myself in my pre-reg. days and you always quoted Gardiner's law to me."

"Gardiner's law?"

"That's what I used to call it, your speech beginning with the bit about the centre of excellence, then working through the long list of all its merits and ending with the sermon about moaning house officers ignorant of their good fortune in being a part of this fine institution."

He managed a feeble grin at her changing facial expressions and poor imitation of his voice during her short homily. "You always did exaggerate, Jules. You make me sound like a pompous idiot."

"Ah well, you were emulating your great mentor, Professor Herbert Harold Berkley-Fitzgerald," she teased. "For which everyone called you his blue-eyed boy."

"Old Fitzie," he smiled. "He was a good bloke, Jules. He was always very good to me."

"True," she conceded with a mischievous smile, "and absolutely foul to everyone else. But it was through him you earned your title _Simon the Sensational—Virtuoso of the Scalpel_." She giggled and saw Simon's first proper smile of the week.

"Cut it out, Dr Somerville." He laughed weakly, his pun sending Julie into a fresh bout of laughter.

"A sharp wit, too," she teased. "Remember those awful puns your old houseman used to make?"

"Freddie," he recalled, shuffling himself into a more comfortable position. "Old Fitzie threw him out of theatre for one of them."

"He threw me out of theatre, too," she reminded him. "You took a lot of stick for me in those days, Simon. I wouldn't have survived a week without you. Perhaps I ought to switch to surgery. I should have a very easy time of it when you get the Chair in surgery."

"High hopes, Jules," he replied with a slow shake of his head. "You always were a dreamer."

She wondered to which of two suggestions he was referring; Julie switching to surgery? Unthinkable of course. Simon becoming Professor of Surgery? Providing he lived, of course. She tried to sound positive. "Not at all. It's on the cards and you know it." But her voice was too brisk, having to combat the hard lump rising in her throat and threatening to choke her. Who was she trying to kid? Simon gave her hand a gentle squeeze before drifting into sleep.

An hour or two passed, and he slept peacefully without mutterings or fretfulness. Only his hands continued to tremble. Giles Fairchild put his head around the door.

"He's sleeping," she whispered as he crept over to the bed to survey Simon's face. Giles pointed to the door and Julie crept towards it.

"He looks better," Giles remarked. "More relaxed. Look, Julie, I just wanted to apologise for being so snappy earlier. It was a bit uncalled for and under these circumstances..."

"That's all right, Giles. I can see how worried you are about Simon," she told him with a shrug of her shoulders.

"He'd be the first one to yell at me if he knew how I'd behaved."

"Don't worry about it. I understand."

"I've just persuaded Hennie to make some tea, will you join me?"

She nodded and followed him through to the nurses' room. Ten minutes later Andy Farrow joined them.

"Why don't you go and grab some sleep, Julie? He looks as if he might sleep through tonight," he suggested, accepting the proffered cup of tea.

*

But Simon did not have a peaceful night's rest and when Julie saw him on Sunday morning, she was alarmed at the deterioration.

The fetid smell in the room and Simon's feverish, incoherent mutterings in sleep and semi-consciousness were more than she could bear at times and she had to leave the room altogether on several occasions to gulp in fresher air to sustain her.

During the late morning, Mrs Gardiner arrived and Julie felt too helpless in her misery to counter her mother-in-law's demands, so she strolled around the hospital grounds vaguely wondering at the sudden burst of summer evident in the flora and fauna around her, but incapable of enjoying any part of it.

On entering the lower corridor of the old medical block, she came across a public call box and made a reverse-charge phone call to Elizabeth, reliving her misery as she related the past week's events and begging her to come. Liz sounded too shocked and concerned to offer much consolation, but promised her sister she would leave as soon as possible and join her in London.

Julie turned back towards the Isolation Wing where all her shattered strength had to be summoned to cope with her near-hysterical mother-in-law. With the help of Andy Farrow and Giles Fairchild, Julie at last succeeded in ushering Mrs Gardiner into the waiting car where the faithful Alice took charge.

"Are you on permanent call?" she asked Andy Farrow in a feeble attempt at levity and because to have expressed her gratitude would doubtless have reduced her to tears.

"For this case, yes," he answered, pushing open the door of the Isolation Wing.

The afternoon rolled onward with heavy slowness as Simon drifted in and out of consciousness and Julie kept her vigil.

*

"What's _he_ doing here?" Simon shouted suddenly, causing Julie to start forward in alarm.

"What? Who, Simon?"

"Him! That damned beggar. I don't want him here."

Julie looked around her feeling helpless and trying to rein in her confused and weary thoughts.

"I'll send him away, Simon," she promised, grasping his hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

"Give him some money and the poor sod will go," Simon muttered before losing consciousness again. Julie began to sob as she listened to his heaving, laboured breaths.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Dear God, please help him."

She felt a strong hand gripping her shoulder.

"There's a pot of coffee waiting outside," Giles said. "I'll sit with him now."

Julie sat at the desk, sipping coffee salted by her tears, but she was unaware of both the coffee and the tears. Pushing the cup aside, she let her head fall onto her folded arms on the desk and prayed to some mysterious, formless power who, for want of a better, she named God.

She started suddenly at the sound of movement in the room and realised she had drifted off to sleep. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Almost ten."

"Oh Giles, I'm sorry." she gasped, blinking at the light from the inner doorway where a nursing assistant had appeared holding a tray of fresh coffee.

"I'm sure you needed it," he replied in quick dismissal.

"How...?"

Giles shook his head.

"Not much change. But he keeps asking about some old beggar."

Julie nodded, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

"He was an old man in Riyadh. Simon gave him some money one day and the old man followed him around everywhere. He'd lost an arm and a leg, but he still managed to move around pretty well. Simon just kept giving him more money instead of sending him away. He felt sorry for him."

"I see," Giles murmured, pouring out the coffee and offering a cup to Julie. "Typical of old Simon."

"Yes." Julie shot him a faint smile. "Arnold—Dr Jefferson, who ran the clinic out there—was always nagging Simon about it. He said the old man was quite capable of doing some light work and Simon was just encouraging his laziness, turning him into a professional beggar, he called it. I'd better go in to him."

"Don't worry. Andy's in there at the moment. He'll let us know when he's through."

"He's been so good..."

"Nothing more than Simon deserves. Julie, do you mind if I ask you something? What went wrong between you and Simon?"

Caught unawares, Julie gazed into her coffee cup to reflect for a moment.

"I think I just started to grow up. I suppose when I married Simon I must have been looking for a surrogate father. That must sound immature, but I _was_ immature, and confused. He was my best friend too, and he'd been so kind to me, but that wasn't a proper basis for a marriage. I didn't know that then, of course, but I realise it now."

"It looked sound enough at your wedding," Giles pointed out with some of the old acerbity returning to his voice. "I was his best man, remember?"

"Of course, I do. And Simon was _my_ best friend as well, Giles. He always will be. I never said it was his fault and I'm more than willing to take all the blame if it makes you feel any happier. But I had a lot of time to reflect out in Saudi; time to think about what _I_ wanted for the first time in my life. I suppose he told you how much I wanted to give up medicine?"

"Give up medicine after all these years? All that studying... what a waste of an expensive education. Are you crazy?"

"Yes, I expect I am a little. Aren't we all? Simon didn't think I was crazy though. Or maybe he did. How could I possibly know since he refused, point blank, to discuss it? That's what I meant about not having a proper basis for a marriage. He refused to try to understand me."

"Perhaps he thought you'd grow out of that too. He didn't oppose you when you refused to do more surgery and chose to join Professor Robinson's medical rotation. In fact, he couldn't have been more supportive." It was clear Giles found it impossible to keep the edge of sarcasm from his voice.

Julie surveyed her coffee mug, clasped between her hands on the table. "This is more like old times, isn't it, Giles? You never accepted me as Simon's wife anyway."

"And wasn't I right?" he asked, grimly triumphant.

"I suppose so," she conceded. "But then I'm not entirely sure how qualified you are to judge. How come _you_ never married, Giles?" As soon as she had uttered the words, she winced in shame and embarrassment as she saw comprehension dawn in Giles' face. "Oh God, I didn't mean to imply... I'm so sorry, Giles. Simon would hate this bickering between us. We have to consider _him_ right now."

Andy Farrow entered the room and dropped his tall frame into a chair. "He's sinking into coma pretty rapidly," he told them in a dull voice, clearly unaware of what confrontation his fortuitous entrance had interrupted. "I'd better call Ralph. He asked me to."

Julie fled from the room and rushed to Simon's bedside. "Simon, _wake_ _up_ ," she shouted in frenzy. "For God's sake, _wake up_!"

His eyelids flickered for an instant as he tried to open them. "What God?" he mumbled in a hoarse and barely coherent whisper. "Just old Lebe and a few stinking beggars." His eyes closed again and his head dropped sideways onto his pillow.

*

Julie spent all that night talking to him in feverish excitement as she stilled his shaking hand with her firm grip. What she said she would never recollect in detail afterwards, but on she talked, hoping to strike a vital note of recognition in the deep, sleeping centre of his mind and rouse him from his slumbers. When she could think of nothing familiar, she read sonnet after sonnet from her mother's little book, explaining, deconstructing with new eagerness, sharing all her thoughts with him. Once or twice his eyes fluttered open, and he muttered a few syntactically haphazard sentences. When morning arrived, she gave up her vigil to Giles with reluctance but no further exchange of words; leaving her books behind for Giles to seek comfort or find solace in some of Shakespeare's poignant verses.

After three hours' sleep, she resumed her vigil. When Simon called out in delirium for theatre instruments to perform some ghostly operation, she entered his hallucination, fulfilling all the other roles, from scrub nurse to anaesthetist, repeating his orders and punctuating each with a firm squeeze of his hand, or responding to comments and demands in role and with sensitivity, never ceasing to hope that one of her responses might penetrate through to that vital, sleeping centre of recognition.

But as the week progressed and his course continued with little variation, her own energies drained away and her efforts gradually subsided until she spent most of her vigils watching in helpless silence as he drifted ever deeper into seemingly impenetrable depths of unconsciousness. She lost all track of time. Sometimes she found herself wandering mechanically to the residency in the middle of the afternoon when she had expected it to be late at night and being surprised at the surrounding bustle. Tiredness brought a permanent sense of coldness, and she would step outside into blazing sunshine that burned her skin and shocked her.

It seems I've missed the spring once again, she reflected, looking around her with dull eyes.

On Wednesday, Dr Mayhew sought her out and led her into the nurses' room.

"He's dying, isn't he?" she asked flatly.

"Juliet, I want to try an exchange-transfusion. As his next of kin, would you have any objections?"

"Could it help?"

"It might. At least it's worth a try."

"Then do it. Don't ask me for my permission, just do anything, _everything_ you can to help him. _Please_."

The transfusion took place early on Thursday morning as Julie paced the grounds in agitation until at length she found a shady bench beneath a sycamore tree where she sat and immersed herself in her thoughts and prayers, oblivious to the bustling hospital, rushing about its urgent duty. She had read in the library that morning that the success rate of exchange transfusions was so low as to be almost negligible. Dr Mayhew was clutching at straws. But then Simon could prove to be one of those exceptions to the rule. How typical of Simon that would be. And Ralph Mayhew would certainly not have advocated it unless he considered it worth a chance. But then no one wanted to lose Simon, so everyone would clutch at straws.

She thought of a thousand things she wanted to discuss with Simon, some so trivial, she wondered how they'd crept through the cracks in the door of her consciousness, like the remark she'd made at the Christmas ball two years before, but had refused to explain, leaving Simon baffled, and that silly, little disagreement with his mother's close friend and companion, Alice, during tea in the garden all those misty years ago. Then there was Giles and all the baggage around him that had caused such animosity between the three of them. And had she ever really told him—made him understand—how deeply grateful she was to him for all his help, advice and friendship?

To think that she, who had lost both her parents, should go on making the same mistake of taking this brief life for granted, never realising that the time for explanations and apologies and ironing out all these little misunderstandings ought never to be entrusted to the uncertainty of the future. _Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today_. Wasn't that how the proverb went? It also meant don't put off saying something important that should be said today, right now. Why had she never properly understood that until now? How long had she been such an accomplished procrastinator?

"Here you are, Julie," Andy Farrow said, sounding relieved as he flopped down onto the bench beside her. He was smiling. "Lovely day, isn't it? Simon asked for you, by the way."

"He did what?" She leapt to her feet in an instant.

"Well, he called your name, at least."

Julie ran headlong towards the Isolation Wing, only stopping when she fell against the sombre figure of Ralph Mayhew.

"Juliet," he said, restraining her eager movements by a firm grip on her arms and waiting patiently for her to regain her breath before explaining in a calm, careful voice, "He's responding splendidly right now, but you must remember that the remission may be transient."

She pulled herself free of his grip and hurried towards Simon's cubicle.

"Simon! Simon!" she breathed, grasping his hand in both her own and hugging it to her.

His lethargic eyelids flickered open. "Jules?" The word was no more than a whisper.

"How do you feel? Oh Simon, I have so much to tell you. Wake up, Rip Van Winkle. It's a beautiful summer's day and I want to talk to you." On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Jules?"

"I'm here."

"The exam?"

"I'm going to take it, Simon. And I'm going to pass. For you." Silly, impulsive promise, yet what choice did she have but to make it?

The faintest hint of a smile played about the corners of his mouth. "I know you will." The words were barely audible. "Arnold...?"

"He's coming. I called him and he's coming as soon as he can," she promised, tears spiking her eyelids. "Oh Simon, I owe you so much. Have I ever thanked you properly? It's time for me to start repaying now."

"You don't... owe... anything, Jules. Just... don't... give up."

"I won't. I promise."

She talked to him throughout the day and night, whispering to him in his dreams. Sometimes he roused and offered brief responses, sometimes with questions of his own. For the rest of the time he slept, often calling out in his sleep.

