By the time she and Raphael had checked on Valentina again, requested they be informed the moment she woke, negotiated their way out of the hospital, and located the car, all Chrissie’s fleeting assertiveness had dissipated. Replaced with yet more dread, and an incessant silent scream of ‘What the hell was I thinking inviting this man back to the house?’ But she had invited him. And, consequently, now had to deal with the situation. Thankfully, the crisp, fresh air during the walk to the car park had eased her nausea a little. But the moment she clambered into the driver’s seat, and Raphael eased his muscular frame into that on the passenger side, every one of her nerves returned. Heavens. How was she going to manage the drive back to Lovelace Lane? And what were they going to talk about?
To her relief, she was spared any further worry about the latter because, no sooner had she driven out of the hospital environs and pulled onto the main road, than one surreptitious glance at her passenger told her the last thing he wanted was banal small talk. Reclining against the headrest, eyes closed, long dark lashes fanned against chiselled cheekbones, he was evidently in serious need of slumber. Wondering if he’d notice if she pulled over to savour the glorious picture he presented, Chrissie concluded that he might consider her a bit odd if he opened those fabulous eyes and discovered her salivating. A situation she deemed best to avoid, given he must think her odd enough already.
Courtesy of Raphael’s dozing, the journey back to Lovelace Lane passed in silence and without incident. Apart from Chrissie stalling the car at a set of traffic lights, after sneaking another glance at her travelling companion and coming over all of a quiver.
Her quivering increased as the distance to Lovelace Lane decreased. Lord only knew what the man would make of Yew Tree House. Perhaps it might be best to give him a bit of a heads-up before he stepped inside and discovered a cement mixer in the living room.
‘Here we are,’ she announced – a little shakily - as she pulled up outside.
Raphael opened his ridiculously blue eyes and, after a few seconds of bearing-gathering, focussed them first on Chrissie, then on the window next to her.
‘Yew Tree House?’ he said, reading the brass plate on the wall. ‘It sounds very… English.’
‘Yes. I suppose it does,’ agreed Chrissie, wishing his voice didn’t match his appearance quite so perfectly. That amount of sexiness bundled into one package, was nothing short of lethal. ‘But I should warn you that it’s a bit of a building site.’
He laughed. ‘As long as it has a bed I can make use of for the next couple of hours, it will be fine.’
Shunting aside images of what use she could make of him in her bed, Chrissie opened the car door and all but toppled out onto the pavement.
Aside from a few polite utterings about period features, Raphael commented little on the house, looking straight through the cement mixer, bags of plaster mix, smattering of flexi tubs, plethora of tools and two boxed toilets. Chrissie attributed his lack of remarks to a combination of good manners and being dead on his feet.
Her own good manners prevailing, she offered him some refreshment, heaving a sigh of relief when he informed her that he’d prefer to go straight to bed and sleep for a couple of hours, before returning to the hospital.
Chrissie wasted no time in showing him to Valentina’s room, then, back downstairs at the kitchen table, wondered what to do with herself. Anything noisy was out of the question as it would disturb her guest. But she could catch up on some paperwork; update her spreadsheets. Geared up to do just that, she carried her laptop through to the lounge, tucked herself up in a throw on the second-hand sofa and, three minutes later, slid into a deep sleep.
She woke to the sound of someone coughing in the kitchen. Surely the kids weren’t home yet? Tugging her arm out from under the throw, she glanced at her watch, amazed to discover that she’d slept for over three hours. Three hours! That was more than she’d been averaging most nights. But it still made it too early for the children. So who was coughing? The answer barrelled into her harder than a freewheeling cannonball. Raphael!
Well, as much as she’d like to, she couldn’t hide from him. It was nobody’s fault but hers that he was here, so she’d just have to paste on a brave face and get on with it. Dragging in a fortifying breath, she heaved herself up from the sofa, adjusted her wonky ponytail and, with yet another pair of jelly-legs, padded across the hall.
Raphael was at the table. Wearing a casual cream top and stonewashed jeans, and looking every bit as delectable as he had in his expensive suit.
‘Hi,’ he said, mouth curving into another disarming smile. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I made myself a drink and a sandwich while you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.’
