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  ‘I was going to do it earlier, but I got called out…’ He had to stop for a moment when the image of Jamie’s pathetic little body caught at his throat.

  Suddenly, in spite of all his years of training and all the tragedies he’d witnessed over those years, he was close to tears.

  ‘Quinn?’ she prompted. ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’

  Her gentle concern wasn’t helping his control. It reminded him too much of the way she’d always seemed to be able to pick up on his feelings, right from the first day they’d met.

  ‘I lost a patient,’ he blurted out, the words bitter on his tongue even though he knew there was nothing he could have done to save Jamie.

  ‘Oh, Quinn,’ she murmured. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Not the confidential stuff, of course, but—’

  ‘It was a cot death, Faith,’ he interrupted, startled when the words escaped his control but too tired and discouraged to really want to stop them. All he could feel as he described the senseless end of a perfect young life was the unutterable relief that he could speak about the heartbreaking event.

  ‘Oh, how awful for the poor parents,’ she exclaimed, sounding just like the Faith he’d first known. It had been that sort of instant empathy that would have made her into a wonderful doctor.

  ‘They’re devastated,’ he said, having to force the words out through the constriction in his throat when he remembered how jealous he’d been of their happiness such a short time ago. ‘There was no warning at all. He was a beautiful baby—absolutely perfect—and then he was…gone…And there was nothing I could do to bring him back. I was utterly useless…’

  It barely registered in the back of his mind that this was the first time in many years that he’d felt he could safely let his barriers down. All he knew was that, in spite of the way they’d parted, something deep inside him believed that Faith was still the same trustworthy person she’d always been; the person who, even in her teens, had cared enough to allow him to unburden his soul; the person to whom he’d given his heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘FAITH?’

  ‘Who else would it be at this time of night…and in my bedroom?’ she countered with a soft giggle.

  He stifled a groan at his body’s instant response. Pavlov’s dogs could have learned a thing or two from him. All he had to do was hear her voice and…

  ‘Nothing to say now you’ve got me?’ she challenged with a flash of that saucy cheekiness that seemed to be growing by the day. With him, she was hardly recognisable as the repressed, bookish young girl he’d met that first day. ‘Perhaps I should just hang up and see of someone with a little more conversation will ring me instead?’

  All his insecurities reared up in front of him like an impenetrable wall.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ he said stiffly, all too aware that his time with Faith was borrowed. He was already head over heels in love with her, even though he knew there could be nothing permanent between them. After all, what would someone like Faith, from a family that had lived in the same mansion for umpteen generations, want with someone like him—someone with so many previous addresses that he’d long ago lost count?

  ‘What I want and what I can have are two different things,’ she murmured softly, an unexpected quiver in her voice. She was silent for a moment and he could imagine that she was worrying the soft curve of her lower lip between her teeth, the way she always did when she was trying to work out a problem.

  It drove him mad, seeing her nibbling it that way every day in class and in the library. He was half-afraid that he would forget himself one day and give in to what he longed to do—to touch the reddened flesh with his finger and soothe it with gentle strokes. Or, better still, to brush it with his lips until she forgot to worry it in the explosion of heat that they’d create between them.

  She’d frozen like a rabbit caught in car headlights the first time he’d kissed her in the front seat of his car, even her breathing stilled, and he’d known that her agile brain was busy processing the new sensations.

  The feelings weren’t new any more, but heartstoppingly familiar. And every time they kissed was more earth-shattering than the last; every time a kiss ended, he couldn’t wait for the next one.

  ‘I want to kiss you,’ he whispered in a voice made rough by desire, then groaned aloud when an answering whimper reached him down the line.

  He wished he dared tell her of his dearest wish—that he longed not to have to say good night to her on a telephone any more, but to be free to wrap his arms around her and hold her until they slept.

  ‘Yes, Joan?’ Quinn answered wearily, hoping forlornly that his receptionist’s call was to tell him that he’d finished surgery for today and knowing that it was far more likely to be warning of another patient.