On Friday morning Giles appeared. "I've bullied the registrar into taking my out-patient clinic, so I've got almost three hours free. You go and get some rest."

In adversity, they seemed to have struck up a new relationship. The animosity had gone, they were calmer, cooler, more mature in their dealings with each other as they apportioned out their time in the care of their mutual best friend.

Julie made her way to the residency, took a lazy shower and slept until mid-afternoon. Back in Isolation, she found Elizabeth waiting for her.

"Oh Lizzie, why didn't you get them to call me?" Julie threw herself into her sister's arms, overwhelmed with gratitude at her presence.

"They told me you were resting, and that you needed it—and I can see that. Just look at you." Liz clasped her fingers over her mouth as if to prevent her reproaches from escaping her lips as she gazed at her younger sister in dismayed silence for a moment. "But if you'd brought this, it would have been _so_ much easier to contact you." She brandished the mobile phone she'd given her on her birthday, the latest in a large collection Julie's loved ones had given her in the past. She hated mobile phones with a passion, a point on which Nicholas had berated her almost daily. This one was the latest all-singing, all-dancing device that all but lived a person's life for them and came complete with a year's pre-paid, unlimited anything-and-everything contract. When she'd left for London, she'd forgotten to take her sister's present with her, perhaps knowing she'd lose it in a day, given her past history. She looked contrite, but Liz didn't appear to be offended. "Oh my poor Julie, what can I say?" she asked instead, hugging her with real compassion.

"Have you seen Simon?" Julie asked.

"Oh yes. And Ralph Mayhew," Elizabeth replied, leading Julie by the hand to a nearby seat.

"So he told you about the exchange transfusion yesterday and Simon's marvellous response to it?"

"Yes, but Julie, you must keep in mind that the success rate for exchange transfusions is not high," she chided gently, then, seeing her sister's face, continued on a brighter note, "But let's keep our hopes up. After all, Simon is a pretty remarkable person."

"He is." Julie agreed with conviction, gratified by her sister's tribute, considering she had never approved of him. She fiddled with the slim phone in her hands for a moment. "How is everything at home?"

"Oh fine. The garden's finished, you know."

"How does it look?" Julie frowned at the memory.

"It's very nice; so natural and restful. I meant to take some photos for you, but I forgot. I was a bit worried about the fountain at first but it's just perfect. It looks as if it's been there for centuries. But they haven't sent me the bill though I've asked Nicholas for it about three times."

"Perhaps you should ask Robert," Julie suggested but Liz appeared not to hear.

"I wish I'd realised from the start he was _the_ Masserman, of Masserman Enterprises," she went on in a thoughtful tone. "He's sorted out all the problems with the new clinic. Such a trivial business really, but how were we to know?"

"The clinic?"

"Yes. It was all some silly misunderstanding to do with sub-contractors but it had become buried so deep beneath one administrative botch after another that the problems seemed insurmountable. All it needed was someone to trace the muddle back to the original problem. A trouble-shooter like Nicholas; he was onto it all in no time."

"Nicholas? Liz what are you talking about? What has Nicholas got to do with the clinic?"

"Masserman Enterprises owns the land. I'm sure I told you."

"No, I didn't know that."

"And they always specify their own subcontractors, but some over keen young administrator thought he could undercut the contract costs. That's how all the problems started, though the source of the problem just became lost beneath a mountain of paperwork. However, it's all been resolved now, thanks to Nicholas. We have a lot to thank him for, Julie."

Julie nodded, reflecting that if Nicholas had not reacted in the way he had that Saturday, she would not have returned to London to find out about Simon, and how could she ever have forgiven herself for that? "I'm going in to see Simon, Liz." She hurried away, desperate to escape more painful memories.

Simon slept rather fitfully, tossing about on his bed. Julie took his hand, stroked his forehead and talked to him in a low, soothing voice. If this action did not comfort Simon, it at least helped Julie regain some tranquillity of mind following the turmoil of thoughts about Nicholas. She returned to Liz after half an hour or so.

"Would you like the keys to the house? I'm staying in the hospital these days."

"Is that really necessary?" Liz asked in concern.

"Perhaps not, but I want to be around, just in case he needs me."

Elizabeth sighed in reluctant agreement as if knowing there would be little point in arguing with her younger sister. "All right. My flight isn't until one-thirty, so I'll return in the morning for an hour or so."

No sooner had Liz left than Arnold Jefferson arrived, insisting upon seeing Simon at once. Despite his exhausting journey, he remained late into the night with Simon. One of the VIP guest flats, opposite the hospital, had been prepared for him and to there he retired for a few hours' sleep before resuming his vigil at Simon's bedside, making Julie unusually redundant.

* * * *

"Jules?"

"Yes, Simon?"

"Did you pay him?"

She straight away thought of the old beggar man.

"Yes, my love. I gave him some money. And Arnold has found him a little job so he won't bother us anymore."

Simon sighed in relief and drifted back into sleep. One less responsibility for him to worry about, Julie thought.

As the pale, iced shadows of dawn crept across the sky, Simon awoke again. "Jules, I've decided not to go back to Saudi."

"I thought you liked it there?"

"Yes, but enough is enough. We were better off here, weren't we?"

Julie bit her lip in anxiety, filled with guilt. She hated herself for her lies, knowing Simon deserved the dignity of an honest answer, but she couldn't bring herself to hurt him. And anyway her sense of guilt was so extreme that part of her believed it.

"Perhaps. But if you want to go back to Saudi, I'll come back with you."

"But you hated it."

"As long as you're there, I can bear it. We'll do whatever you want."

He sighed and drifted back into sleep with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

*

"The light... it's blinding me."

Julie looked around the dimly lit room. Only the meagre night light illuminated its dreary interior. She threw a towel over it and stumbled towards his bedside.

"It's the sunset," he explained. "So warm too. Isn't it breathtaking?"

"Yes," she whispered, close to his ear. "Remember how quickly it sets? Let's watch it together."

"If you like," he said, his voice weary.

She eased her arm around his shoulder and rested her cheek against his.

"It's fading now," she whispered, profoundly frightened now. "Look, behind the mountain."

"I can't see it, Jules. I can't see it anymore."

Her tears spilled onto his cheeks, but she held him against her until she was sure he had fallen into a normal sleep, and her arm had turned cold and numb.

Giles Fairchild entered the room. "Oh God, Julie—you're taking far too many risks," he observed, lacking energy for a more spirited reprimand. "I couldn't sleep. How is he?"

She eased herself away from Simon, gently arranging his sleeping body and smoothing each limb with tender caresses before leaving the room. She stood outside for a full ten minutes in complete stillness and silence until Giles joined her.

"He's dying, Giles. He isn't going to survive and... Oh God, I'm so scared! I just can't bear to think how easily such a terrible thing could happen to someone so... so _good._ "

"You're just tired," he rebuked. "What bloody use do you think you'll be to Simon like this?"

A nursing assistant came by with a tray of coffee and Giles pulled Julie roughly through the door of the nurses' room. He poured some coffee and added a large quantity of brandy from a flask.

"Drink this and then get yourself straight back to the residency and get some sleep. You look done-in."

But sleep was more exhausting than wakefulness as Julie struggled against one nightmare after another. Even before the sun had penetrated the morning haze, she was back in Isolation where Giles sat glassy-eyed over his morning coffee. He looked as if he'd been crying.

"Any change?" She hardly dared to ask.

He shook his head and released a profound sigh. "Poor Simon. Poor bloody Simon," was all he could say and Julie shuddered as she recalled Simon had used the same epitaph on Lebe.

*

The day passed in a blur of anxious faces for the weary Julie as people arrived and left again. After Elizabeth had left for the airport and the Isolation Wing was more than ordinarily crowded, Julie stole away towards her little haven under the sycamore tree where she could always be sure of finding peace and solitude. She sat for a moment before unfolding the note Elizabeth had discovered waiting at the house and had brought to Julie that morning. It was undated and brief.

Julie, all my efforts to reach you have failed.

Please contact me asap at the Dorchester Hotel,

or on any of these numbers.

Nicholas.

Beneath his name he had scribbled the telephone and room number and had added his office and mobile phone numbers, the latter of which he had both highlighted and circled.

She let her slow gaze drift to the window of still leaves on the tree and out beyond to the spots of blue sky. Such a beautiful shade of blue, not unlike Nicholas' eyes. A wave of anger and guilt swept over her. Too late, Nicholas, she thought, I've seen inside your soul and I can't take on any more guilt right now. She crumpled the note into a tight little ball and tossed it into a nearby wire litter bin. She turned Sonya's letter over in her hand, feeling disinclined to open it and allow Sonya's homely chumminess to reach out to her in her present state of misery. Eventually, she tore open the envelope. This letter too was far shorter than she had expected and its tone was cold and formal.

Dear Julie,

Your letter has filled us with concern. Robert and I would like to help. Please call us if you need us. Nicholas is in London. I expect you will have seen him by the time you read this.

Call us soon.

Yours, Sonya.

"Sour grapes," Julie shouted into the leafy canopy overhead. She shredded the trite little note into tiny strips and watched the pieces flutter like confetti into the litter bin. Then she turned back to the dreary Isolation Wing, suppressing the urgent desire she felt welling up inside her to shout and scream and kick out at the world for its sheer, bloody unfairness.

# Chapter Eight

Simon Gardiner died in hepatic coma a little before four o'clock on Wednesday morning and Julie sat in his room for a further two hours, staring into his still, calm face. He went into renal failure the previous morning and Julie knew that all hope was forlorn after that.

She remained in the Isolation Wing for hours, too stunned to move or respond in any way to the numerous colleagues who came to offer their condolences and share their grief with her. She wished they would all go away and grieve in private because she didn't want the responsibility of witnessing any more unhappiness. They make me feel like a priest, she reflected, as if I can give them some kind of comfort. She was appalled at her selfishness, knowing deep within her that all they wanted to do was express their sorrow at the loss of such a respected colleague and good friend, which was her loss as well. But her grief and bitterness impaired her rational thoughts.

Giles Fairchild and Andy Farrow eventually succeeded in moving her to the residency sitting room where Andy poured out brandy and Julie's zombie-like mask finally fell from her face as she and Giles wept in each other's arms.

Later, Giles drove Julie and her distraught mother-in-law to Brighton, where both women succumbed to the charge of the sensible Alice, whose masterful organisational skills left Julie and Helen with nothing else to do but wallow in their grief.

Helen Gardiner's mourning was all that might be expected of an ailing widow losing her only son. Her grief was loud and inconsolable, bringing illness upon herself to add to the worries of those around her.

Added to Julie's pain was a profound sense of guilt. Over and over she wondered whether she ought to say something to her mother-in-law about her recent separation from Simon. She recognised that there was little to be gained for anyone in doing so, except to assuage her own conscience. Nicholas' accusations haunted her non-stop, and she wondered how it happened that she'd become so adept at deceiving people. What might Nicholas say about her double-deception?

In the end it was Giles Fairchild who persuaded her to say nothing. He pointed out that Simon clearly hadn't wanted his mother to know, so she owed it to Simon to continue the deception. She wondered whether Simon's motive was to protect his mother or had he simply been too busy to break the news to her? On the other hand, he may not have accepted their break up as being permanent and therefore sought to spare his mother unnecessary worries. There also existed the possibility that Julie's leaving had been of so little consequence that informing his mother never managed to make it to the forefront of his mind. Whatever the answer—and Julie would never know the truth— mingled with her grief was a definite feeling of irritation with Simon for acting out of character in leaving matters so untidy. Nonetheless, she complied with Giles' advice and said nothing, deciding it was perhaps her rightful punishment to have to go through life with this added burden preying on her conscience.

The daily routine in Brighton was so uneventful as to wash over Julie while one day merging into the next with nothing much to mark the passage of time. The funeral took place at a local crematorium and Julie complied with all of Helen's wishes. It was a momentous day and Helen Gardiner derived great solace from the quantity and sincerity of the tributes to her son from so many colleagues and friends. She rallied majestically for the occasion, only to sink deeper into despondency afterwards. Julie divided her days between tending to her mother-in-law and wandering, in solitary contemplation, along the sea front and nearby walks.

Fifteen days passed after Simon's funeral and Julie became restless in her cloistered existence, denied by the efficient Alice any other employment but that of ministering to her sick mother-in-law and, when Helen was again well on the road to recovery, Julie broached the subject of returning to London to sort out the house and what, in legal terms, was now known as Simon's 'estate'.

Having lost her only son, Helen was reluctant to relinquish her daughter-in-law, but even she realised how selfish her motives were. After all, she and Julie never had the opportunity to grow close, given their diverse lives.

But Helen seemed touched by Julie's parting gift of a little leather-bound volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, which she'd found in a local antiques shop and which Julie told her brought a little solace to Simon when she read them to him, night after night, in the weeks before his death. Here was a veritable feast to feed and sate the mind of a mother yearning to make contact with the thoughts of a son whose mind had been so removed from her own for almost his entire lifetime.

So Julie left Brighton and returned to Ealing, stopping first in central London to replenish her supply of textbooks for the forthcoming examination and next at The Royal College of Physicians to register her application in person, while her determination held strong.

At the house, amongst the usual junk mail, journals and medical literature lay a crisp, white envelope addressed in Sonya's hand. Inside was a wedding invitation and from within fluttered out a single, small square of paper bearing the message.

I hope this will reach you wherever you are. Your house here is closed up and I assume you have also left London. S.

Julie tingled with shame as she placed the card on her desk underneath her paperweight, without checking the date. She would write a long letter of apology to Sonya later. In the meantime numerous chores awaited her, and she flung herself into a maelstrom of activity.

She called the estate agent, who surveyed the house and quoted a price far beyond her expectations, suggesting that the price could well be even higher if the house were to be sold with some of the contents, which suited Julie very well. After that she called a furniture depository and supervised the careful packaging and removal of all the items that would not be sold with the house, including, of course, all Simon's clocks. She hadn't yet decided what to do with them. Giles Fairchild removed all Simon's surgical volumes for donation to the hospital library and helped Julie sort through Simon's papers and personal effects.