‘No. No. Of course I don’t mind,’ blustered Chrissie, sending a silent prayer to whomever might be on duty, that she hadn’t been drooling, or snoring, or drooling and snoring, when he’d discovered her dozing. ‘Make yourself at home. Would you like anything else? I could rattle up an omelette?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Thank you. The hospital called to say Valentina is awake. A taxi will be here in twenty minutes to take me over there, so I thought I’d grab a quick snack.’
‘There was no need to call a taxi,’ Chrissie said, on yet another rush of guilt. ‘I can take you to the hospital.’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I know. But I’d like to. I’ll just make a quick call to my ex-husband while you finish your sandwich, then we can be off.’
In the car fifteen minutes later, Chrissie decided to clear the air. She felt terrible enough about Valentina becoming ill on her watch – even though Mrs Hardman was probably right: there had been nothing she could have done to prevent the girl’s condition. Still, that nagging guilt, added to the guilt generated by her email to Raphael, wasn’t helping her skittish state at all. Which was why she really should broach the subject of her note.
‘I want to say how sorry I am,’ she began, eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead. ‘About the email I sent you. I called your parenting skills into question, which I had no right to do.’
Bracing herself for his reply, she was amazed to hear him laugh. ‘Actually, I want to apologise too,’ he professed. ‘You were right when you said Valentina is spoiled. She is very spoiled. And it’s my fault entirely. Giving into her so much has, I suppose, been my way of compensating for her mother not being around.’
Blimey. Chrissie had been expecting a bit of a contretemps. Not a willing confession. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been curious about his personal life. ‘What happened to her mother?’ she asked.
‘We divorced eight years ago. She moved to Australia, re-married and had another baby. Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, didn’t go down well with Valentina. We rarely hear from her now.’
‘Goodness, that must be a bit odd.’
He shrugged. ‘Just one of those things. What about you? You mentioned your ex-husband before.’
‘Yes. He re-married last week actually. But he doesn’t live far, and he sees the kids all the time.’
‘That sounds incredibly civilised,’ remarked Raphael, in a voice that sent tingles down Chrissie’s spine.
The hospital shop was located right next to the entrance. While Raphael popped inside to pick up a few bits and pieces, Chrissie observed him from the corridor, intrigued at the effect he had on the two women behind the counter. Blushing and giggling as they fussed about serving him, she felt strangely reassured that it wasn’t just her who came over all peculiar in his presence. A fact reinforced by the three nurses on the ward, who appeared similarly flustered by the Brazilian’s entrance. Flustered or not, however, the staff were doing a superb job in caring for Valentina, who was sitting up in bed, delighted to see her father. Chrissie spent only a few minutes with the patient, before leaving the pair alone and wandering down to the coffee shop, where Raphael joined her half an hour later.
‘What a relief,’ he puffed, plopping down in the chair opposite. ‘She looks two hundred times better than she did this morning. She’s still very weak and no one seems to know how long she’ll be here, but it doesn’t matter, as long as she’s getting better.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Chrissie. Then, because it seemed the right and decent thing to say, ‘And you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you need.’
‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.’
‘You won’t be. You can have Valentina’s room.’
He smiled. ‘Well, in that case, I insist on treating you to dinner one evening.’
‘Oh,’ she gasped, a tentacle of panic tightening around her chest. ‘There’s really no need.’
‘I insist,’ he insisted.
Making Chrissie’s tentacle tighten to such an extent, she could hardly breathe.
Chrissie had called Paul before she’d left for the hospital. As agreed, he’d collected Jess and Harry from school, taken them out for tea, then despatched them to their rooms to do their homework. Still at the house when Chrissie returned, she introduced the two men, who subsequently exchanged pleasantries.
‘Crikey,’ puffed Paul, when she was seeing him out afterwards. ‘Has he just walked off a film set? He looks like he could be the next James Bond.’
‘I know,’ agreed Chrissie. ‘He’s unadulterated eye candy.’
‘He totally fancies you.’
She gave a snort of ironic laughter. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What on earth would a man like that see in me?’
‘Ask him and find out. And bring him to the party on Saturday.’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because….’
‘Bring him.’