Chapter Thirteen
Vicky was surprised — and pleased — to find Arthur already sitting up in a high-backed chair beside his bed when she visited on Saturday afternoon. It was a four-bed ward — the other three patients were gentlemen of a similar age to him, and clearly there was a lot of banter between them.
He looked around with a wide smile as Vicky walked in. “Ho there! Here’s my girlfriend.”
One of the others chortled loudly. “You should be so lucky.”
“Don’t go wasting your time with that one, girly. He’s ticking.”
Arthur chuckled. “No good. She’s devoted to me, aren’t you, my luvver?”
“Of course.”
“What have you got there?” he demanded as she placed a paper bag on the table beside him.
“Grapes.”
“Lovely!” He reached greedily for the bag with his good hand — the other was strapped with bandage and held in a sling. “You lot, keep your thieving fingers off them.” He glared at his comrades. “They’re all mine.”
“Hah! Share and share alike.”
He gestured towards a spare chair. “Well, drag that one over here and sit down, my luvver, and tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Not much. How are you feeling today?”
“Oh, not so bad. A few bumps and bruises. And they’ve fitted me up with one of those peacemaker things.”
“A pacemaker?”
“That’s what I said. It’s got a little thing with wires inside me that keeps me ticking properly. What do you think of that, eh?”
“It’s wonderful. I hope it’ll keep you ticking for a very long time. Now I’ve got a surprise for you.” She took out her phone and clicked on a few buttons. “Just a moment...” She held the phone out to him.
“Oh!”
“Hello, Dad.” A smiling face appeared on the screen. “Good to see you. I hear you’ve been a bit poorly.”
“Oh...” For a moment Vicky thought the old man was going to cry. But he recovered quickly. “Poorly? Nah — it was nothing. And now I’ve got a peacemaker in me chest.”
“And lots of young nurses making a fuss of you, I don’t doubt.”
“Of course.” He laughed mischievously. “What’s the point of being in hospital if you can’t have lots of pretty young things around you?”
Vicky left them to chat, and slipped away to find the charge nurse in his cubbyhole beside the ward entrance. He glanced up from his desk as she tapped on the door.
“Excuse me. Arthur Crocombe — he’s looking quite well. How is he?”
“Are you his granddaughter?”
“No — I’m just a neighbour. A friend. He doesn’t have any relatives in this country — his son lives in Canada.”
“Oh, yes.” He turned to his computer and called up the information. “We’ve got that. He’d be his next of kin. I gather he won’t be able to visit.”
Vicky nodded. “Unfortunately not. He had a hip replacement a few weeks ago, so he can’t fly long-haul for another couple of months. But they’re chatting on FaceTime at the moment.”
“Ah — that’s good. Are you Victoria Marston?”
“Yes, I am. Simon said he’d contact you to confirm that it’s okay for me to deal with everything on his behalf.”
“That’s right — he emailed us. I’ve got it here. Okay, the doctor said he could be discharged in a few more days. But if he doesn’t have any other relatives here, is there anyone to look after him? He won’t be fit to cope on his own for a while.”
Vicky shook her head. “I don’t know of anyone. There are neighbours, of course, but...”
“Yeah, okay.” He ran a hand over his face, then nodded. “I’ll see if the discharge social worker can set up rehab for him for a couple of weeks. Then when he goes home they might be able to arrange for a carer to go in a couple of times a day.”
“That would be a big help. Thank you.”
* * *
Saturday night. The night for fun. Discos and wild all-night parties in her university days. Cinema dates and evenings in on the sofa with a movie and a bottle of wine with a succession of boyfriends, some more serious than others. Later, theatre and ballet and elegant little dinner parties with Jeremy.
Tonight she had her laptop for company. Driving back from the hospital, she had had an idea — maybe she shouldn’t be thinking of writing a straightforward biography of kings and queens. That had been done.
Maybe... it might be more interesting to make it a story, a fiction, based within the actual events. She could focus on one of the lesser characters — a lady-in-waiting to the queen. She could give her adventures, a romance — a dangerous love affair with one of the enemy, a commander in the army of Henry VI.
Once the ideas had started to spin in her head she was on a roll. Pausing only to grill a couple of cheese toasties for her tea, she sat down at the kitchen table and began to scribble in her notebook — scenes, character sketches, snatches of dialogue, filling page after page.
It was after eleven when she decided to call it a day. With a yawn she closed the notebook and set it aside. She was about to turn off the laptop, but hesitated. She’d set up the WiFi that morning, and had used it to check the route to the hospital and to dip into some of the research she needed for the book.
But a compelling curiosity had been niggling in her mind. She had done her best to ignore it, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep unless she gave in. She called up the search engine and typed in Cullen Organic Mill.
A website came up — a good one. Very professionally done, with a nice colour scheme and clear text. No thick country bumpkin here. The home page had a couple of paragraphs about the health and environmental benefits of organic farming — simple language, nothing preachy.