"What are you going to do, Jules? Why are you selling up?" he asked.

Julie experienced a shudder of revulsion at Giles' adoption of Simon's pet name for her. "Because I can't live here, Giles. My only plan at the moment is to pass the exam."

"Why, when you want to give up medicine?"

"Because I promised Simon."

"Perhaps you ought to be working, keep your mind occupied?"

"Don't you worry about my mind; studying will occupy that very well."

"And after the exam, what then?" His voice sounded challenging, almost derisory.

She looked around the denuded study and shrugged. "I don't know. But I'll be thinking about it."

"Well, you know, you don't have to... I mean, if there's anything I can do..." His voice cracked and broke on a wave of emotion.

"Are you all right, Giles? I mean, you don't look too well and..."

He broke into sobs and threw himself into Simon's chair.

"Oh Giles, what is it?" she asked in dismay, searching around her for something to help his wretchedness. She seized a bottle of brandy and poured a clumsy splash of it into a glass. Giles swallowed it in a single gulp before he could speak.

"It's just... it's just... Oh God!"

"You need to talk about it, Giles," she urged.

"I can't get him out of my mind. I can't accept he's gone. Why him? It could have happened to any of us. Any damned one of us. But why did it have to happen to _him_?" His Welsh accent grew stronger in his distress until a loud sob strangled his voice. He reached for the bottle of brandy and poured himself another drink.

"I don't know why. But it did and you must accept it. How do you imagine Simon would feel if he saw you like this? And you know _that_ won't help." She nodded towards the glass and then realised with a stab of guilt that she'd offered him the brandy in the first place.

He sighed and gazed up at the ceiling. "It helps a bit. It calms me down. You see, I'm so bloody nervous all the time. Every time I go into theatre, I start shaking. I keep seeing his face in front of me and I think: I can't do this anymore. I don't even _want_ to do it anymore. Not now that Simon's gone. Oh, God! Poor bloody Simon."

"Stop _saying_ that, Giles," she snapped. She couldn't bear to link Simon's death with Lebe's because to do that was somehow to diminish the value of both men. Lebe who had suffered from what, in the name of fairness and honesty, must be described as nasty politics and blatant racism and Simon, the golden boy, for whom no door was ever closed, and who had only ever made one mistake, which had proved fatal. They were so unalike and yet now they were both dead. Prematurely. So it was natural that people would link them together. They both sacrificed everything to a common cause. Death certainly was a leveller. She released a great, sad sigh. "Simon was unlucky, that's all. You need to talk to someone, Giles."

He gave a snort that sounded like a horse impatient to feel the wind in its tail. "The trick cyclists, you mean?"

"A counsellor of some sort, maybe?"

He dismissed the suggestion with a derisive wave of his hand. "I always understood the best counsellors were your friends. But just look what happens to them. This isn't about counselling, it's about survival. I don't care for the occupational hazards of this job any more. I just want out. Funny, but I understood you wanted the same. But then we have to confront the million dollar question: what else exists out there for people like us?"

Julie had often wondered the same. She had without question followed in her father and sister's footsteps, without ever stopping to consult her own feelings. It was expected that she would follow Elizabeth and her father; expected by everyone, unquestioned by herself. But then how could she question when she'd never been taught how... or allowed? Not until those grim and lonely nights when the nurses called her to certify the death of a patient—an old lady to whom she'd given reassurance just a few hours earlier, a baby she'd held and whispered soft endearments into its tiny ear, a child she'd hugged and promised everything would soon be better—not until then had she learnt to question her enforced role, but instead of listening to the answer from her heart, she always listened to Simon, who without variation ended by presenting her with another question:

"What else do you want to _do_ , Jules?" And she could never give an answer

Julie glanced about her and collected up the few remaining papers scattered over Simon's desk. She shuffled them into a neat pile which she placed in the centre. "It would have broken Simon's heart to hear you speak like that," she rebuked. "Why do you imagine I'm planning to take the exam in November?"

Giles drained his glass and placed it beside the neat pile of papers. "Do you want the polite answer or the truthful one?"

"Truthful, of course."

"Because I think you're a coward and a hypocrite."

She stared at him, too shocked to speak.

He gave her a wry grin. "I'm sorry, old thing, but I had to say it. And if it's any consolation, I think exactly the same thing about myself. I'd better be going."

She saw him to the door and watched him drive away. Even after his car had disappeared, she remained at the doorway for a long time, deep in contemplation.

* * * *

Julie made up her mind to return to the north following the visit from Mr and Mrs Laine, who came to view her house. Their sensible questions, prodding and probing, were almost unbearable for Julie, whose mind rushed back to the day when she and Simon first viewed the house and asked some of the exact same questions and then forward to those visits she made with Nicholas to other houses, in one of which she had nursed a secret hope one day to share a life with him. How different their questions had been.

What a peculiar business this buying and selling of houses is, she reflected; how many different roles we occupy as buyers and sellers and interested parties. And how much of ourselves do we invest in our homes? How much of our vital life-energy takes root in a certain spot? Do our souls return to the place in which we've expended most of our energies, she wondered, gazing around her house for the last time. Would Simon's soul return here? Julie doubted it. The house was nothing more than a landmark, like the old milestones marking distances on the roadside and everyone accumulated many of those in their lifetime.

She and Simon had nothing more than a business-like arrangement with the house. It gave them warmth and shelter and demanded nothing in return. Now these people, the Laines, seemed to expect a great deal more from the house than Julie and Simon, because they were doubtless looking for a home, not just an accommodation. Julie remembered Glebelands with its harsh light, and realised that she had nothing to contribute to this house to detract from its cold, sharp edges and she decided the house would do far better if she left it alone to speak for itself.

On a sunny Thursday afternoon in August, she stowed her remaining personal effects into her car. She came across Sonya's wedding invitation when she retrieved her paperweight from her desk and realised with a sense of guilty dismay, whose familiarity now bordered on resignation, that she'd not written the long letter she had intended. To make matters worse, she saw that the date of the wedding was the forthcoming Saturday, making a written explanation now out of the question. The jolt that gave her made her drop the glass orb, and she watched in helpless dismay as it rolled off the side of the desk and bounced against the edge of the granite fire surround with an ominous crack. Not entirely ruined, but cracked to its core, damaged beyond repair—a bit like me, she reflected.

She pre-empted Elizabeth's return from America by two days, but Mrs Bottomley had already reinstalled herself in the house and was busy preparing everything for Elizabeth's return.

Julie spent the mild evening contemplating the transformed garden. It far surpassed her expectations and on this golden, late summer evening, was a haven of peace and tranquillity, a work of art indeed.

The following morning she ventured into the town in search of a suitable wedding present for Robert and Sonya and after several anxious hours of searching, at last came across a small, triangular side table carved in rich, sleek rosewood with a beaded edging and inlaid with an intricate marquetry design in lighter shades of satinwood. It was at least a hundred years old, beautiful and elegant in shape, and priced, Julie suspected, well above its actual value as it sat without ceremony in the dusty, small antiques shop tucked away in a narrow, cobbled alley. She had so far never seen any other customer in the shop. Even at three times the price, Julie would have bought it for its sheer perfection, but the fact that it was so expensive assuaged her guilt to some small extent.

The table was a rather unusual choice for a wedding gift, but she could already visualise it in Sonya and Robert's house, as if it somehow belonged there and she was just returning it to its rightful place. She knew nothing else would do. The proprietor offered delivery and Julie was tempted, but summoned her courage and declined the offer. She knew she ought to deliver it herself, with her own head on a plate on top of it, if necessary.

Early that evening, she drove to Robert's house in a state of acute trepidation.

"Oh Julie," Sonya exclaimed, throwing open the door and surveying her friend before seizing her in an affectionate bear-hug.

The warmth of the welcome and complete lack of recrimination was almost more than Julie could bear. Sonya hugged and comforted her, dismissed all her attempted apologies and drew her into the house, assuring her they were all alone. At last, after considerable persuasion, Julie relented.

"Rob's out celebrating—stag night, you know, though nothing riotous. And of course, he's not allowed to return tonight. We're doing it the old-fashioned way."

"But what about you? Why aren't you out celebrating with your friends?"

"Oh, I went out last night. I'm no fool, you know," she chuckled. "And far too old for the ravages of late-night revelries not to show on my face the morning after. I want to look my shining best tomorrow, and that's never easy, you know. Oh Julie, I'm so pleased you came back in time. I knew you would, of course. I just _knew_ it, but it's still a relief. Now you must sit right here and tell me everything."

And so Julie did. When she began her explanation, she planned to be circumspect, to edit out the unnecessary bits and just present the facts, but with Sonya, that was impossible, for Sonya needed to have every T crossed and each I dotted. She asked searching questions to satisfy her curiosity, not in a prurient way, but in a way that was necessary to help her to dig beneath the foundations of Julie's misery and, with loving care, examine its deepest roots, the better to diagnose its sickness and offer the wholesome cure. Sonya's genuine but selfless curiosity was insatiable and Julie's need to talk overwhelming. It wasn't until much later that Julie recognised what an expert counsellor Sonya made, and could fully appreciate her role in Robert's life.

Two hours later, Julie started in alarm. "Oh Sonya, what have I been doing, monopolising you like this? Tomorrow is your wedding day and I've done nothing but pour out my misery. How could I have been so selfish?"

"Hey, listen, the most exciting thing I had planned for tonight was a chick-flick followed by a twenty-minute face pack and a simmer in the Jacuzzi. Now you tell me honestly, how much will a twenty-minute mud-pack enhance my beauty?"

"You don't need anything to enhance your beauty," Julie said with warmth. "And Robert knows that better than anyone."

Sonya beamed. "Listen to you. I'd almost bet he paid you to say that. A sort of compliment-a-gram, or something."

"Tut-tut, and I thought Robert had more sense than to choose a woman with such low self-esteem," Julie teased.

"Oh Julie, I'm so pleased you're home in time for the wedding, even if you have grown so thin you make me look like a fat frump."

At the mention of the wedding, Julie remembered the carton left at the door and jumped up to present it to Sonya. Delighted, Sonya ripped open the packaging and then gasped.

Julie interpreted her reaction as disappointment. "Don't worry. I'm sure you can exchange it for something else," she assured her friend in haste.

Sonya laughed. "Oh, don't _you_ worry; I have no intention of exchanging it. It's a beaut. Let's put it with the other presents, shall we?" And Sonya picked up the precious table and marched into the next room, indicating Julie to follow. She did so, with misgivings. Sonya placed Julie's little table down beside its identical twin.

"Isn't it fabulous? Nicky said that he was sure it had to be one of a pair and vowed to track down its twin for our first wedding anniversary. And _here_ it is, a year early. Well, well." She rounded on Julie, hands on hips and legs a fraction apart. "When did you find it, Julie? Before or after Nicky did? You said you hadn't been in touch with anyone. How else could you know he'd bought us the other one? Did you plan this together as a little joke?" There was a distinct edge of accusing sarcasm to the question.

Julie stood, speechless, gazing at the two identical tables.

"If you ever wanted to extend a hand of friendship to me, Julie, you'd do it right now by telling me the truth," Sonya said, her large face severe as she gazed at Julie, flushing with hurt and embarrassment and her voice almost choking on a sob.

Julie shook her head, still speechless.

"Only I can have a good laugh with the rest of them, but if someone is likely to come leaping out of the hedgerows to make a fool of me on my wedding day for one of those nasty reality TV shows or something similar, then I'd never forgive anyone who could be involved in such a trick."

"Did Nicholas _really_ buy you this?" Julie marvelled.

Sonya gave a frustrated little shrug. "You should know."

"Know what? What should I know, Sonya?" Julie's eyes were transfixed on the matching tables, drinking in their every intricate detail. She should have realised it was one of a pair, though the antiques dealer said nothing about it. They made such good sense together. The perfect pair. She let her fingers brush over them in gentle reverence.

A long silence ensued, broken at last by Sonya. "You really didn't know, did you? I can tell by your expression. But you must admit the coincidence is too bizarre. You can't blame me for wondering."

"Coincidence, you say? But you don't believe in coincidence. Oh Sonya, how could you imagine for one minute I would... that Nicholas or I would stoop to any kind of trickery?"

Sonya released a rather hysterical giggle and shook her head.

"Anyway, I see you also have other friends with similar tastes," Julie observed as she inspected the rows of identical woks, espresso machines and bread makers.

"No comparison though," Sonya exclaimed through her laughter as she led the way out of the room. "At least these two are meant to be together. Look, Julie, I realise you're in mourning, but you will come to the wedding, won't you?"

Julie released an unhappy sigh and folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself; holding herself together as if she were about to fall apart into a thousand pieces. "Oh, Sonya, I just don't..."

"Please!"

"But I _can't_. You must see that."

" _Please!_ "

"Well, maybe just to the ceremony. I'd like to see that."

"But the reception..."

"No! Oh no, I _can't_ do that. I can come to the church if that's all right?"

Sonya sighed in glum resignation. "I expect so, but you see, well, I have a confession to make too. That letter you wrote..."

Julie felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she recalled her cold little note refusing the honour they had offered her— _the tribute_.

"Well, it upset Rob as you can imagine," Sonya said, not mincing her words. "He blamed himself at first because of something he'd said to you and then he thought you might be taking revenge out on me because of what he said, and that upset him even more. So, well, I told him a little white lie so he'd stop beating himself up. I said you'd called me and that we'd sorted everything out between us. I was certain there must be a good reason for what had happened. I'm not _that_ bad a judge of character. Anyway, he thinks we've been in regular contact. As a matter of fact, he still thinks you're just avoiding... you know, Nicholas, and that you're still going to be my bridesmaid."

"Oh, Sonya!"

"Don't worry, I've sorted everything out. Petra's fulfilling that role, and she knows everything too. Robert will understand when I explain it all to him afterwards. But you must come to the wedding. I absolutely insist on that, for Rob's sake, if not mine. You owe me that much, Julie."

