‘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 Nadia 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.
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.