As she had expected, there was a page detailing the various organic animal feeds the company sold. But there was also a page of dairy products — yoghurt, cheeses, flavoured milk — and another advertising organic fruit and vegetables.
It appeared that the Cullen Organic Mill was a much more substantial outfit than she had imagined. No wonder Tom could afford a top-of-the-range SUV. That would have scored him extra points with Jayde — she always factored in the car a man drove when deciding whether she fancied him or not.
With a small shake of her head she closed down the laptop and went up to bed.
* * *
“What the... ?” Vicky scrambled out of bed and ran to the window. The garden was full of cows — a black-and-white mob, bellowing as they jostled their way through a gap they had broken in the fence to feast richly on the long grass and the vegetable patch. “Oh! Of all the stupid... Go! Go away!”
But yelling at the obstinate creatures through the window wasn’t going to help. Throwing on some clothes she raced down the stairs, out through the kitchen and up the lane to the farm.
With luck, Tom wouldn’t be there — just Bill. But, no, of course not. Bill was at the far end of the milking shed, scooping up the old straw and manure with the small bucket-loader.
As she hesitated, wondering if she should wait until he had finished his task, Tom strolled out of the farmhouse, a mug of tea in each hand, his scruffy brown-and-white terrier bouncing at his heels.
“Good morning.” He smiled — and her heart bumped.
“Well, it would be good,” she retorted tartly. “Except there are a bunch of your cows in my garden.”
A glint of teasing amusement lit his eyes. “They’re called a herd, not a bunch.”
“Never mind what they’re called, they’re in my garden and they’re eating my vegetables.”
He laughed. “They like vegetables.”
She glared at him. “I’m sure they do. But I don’t want them there, depositing all their smelly...”
“It’s called shit.”
“I don’t need a dictionary,” she snapped. “I need your cows out of my garden — preferably sometime this century.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay — I apologise. I assume they got in through the fence? I should have fixed it before. I’ll come and sort it out now.”
She ground out a terse, “Thank you,” between clenched teeth. She hadn’t intended to sound so hostile, but maybe hostility was safer — a defence against that treacherous sexual tension that had been building since their first encounter.
It was difficult to keep her breathing steady as she walked beside him down the lane to the cottage. She had to keep reminding herself that he was out of bounds — and that those warm looks and flirty smiles were just a game. He was a narcissist who thought he was God’s gift to women.
And he made her pulse race just by looking at her.
“So you’ve decided to stay?” he enquired genially.
“Yes.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice. “I thought it might be nice to stay for the summer, at least. After that... who knows?”
“You’ve got a job down at the hotel?”
“Yes.” Please don’t mention your wife.
To her relief they had reached her gate. As they walked down the side of the cottage, Tom burst out laughing at the sight of the cows contentedly cropping the juicy grass in the back garden.
“Oh dear. Gertie, was this your idea?”
One of the cows lifted her head on hearing her name, regarded him with one liquid brown eye, then turned back to contentedly chewing.
“Okay, girls, fun’s over. Gertie, Sheila — back to your own field now.”
He tugged up a handful of sweet, long grass and wafted it under the nose of the animal he had called Gertie. She lifted her head, tempted... And docilely allowed him to lead her back through the gap in the fence.
Vicky watched in amazement as the cows waiting to push into the garden backed up politely as the matriarch strolled through, her large rump swaying with each step, and those already inside followed her out to their own field.
He turned back to Vicky, a provocative grin on his face. “There. All done.”
“Great. Thank you. Except... I’m reluctant to point it out, but... What’s to stop them coming back in as soon as you’ve gone?”
“The fact that I’m going to mend the fence for you.”
“Oh...” That rather took the wind out of her sails. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Oh, that smile. It lit his eyes, made her feel as if she was the only woman he had ever smiled at like that. Which was a very dangerous fantasy.
“Do you have any wood I could use?”
“Um... I think there’s some in the garage. There’s probably a few tools in there, too — though I wouldn’t guarantee that they haven’t crumbled into a pile of rust.”
That glint of teasing amusement lit his eyes again. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”
She was very aware of him as he followed her to the garage. Her heart was beating too fast, her mouth felt dry. And the faintly mocking smile lifting the corners of his mouth warned her that he knew precisely the effect he was having on her.
Struggling to ignore him, she pulled open the garage doors and pointed to the bits of timber piled at the back. “Will that do?”
“Should be okay. What about a saw, hammer, nails?”
“Here on the shelf.” She picked up an old jam jar full of nails. “These look a bit rusty.”
He took the jar from her and shook some of them out into his hand. “There’s enough that’ll do.” He picked out the best of them. “I’ll just do a temporary fix for now, and get someone to come in and do a proper job for you.”
He hefted the timber easily onto one wide shoulder and strolled off down the garden.
