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  She ended it abruptly, switching off the phone and holding it out towards Nadia even as she stood up. For a moment she swayed and Quinn was afraid she was going to collapse. Before he could leap to his feet, Nadia was there with a steadying hand at her elbow.

  ‘I’m sorry to cut the meeting short, Mr Protheroe, but I’ve got to go straight away,’ Faith apologised. She didn’t even try to meet his eyes as she added, ‘Quinn, I’ll see you at the Butterfly Garden tomorrow morning.’

  It would have been pointless to try to argue that it made more sense to share a car because she was already leaving the room, Nadia shepherding her out with as much care as a hen with one chick.

  ‘Well, Doctor, I’m sorry about that,’ said Mr Protheroe, as he concentrated on neatening an already pristine stack of files. ‘Do you need directions to the Butterfly Garden? I don’t think it’s too hard to find in spite of its rural-sounding name.’

  ‘I can get directions from the internet, thank you,’ he said, focusing on polite manners when he would far rather be trying to fathom the reason for Faith’s sudden departure. ‘I found their web site when I was doing my initial research into setting up a hospice. I think I remember seeing a map.’

  ‘Well, then, I’ll wait to hear how you get on,’ he said briskly. ‘Once you and Faith have had time to talk about it, the trust will have to engage the services of a suitable architect.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘This could end up being a rather long, drawn-out process. I don’t know how Faith is going to be able to fit it in between all her other commitments.’

  ‘Perhaps she’ll have to learn to prioritise,’ Quinn suggested, determined that Faith’s busy music career wasn’t going to be allowed to delay the creation of Rookmere’s hospice by a single day. The well-being of his young patients was far more important than adding another nought or two to Faith’s fortune.

  Mr Protheroe’s dry chuckle surprised him. ‘Oh, I think that young lady’s always had her priorities straight,’ he said pointedly. ‘I might not always agree with the things she’s done or the way she’s done them, but you can be sure that she’s always thinking of others rather than herself. She’s probably far more like her mother than she would like to admit.’

  That was a thought that would have depressed Quinn just days ago. For more than a decade and a half he’d borne a grudge against Constance Adamson, bitter and resentful over her part in keeping Faith away from him and the future they’d planned. The time he’d spent with her in that last hour of her life had hung a big question mark over his previous assumptions.

  It had also made him determined that, before she finally left his life, Faith was going to make the time to answer the questions that had haunted him for so long.

  In the meantime, he thought with a groan, he had a list of home visits to do that would probably take until the early hours of the evening.

  ‘Well, I hope Andrew’s enjoying his unexpected afternoon off,’ he muttered as he took out Joan’s neatly typed list and pointed the car towards the first address. Silently he acknowledged that he’d been lucky in his junior partner. Although recently married, he was more than keen to pull his weight and was usually only too willing to rearrange his duty hours to accommodate Quinn.

  He drew up outside a tidy little bungalow surrounded by a spectacular display of flowers, every bed full to bursting with a riot of colours surrounding a lawn so perfect it hardly seemed real.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a curtain twitch and caught a glimpse of someone dressed in a blue fabric almost the same colour as Faith’s eyes, but when he turned to face them directly they had disappeared, the curtain subsiding into stillness.

  Reassured that there was someone home to let him in to see his patient, he set off towards the front door.

  ‘Hello, Doctor,’ called an accented voice from behind a tall wigwam covered in heavily scented sweet-pea blossoms. ‘You have come to see my Maria?’

  Mario Bacchelli emerged onto the neatly swept path with a handful of fading flowers in his hand and Quinn was struck as ever by the impression of wiry strength the man exuded. He wasn’t any more than average height and probably weighed no more than he had as a boy, but he looked as if he could work most men into the ground.

  ‘Her health visitor told me she’s worried about her and asked me to have a look at her,’ Quinn confirmed, following him to the door. ‘She’s concerned that her legs are getting no better.’