Julie paced the room for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. "I'll come to the church," she said at last in a tone she intended to brook no further argument. "But you must excuse me from the reception. Please. I can't face Robert, or...Nicholas just yet."

* * * *

A perfect day for a wedding, Julie reflected as she wandered around the transformed garden the following morning inspecting every detail in its best light. Elizabeth was right, it was greatly improved and so restful, especially near the elegant old fountain which gurgled out the merest trickle of water and looked as if it had been there when the apple tree was a mere sapling.

The old apple tree, freshly groomed and clipped of many of its lower branches stood erect and proud now. Julie noted with sadness that the strong lower bough from which the old swing of her infancy used to hang had been sawn away. The last time she'd seen it, it almost swept the ground in sagging despondency. How high it had appeared to her as an infant, but now she could touch the scar of its joint without even stretching up her arm. She rubbed the pale, circular wound with its multiple rings, and peered up through the leaves where a few muddy red apples dripped jewel-like through the greenery.

"You'll grow again, you dear old thing," she promised it. "And who knows, you may yet give children rides in years to come."

All those 'rides' as she used to call them, on that clumsy, home-made swing that was better than any of the proper, painted metal contraptions in the gardens of her friends. "Higher mummy, make me ride higher," echoed the voice from her infancy. She let her cheek rest against the rough bark of the old tree. "How much we've lost, the pair of us," she murmured, heavy with sadness.

*

She wore a pale pearly-grey silk dress with a delicate pink thread running through it and tied her hair back, perhaps a little too severely, with a fine black-velvet ribbon before shunning the feathery pink and silvery grey fascinator she'd bought and donning instead a wide-brimmed hat with a tiny sprig of the palest pink flowers. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She knew she'd become too thin and was starting to look gaunt. Like Elizabeth.

Creeping into the church at the last possible moment, an usher in grey morning dress stopped her.

"Bride or groom?" he demanded. She hesitated, looking from left to right. The right side of the nave held more people than the left and anyway, she felt a curious need to support Sonya. And perhaps have a view of Nicholas?

"Bride," she replied, "but somewhere near the back, please. I have to slip away early."

The usher gave her a curious look as she selected her own pew on the left of the aisle as far as possible from the centre.

When she was more composed, she allowed herself to peer out under the broad, protective brim of her hat and search the front pew where, on the right, she saw Robert, looking somewhat uncomfortable in his stiff-looking grey suit. His eyes scanned the aisle at regular intervals. And there beside him was Nicholas, elegant and attractive, bending his head towards Robert on occasion so she caught glimpses of his perfect profile as he smiled to reassure his friend and doubtless offered reassuring words to match.

Time stood still. Her heart stopped beating and everything around her ceased to exist, as if in suspended animation. Still pause. The silent anguish of something ineffably sweet and cruel, squeezing the last vestiges of life from her wounded heart. Or so it seemed in that moment before she remembered to breathe again and to drag her eyes away from the sight. Instead, she stared at the printed sheet gripped between her trembling fingers until her breathing became regular, her eyes stopped stinging and threatening to spill tears. The organ became audible again and nothing but the remains of her sad smile played about her lips as the bride entered. There was a bustle of activity and the organist, without missing a single beat, switched tunes.

Sonya entered on the arm of a man Julie didn't know. Behind Sonya, she recognised Petra who worked with Sonya in the shop. She was holding the hand of a small child of five or six who clutched a basket of flowers. Julie saw the smile of relief spread across Robert's face, followed by a curious expression, a frown even, as he glanced again but it vanished in an instant. She didn't see Nicholas' face when he too turned to the aisle, because she didn't dare lift her head again.

Two teardrops slipped down her cheeks as she listened to her two friends pledging themselves to each other for life and a little later, after the small group moved off towards the vestry, she slipped, unobtrusively out of the church. She cried non-stop all the way home.

*

Photographs, wedding breakfast, champagne, messages, speeches, the cutting of the cake followed by more celebrations, perhaps dancing and then Robert and Sonya would leave for their extended honeymoon in Indonesia, first stop beautiful Bali. Julie followed it all in her mind as she stared at her textbooks, her damaged paperweight in her hand, and wiped away her tears. No wonder I've grown so thin, she thought, I must have cried my entire body weight in tears these past few weeks.

There was a tap on her bedroom door and Mrs Bottomley's head appeared around the edge of it.

"It's that gentleman, Mr Masserman, asking for you downstairs," she said, visibly flustered.

He can't be! Julie reeled in shock. Surely he should be at the wedding tying boots and tin cans to the wedding car or something?

"Please tell him I'm out, Mrs Bottomley," Julie replied in panic, fighting to keep control of her voice and sound calm. She didn't lift her eyes from her books, but that was only because of her desperate concentration on the painful pounding sensation in her chest that prevented her from breathing.

"Oh, but..."

"Say I've gone out for a walk," she suggested. How could she bring herself to face him and talk to him? She wasn't ready for that yet. The wound was still too raw.

Mrs Bottomley reappeared a few minutes later looking even more distressed.

"He... I'm afraid he wouldn't believe me. He said just for two minutes. He promised not to take up your time. I said you were busy studying because I'd already told him you were in, you see..."

Julie took a slow, deep breath, rose and followed Mrs Bottomley downstairs, patting her red and swollen eyes _en route_. His back was towards her as she quietly entered the drawing room and that gave her a moment to savour his nearness and take a deep breath. She felt like a wounded puppy being reunited with its owner. She wanted to hurl herself at him and melt his heart with her adoration but knew that was impossible. She'd missed her chance. Instead, she tried to summon all her dignity.

"Hello, Nicholas," she said in a quiet voice, closing the door behind her.

He spun round, took a step towards her and then seemed to change his mind and stopped. He appeared shocked and repulsed by her appearance; her awareness of that was acute.

"I've just heard," he explained. "Sonya's just explained everything. I came to offer you my... condolences and ask if there's anything I can do to help."

"That's kind of you, but no. Thank you," she said in surprise. _Offer you my condolences?_ Why? How formal and polite.

He gave her an understanding nod as if that was the answer he'd been expecting. He held a small white card that he had been absently turning over and over in his hands as he surveyed her, and he now placed this on a nearby table.

"Just in case," he told her, before turning to the door. "I promised I wouldn't take up your time, and I'd better get back. Goodbye, Julie."

She remained in the room, baffled. _Was that it_? She wondered what he imagined he might do for her, and furthermore why, after what had passed between them, he should want to help at all. She remembered his role in Robert's life after he'd lost Linda and wondered if that was the sort of help he meant. Again she remembered his words. _Offer you my condolences._ Perhaps he sees himself as an ace bereavement counsellor, she thought in misery. He couldn't get away fast enough. As if he found me repulsive. Oh Nicholas, was that why you came? To gloat? Then you'd better have stayed away.

She crossed to the table and looked down at the printed card.

"So he chose The Cedars," she murmured aloud as she picked up the card. "I can do this. I _can_ do this," she told herself with a firmness she didn't feel. "I'm glad for him. It was the best choice. Now I have a setting for him... I can imagine him in that beautiful house and garden." She sighed and compressed her lips hard until the ache passed. "Better not, though," she muttered with a shake of her head. "It will only bring more tears."

* * * *

On Sunday, Julie set up a garden chair and small table under the apple tree and settled down to her books. It was a day for walking in the woods, not for studying, but her resolve to stick to the strict schedule she'd set herself was not to be swayed. However, far from inspiring her to the higher causes of medicine, the textbooks, along with the warm, persistent thrum of the late summer garden exerted a soporific effect over her mind and her concentration kept wandering.

Lazy summer Sundays, she reflected, what a rich variety of activities a late summer Sunday affords. A day for families and friends to meet for idle pleasures, a day for sitting out on fresh cut lawns, alfresco lunches, ball games, fishing, swimming, walking, church and conversation. All those perfect summer Sundays of her childhood rolled into one. Even out in Saudi, Sundays were the best day of the week, the day when Simon more often than not tore himself away from the clinic for a short excursion or a few hours' relaxation with her.

Memories of the Sundays spent with Nicholas kept intruding, but she pushed them away. They were spring Sundays, not summer, yet now in her mind they blended into summer, as perfect as anything she could conjure up. She wondered how Nicholas was spending his Sunday and relived that moment yesterday in the church when her heart had leapt in love and pain at that first, dear sight of him. But she mustn't think of him now. It would only invite tears and she'd had too many of those. She let her head fall back against the recliner and her eyes followed the skittering dance of a butterfly which she allowed to hypnotise her into a light sleep.

She dreamed of standing under the blossom-decked apple tree making vows at her own wedding. The groom beside her wasn't Simon, but Nicholas, who then took her hand and led her away from the tree into a new place where she found herself a child again, alone in a vast cemetery, searching for a grave, long-neglected, amongst broken marble angels and collapsing headstones. A faint voice called her name, and she tried to follow it to find the grave.

"Mummy?" she murmured drowsily, opening her eyes.

"It's only me, dear," Mrs Bottomley wrestled with a step ladder beneath the tree. "I thought I'd see if these apples are fit for much this year. Your sister is very fond of my glazed apple tarts."

"Where are the secateurs?" Julie asked glancing around her in confusion.

"Secateurs? Why should you want those? There's nothing much to cut at the moment." Mrs Bottomley pointed out from the top of her ladder.

Julie looked around the garden in confusion. What had happened to all the asters and roses that used to rampage across the garden?

"Of course, _next_ year," continued Mrs Bottomley, "they said we'll have flowers almost all year round."

"Where can I find some flowers now?"

"The Garden Centre, I suppose, though that shop in Lennox Avenue sometimes has a few bunches if you're not looking for anything too special."

Julie drove along Longshore Road, her mind still fixed on the sad old gravestones.

"Morning Miss Somerville," came a chirpy greeting from one of the boys who had worked on the garden. "Haven't seen you around for a long time. How did you like the garden?"

"Oh very much, Steve," she assured him with a smile. "You did a fantastic job. I love it. Thank you."

"Can I do anything to help you?" he asked, pleased with the compliment.

"I want some flowers."

He grinned. "Well, you've come to the right place, then. Take your pick."

Julie selected and paid for her flowers and after a few further pleasantries, returned to her car.

"Oh dear," she exclaimed as a sleek blue car pulled alongside her own and Nicholas stepped out. No such thing as coincidences, Sonya? How embarrassing. She shook herself for her lack of foresight. But how was she to know he would come here on a Sunday? She didn't want him to think she was trying to throw herself in his path and wondered if she should reassure him she didn't need his bereavement counselling and had no intention of resuming her undignified begging for another chance. He had made his feelings abundantly clear. She nodded a brief greeting and climbed into her car.

"Hello Julie," he greeted, leaving his car and walking towards hers.

"Morning. I was just buying flowers," she explained, realising even as she uttered the words how fatuous they must sound, in view of the evidence now occupying the seat beside her. "For the cemetery," she added even more unnecessarily. She would have to work harder to conquer this awkwardness with him and stop sounding so clumsy.

He frowned in perplexity.

"My parents," she explained, pushing the car into reverse gear.

She saw him in her rear view mirror watching her drive away, not moving until she turned into Longshore Road and out of sight.

It was not as it had appeared in her dream although the grave gave all the appearance of sad neglect. As she pulled away the tenacious grass and weeds that had pushed their way through the green pebble chips, she made up her mind to have the awful green stones removed and replaced with soil so she might cultivate flowers there. Perhaps even create a tiny garden for her parents.

Two hours passed as she worked on the grave, clearing the weeds and the pebbles, arranging her flowers and trying to scrub away some of the dirt from the marble surround. "Next year," she murmured, "this will also be a garden full of flowers."

* * * *

"Have you been gardening?" Elizabeth asked after greeting Julie with an affectionate hug.

Julie glanced at her dirty hands.

"Sort of. I've been down to the cemetery. The grave is a shambles, Lizzie. I've decided to do something about it."

"Another garden project?" Liz asked, raising her eyebrows and scrutinising her sister with a critical eye. "You look awful. You... you are feeling all right now, Julie?"

"Yes, of course. Must I be ill to visit our parents' grave? I should have gone long ago. There's something rather comforting about a grave. I wish now that Simon hadn't been cremated."

"What," Elizabeth asked with evident suspicion, "can possibly be comforting about a _grave_?"

"Oh Liz, if you don't know, then I can't explain. Don't you ever visit it?"

Elizabeth shuddered.

"For heaven's sake, Julie, this is very morbid and, if you don't mind my saying so, rather hysterical. I dislike the place. There's nothing there for me."

"Never say you don't believe in fairies or a little creature will die," Julie muttered half under her breath.

"What?"

"Don't you remember mother saying that when we were little?" Julie laughed at Elizabeth's expression of concern. "It's the same with the dead. We keep them alive in our memories. Ignore them and, _pop_ , they're gone... vanished forever. _So long lives this, and this gives life to thee_."

"Honestly, Julie, you sound very... odd," Elizabeth rebuked, no doubt making a mental note to pop into the Psychiatric Wing the next day, Julie thought. "And we've been holding lunch for you for over an hour..."

# Chapter Nine

A week or so after Elizabeth's return, Giles Fairchild telephoned to ask if he might spend a few days with Julie and Elizabeth, arriving the following day. Julie agreed at once but was perplexed about why he should choose to visit her above all his other friends. Certainly their relationship had improved somewhat during Simon's illness, having progressed from intense antipathy to a wary tolerance, but he was the last person from whom she would have expected a social visit.

Giles looked altered to an alarming degree, and it took little deduction from Julie to identify the problem. He drank to excess throughout his first evening and wept copiously whenever the conversation turned to Simon. His drinking did not make him unpleasant or belligerent, or even inarticulate, but as the evening wore on, his gloom deepened.

Elizabeth watched his every movement with great interest, employing her skills to manoeuvre the conversation away from possible problematic subjects and Julie marvelled at her sister's sensitivity and talent, when she just became exasperated by her maudlin visitor.