She stood watching him — she couldn’t tear herself away. There was something about him. It was in the way he moved, the easy competence in everything he did. Yes, even in the gentle way he managed his cows.
So much for not falling for him — she’d never stood a chance.
With an effort of will she turned away and walked back into the cottage... only to find herself drawn into the sitting room, where she could watch him through the French windows.
Those hard muscles moved smoothly beneath his skin as he worked — all she wanted was to feel them moving beneath her hands, feel his body against hers, breathe the unique male scent of his skin...
An explosion of curses from the end of the garden broke through her fantasy. Tom had dropped the saw and was sucking on his hand.
“Oh my God! What’s happened?” Without even thinking about it she threw open the door and raced down the garden.
“Damn knot in the wood. The saw slipped.”
“Show me.” She took his hand. There was a long slice across the pad of his thumb, oozing blood. “It might need stitches.”
“No, it’s not that bad. It just needs a bandage or something.”
“Right...” She realised that she’d been holding his hand for rather longer than was necessary. “There’s... um... a first-aid box in the kitchen — there should be something in there.”
He followed her up to the cottage and into the kitchen — the room suddenly felt a lot smaller with him in it. Vicky fussed with digging the first-aid box out from the cupboard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint blush of pink in her cheeks.
“Here we are.” Her voice sounded over-bright to her own ears as she carried the box to the table. “Let’s see... yes, there’s bandages, and some gauze. And some TCP — maybe I’d better bathe it first.”
“Go ahead.”
He perched on the edge of the table and held out his injured hand. A strong, well-made hand, with long fingers and a powerful wrist. Soaking a pad of gauze with TCP she dabbed it gently on the cut.
“Ow!”
Her eyes flew to his face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
“Not really.” There was a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I just wanted a bit of sympathy. I was hoping you might kiss it better.”
Yes, he knew exactly what effect he had on her. “I... think the TCP will do a better job.”
She kept her head lowered over her task as she sliced open another pack of gauze and wrapped it carefully over the cut. “Just hold that in place for a minute.”
She found a roll of micropore and taped the gauze in place, then wound a bandage over it, anchoring it with a few turns around his thumb.
“There. I think it’ll be okay without stitches, if you’re careful. Try not to get it wet for a couple of days. You don’t think you should go and get a tetanus jab, just in case?”
He laughed. “You obviously haven’t been around farmers much. We always keep our shots well up to date. Accidents happen a lot on farms.”
“Oh . . .”
“Thank you.” Oh, that smile. “You make a good nurse.”
“I . . .”
He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. Did she lean in to him, or did he lean in to her? Gazing up into those mesmerising dark eyes, she felt as if she was melting inside.
Her breathing quickened as temptation flooded her mind. His head bent slowly over hers, his mouth brushed her lips, light as a butterfly’s wing. Her eyelids fluttered closed as pleasure swirled through her veins, heating her blood. Her lips parted on a soft sigh, and she could only let herself surrender to the exquisite sensations he was stirring inside her.
She had never known a kiss could be like this. She felt as if her bones had turned to liquid honey as his hand slid down the length of her spine, curving her close against his hard body. The subtle male scent of his skin was drugging her mind. This was what she had dreamed of...
She froze. This wasn’t supposed to be happening — it was all kinds of wrong. He was married — to a very nice woman, who she would have liked to have for a friend. He had a little boy, and another baby due in just a few weeks.
He sensed her sudden withdrawal, and let her go. She stepped back, ice-cold anger surging inside her, instantly dousing the fever in her veins. How dared he treat her like that — treat his wife like that?
But she wasn’t going to let him see how badly he affected her. Cool... “I think you’re done here,” she said, not looking at him.
He frowned, puzzled. “Done?”
Her heart was thumping painfully, but she shrugged her shoulders in casual unconcern, focussing on packing away the contents of the first-aid box.
“I don’t think...” he began, but she pulled herself out of reach.
“No, clearly you don’t.” She spoke so sharply that it wiped away the playful smile that had crept back onto his face. She turned to put the first-aid box back in the cupboard. “Have you finished with the fence?”
“Just one more piece to put in place, then I’ll be out of your way.”
“Good. I have some things to do later today. Just put the tools back in the garage when you’ve finished with them.”
“Of course. And I’ll send young Wayne over to deal with any shit deposited in your garden.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s much — they weren’t there very long. Anyway, I’ll shovel it onto the compost heap — it’ll make good fertiliser.”
“Fine.” He turned abruptly and walked out of the door.
Vicky slumped down on one of the chairs. She felt hot and dizzy, a thousand unwanted emotions churning inside her. She should never have let that happen.
And it couldn’t happen again.
Maybe it would be better if she sold the cottage and moved away after all — safer. Living right next door to him might not be good for her sanity. But she hated the thought of leaving Sturcombe — she had begun to really love the place, and already she was building a circle of friends.
Why should she let Tom Cullen ruin that?