  ‘Have you got time to see Mr Vecquary before you leave for your meeting?’ she asked, and he sighed in resignation.

  After a night with little sleep, he’d finally dropped off just minutes before his alarm had jerked him back to consciousness and a new day filled with far too many responsibilities.

  If he was honest, the whole week had been bad, ever since he’d discovered that Faith had gone away.

  He’d known it had been coming soon—she’d told him about the performance she’d agreed to give for a charity concert, so he couldn’t say it had been unexpected. But…he knew it sounded childish even as he thought it…he’d been hurt to realise that she’d left without talking to him…that she hadn’t wanted to say good bye.

  And as for his growing excitement when he’d been asked to suggest a suitable time for their first meeting with Mr Protheroe…when he’d realised that it meant that she’d be returning soon…

  ‘You’re pathetic!’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘Pardon?’ Joan said in his ear, and he suddenly realised that she was still waiting for a reply.

  ‘Sorry, Joan,’ he apologised, hoping she hadn’t heard what he’d just called himself and thought it was directed at her. ‘My brain must have slipped a cog for a minute. Send Mr Vecquary in, will you? Mr Protheroe will just have to wait a little longer for me. Could you phone, please, and let him know I’ve been detained?’

  ‘No problem,’ she said cheerfully. He heard her telling Mr Vecquary to make his way to the surgery even as she was hanging up the phone.

  A moment later there was a tap at the door and his patient came in, looking the very image of a bent and twisted old man, in spite of the fact that he was Quinn’s contemporary.

  ‘Take a seat…or would you rather stand?’

  ‘I’d rather you take me out and shoot me,’ Jon Vecquary said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve been in that much pain that I haven’t slept a wink all night.’

  ‘So, what have you done to yourself? Do you know what caused it?’ Quinn winced in sympathy as he saw the man lower himself gingerly onto the chair at the side of his desk.

  ‘Yes, I know what caused it,’ he growled. ‘It’s those damn make-over programmes on the television.’

  Quinn frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You would if you were married,’ his patient said darkly. ‘I’ve no sooner decorated the bedroom and she wants me to do the bathroom, then the next programme comes on and she wants timber decking and a water feature in the garden.’ He hissed with pain as he tried to shift his position. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if she hadn’t wanted me to put it right in the middle of the patio I made for her two years ago. It was digging up all that paving and carrying the slabs round to the next-door neighbour so he could put an identical patio in that nearly killed me.’

  Quinn couldn’t help laughing out loud at his tale of woe and got an evil-eyed scowl in response.

  ‘Huh! It’s all right for you to laugh,’ Jon grumbled. ‘You wouldn’t be laughing like that if I’d broken my leg or needed a dozen stitches.’

  ‘I’m not laughing at your injury,’ Quinn reassured him as he got up to begin his physical assessment of the damage
. ‘It was the picture you were painting of married bliss.’

  ‘Ouch! Married bliss!’ Jon exclaimed as Quinn helped him off with his shirt and tried to diagnose how much damage he’d done to himself. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d just let me get on with it, but she’s got me mincing along wooden planks like a fashion model on a catwalk so I don’t mess up the lawn. Then the barrow slipped off the edge and if the slabs fell out they were going to make great holes in the lawn. So, of course, I tried to stop the barrow tipping over without falling off the planks and…well, this back is the result.’

  ‘So nothing actually hit your back and you didn’t fall over onto anything hard?’

  ‘I probably wouldn’t have hurt myself as much if I had,’ he moaned. ‘At least then I would probably have stopped and given my back a rest.’

  ‘You’re probably right about giving your back a rest when you’re doing heavy work,’ Quinn agreed, as he straightened up to return to his desk. ‘As it is, I’d like you to have an X-ray taken, just to make sure you haven’t cracked anything.’

  ‘Is that really necessary? I told you I didn’t fall or anything.’