  Mr Bacchelli came to a halt on the front doorstep and grasped Quinn’s arm in an unexpectedly tremulous grip. Clearly he had something he wanted to say before they went in to his wife, but Quinn was almost more concerned about the elderly man speaking to him than the wife he’d come to see.

  ‘Doctor, the nurse says that my Maria will not get better if she doesn’t move around more, but she can’t move around because of the pain. The nurse says that moving will be easier and there will be less pain if Maria will lose some weight, but how can she lose weight? She is eating less than nothing already and her weight it is always staying the same.’

  ‘You say Maria is eating less than nothing?’ Quinn was sceptical. He’d heard the same thing from reluctant dieters so many times before and it had never been true yet.

  ‘Si. She doesn’t eat enough for a bird, but when she is on the scales…’ He shook his head sadly.

  ‘Let’s go in and have a word with her,’ Quinn suggested. ‘Between us, perhaps we can find some reason why her diet isn’t working.’

  Inside the bungalow, he automatically went to turn towards the room where he’d seen the curtain twitching.

  ‘It is this way, Doctor,’ Mario said, leading the way towards a room at the back. ‘This is Maria’s favourite room, with the best view of the garden, so I help her in here each day. The two of us used to love doing the gardening together until she injured her leg, and now it will not get better.’

  He bent to murmur something to the woman he clearly adored even after so many decades together. ‘As you can see, I have put a table here, beside the couch, so we can have our meals together. It is too difficult now for her to go to the kitchen, but at least it is not too far for me to help her to the bathroom…’

  Quinn stood silently in the doorway while Mario chattered on, fussing lovingly around his wife. He was totally unsurprised to see that the overweight woman was wearing a blue dress the exact same colour as Faith’s eyes.

  ‘You see, Doctor,’ Mario continued as he straightened up, ‘Maria is in so much pain that she spends most of her time here. I make her food and bring it to her, so I know exactly how little she is eating, and still she makes no progress with the weight, and as for her legs…’

  The poor man was almost wringing his hands in his concern and suddenly Quinn was angry with the complacent woman sitting between them, ensconced like some bloated queen on her throne while her husband worried himself sick about her.

  ‘Would it be possible for you to make us all a cup of tea or coffee, perhaps?’ he suggested, deciding that a short, sharp shock was in order and wanting Mario out of earshot while he delivered it.

  As he hurried out with promises of a freshly brewed pot of coffee, Quinn fixed Maria with a baleful glare, holding her gaze long enough to make her squirm.

  ‘So, Maria,’ he began conversationally, ‘have you made all the plans for the funeral yet?’

  Her mouth gaped like a stranded fish for several seconds before she gasped, ‘Funeral?’ Her face went white and her voice rose. ‘You mean…I’m going to die!’

  ‘Oh, no, Maria. Not you,’ Quinn said with a dismissive wave of his hand, silencing the theatrical wail he sensed coming. ‘I mean Mario’s funeral.’

  ‘Mario? But there’s nothing wrong with my Mario,’ she declared firmly, settling herself back into her nest of pillows. ‘I’m the one who is ill.’

  ‘No, Maria,’ he contradicted coldly. ‘You are the one who is so selfish that she is killing the husband who loves her.’

  ‘No! This is not true!’ she
exclaimed, with a wounded expression on her florid face.

  ‘Not true?’ he challenged. ‘Your husband believes that you are in so much pain that you can’t walk anywhere without his help, but you and I both know that is a lie. I saw you at the window in the other room as I pulled up outside your house.’ He paused long enough for her to say something but she was speechless.

  ‘Mario also told me that he knew you were sticking to your diet because he had to bring you every mouthful you eat—that you don’t eat enough to feed a bird.’ This time he was pleased to see that she at least looked a little shamefaced. He would have liked to have taken his time over this confrontation, but time was running out. He didn’t want Mario to be hurt if he came back in unexpectedly. The poor man didn’t deserve it after all his devotion.

  ‘So, Maria, tell me why,’ he demanded.