After Giles had retired to bed, Elizabeth turned to Julie. "He needs help, poor man, and he needs it fast."

"He refuses to talk to a psychiatrist. I suggested that in London," Julie replied.

"Electively, perhaps." Liz looked thoughtful. "He has a typical surgeon's antipathy to them, yet he wouldn't hesitate to refer a patient in need to one. Typical of the knife-jugglers, and so hypocritical. Well, we shall have to make him change his views."

"How?"

"By introducing him to the right person."

"Oh Liz, he'll just pack up and leave. Perhaps after a few days rest he might feel better on his own."

"He has clinical depression, is phobic and a seasoned drinker who I'd guess hasn't got through a day without alcohol in the last ten years. What do you propose we do? Put Prozac in his coffee and lock up the booze? Be realistic. He needs professional help. And I know the exact professional to help him. Alex Saunders."

"Never heard of him."

"All the better," Liz tossed her a mysterious smile. "But from now on, he's an old family friend."

"Shouldn't I know our old family friends?" Julie asked dryly, but her sister ignored the question.

"I've been intending to hold a little dinner party for a few close friends for some time. The timing couldn't be better. Just leave everything to me."

Julie had never triumphed in arguments with her sister and she knew when to give in with good grace, so she said goodnight and retired to her books.

*

"Why are you scowling, Giles?" Julie asked, keeping her tone light as she joined him in the garden for coffee.

"Planning my revenge on old Will-off," he replied with a curt laugh.

"Mr Willoughby?" she asked. Mr Willoughby had succeeded Professor Berkley-Fitzgerald in the Department of Surgery but had not, as yet, acquired the professorial chair.

"Yes, old Will-he Won't-he, chief bumbler himself. Imagine being chucked out of theatre by that old fool."

"It happens to the best of us," Julie reminded him with a short laugh.

He turned and gave her a brief smile in acknowledgement of the memory of Julie's ignominious exit from the operating theatre two years ago.

She'd been banned from assisting one surgeon after her third fainting attack, which had earned her the nickname _mop-head_ in the operating theatres, because the theatre staff said her head spent so much time in contact with the floor. For her on-take evenings during her surgical rotation, Simon fixed the rosters and would just step in and take full responsibility for emergency surgical procedures. This invariably caused resentment amongst his junior—which is to say Julie's senior—colleagues, but Simon was too well-liked and respected by junior and senior colleagues alike for any damaging repercussions to his unorthodox practices, and after all it was a win-win situation for everyone else, not just Julie. Without Simon's help, she would never have passed her six months of pre-registration surgery.

"It happens to ten-thumbed fainting house-officers no doubt, but not to Senior Registrars, at least, never before in my experience." Giles explained.

"Good heavens, Giles. What did you _do_?"

"Very little," he confessed wryly. "Which was why we came to blows."

"You didn't?"

"Well, almost, at any rate. So they hauled me before the wise men for insubordination and ordered me to take a well-earned rest."

"You mean you've been suspended?" she asked in disbelief.

"It's a temporary measure. To give me some time to reflect on the error of my ways."

"What went wrong, Giles?"

"Everything," he replied, his tone bitter. "Every bloody thing imaginable. I'm like a nuclear bomb, just waiting for someone to push the button. I need a drink."

"At ten-fifteen in the morning? No, you don't. Mrs B. will call AA if she catches you at her cooking sherry." Julie tried to sound light and dismissive. "I have a better idea. Finish your coffee and I'll take you for a long and beautiful walk."

They drove out to the woods at Nettlesby, which were resplendent in their early autumnal colours and walked along pretty woodland lanes, soaking up the peace and tranquillity of the countryside. Two hours later they paused for a rest against the ancient walls of Nettlesby's Norman church.

"I'm glad you came in time for Liz's little party," she ventured, a little apprehensive about the best way to broach this.

He looked nonplussed.

"Oh, hasn't she mentioned it?" she asked with studied nonchalance, inwardly cursing Liz for delegating this task to her. "She's having a few friends around for dinner tonight."

"What sort of friends?" he asked, sounding suspicious.

She shrugged.

"Her team, I expect. I don't really know. Her friends, not mine. That's why it will be nice to have one familiar face at the table. You don't have to join us, of course, but I suspect Liz might be hurt if you refuse."

He laughed. "Magicians, eh? Put that way, I don't seem to be left with any alternative. I imagine your sister's invitations are not ones to be refused lightly. And I don't fancy being confined to my room for disobedience."

"Does Liz appear to be such a tyrant to you?" Julie asked, smiling.

"Not really," he admitted. "But we all know the law, don't we? Consultants must be obeyed at all times."

"Except Mr Willoughby," teased Julie.

"Well, he's not a magician, of course, but..." Giles fired an imaginary gun at his head and staggered back against the old stone wall.

*

Giles napped before dinner and Julie returned to her studies, waiting until the last moment to call him. She remained with her books as she waited for him to shower and dress so she could accompany him downstairs and make sure he didn't bolt. But it was Julie who almost bolted when they entered the room together.

She stopped in horrified surprise at the sight of Nicholas, sitting apart from the larger group, deep in conversation with a pleasant-looking middle-aged man Julie had never seen before. She struggled to regain her composure, wondering what had possessed Liz to invite Nicholas, or what had possessed Nicholas to accept Liz's invitation. Hadn't he considered the likelihood of her being present in her own house, or had Liz somehow led him to believe otherwise? She wondered how to make it clear she was as surprised to see him as he doubtless must be to see her and that she'd played no part in Liz's scheme. Then she wondered if this was going to become a habit, the two of them being thrust unwillingly into each other's company, when she was trying so hard, so painfully hard, to forget him. Nicholas looked up before she had calmed herself and appeared to read some of these troubled thoughts on her face because he frowned and looked uncomfortable.

Elizabeth halted her conversation with her two other guests to play the model hostess. She introduced them to Brendon Foster, her senior registrar, and his wife, Annette, an architect who appeared to be well-acquainted with Nicholas, as Julie later discovered. Alex Saunders was the man seated next to Nicholas and Julie almost died from sheer embarrassment when Elizabeth started to introduce her to Nicholas before suddenly recalling that they already knew each other.

"So sorry," Elizabeth laughed affably, proceeding to introduce Giles, who accepted a chair beside Alex Saunders.

Elizabeth drew Julie towards the drinks table.

"I expected Nicholas to bring a guest," she whispered. "But he's arrived alone, so our numbers are odd."

"And you think that's the only odd thing? Why did you even _ask_ him?" Julie whispered ungraciously, at the same time thinking: _thank God he didn't arrive with an Annabel or Livvie in tow._ How intolerable would that have been, having to entertain his new girlfriend in her own home? It occurred to her then that Liz knew nothing about her failed relationship with Nicholas.

"Because he's been so very helpful, of course. Besides, I rather like him," Elizabeth replied with her usual candour, pouring a drink for Giles.

Julie stared at her sister with mounting dismay. _I rather like him_. What did _that_ mean? This was a fresh source of worry she couldn't even contemplate, so she turned back to the guests, feeling almost ill with foreboding about the evening's gathering and took the chair Elizabeth had occupied after Elizabeth settled herself next to Nicholas and began an animated conversation with him.

At dinner, Julie found herself seated opposite Nicholas, with Giles to her right and Brendon to her left. Annette sat next to Nicholas, and it was during dinner that Julie became aware of their friendship with each other. She was also aware that Nicholas kept observing her and her discomfort was intense as she, as co-hostess, in this uncomfortable position at the centre of the table, found herself drawn into conversations to both her left and right. She exchanged very few words with Nicholas, though she was unable to avoid the regular, clumsy but brief eye contacts with him, especially whenever Annette directed comments across the table to her. His eyes revealed nothing, but she knew they were devoid of the old warmth she had grown used to finding there. She would avert her gaze in haste whenever the embarrassing contact occurred and tried to occupy herself as much as possible with the conversations around her.

At one point, however, she found herself caught in the crossfire of three strands of conversation and could only respond with a burst of hysterical-sounding laughter the moment her eyes met his. Once upon a time they would have delighted in the farcicality of the situation, she realised with intense pain, and that shared look would have spoken volumes to each other. But now there was nothing, and it was Giles who turned towards her with a friendly smile.

"What's the joke, Jules?" he quizzed.

"None. I'm sorry, but this conversation is going like a crazy game of Ping pong," she tried to suppress an inane giggle, thinking she might just as easily burst into tears and that if Giles called her by that name again, she might well do so. "It's all so haphazard," she finished lamely. "It seems like one of those sessions where rules for speaking should be made. Only the person who holds the pepper pot up can speak at any one time," she finished, glancing around and realising there wasn't even a pepper pot on the table. Elizabeth frowned. Everyone else looked at her with puzzled, kind expressions. Julie knew she was being ridiculous and ungracious. The animated conversations just proved everyone was getting along well. Giles squeezed her shoulder in a sudden gesture of affection that took her completely by surprise and made her fall into a sober contemplation of her plate.

It was fortunate for her that Alex Saunders was one of those open, extrovert men who automatically become the driving force of any party. He possessed an unerring instinct that allowed him to steer conversations away from their immediate collision courses with tricky obstacles. Julie glanced at him in gratitude on more than one occasion for the way he drew Giles away from certain subjects, such as embarrassing anecdotes of her pre-registration days and eulogies of Simon.

It occurred to her that Giles' sudden gesture might lead the gathered company to imagine the two of them were an item and she wondered how to make their relationship, or rather, _lack_ of relationship, clear to all concerned, or, if she were being honest with herself, to Nicholas. She would hate him to get the wrong idea, but nothing came to mind, and she had to dismiss the worry. Anyway, what was the point? Nicholas didn't give two hoots, that much was clear. Instead, she focused her attention on Alex Saunders, whom she found had real charisma and was genuinely pleased to see that Giles had taken to him too.

She almost fell out of her chair with embarrassment when Elizabeth suggested leaving the men to their discussions while the women moved into the drawing room. Her horrified eyes met Nicholas' for an instant and she saw his amusement.

"You can't be _serious_ , Liz?" she whispered, appalled, but then Alex and Giles seconded the proposal with cheerful good humour.

"Good," Elizabeth said smugly, ignoring her stricken expression. "You'll find brandy, whisky, port or whatever on the table just behind you, Alex."

"Oh Liz," Julie moaned. "What _can_ you be thinking of? This isn't a Jane Austen novel."

"Just a little baroque," giggled Annette in agreement. "But I have no objections, providing we're allowed brandy as well."

"Of course," Elizabeth gave a mischievous wink to the pair of them. "I've kept the best stuff for us. Oh do stop _worrying_ , Julie. No one minded and Alex and Giles seemed to find it an excellent idea."

That was true, Julie conceded, so why had she been so embarrassed? The answer gave a soft tap-tap at the door of her brain, but she denied it entry.

The drawing room door opened and Nicholas appeared carrying a tray of coffee for Mrs Bottomley, who danced about his heels protesting and thanking him both at the same time.

"It's the least I can do after such an excellent meal," he assured her. _So smooth_.

"You're too kind, Mr Masserman," she beamed, fussing over the coffee table.

Yes, Julie reflected, too kind. And too smooth by half. The perfect gentleman, whom I once took to be a simple gardener. Trust me to get it so utterly wrong. She wondered what had driven him away from the masculine table talk so soon, but couldn't think of a way to ask without sounding ungracious.

"How did you like the garden?" he inquired. He kept his voice quiet and casual, but it startled her, taking her off guard.

She jumped to her feet in dismay. "Oh, how _rude_ of me! I'm so sorry. I meant to thank you before. It's beautiful. I _love_ it."

"Good." He seemed pleased, at least his smile looked genuine. "I'm sorry we had to lop so much off your tree. I'm afraid it was necessary."

"It will grow again," she murmured, realising that must sound like commiserating over a too-radical haircut. She continued to berate herself over her rudeness in having said nothing to Nicholas about the garden on the two previous occasions she'd seen him when in fact she had so many questions she wanted to ask about it.

"How's your studying going?"

Small talk, she thought. We sound like strangers meeting for the first time. Is this what we're reduced to? _Change the subject, fast._ "Not too badly. I try to aim for seven hours a day."

He raised his eyebrows. "Very impressive, but why bother with the exam if you intend giving up medicine?" He kept his voice low so Elizabeth wouldn't hear.

"It's... something I have to do. You wouldn't understand." She hadn't intended to sound rude or dismissive but the words were out before she managed to stop them and she wanted to bite off her tongue. Damn! Why can't I just behave in a normal way with him, she agonised to herself. Everything she said came out sounding either ridiculous or rude.

Nicholas nodded and turned abruptly to Annette, directing the rest of his conversation towards her and Elizabeth until the others made their noisy entrance, still laughing over some previous joke or witticism. Giles crossed to Julie's chair at once, leaned over her and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.

"Witch," he whispered.

She jumped to her feet in confusion for the second time that evening. Being kissed by Giles Fairchild might produce such an effect in some women, but Julie's reaction was less one of pleasure than of extreme agitation. While she remained convinced it was impossible, she could not quite quell the nagging fear that Giles Fairchild might somehow be attracted to her in a perverse misguided transference of his admiration for Simon, and the idea made her shudder. She stole a furtive, anxious glance at Nicholas to see if he had seen the gesture, but she couldn't tell. He wore a mask of indifference. Giles put an arm around her shoulder and drew her apart from the group.

"Your little plot has been discovered," he whispered with a smile. "Just don't ever let it be known in the smoke that I've agreed to see a provincial shrink." And with that he walked away from her and joined the little clan around the fire.

Julie sighed and shook her head, but in her profound relief, allowed herself a little smile of self-congratulation.

Nicholas rose abruptly, offered his thanks and apologies for leaving so early and allowed Elizabeth to see him to the door while she gazed after him in misery, feeling as if a light had suddenly gone out, plunging her into pitch darkness again.