  ‘I know. But not many people realise that your bones can actually be broken by muscles pulling them apart, especially when someone is as fit and strong as you, so an X-ray is precautionary.’

  ‘And what about treatment?’ he prompted, grimacing as he tucked his shirt back in his jeans. ‘Will I have to wait for an appointment for physiotherapy? I can’t afford to take any time off work. And what about the pain?’

  ‘I suppose you’ve got to work to afford the money for all those DIY projects,’ Quinn teased as he tapped details into the computer, and was rewarded with a glare. ‘As far as the pain is concerned, I’m going to give you a prescription for a combination analgesic and anti-inflammatory. As for treatment, you’ve got a choice. You could wait for physiotherapy, but they’re so busy that I know there’s a wait of several weeks for a first appointment. Anyway, for back pain, I’d strongly recommend that you go to a chiropractor. Several major studies have shown that it’s far more effective at getting you back on your feet and keeping you there, long term—apart from the fact that you’ll probably be able to get an appointment within a couple of days.’

  Quinn handed him the prescription as it emerged from the printer then offered a hand to help him to his feet.

  ‘I really hope these tablets work,’ he said when he caught his breath, ‘but I’m not waiting to find out. I’m going to borrow your receptionist’s telephone directory and phone the nearest chiropractor before I have to get back in the car.’

  ‘Let me know how you get on,’ Quinn said. ‘And you could look on the bright side—you can tell your wife that your doctor’s told you not to do any DIY until your chiropractor gives you the all-clear.’

  ‘I might need to come back and get that in writing!’ Jon said with a wry laugh. ‘Thank you so much for squeezing me in today. I hope I haven’t made you late for your next appointment.’

  Until that moment, Quinn had completely forgotten about his meeting with Mr Protheroe…and Faith.

  In an instant his pulse was racing and he could hardly wait for Jon Vecquary to leave the room before he was hurrying out towards the car park.

  ‘Ah, come in, Doctor,’ Mr Protheroe said genially a little later, but Quinn barely noticed. All he could see was the way the sunlight streamed over Faith, outlining her in an almost unearthly radiance as she sat by the window.

  Working on auto pilot, he made his way to the seat Mr Protheroe indicated, only realising there was another person in the room when she spoke to him.

  ‘Hello, Dr Jamison,’ she said with a smile and an outstretched hand. ‘I’m Nadia Price, Faith’s general factotum.’

  ‘No DJ today?’ Quinn asked, almost groaning at the inanity of the question, but he needed to hear her voice.

  ‘Not today,’ Faith said briefly. ‘He decided he’d rather wait at the Barton for some car parts to be delivered.’

  Quinn could have groaned aloud at the touch-me-not air that surrounded her again, frustrated by the fact that he seemed doomed to hold every conversation with Faith in the company of an audience. The only time she really seemed to relax and become the person he’d known so long ago was on the telephone.

  He sighed at the memory of his emotional outpouring over Jamie Dean’s death. After Faith had disappeared from his life he’d deliberately avoided letting anyone get close enough to hurt him. That also meant there had been no one there to help him either, so he’d never realised just how therapeutic it could be to unburden himself the way he had.

  He had to stifle a smile as he remembered just how long they’d talked last time and the number of topics they’d covered. He was enjoying getting to know her again and had been surprised that her astronomical success had changed her so little, but…But in the time she’d been away he’d realised that it wasn’t enough any more.

  The whole of Rookmere knew that for some unfathomable reason her mother had decided that the two of them should share the task of setting up the new hospice at the Barton. The whole of the music world probably knew about her wholehearted commitment to her career. Realistically, he knew that her time at the Barton was limited, that as soon as she had fulfilled her mother’s requests she would be leaving him again to return to her other world.

  There was nothing he could do about it. It was just a fact of life, the way he was now rooted in his position of GP.

  But…it just wasn’t enough any more…

  The moment the thought exploded in his mind, he froze.

