‘Beabea has never met a stranger,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘It has never mattered to her whether someone is a duke or a dustman—she is just fascinated by people and always finds a way to put them at their ease.’
‘Even now, when she is—?’
‘Especially now,’ Emily broke in, preventing him from saying the hateful words. ‘She has been complaining that she hasn’t had enough visitors to make life interesting. I think she would definitely find
you
interesting.’
He laughed aloud, the sound bouncing merrily back at them from the row of houses that faced out towards the sea. ‘In that case, how can I refuse the invitation?’
‘Beabea? Are you still awake?’ Emily called gently as she stuck her head round the door.
‘Come in, Emily, dear,’ her grandmother invited. ‘I’m sorry I was asleep when you came earlier. They had to change the dose on that dratted pump thing. I have no intention of sleeping my last few days away if I can help it.’
‘Are you feeling up to a visitor?’ Emily asked, every nerve aware of Zayed’s presence in the corridor behind her as she stepped forward to give her grandmother a gentle hug.
‘Of course I am, dear.’ Her faded blue eyes brightened at the prospect, even though she was now barely strong enough to lift her hand in an automatic gesture to check that her soft silvery curls were tidy. ‘I hope you’ve brought someone entertaining.’
‘I do not know how entertaining I will be, but it is an honour to meet the grandmother of Emily,’ Zayed said as he stepped into the room and walked forward to offer his hand. ‘I am Zayed Khalil and I work with your granddaughter at St Piran’s Hospital.’ He bent low over Beabea’s hand and Emily saw delight sparkle in her eyes even as she took his measure.
‘Emily has spoken of you,’ she said after several long seconds of the sort of silence that would have had Emily shuffling her feet when she’d been younger. Zayed stoically stood his ground and seemed to have no difficulty meeting her grandmother’s direct gaze until she gave a single nod and a smile.
‘I am very pleased to meet you,’ she said, and Emily could hardly blame her for sounding almost coquettish in the face of Zayed at his most charming. ‘But she completely forgot to tell me how handsome you are,’ Beabea added, and Emily cringed.
‘Perhaps Emily does not think I am handsome,’ Zayed retorted with a sideways glance and an unrepentant grin at Emily’s blazing face
Her grandmother snorted. ‘I didn’t bring up a stupid grandchild,’ Beabea told him sternly. ‘She knows a good man when she sees one.’
It was something that she’d heard her grandmother say a thousand times over the years, but it was the first time Emily had ever seen it bring such a look of sadness to a
man’s face. And she had absolutely no idea why. Zayed
was
a handsome man and he was also a good man, otherwise he would never have thought about setting up the unit at St Piran’s and working the hours he did to take care of his little charges.
And as for the way he was gently teasing her grandmother, bringing a touch of colour to cheeks that had been grey and lifeless for so many weeks…well, if that wasn’t a mark of a good-natured man, Emily didn’t know what was.
Within moments, Zayed had been invited to perch on the edge of Beabea’s bed and was being given the third degree. All Emily had to do was stay in the background, listening quietly to learn that he’d been born and brought up in Xandar and had returned there after he’d completed his medical training, only leaving in the wake of the most recent wave of atrocities.
‘I remember,’ her grandmother said thoughtfully. ‘There was a series of explosions, wasn’t there? Several prominent people were killed when one of the more reactionary groups tried to make a point.’
‘There is nothing wrong with your memory,’ Zayed said, and Emily was sure that some odd sort of understanding seemed to pass between the two of them, but then Beabea was back in full flow again.
‘So, where are you living now?’ she demanded. ‘In one of those dreadful little flats they put up for the single staff who have to live close enough to reach the hospital when they’re on call?’
‘Thankfully, no,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Because my unit is largely privately funded, I have been able to set many of the rules myself, including employing enough
staff so that the on-call times are not too onerous. This means that I am able to live in my house in Penhally most of the time and travel backwards and forwards to the hospital.’
‘You have a house in Penhally?’ Beabea’s tone was one of disgust that she’d missed out on this prime piece of gossip. ‘Where? Do you know the name of the person who lived there before you?’
Emily suddenly blessed the inspiration that had prompted her to bring Zayed to visit her grandmother. In just these few short minutes she was hearing the answer to all the questions she’d been wanting to ask but hadn’t dared to for fear of seeming too inquisitive.
‘The house is up on the cliffs on the other side of Penhally, looking out across the water, like your room here. And as for the person who lived there before, he was one of the doctors who worked at the surgery down in the town. An Italian, I think, by the name of Marcus…’
‘Marco,’ her grandmother corrected him swiftly. ‘Marco Avanti. He and his wife have gone back to Italy. But…if you’re living in Marco’s house, that means that you’re the person who’s set up that special unit for the children.’
‘I told you all about the unit, Beabea,’ Emily cut in, wondering if this confusion was a sign that it was time for the two of them to leave her in peace. If the morphine pump had recently delivered her next dose of analgesia, it wouldn’t be long before she fell asleep again. ‘Do you remember? Mr Khalil was kind enough to take me onto his team when Mr Breyley had to fly out to New Zealand.’