### * * * *

Alex Saunders became a regular and welcome visitor to the house and, to Julie's astonishment and amusement, Giles Fairchild became a regular escort of Elizabeth Somerville. Julie sometimes joined the three of them in the evening, never failing to wonder at the improvement in Giles and the alteration in Elizabeth. She vaguely blamed Alex Saunders for capturing them all under his spell, but no reproach accompanied the blame.

With the passage of time, Julie hoped that her chance encounters with Nicholas would become easier to handle. If they were to be thrown into each other's company, she would like, at least, to be able to face him without the attendant heart-tripping distress. Nicholas himself remained aloof and composed, showing he no longer felt anything for her and this made her all the more determined to behave in a cool and dignified way. But determination alone seemed not to be enough.

* * * *

The worst scenario she imagined possible eventually happened one evening when Julie had agreed, though not without reluctance, to go with Giles to join Elizabeth and Alex for a drink at a well-known wine bar in the town centre. She saw Nicholas even before she had taken a seat and her first instinct was to turn and run in a state of complete panic, but when she tried to follow her instinct, she came straight up against Alex, who propelled her into her seat.

He was with a woman, blonde of course and very attractive and her name, it soon transpired, was Antoinette. Nicholas did not bother to qualify their relationship when he made the introductions, which omission seemed to suggest that it was an intimate one.

Crushed, Julie found it difficult to raise her eyes, convinced that all her pain and hurt would be visible there for all to read. I _have_ to get over this, she told herself in abject misery. Nicholas has moved on with his life and so must she.

But it was not an easy evening and when someone—Julie could not afterwards remember who, since the pain was so acute it rammed memory into second gear—suggested Nicholas and Antoinette join their group, Julie prayed only for the ground to swallow her up whole. Without delay. She realised Antoinette's indifference to the suggestion and was therefore astonished at Nicholas' insensitivity in accepting. Was he trying to rub her nose in it? Did he think she hadn't seen them together and taken due note of how gorgeous she was? Or did he just not care? The sense of betrayal stabbing at her was inexpressible. Through her humiliation, she told herself this was the best test possible; if she managed to survive this evening, then she would have passed the worst hurdle of all. And unless she was prepared to take herself right away from home, this was something she _must_ do. She wouldn't become a complete recluse in order to avoid him forever.

But it was an evening of unadulterated wretchedness for her and when Alex, or perhaps Giles, later suggested that they should all go on to a restaurant together, it was more than she could bear. She waited in silence as they made their plans and then at the last moment excused herself.

"I have a headache coming on and I'm not at all hungry," she told them all in a quiet but firm voice.

Everyone expressed their concern in different ways and then Elizabeth began to have second thoughts, remembering her workload the next day, but Julie would listen to none of it.

"Just _please_ , all of you, do what you planned to do. Go to the restaurant. I'll be perfectly fine. In fact, I'm going to call a taxi right now."

"I'll drive you home, if you like," Nicholas offered, his voice low.

She stared at him in shock. She needed to exert all her will-power not to slap his face. Did he in all honesty think she would cram herself into his sexy little sports car with him and his new girlfriend? The man must be a _fool_ and she was tempted to tell him so.

"No, thank you. I wouldn't _dream_ of it. Anyway, your car is only meant for two."

He looked affronted. "I think you misunderstood. I could drive you home and then meet the others at the restaurant. It's no great distance and I expect I'd be back before the food arrived."

Somehow that seemed even worse. As if he couldn't wait to dispose of the miserable killjoy who threatened to spoil his lovely evening. She noticed he hadn't been one of the ones who'd tried to persuade her to stay. No doubt he was as desperate as her for her departure. When she recovered the power of speech, she left him in no doubt that his offer was unnecessary and unwanted.

As she sat alone in the back of her taxi, homeward-bound at last, she marvelled over Nicholas' motives and his insulting display of insensitivity to both herself and Antoinette. It was so out of character with everything she knew of him that it made no sense to her at all.

Her anger with him soon evaporated, however, as she ran through the scene again in her mind. When she'd refused to join them everyone had made a fuss, tried to persuade her against her wishes, or annoyed her by offering to sacrifice their own plans. Only Nicholas had unobtrusively accepted her wishes and tried to help her achieve them. His offer, she realised at last, was a simple act of kindness. And as for him being with another woman, what else could she expect? She was mature enough to accept that a man like Nicholas had never been and would never be short of girlfriends. He wasn't to know that she would be at the wine bar tonight. He hadn't engineered this embarrassing confrontation.

At least that ordeal is over, she told herself. He's free to parade as many beautiful blondes as he likes in front of me now and it will never hurt quite as much again.

* * * *

Giles' 'few days' stretched to two weeks and Julie's examination loomed ever closer. It had become the focal point of her existence, hovering like a thunderstorm on the horizon. She studied and fretted and several times a week sought consolation in tending her parents' grave. On each visit she added topsoil, but by the following visit the earth looked the same, arid, thin and lifeless. She realised it would offer no nourishment to any kind of plant, not even a weed.

"I'm like Robert the Bruce's spider," she muttered one day, raking through the dry, undernourished earth with her fingers. "Each visit I have to start all over again. What am I doing wrong?"

She realised with sudden clarity that the footsteps of which she'd been vaguely aware on the gravel path behind her had halted and that she was no longer alone. Disconcerted, she turned to see Nicholas kneeling beside her, his face so close that, without losing her balance she might have been able to reach across and kiss him, had she been foolish enough to attempt it. Oh, but the temptation to do so almost overwhelmed her, and she found it difficult to breathe normally.

"It's the shelter from this plane tree," he explained, rubbing the soil through his fingers. "The rain doesn't reach it. There's no moisture here."

She gazed at his beautiful hands, his long, sensuous fingers and fought an overwhelming urge to seize them in hers and hold them to her cheek and lips, to nibble and kiss each finger one by one, feel them touching her, caressing her, just as they used to. His beautiful gardening hands, if only that was all they had been. If only it had been that simple. She tried to cure herself by imagining them doing intimate things to Antoinette's body. That punishing picture almost brought tears to her eyes.

"What can I do?" Her voice shook with emotion, her eyes still on his hands, mesmerised by them. "I wanted to plant some flowers."

"You'll need a lot more of this," he replied, patting the dry topsoil. "And plenty of water. Do you water it each time you add more soil?"

She shook her head slowly. "I didn't realise I needed to," she confessed. "I've never been any good at gardening." Or anything else, for that matter, she thought.

He smiled. Not the cool, polite smile she had grown to know in recent weeks, but the old one. Or almost. "I'll get some water now."

She watched him walk to the nearby faucet and fill two plastic containers with water. His kindness brought an aching lump to her throat. For some reason thoughts of Liz jumped into her mind, making her wonder whether this kindness might be for her sister's benefit. After all, the grave belonged to Liz's parents too, and she knew Liz felt guilty for not having tended to it in the past. Perhaps she'd asked Nicholas to take a look at it? Perhaps he was living up to his Good Samaritan reputation and had set himself a regular quota of good deeds? Or perhaps he simply enjoyed performing acts of kindness? When he wasn't being unspeakably cruel that is. Is he doing this to hurt me? _Killing me with kindness_ , maybe? Who said that anyway? Shakespeare, probably; he seemed to have said everything else. Does Nicholas even care? The questions made her more wretched.

"What should I plant?" she asked as he distributed the water evenly over the rectangle of earth.

"What do you think they would like?"

She turned towards the headstone, gazing at the inscription for inspiration. This whole game was becoming too painful.

"Oh Nicholas, I don't even know what flowers they cared for. I know so little about them." Her eyes misted with emotion and she blinked hard and shook her head to clear them. He helped her to her feet. "Mrs Bottomley says we'll have flowers all year round in our garden. I just wanted them to have the same."

"Then I'll pick something out for you and send one of the boys up with more topsoil."

He was still holding onto her arm and she looked at him in incomprehension, despairing of ever understanding him.

"Why are you always so kind?" she demanded, fighting back the tears. "Why do you _do_ it?"

Their eyes met for an instant but he was guarded, his mask of indifference firmly back in place. He shrugged and looked off into the distance as they began the walk back to the cemetery gate along one of the narrow gravel paths between the rows of graves, many of which were adorned with huge flowers in rich, autumnal shades of rust and gold.

"It's nothing," he replied in a dismissive manner, and they walked the rest of the way in silence, leaving Julie wrestling with her emotions. She wanted to shout, 'But it is. It _is_. How can I bear your kindness when I know you have such a _low_ opinion of me?'

On the way he enquired about her headache of the other night and she seized the opportunity to apologise for her churlishness and thank him for the offer of the lift home. She wanted to make him realise she now understood his motive and regretted having been so ungrateful. He looked surprised and threw her a sideways, quizzical glance as if not sure whether to believe she meant what she said.

He really hates me, she thought. I can see he doesn't trust anything I say. And why should he, given my history? At the cars they stopped again, and she pulled out her keys from the pocket of her jacket. She threw a weak smile towards the sleek blue car.

"So you extended your kindness to your Japanese friend, I see. Don't you miss your Ferrari though? I thought red suited you so well."

He shot her a quizzical glance. "You said you thought it was unimaginative," he corrected her. "And as I recall, you once called the colour common."

Caught in another lie, but she couldn't resist muttering, "Only because of Annabel Campbell-Turner."

"Who?"

Julie couldn't hide a faint smile. Right answer. "Never mind. How does Antoinette like the new colour?" she asked, growing bolder.

He shrugged. "I haven't asked her." He watched her as she turned to unlock her car door. "So how is your... um... Welsh friend enjoying our little town?"

"Giles, you mean? Oh yes, I expect he's enjoyed his time here. I haven't asked him, either. I believe he's planning to leave tomorrow, actually."

"No doubt you'll miss him?" His tone sounded neutral.

"Me? Oh I shouldn't think _I_ will since I see so little of him." Then an idea struck her, and a tiny flash of mischief prompted her on. "But I rather suspect Liz might, though." There, now! If Nicholas _is_ interested in Elizabeth, he'll have to put his cards on the table, and soon. "Well, goodbye, Nicholas, and thank you again, for everything. Oh, and, give my regards to your... To Antoinette."

# Chapter Ten

A few evenings later, Julie found herself alone with Alex Saunders, awaiting Elizabeth's return from a meeting about the new clinic.

"Honestly," Julie remarked, "they ought to name it the Elizabeth Somerville Clinic for all the work Liz has put into the wretched thing."

He managed a benign smile. "Yes, no one can say she isn't keen. I should be there myself tonight by rights, but I find meetings like that a terrible bore. To sit in front of a blazing log fire is far pleasanter. Apple, I presume? I seem to recall an old poem about apple logs giving off an incense-like perfume."

"Not more Shakespeare?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it. Are you fond of Shakespeare?"

She shrugged. "Just a passing flirtation; I barely know him. I hadn't realised you were involved with the clinic."

"Well, yes, ever since the decision to add an out-patient annexe to it as a gesture to the hospital, to show we're all working towards the same common good, so to speak. And speaking of out-patients, were you happy with your friend's state of mind when he left?"

"Giles? Oh yes. He seemed so much better than when he arrived. Though I must say I expected some sort of announcement before he left."

"Concerning Elizabeth?"

"Well yes. Maybe I'm just too romantic, but I imagined those two were becoming something of an item."

He gave her a genial smile but refused to rise to the gossip challenge, picking up instead on her inadvertent admission to lead the conversation down a different path. "Are you romantic? Tell me more. What plans have _you_ made for the future?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised. "None, beyond this wretched exam."

"What about your career?"

Julie frowned at the dreaded question. "I just want to get the exam out of the way, first."

"Some people consider you're devoting too much attention to your studies and your parents' grave and too little to yourself."

" _Some people_ _?_ You mean Elizabeth does? Oh yes, Liz _would_ think that about the grave, though I'm surprised she said that about the studying. I would have thought in her books, there's no such thing as too much. If I fail the exam, she'll say I didn't study enough. I can't win. Is that why you're here; to assess my emotional stability, now you're done with Giles? Am I to be your next project?"

"As I told you, I'm here to see Elizabeth."

Julie jumped to her feet and paced the room to work off her irritation. "I'm growing tired of Liz's unceasing concern about my future. I wish she'd stick to her wretched clinic and let me work things out by myself and in my own way."

"That's usually the best way," he conceded with a smile. "But you've undergone a lot of emotional turmoil this year and you strike me as being a very unhappy young woman. A very _stubborn_ , unhappy young woman, if I may say so."

"If you had to live with Elizabeth, _you'd_ be stubborn," she muttered. "I'm so tired of following in other people's footsteps. Of striving to achieve other people's ambitions for me."

"Then why don't you do what _you_ want, for a change?"

Julie sank into a chair and stared into the fire in gloomy contemplation.

"Well?"

She sighed and thought: I tried that too and look what a mess I made of it. "I don't seem to be very good at making the right decisions. All my life people have made decisions for me and I've followed their directions like a gullible fool. When someone else plans out your life from birth, you either rebel or learn not to question it. You just go along with it."

"And if Elizabeth's _unceasing concern_ vanished, what would you choose to do then? What if you chose the other route and rebelled?"

She stared at him blankly. "I don't know any more. I really have no idea."

"Your husband had a forceful personality and influenced you a great deal, I understand?"

"Yes, I suppose so. He was rather like my sister." And my father too, she added in her mind.

"Yet when you removed yourself from his influence, the first person you sought was Elizabeth," he pointed out.

Julie stared at him. " _Removed myself from his influence_? You sound like something from a Victorian novel, doctor. Do you consider it unnatural to return to my childhood home, of which, if it's of any interest to you, I own half, or are you trying to suggest that I have a weak, dependent personality?" she taunted.

"I don't know how strong your personality is, but Giles once mentioned that you'd appealed to some previously unplumbed paternal instinct in Simon that he found irresistible, so I assumed he was rather dominant. Tell me, when you were a child, how did you view your future then?"