  Not enough? What on earth did that mean? He’d always wanted to be a doctor, ever since he could remember. His last six months as Rookmere’s general practitioner had been the fulfilment of a lifelong dream.

  But…there was something missing, and he hadn’t realised it until his feelings had overflowed. It had been so long since it had happened the last time—that someone had cared enough to listen and sympathise—that he almost hadn’t recognised what had happened. And it couldn’t be a coincidence that on each occasion it had been Faith who had been there for him.

  And he wanted more—more conversations, this time without the impersonal telephone system between them, more sharing of ideas and thoughts and…and just time spent together.

  But that thought brought him back full circle, because Faith wasn’t going to be around for ever, and if he built any sort of hopes around her, he was doomed to another heartbreak of epic proportions.

  ‘So, Doctor, if you are in agreement…?’ Mr Protheroe said, pausing expectantly, and Quinn was totally lost. While his brain had been running round the same old problems, the whole point of coming here had been going on and he hadn’t heard a single word.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a shake of his head, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. The man was going to think he was a complete moron when he admitted he hadn’t got a clue what he was supposed to be agreeing to.

  ‘I realise how busy you are, Quinn,’ Faith interrupted, ‘but I thought you would get a better idea of what I’m suggesting for the Barton if you could come for a visit to the Butterfly Garden. They’d be only too willing to show you how things have been set up there.’

  The Butterfly Garden? For a moment Quinn thought he must be trapped in the middle of some convoluted dream, hardly daring to glance down in case he discovered he was sitting in front of Mr Protheroe in nothing more than his underwear.

  Then the words made a belated connection in his brain.

  ‘You know the people at the Butterfly Garden?’ he demanded, delighted at the connection. Whenever he’d spoken to anyone in officialdom about his aim to set up a hospice somewhere closer to Rookmere, the Butterfly Garden had been the place they’d all mentioned as setting the standard for excellence.

  ‘Know them?’ Nadia laughed. ‘She’s only their main source of—’

  ‘Yes, Quinn, I know them,’ Faith interrupted suddenly, cutting Na
dia off before she could finish. ‘Everyone’s been telling me that you’ve been trying to get funding for a unit around here almost since you arrived. You’ve probably already got a good idea of what you want it to achieve, but I thought…Well, I know them well enough at the Butterfly Garden to be able to set up a visit. Then they’ll have time to explain how they’ve set everything up and why they’ve done it that way. I thought it would probably help to crystallise your ideas if you got a chance to examine a unit that’s already up and running.’

  With every word, her animation grew until Quinn would have been hard pushed to separate the enthusiastic woman in front of him from the girl he’d first met so long ago. He was frustrated that he couldn’t see the changing expressions flitting across her face but, silhouetted against the window the way she was, he couldn’t even see her eyes. All he could do was imagine the sparkle he would have seen in their blue depths.

  He fished his diary out of his inside pocket and flipped the pages back and forth for a moment.

  ‘It needs to be as soon as possible,’ he commented, while he tried to do some juggling with days off and cover, wondering if he could ask Andrew to exchange a shift or two. ‘We need to get our ideas sorted out before we can get an architect involved.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she agreed. ‘So…?’

  ‘How long do you think the whole trip would take?’

  ‘Could you manage half a day?’ she suggested. ‘That would leave time for the return journey as well as plenty of opportunity to see around the place.’

  ‘How about tomorrow morning?’ Quinn offered, crossing his fingers that Andrew would be happy to agree to the change. ‘You could tell me about it on the way there if I did the driving.’

  As he was speaking the room was filled with the annoying tone of a mobile phone. Nadia apologised as she dug it out of her bag and, after glancing at the display to identify the caller, handed it to Faith with a murmur too soft for anyone else to hear.

  Faith said very little once she’d answered the call but Quinn knew from the tone of her voice that she wasn’t hearing good news, her whole body growing visibly tense as the call went on.