1 November
It was all Maisie could do to drag herself out of the cabin of the Gull Island supply boat and onto the jetty late the next morning. Most unusually, she accepted a hand from boat to quayside from the boatman, but she didn’t care. She was absolutely exhausted and she didn’t mind who knew. One of the nurses at the hospital had lent her a coat, which she’d buttoned up over her costume.
How weird, she thought, to be dressed as a she-devil at ten in the morning. Not that she cared about that either. All that mattered was her father. Hazel had stayed with Ray in St Mary’s hospital. Thankfully he hadn’t suffered a heart attack. They were running more tests but the doctors had told her it was likely he could have pernicious anaemia.
She was surprised to find Patrick waiting for her at the jetty. He wore a new IOS sweatshirt that he must have purchased in the Isles of Scilly shop on St Mary’s, jeans and his flip-flops, which he insisted on calling thongs. Even in her fraught state, the sight of him made her pulse beat a little faster. He stirred up physical feelings as powerful as any in the early days with Keegan.
She threw him a weary but grateful smile. As she drew closer she had the feeling he was going to put his arm around her or hug her but at the last moment he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.
‘How’s Ray doing?’ he asked the moment she reached him.
‘A lot better for being in professional hands. They think it’s pernicious anaemia.’
‘Sounds nasty. What’s that?’
‘It’s when your body can’t absorb enough B12. It can make you feel very tired and even cause chest pains. Apparently his uncle also had it and family history can make you more prone. Poor Dad must have been suffering in silence for quite a while but at least they can treat it with injections and he’ll be well looked after from now on.’
Patrick let out a sigh of relief. ‘That’s something to be thankful for.’
‘Yes. It is.’ Maisie was so tired, she could manage only a few syllables.
She walked beside Patrick along the track to the pub.
‘You look like you were run over by a bus,’ he said.
Secretly, Maisie was glad he hadn’t offered sympathy because in her wrung-out, exhausted state she might have done something stupid like burst into tears. She was fragile enough as it was. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she was in dire need of a change of clothes and a shower, but she was too tired and hungry to bother.
‘Bacon and eggs do?’ said Patrick, following her down the path at the side of the inn.
Her stomach gurgled again. ‘Sorry. Is it that obvious I’m ravenous? I’ve lived on machine coffee and packets of Cheddars since yesterday teatime.’
Patrick quickened his step. ‘I’ll join you, I’m hungry myself and I haven’t slept much either.’
‘Thanks for holding the fort.’
‘It’s what you hired me for.’ He opened the back door and ushered her into the kitchen. ‘Now sit down. I’ll put the kettle on and get a fry-up going.’
Maisie sank into the carver chair at the kitchen table and looked around her in wonder while Patrick started breakfast. Her gritty eyes took in the gleaming stainless worktops, and the pots, pans and equipment all neatly stowed in their correct places. The table had been scrubbed and it looked as if the windows had had a much needed polish too. Maybe he really did have a cleaning fetish.
The aroma of frying bacon and the sizzle of eggs hitting the pan made her mouth water. Patrick sliced up thick hunks of granary bread and popped them under the grill alongside some tomatoes. He placed a fresh block of creamy butter on the table and a steaming mug of tea.
‘I’ve put sugar in it. It’ll do you good.’
Maisie sipped it. It was too hot, but boy it tasted better than the finest champagne.
‘This must be what having a fairy godmother is like,’ Maisie couldn’t help commenting as Patrick slid fried eggs onto two plates next to some bacon rashers.
‘You’re no Cinders though.’
‘And you’re no Prince Charming.’
‘Thanks for the breakfast, Patrick,’ he said sarcastically, but she knew he wasn’t really offended. He pointed his fork at her plate. ‘Dig in before it goes cold and the clock strikes midnight.’
‘Why? Do you turn into a rat?’ she said, cutting up her bacon. Her appetite was back now as the tension and worry of the night had eased a little. It was nice to come home and find someone waiting and ready to wait on her. She didn’t need a man but it was good to have a smiling face, however cheeky, and one that didn’t seem to mind cooking a fry-up either.
His mouth quirked in a smile. ‘Something like that.’
He rescued the toast and tomatoes from the grill and added them to a large plate in the centre of the table. While they tucked in, Maisie told Patrick more about her father’s possible diagnosis and what was likely to happen next.
‘They think the anaemia may be related to the medication he’s been taking for long-term digestive problems. His stomach upsets were caused by the stress of running this place, which is one of the reasons I decided to come home earlier this year,’ she said. ‘But the doctors want to rule out other causes too.’ Maisie felt her own stomach tighten again but she forced herself to calm down. ‘Anyway, let’s hope it’s nothing more sinister and once it’s confirmed, the GP can treat him with injections and monitor him.’
‘He’s going to have to take things easy for a while though,’ said Patrick.