"I'm not sure." Julie didn't want to pursue this line of thinking. How dare Giles discuss her and Simon like that? But she didn't want to think about Simon or Giles just then.

She turned back towards the fire, watching the flames lick the old apple logs. Someone had cut them into neat blocks and stacked them in the woodshed. She refused to believe it was any of Nicholas' doing. It seemed almost cannibalistic, in an odd way, to be burning logs from the old tree on the drawing room fire. Another cremation. But they burnt very well and what else was to be done with them? She remembered the old swing: _Make me ride higher, Mummy, higher_. Were these crackling, scented logs the branch that once, long ago, supported and delighted her so much? At length she applied herself to his question. "I suppose like most little girls, I wanted to be like my mother," she confessed in a small voice.

"And when you met your husband, did he take over the role of your father?" he probed, sounding calm and kind.

"Oh God! That wasn't just a chance comment Giles made. You've discussed me with him in intimate detail. How _could_ you? All right, let's play the game. That's what I wanted, wasn't it? Someone to look after me, just as father looked after my mother."

"Someone who had the same high expectations of you as well?" he pointed out.

"Meaning I chose him to balance my weakness? Do you always try to make every relationship fit in with your complex Freudian theories of human nature? Or do you just think we're all hell-bent on self-destruction?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked leaning forward, eyes gleaming in the firelight.

Julie drew in a long, trembling breath before speaking again. "Father was a caring person. He loved my mother. I refuse to accept that he had excessive or unreasonable expectations of her."

"No," Alex agreed, with almost maddening calmness. "But he had of his daughters, hadn't he? Perhaps that's why you refer to him as _father_ , whereas your mother is _my mother_. Can you remember your father showing you affection?"

"I'm sure he did and I remember my mother showing me plenty," she retorted.

"Why do you think that is Juliet? I mean, you were seven years old when you lost your mother and, what...eighteen, nineteen when your father died?"

"How do you know so much?"

"Oh come, Julie, I've known your sister for several years. Do you imagine the relentless driving force behind her wouldn't intrigue anyone who cared about her? People interest me. I enjoy puzzling them out."

"It wasn't a negative thing. Liz had a very _good_ relationship with father. She never did anything wrong in his eyes."

"As perceived by _your_ eyes, perhaps not." He kept his voice calm, non-accusing.

Julie fell into silent contemplation again. Now here was a truly novel notion. Had Elizabeth ever suffered from feelings of inadequacy, the way she, Julie, had? Was that why Liz had worked so relentlessly at her career at the cost of all else until it had become the only way of life for her and, in her eyes, for her younger sister? There was no doubt in her mind that this was what Alex Saunders hinted at. And then there was the other startling thought. She'd never considered before how very much like her father Simon was in his remote kindness and his stubborn expectations of her. Did that mean that by marrying Simon, after her father had died, she'd tried to repeat the pattern of her childhood? Had she replaced her father with Simon to win the approval her father had denied her? Did she really possess such a weak and self-effacing personality? Giles had called her a coward and a hypocrite while Nicholas had thrown a whole catalogue of insults at her, and every one of them true.

"Are you suggesting I have some kind of _need_ to punish myself?" She was almost fearful of hearing his answer.

Alex had removed a pen from his pocket and what looked like a used envelope on which he appeared to have been doodling during Julie's self-absorption. He clicked the pen once or twice, looking thoughtful.

"Would you say you've made a habit of putting yourself in..." Here he paused to search for the appropriate word. " _Demanding_ situations of late?"

Julie released a faint giggle that threatened to grow into hysteria with little effort. "No wonder the surgeons call you guys trick cyclists. You never give answers; just ask more questions, taking people for a detour all around the houses." They exchanged wry smiles. "I suppose I _may_ have been looking for a father figure when I married Simon," she conceded at last. "But I never considered for a moment I was _wilfully_ punishing myself in choosing someone who had impossible expectations of me. And I'm certain Simon didn't view it that way either. He was very kind. He was the best friend I had."

"If he was, then he should certainly not have married you," Alex said with a brutal honesty that took her by surprise.

"That's a horrible thing to say. It's so insulting."

"I'm sorry. It's not my intention to insult you or him. I just want to help you see things with greater clarity."

"Oh, you've done that all right," she said without humour. "You've made me feel completely worthless. Got any beds on your psychiatric ward, or shall I just nip upstairs and slash my wrists now?"

"Juliet, you're far from worthless, but you've not been very honest with yourself..."

"I do wish you wouldn't keep trying to spare my feelings," she said, adopting a sardonic tone.

"But as for punishing yourself, isn't that what all this studying is?"

"Tell that to the Royal College of Physicians. They set the standards. How else do you suggest I succeed in hospital medicine without the exam?"

"But you told three people I know personally, and who, I might add, all expressed their concern about you, that you want out of hospital practice, and yet you're punishing yourself with this study regime without any consideration about what purpose it will serve you. You've shut yourself away in more ways than one and the only pleasure you seem to allow yourself is tending your parents' grave. Don't _you_ think your friends are justified in their concern?"

Julie again jumped to her feet in agitation and paced the room for a moment. Alex Saunders kept prodding at her Achilles heel and it was beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

"I think that's enough psychobabble for one night, Dr Saunders. If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my books. I'm sure Elizabeth won't be much longer," she said.

"Very well; but if you can't accept yourself, it seems unreasonable to expect others to do so, wouldn't you agree?"

A sudden thought assaulted Julie, halting her dead in her tracks in front of the door. She turned back, fixing her questioning gaze on him.

"Three people? You said _three_ people had expressed concern?"

He gave a slight shrug, his face inscrutable in the dim glow of the fire. "I imagine _all_ your friends are concerned."

Her laugh sounded hollow to her own ears. "What friends? I'm surprised you've managed to find three."

"Well, of course, I count your sister as your friend since there can be no doubt her worry about you is genuine and deep."

"Liz isn't my friend, she's my albatross," Julie muttered. "Who else? Three people I've told about wanting to give up medicine? There's Giles, of course and..." A long silence ensued as she swallowed an impossible lump in her throat. She walked back into the middle of the room, coming up close to his chair and stood gazing down at him, trying to remain calm while feeling anything but. "Was it Liz who talked to you about the cemetery?"

He shook his head, his lips pursed.

"So this little discussion wasn't instigated by Liz after all?"

"She's expecting me at the meeting. I thought I mentioned that. There are other people who are concerned about you, who feel you've erected barriers around yourself, made yourself unapproachable, which I found curious in the light of my own observations."

"How could you have 'observed' anything about me, when you were supposed to be watching Giles the whole time?"

"Forgive me; it's a rather unsavoury little habit of mine, like listening in to other people's conversations in restaurants. I'm a student of body language. I told you, people interest me."

Julie returned to her chair, taking tiny steps to allow more time to formulate her next question. "Did Nicholas actually consult you about me?" It was almost too painful to say his name aloud.

Alex smiled a broad and genuine expression of amusement. "Of course not. Psychiatrists do have friends, believe it or not. And friends chat about their concerns. With a little gentle prompting, sometimes."

"Is Nicholas really a friend of yours? How well do you know him?"

"Quite well, actually. As a matter of fact I understand we share more than one mutual friend. But apart from all those tedious meetings we're obliged to attend regarding the clinic, we do manage to get together socially on occasions," he said with measured understatement. "He's an excellent chap, Nicholas. First rate. Knows his own mind in most respects, too. I'd say he rarely makes mistakes, though he admitted to making quite a painful blunder recently."

Julie sat back in her seat, resting her flaming cheek against the chair back, concentrating on her breathing to keep it regular and watching Alex in silence, waiting for him to elaborate.

"And it seems that every move he's made to put things right has met with rejection. Of course in this case, there were misunderstandings on both sides, with some of which I happy to be able help. Or at least, to give an opinion on."

"Based on your observations?"

"And on personal knowledge. For example, _I_ knew that your friendship with Giles was purely platonic."

"Oh, really?" Julie smiled in delight. "And you worked that out from our body language?"

"No. I asked Liz. And Giles. Asked him at our first meeting if you must know. Having seen you and Nicholas together, it was clear to me that if Giles was in love with you, then it was certainly unrequited." Alex took on a pensive expression for a moment. "Interesting word that, don't you agree? No-one ever talks about love being requited, only of it being _un_ requited. Unrequited love gives off the plainest body language in the world. It's when it is requited that the language sometimes gets complicated. And I'm not just talking body language. Harder to read with any certainty, I mean. By everyone concerned. Which can, in turn, cause so many misunderstandings. But then if you find it so difficult to love yourself, it may be hard to show your love, or accept that someone really does love you."

*

After Elizabeth arrived, Julie escaped to her room to be alone with her thoughts. And what thoughts they were as they teamed through her brain like powerful floodwaters. _Accept that someone really does love you_. Surely he couldn't mean Nicholas? It was patently obvious to her that Nicholas no longer had any interest in her, had moved on with his life. Alex must just mean that Nicholas no longer bore her any ill will. That he didn't want to see her continuing to suffer and pine, now he'd been able to put her behind him. He just wanted her to be able to do the same. She should have known Nicholas wasn't the type of person to bear grudges.

_Every move he's made to put things right has met with rejection..._ How could that be? True he came to London after her, but that was on Sonya's behalf, wasn't it? Hadn't Sonya said as much in her letter? She wished she hadn't thrown the note away, so she might read it again and satisfy her mind. He was just being a good friend to Robert and Sonya; after all, he was their best man, and it was his job to oversee the smooth running of the wedding.

Nicholas had told Alex he had made a 'painful blunder'; could that have been...? No! He must have meant in assuming she and Giles had some sort of romantic attachment. That wasn't an unreasonable mistake, given Giles's familiarity with her. She shuddered at the memory of Giles' seemingly affectionate—and completely unwanted—gestures towards her at Liz's dinner party. Could Nicholas have been... could there be the remotest possibility that Nicholas had been jealous of Giles? Happy thought, but without any doubt impossible.

_You've made yourself unapproachable._ Had she? Is that how she appeared to him? _Erected barriers_? Maybe she had, for self-preservation, nothing else; because the pain would be just too much to go through again. No, she could never put herself in that situation again.

So how was she to handle all this new-found information? How could she let her hopes soar, as they were doing right now, if she was mistaken... if Alex was mistaken? She would rather die than endure so much pain again if she was wrong. She could not, _would_ not let her hopes run away with her. No, she had to put it all right out of her mind. She _had_ to control herself and forget Alex's suggestions so that the next time she saw Nicholas she would be cool, calm and collected and in a better position to observe him in an objective way, saving herself, and him, from unnecessary embarrassment. The one thing she must _not_ do was to throw herself at Nicholas and face rejection a second time.

She sat for all of five minutes, gazing into the shattered crimson centre of her once lovely paperweight, firm in her new resolve, before jumping to her feet. After a quick shower, repeating _cool, calm and collected_ to herself in much the same way Dorothy in _The Wizard of Oz_ repeated _There's no place like home,_ she barely allowed time to dry herself before dressing and leaving the house.

Her drive to The Cedars didn't take long at that time of night. Nevertheless, by the time she arrived, it was too dark to see much of the grounds as she drove towards the house. She stopped the car before reaching the front of the building. She picked her way along the drive where the hedgerow borders twinkled with soft lights, nestling low to the ground and casting a faint illumination along the path. It was like walking through a fairy grotto.

At the door, she paused. One or two dangly-legged crane flies hovered blindly around the light. _I can't do this. What if I've made a terrible mistake?_ Deep breaths, she reminded herself. _Cool, calm and collected._ She rang the doorbell with trembling fingers, unsure whether she would find him alone, or even at home. Visions of coming across him in the arms of Antoinette or some Annabel or Livvie almost impelled her to run while she had the chance. Perhaps she should have called first if only to give him to opportunity to make an excuse. _Cool, calm and collected_. She trembled in the fragrant night air as she waited, feeling anything but cool or calm and a million miles from collected as she tried to gather in her scattered thoughts.

He answered the door himself and uttered her name in surprise.

_Breathe_. "You said I might contact you if I needed anything," she reminded him, not knowing from where she'd found the strength to speak, when all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and tell him over and over how much she loved him.

"Yes, of course. What's wrong?" He seemed, for once, uncertain how to respond, even glancing beyond her, as if expecting to see some sign of physical danger looming up behind her in the twilight gloom.

"Two very small things," she replied, pulling her left hand out from behind her back and handing him a bottle of champagne. "I need you to accept this small token of thanks from me for your kindness, to drink a toast to your lovely new house. May it be the happiest home you ever had and also give you the best garden in the world."

He said nothing, but nodded fractionally and accepted the bottle she held out, the shadow of a smile just visible as it played at the outer corners of his mouth. At least he hadn't refused it, surely a good sign? She took another deep breath and again quelled the tremor from her voice as she continued.

"And..." Removing her right hand, she held forth a twig.

"What's that?" he asked, his face a picture of puzzlement.

"Tut, tut, call yourself a gardener?" she chided. "Anyone can see it's an olive branch."

He shook his head. "That's not olive."

"No? And whose fault is that? I blame the gardener for not knowing I would need an olive tree, and I intend to give him a severe talking-to for being so remiss. So I had to find the next best thing, a metaphorical olive branch." She waved it in front of him. "It's a cutting from our old apple tree. It's a wonderful old tree, been through such a lot, but is still hanging in there. _So long lives this and this gives life to thee_ ," she quoted solemnly, hoping he would remember, but he still didn't speak, just looked from her to the twig. "You can do a lot worse than have an apple tree in your garden. In fact, all the best gardens in the world have apple trees in them." She stopped because she ran out of breath. His turn now.

But there was still no response, and she bit her lip as she waited a moment before half turning towards the door. Either Alex was wrong, or she'd offended Nicholas by referring to things lacking in his childhood. Either way, it was a silly gesture, and she'd once again made a fool of herself. She'd said her piece and said it badly, as usual. She might have profited from spending a year or more rehearsing it.