  ‘But I am in pain,’ she argued. ‘I hurt my leg and the ulcera…the ulcer…it will not heal…’ Her words trailed into silence at his pointed glance at the serried ranks of tablets on the nearby cabinet.

  ‘You have pain medication,’ he said flatly. ‘So, tell me the truth. What is the real reason why you’re pretending to be so much worse than you are—why you’re deliberately stopping yourself from losing weight?’

  Time stretched out while she sat in silence, time that was running out if the sound of cups on a tray was any indication. Then, thank goodness, she caved in.

  ‘Because I am frightened,’ she whispered, with tears welling in her dark eyes. ‘Mario doesn’t need me any more, now that I can’t—’

  ‘Rubbish!’ he interrupted sternly, before she sank into self-pity. There wasn’t enough time in the universe for that. ‘Can’t you see that Mario needs you more than ever?’

  ‘What? No!’ Her chins wobbled as she shook her head. ‘When I hurt my leg, he did all the work…the garden, the cooking, the cleaning…everything! There is nothing he needs me for, but I…I still need him.’ A tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘And you still love him?’ Quinn challenged.

  ‘But of course I love him,’ she declared heatedly. ‘I have loved him since I was five years old. I cannot lose him now.’

  ‘So why are you trying to kill him, making him do everything by himself? Didn’t you enjoy working side by side in the garden, sharing the work between you?’

  ‘I love my garden,’ she agreed. ‘But, more, I love making the garden beautiful with my Mario. Together. But my leg—’

  ‘Your leg is no excuse,’ he said sternly. ‘Listen to me, Maria Bacchelli. You are a very lucky woman to have someone who loves you as much as your husband does. But if you keep sneaking into the kitchen for food then sitting around getting fatter and fatter, you will die of a heart attack, but you will probably live long enough to watch your husband die trying to keep everything beautiful for you. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No, dottore,’ she admitted, clearly miserable. ‘But I could never tell Mario I was so stupid, and now it is too late—’

  ‘No. It’s not too late,’ Quinn interrupted, flicking the catches on his bag open as inspiration suddenly struck. He could hear the rattle of crockery on the tray growing nearer, telling him that he had just seconds left before Mario joined them. ‘If you promise that you will faithfully follow your diet from now on, and that you will start doing some exercise every day…’

  ‘Anything, dottore. I promise!’ she said fervently, her eyes flicking from the empty syringe in Quinn’s hand to the doorway.

  ‘Freshly made espresso coffee,’ Mario announced as he came in. ‘Proper Italian espresso,’ he added with a grin as he handed a cup to Quinn. ‘I was certain that there were some biscotti in the tin, but it was empty.’ He tried to contain his curiosity, perhaps wanting to allow his wife some confidentiality, but in the end his concern overrode anything else.

  ‘So, Doctor, is there anything you can tell me?’ he begged. ‘Is there something you can do for my Maria?’

  ‘I have already done it,’ Quinn said reassuringly, gesturing towards the syringe beside his bag. Hopefully Mario wouldn’t realise that it was unused, at least for the sake of Maria’s peace of mind. ‘Your wife and I have talked about her daily routines, and with the new treatment she will be able to move around a bit more every day.’

  ‘You really think so?’ He was clearly amazed and delighted. ‘How soon?’

  ‘Today,’ Quinn said firmly, with a stern look in Maria’s direction. ‘You can take her for a walk around your wonderful garden and show her how well all the flowers are blooming. Then, each day, she can do a little more—helping you to trim off the dead flowers, for example. She was telling me how much she’s missed helping you in the kitchen as well.’

  ‘And this will be good for her?’ he prompted eagerly.

  ‘She will soon find that the extra exercise in the garden and the kitchen will help the weight to come down. It will also improve her circulation and that will help her leg to heal.’

  He had to tactfully turn down the offer of another cup of coffee, reminding them that he had other patients to see, but when the two of them stood side by side to wave him goodbye he had a feeling that they might have turned an important corner.