‘Yes …’ Maisie tried to think positive. At least her father had been well taken care of and was in the best hands now. If he’d been taken ill while up on the roof of the pub, or out walking on his own, she didn’t want to think about what might have happened.
Patrick topped up their mugs of tea from the family teapot.
‘How did you get on after we left last night?’ she asked. ‘I was worried whether you’d be OK with having to chuck everyone out and lock up on your own.’
‘No problems. Apart from having to break up the mass brawl that is and tidy up after the fight with the bar stools …’
‘What! Who was fighting? Adam Pengelly, I bet. My God, Jess never mentioned that …’ Her voice tailed off. Patrick’s broad shoulders were shaking and he was spluttering. He turned round, wiping the tears from his eyes.
‘You total git,’ she cried. ‘Winding me up like that after the night I’ve had.’
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist it. I just wanted to bring a smile to your face.’ He turned back to the table but Maisie batted him on the arm. ‘Ow, that hurt.’
‘You deserve it,’ she said. ‘You asked for it.’
‘Sorry.’ He was trying and failing to rearrange his face into a sombre expression. ‘I like to see you laugh.’
Maisie opened her mouth to throw back a riposte but the smart reply died on her lips. Patrick was looking at her seriously again, only this time, his expression was genuine. His eyes were full of something she’d only imagined before, but now it was unmistakeable: desire.
He was barely a foot away. She heard him breathing deeply; and felt her heart pound.
‘Maisie …’ he murmured. ‘I—’
She jumped on him. God knows what got into her but she was in his arms, her hands around his waist, bunching his T-shirt in her fingers, digging her fingers into his back. She was kissing him too, pushing against him before she even realised that he wasn’t pushing back and that his hands were at her waist but lightly, carefully. She’d gone for him like a tigress on heat, he was holding her like a fragile bird.
She pulled away, sick with shame. ‘Oh God, what was I thinking. I’m sorry. I must be out of my mind.’
‘No. You’re not. You’re wrung out, worried, you’ve had no sleep.’
‘That’s no excuse for going for you like that. I’m sorry, forget it.’
He lifted his hand to her cheek. She snatched it away like it was a hot coal. ‘I was out of order. You work for me. My God, you’ve only worked here a few days. Please forget this happened.’
‘It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. You know I bloody do, but now isn’t …’
Maisie forced a laugh to hide her embarrassment. ‘Thanks for the compliment but you’re right. I’m not myself. I can’t be to have … done that.’ She rubbed her hands over her eyes exaggeratedly as if to wipe sleep away but in reality tears were burning for release. ‘I need some sleep. Thanks for the breakfast. I need to get to bed.’
She hurried to the door but Patrick called after her.
‘Maisie. Don’t go off like this.’
Though burning to get away, she turned round. ‘I’m grateful for your help. We all are, Mum and Dad too, but please, can you just get on with your job now? We need to open tonight. I’ll be down later as long as Dad’s OK.’
Maisie half sprinted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Tears ran down her face as she opened the door of her room and slammed it behind her, locking the door.
How could she have been so stupid as to misread the signals from Patrick?
She’d thought he wanted her when he’d only been concerned. She was furious with herself for letting her guard down, being vulnerable, and technically she’d sexually harassed an employee. It had never happened before. She’d always come down strongly on any staff who bullied or harassed their fellow workers. Just because Patrick was a man didn’t mean that the normal rules didn’t apply.
And yet she’d thought he wanted her. The way he’d looked at her. That was desire, wasn’t it?
It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. You know I bloody do, but now isn’t the time … His words made her cringe. She pulled the pillow over her face and let out a muffled howl of shame and indignation. Was she that desperate and lonely that she’d imagined the first decent bloke who walked into her life had designs on her? She thought about how Patrick had behaved the night before. He flirted with everyone, male and female, in his own way. With Jess a little bit, with the locals and customers. She wasn’t special, but she was his employer.
It was never going to be the right time for her and Patrick and she could never let anything like that happen again.
She could never let anyone get as close as Keegan had, especially not a man who’d actually signed in writing that he was leaving in April. From now on, she and Patrick McKinnon would be colleagues and nothing more.
Maisie’s phone buzzed from the bedside table. She threw the pillow on the floor and her pulse rocketed. It was probably her mother from the hospital.
She grabbed at her phone. Oh no. Hugo Scorrier. She should ignore it, she really should, but she couldn’t help herself. She opened the text.
‘Heard your father’s having tests.’
How had Hugo found out about the tests? Bloody island grapevine.
‘Chin up.’
Chin up? What was this? 1943?
‘He’s in good hands. If there’s anything I can do, you know where I am. I’m on your side, Maisie. H.’
So. Her dad was in hospital, she’d made a pass at Patrick and been rejected and Hugo was on her side. And just think, eight weeks from today, it would be New Year’s Eve and her fortieth birthday and then things would really start to go downhill.