He looked at the twig, his expression doubtful. "There's a couple of old cedars out there that will no doubt get very jealous, but, what the hell. They'll survive a bit of sibling rivalry." He held out his hand.

"Oh, Nicholas; what I was trying to say was that even if you can't forgive me, even if you can't accept my apologies, at least accept my gratitude. At least let me say thank you to you for all you've done, so I can perhaps feel a little less wretched and a little bit hopeful that one day you'll be able to stop hating me and perhaps see me as a friend.

"It just doesn't seem fair," she went on, despite her overwhelming sadness, "that you seem to be everyone else's friend but mine." She wanted to say more, but her voice had become dangerously husky and she knew she couldn't trust it with any more declarations right now.

"Would you close the door behind you, please?" he asked at last, looking around for somewhere to deposit the twig.

It felt as if a jagged bolt of electricity had ripped through her body. _Rejection_? _He's telling me to leave._ Gasping in pain, she turned towards the door and was about to step through it and pull it closed behind her when he caught her arm, preventing her exit.

"Julie..."

She blinked back a tear as she turned to face him again.

"Where are you going?"

"Home, of course."

"But I thought you came to see the house? Now close that door before any more of those damned crane flies get in and come inside so I can give you the full tour."

Relief washed over her and she smiled through misty eyes. "No need. I've seen it already."

"What?"

"In my imagination," she explained. "It's a beautiful house."

He shook his head. "Not yet. It still needs some vital work."

She looked beyond him at the light glowing out from one of the rooms. Could Antoinette perhaps be hiding in there?

"Is it anything serious?"

"What Sonya would no doubt call 'soul repair'. Can't you sense how empty it feels inside? Or is that just me?" He took a step forward and caught her suddenly in his arms. Their lips found each other at once, like the soft, fleeting brush of butterfly wings just for an instant, before heat and hunger locked them together and nothing else existed but that shared moment. Even after their starved appetites were sated, the kiss lingered, sweeter than any before, feeding everything she'd yearned for through all her hurt and pain and grief. It was the best kind of therapy and its warmth and healing powers flooded through her body, awakening every weary fibre, making her feel whole again as she gave herself up to it. She experienced again the same sense of total belonging and rightness that being with Nicholas always created, as if all the events of her life were a pale and insignificant backdrop to this moment, this critical core of her existence. She'd found her way back to where she belonged.

When they at last drew apart, he led her into the house, through the elegant hallway and into the spacious living room, illuminated by soft floor lamps and muted wall lights. The tall windows had their filmy drapes tied back to reveal pools of silvery light twinkling from numerous hedgerow string lights and snaking all the way down the long lawns of the lovely garden, lending it a fairy-tale appearance.

"It's a beautiful room, Nicholas," she breathed in delight, looking around her, absorbing everything with her greedy eyes, while her body still tingled from his touch. And not an Antoinette in sight. "The best room ever. And the garden looks like Wonderland, it's perfect."

"Well yes, true, it's much better _now_ , I must admit, but it still needs more work, just like you and me. But I'm determined we'll get there this time." He hadn't let go of her hand and now he drew her towards him again.

It was like being reeled in, pulled back to where she belonged and would become complete again. Home at last. When his lips claimed hers, she returned his kiss hungrily, holding nothing back from him. She would not allow him to doubt the depth and sincerity of her feelings ever again.

When he finally pulled away, he gazed into her eyes for a long, intense moment before speaking. "I love you, Julie, though I should hate you for putting me through hell these past months." She prevented him from continuing by covering his face with kisses, but he seemed not to mind the interruption. "Those things I said to you that night," he resumed, shaking his head in regret. "They may have hurt you a little, but it's inconceivable they made you suffer more than you made me by just leaving like that. I almost went out of my mind then. It never occurred to me you'd do that."

"Do what? Go away?"

"Well yes, so suddenly and without warning. For one thing, I must admit, I didn't think you had the strength."

"To run away?" she asked in surprise. "Oh Nicholas, believe me it takes no strength at all to behave like a coward, perhaps that's why I'm so good at it. You're wrong to think what you said didn't hurt, the truth is always painful. I should know. I feel as if all my life I've had to hide something about myself from someone important because I feared their rejection or I was afraid of hurting them. And the fact of having been married seemed both desperately trivial and desperately important and I didn't know how to tell you, especially in light of the Masserman Manifesto. It tore me in half and I just blotted it out."

He shook his head, smiled and led her over to a vast pearl-grey leather sofa, spilling over with plump cushions, in front of a crackling log fire. "Oh _that_. You'll be glad to hear that went into the shredding machine the day you left. And I when I couldn't find you, I almost joined it."

"What are you saying, Nicholas?"

"That it's an extremely efficient machine. Bring your books over tomorrow and I'll prove it to you."

She gave an uncertain smile. "That's a tempting proposition, but I'm not sure about that yet. Let's put that discussion on hold for now."

"Whatever you say. But you'll never specialise in cardiology with my blessing."

She laughed. "Good, since I'm toying with the idea of going into general practice. I might make quite a good GP if I'm allowed just to be myself."

"I wouldn't want you to be anyone else and I won't let Liz bully you."

"Or there's always teaching."

"Those who can..."

"Quite. I could teach biology. It would take no time to re-train. So you see there are lots of useful things I could be."

"Yes, there are. You could be my wife."

"I could? Do you think there's any chance I might qualify?"

"And the mother of my children."

She could no longer speak, only look at him with troubled, shining eyes.

"I'd even help you draft out your application form if you like," he went on.

"Sounds like a wonderful position," she said at last, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "Do you think there's any chance of me making the short list?"

"You _are_ the short list. I haven't stopped loving you almost from the first moment I saw you staring at me through that jungle of greenery and being apart from you again is unthinkable now. I won't go through that again. Marry me, Julie. At once—or as soon as we possibly can. That's the only position I can bear to discuss with you right now. We belong together. And I think you know that as much as I do."

"Of course I do. I tried to tell you that the night of Robert's party, remember? Oh, but..." She looked into the fireplace where the flames licked and sputtered around the banked up logs. A tidal wave of conflicting emotions surged over her. "I'm not sure if I dare trust myself yet. I'm afraid of making another mistake and ruining your life. You're too good for me. Far too special. Everyone keeps telling me..."

He suppressed her protestations with a kiss that lingered until her resolve to make him understand her weaknesses extinguished itself.

She watched him through adoring eyes, her head resting on the soft, silk cushions, as he unfastened the wire bonnet of the champagne bottle and popped the cork under the gentle persuasion of his thumb, exactly as it should be done. He poured out the sparkling liquid and handed her a glass. She took a tiny sip and sighed.

"I'm not blessed with your strength of character, Nicholas. I'm afraid I'll be uncontrollably jealous of the Antoinettes, the Livvies and the Annabels in your life. You see, I have a weak and dependent personality, ask Alex Saunders. Oh, I forgot, you already did."

Nicholas had the grace to look a little sheepish as he took a sip of his champagne before returning his glass to the table.

"Are you calling me a gossip? Okay, I admit it. I was suspicious and jealous about Giles Fairchild and I had to find out what the real situation was. It was that remark of yours the other day, at the cemetery that gave me the first ray of hope in months. So I asked Alex, who happens to be this town's biggest busybody and, well, no doubt you've worked out the rest."

"I'm ashamed of you for thinking I might ever be interested in someone like Giles, after you," she rebuked.

"And I'm ashamed of you for thinking I might ever be interested in someone like that estate agent before _or_ after you," he replied.

"I never truly did," she confessed. "It was Liz who put the fear of God in me."

After they had recovered from their laughter, and kissed a lot more, he told her how he had come after her the morning following the party and of his shock on hearing from the housekeeper that she'd left for London. Eventually he'd tracked Elizabeth down and she'd given him the telephone number, which he'd called only to hear Simon's voice on the answering machine and promptly rung off.

"He sounded so _proprietorial_. I couldn't bring myself to leave a message because that was to acknowledge him. I thought: she has an entire history with this man, which I know nothing about," he explained, with a slow shake of his head. "And that almost drove me insane. It acted as a cure for a few days before anger set in and I became determined to confront you—both of you if necessary—and demand answers."

After that he'd called several times with no response until Simon's mother had answered the telephone and told him Julie was with Simon. "Only she mentioned nothing about his illness. I suppose she assumed I knew. It was Elizabeth who told me how seriously ill he was. And happened to mention what a mistake your marriage had been from the outset."

"But no-one told me any of this. Oh, Nicholas, if I'd known..." She thought of all the pain that could have been avoided just by knowing he still cared about her and how much she in her turn could have reassured him. She shook her head sadly, then took his hand in hers and deposited kisses on his beautiful fingers one by one, as she'd longed to do so many times.

"I went to London before Liz went abroad, but you weren't at the house and you ignored my messages, that's assuming you even got them. Do you realise how much of this might have been avoided if you'd only carry a phone?" he went on, letting his fingertips perform a gentle, tantalising dance over her lips as he spoke. "I had no idea what to think. The best case scenario was that you were punishing me, the worst that you were back with your husband. It wasn't until Sonya told me at the wedding exactly what had happened that I pieced things together. I didn't dare hope to be right, but when she told me we'd chosen the same tables, and insisted it was a sign, I let myself do so again. I came rushing round, but you seemed so altered and aloof, as if you couldn't stand to be near me. Then Giles Fairchild turned up with his 'Jules' this and 'Jules' that, which just sickened me."

"Wretched man. I'm so sorry," she soothed, as she nibbled and kissed his fingertips.

"So you should be. I came close to committing a serious crime. And every time we met, you seemed to go out of your way to cut me or snub me. That night in the wine bar, I concluded you must really hate me."

"I couldn't bear seeing you with Antoinette." Just the memory of that night caused her to wince.

After assuring her that Antoinette meant nothing, a slow and passionate process, and receiving her assurances that she had been so miserable without him that whenever she did see him, it rendered her speechless and clumsy, he said, "There's still one thing I need to know, before I can give my total forgiveness. Do you remember telling me you loved me?"

"How could I forget?"

"And do you still?"

She moaned. "Yes, oh yes, of _course_ I do. How can you doubt it? I've loved you ever since you were a struggling gardener, putting in a bit of overtime on early-closing day. But..."

"Forget the 'but'; I was only interested in the 'yes'. After what you've put me through, I think I can manage the rest myself."

"I don't understand what happened to all those principles?"

He started kissing her neck, his lips working their slow, sensuous way to her left ear and down along her throat. In another moment she'd be incapable of further conversation.

"Sometimes principles have to be re-evaluated in the light of events, if you're to move with the times. Sometimes people underestimate the strength of their emotions. They simply make mistakes, I suppose," he teased.

"Not you. Never," she said, returning his kisses.

"Why not? I'm not perfect."

"Oh yes, you are, Nicholas. Why else would I love you so much?" Then later and with great tenderness, she asked, "Although there's nothing in the world I want more, you do realise it's a bit soon for marriage for me, don't you?"

"Is it?" He sounded wary again.

"It's just that I feel as if I've been rammed through the wringer too many times this year. And out of respect for Simon, if no one else, I think I need to wait, just a little bit longer, wouldn't you agree?"

"No," he amended. " _We'll_ have to wait. Together. Very, very much together from now on."

She let her head fall back against the cushions again to enjoy his lovely face and smile into his eyes. "You know, as a little girl I dreamed of marrying under the old apple tree in the garden where everything good my life happened. The blossoms would drift down like confetti around me."

"You want apple blossom confetti? In that case, it looks like we're talking about a late spring wedding; early June, I'd say, or better still May. Let's hope no rough winds shake its darling buds next year."

"You don't mind?"

"I'm a simple gardener with a romantic soul. Why should I?"

"Then I think I can safely promise I'll give the position my most serious consideration," she whispered in his ear.

"And I can safely promise you I intend to make sure you do exactly that," he replied in a solemn voice. "Now, as you've expressed such an interest in the position, isn't it time you viewed the entire house, so we can start drafting out that application I mentioned?"

The End
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# About the Author

A former head of English, Lynette gave up her teaching career a few years ago in order to focus on her writing and thus fulfil her childhood dream. She writes contemporary women's fiction, often involving romance with suspense or a supernatural twist. She claims 'Killing Jenna Crane', a romantic thriller, and 'Unworkers' a modern ghost story/women's fiction gave her the most pleasure to write to date. Her most recent release 'The Nightclub' is a romance packed with suspense.

You can find more details of her novels on her website: http://www.lynettesofras.com – where you can find a free offer and further information.

### Some other titles by the same author

**Wishful Thinking** – a contemporary romance

A struggling single mother and a pop-icon turned Hollywood star meet in unusual circumstances. Fate drew them together but the intrigue and trappings of stardom threaten to unravel love's ties.

**Shopping for Love** – contemporary romance

They shop for others out of kindness and naturally fall in love; but he is still raw from his painful divorce and she is his children's teacher. Add to the mix a spiteful ex-wife and scheming ex-boyfriend and love may have too high a price tag.

**The Nightclub** – romance with suspense

To support her younger sister, an office clerk becomes a nightclub hostess, finding love in a seedy world of sex, drugs and corruption - and endangering their lives.

**In Loving Hate** – a romantic suspense

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts! Is shipping millionaire Alex offering Lyssa his heart, or trying to ensnare hers for far more sinister reasons?

**Killing Jenna Crane** – a romantic thriller

The murder is fictional but the dark journey into a writer's mind is real. When an egotistical novelist meets his ideal woman, he agrees to kill off his popular heroine. Isolated and haunted by painful memories of a previous love, he battles the growing darkness in his soul when a secret is exposed, changing everything he once knew.

**Unworkers** – women's fiction/ghost story

A converted Georgian mansion should be a safe refuge for lone mothers and their children, but when five women's lives intertwine, it becomes a house of terror for them all.

For excerpts and details of further titles/offers, please visit Lynette's website at:

http://www.lynettesofras.com