  ‘Sometimes it’s all down to chance observations,’ he murmured as he made a brief notation of his recommendations to be added to her file when he returned to the surgery. If the blue of Maria’s clothing hadn’t caught his eye, he might not have realised that Maria was far more mobile than she was letting on.

  Hopefully, the next time he saw her, he’d be able to persuade her to join the other ladies in the slimming club. Someone like Molly would be sure to act as cheerleader if she started to flag.

  And with the thought of Molly, Faith was in his head again.

  Ever since she’d hurried out of their meeting he’d been consumed with curiosity, wanting to know what had been so urgent that it had overridden their important meeting with Mr Protheroe.

  He could hardly wait for the end of the day when he would have a chance to ask her.

  He felt the smile spreading over his face and the newly familiar lift to his spirits. It was almost like being a teenager again, looking forward to phoning her in the privacy of her bedroom to share the end of the day with her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘OH, QUINN, Quinn, I can’t believe it!’ Faith crowed in delight, gazing at the all-important piece of paper as though afraid the message would change if she took her eyes off it.

  ‘Believe it,’ Quinn reassured her with a grin that felt as if it must surely stretch from ear to ear. ‘Both of us passed all our subjects and we both got all the grades we needed. We’re going to start medical school in about six weeks. Today is the start of the rest of our lives.’

  ‘What did your father say when you told him?’ she asked, and he felt his smile dim. That was a scene he’d prefer to forget, at least until he had to return home knowing that he would have to put his father to bed. He had a feeling that this bout of depression was going to go deeper and last longer than ever, but even to spare his father’s feelings he wasn’t willing to forgo his chance at the career he’d always dreamed of.

  ‘He didn’t know what to say,’ he hedged. ‘What about your mother? Is she resigned to the fact that you’re going to be a doctor?’

  ‘I wish!’ She pulled a face. ‘I don’t think she’ll really accept it until I’m actually qualified and starting my first job. She’s still convinced that I’ll come to my senses and realise that classical music is far more worthwhile and socially acceptable than dealing with hordes of disease-ridden hoi polloi.’

  He laughed at her impression of her mother’s accent but, knowing that Constance Adamson probably thought of him as one of those same hoi polloi, the laughter was slightly hollow. Would her attitude change once he became a doctor or would it become a bone of contention when he and Faith married?

  That was a long way off yet. They had years of school to go through before they could plan their wedding, but in the m
eantime…

  ‘Hey! We should celebrate!’ he announced, remembering that there was another step that the two of them could take before marriage, a step that would declare to the world that they belonged together.

  ‘Oh, yes! What shall we do?’ Her eyes were shining with excitement, the blue almost midnight dark now that the sun had gone down.

  ‘I would like to take you for a special meal—somewhere really swish,’ he suggested. It would take some of the money he’d been hoarding ready for going to medical school, but it would be worth it for one special night. And then, when the two of them were alone, he would make it official. He would go down on one knee and…

  ‘Oh, Quinn, yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d love to.’ And for just a moment he thought she’d read his thoughts and was giving her answer. Not that the answer was in any doubt. They both knew that it was little more than a formality. Right from the day they’d met, they’d known they were meant to be together, for ever.

  Quinn had woken up in a bad mood that hadn’t got any better on the drive over to the Butterfly Garden.

  Not that he would admit it, any more than he would admit that it had been Faith’s failure to pick up the phone last night that had caused it—that and his overactive imagination which hadn’t let him sleep until it had been nearly morning.

  Where had she been all night—with the person who had called her during their meeting with Mr Protheroe? All night?

  He pulled the car over to the side of the road and switched off the engine.

  ‘All right!’ he shouted suddenly. ‘So I’m jealous!’ He caught sight of himself in the rear-view mirror and was startled into a wry grin. ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘I was born with green eyes after all.’

  But why was it that he had only felt this way about Faith?

  It wasn’t just dog-in-the-manger possessiveness, like a child with a toy he only grabbed to stop another child having it. This was something far deeper; something that had started over sixteen years ago.