‘Ah, yes! I meant to ask you about that. How is that
little grandchild of his doing?’ Beabea was momentarily distracted. ‘How soon after the baby was born were they going to have to operate?’
‘He phoned St Piran’s to tell us that the operation has already been done,’ Emily told her with a smile. ‘They’ve detached all the faulty plumbing around the heart and put it all back where it should have been in the first place, and everything’s looking good now.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ her grandmother said with a nod of satisfaction. ‘But I still want to know about this rehabilitation place of yours, young man. The gossip says that there are dozens of children up there, living a life of luxury with gold taps and marble floors and people to wait on them hand, foot and finger.’
‘And I’m sure your language has just as many sayings about those who listen to gossip as mine does,’ he said with a laugh.
‘So, what
is
the truth, then?’ Beabea pressed him.
‘The truth is that it
was
a very luxurious house,’ he admitted, ‘but it was the position and the space and the possibility of converting it to my requirements that made me buy it. I knew I was going to need somewhere suitable for my little patients to go when they were well enough to leave St Piran’s but not yet well enough to travel back to Xandar, and it had the added benefit of a wide view of the sea and proximity to the beach, which is something none of these children have ever seen or experienced before.’
‘And the life of luxury with gold taps and servants?’
‘A figment of the imagination, I am sorry to say. The servants are really nursing and physiotherapy staff, and they are there to take care of the children and to show
their parents how to continue the work when they return home.’ He threw a quizzical glance in Emily’s direction. ‘Perhaps Emily could bring you over for a visit, so that you can tell all your friends about the real story.’
‘I would love to,’ Beabea said, but smiled a little sadly. ‘Unfortunately, I think my visiting days are over, and I wouldn’t like to upset your little patients if they saw such a sick old lady. But that doesn’t mean that Emily can’t come in my place,’ she suggested, just a shade too brightly for Emily’s liking. ‘Then she could tell me all about it instead.’
‘Beabea,’ Emily began, embarrassed that Zayed might feel that he’d been forced into inviting her.
‘I would be delighted to show Emily around,’ he interrupted swiftly. ‘In fact, I will be going on there this evening, when you have had enough of our company. Perhaps she will want to go with me then?’
A
S
E
MILY
led the way out to her car a few minutes later, Zayed was still marvelling at the elderly woman’s strength and determination, even though her body was failing her.
In those first few seconds when he’d stepped into the room it had felt very much like the times when he’d been called to stand under the eagle eye of his own grandmother, and he’d felt the same crazy conviction that she could read his mind and the same boyish need to fidget.
Then she’d silently nodded and smiled at him, and it had almost felt like some sort of blessing.
He was glad that he hadn’t been tempted to underestimate the woman’s intelligence, especially when the conversation had turned to his home country. Who would have thought that an elderly woman dying of cancer in the depths of Cornwall would have such accurate recall of the potentially catastrophic happenings in Xandar, a country so many thousands of miles away? And who would have believed that she would have so accurately connected those events with his own life?
He was only grateful that she hadn’t questioned him about those dark times in front of Emily. It was some sort
of relief to be working with someone who didn’t know all the details and wouldn’t be tempted to pity him for all he’d lost. Pity was one emotion that he couldn’t bear, not when he didn’t deserve it.
If it hadn’t been for him…
‘If you’d rather I didn’t go to your house, just say so,’ Emily said suddenly. ‘Beabea did rather Shanghai you into making the invitation.’
By that time they had made their way around the curve of Penhally harbour wall and the row of shops, cafés and hotels that faced the tightly enclosed bay. They were approaching the turning for the car park by the lifeboat station by the time she finally broke the silence in her little car.
‘Do you not want to see where the children go when they leave the hospital?’ He was suddenly disappointed that she might not want the guided tour he’d been looking forward to. There was something about her sheer enthusiasm for everything she did that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone around her, and he certainly wasn’t immune.
‘Of course I want to see it!’ she exclaimed impatiently, and he had to suppress a satisfied smile at the thought that he was coming to know her so well. ‘Apart from anything else,’ she continued as she pulled neatly to the kerb, ‘Beabea would never forgive me if I didn’t come back to her with all the details.’
‘Why do you call her Beabea?’ He’d been curious ever since he’d heard the name. ‘Is it the Cornish word for grandmother?’
‘No.’ She chuckled, a delightful sound that wrapped intimately around him in the semi-darkness of her car. ‘If I remember rightly, grandmother is
henvamm
or
henvammow
.’
‘So, why Beabea?’ he persisted.
‘Because her name is Beatrice,’ Emily said simply, then decided to give him the full explanation. ‘At the time I came to live with her, she had two friends…twins…who always did everything together, but one was always half a beat behind the other. So when they called her Bea, it sounded as if they were saying Beabea. I imitated them and it just stuck.’
‘Do they still call her Beabea?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘They’re both gone now; so many of her lifelong friends have gone. That’s one of the reasons why she’s so delighted when I bring her visitors.’
Zayed thought about his own family—the remnants of it, at least—and suddenly realised just how long it had been since he’d seen them. His grandfather and the collection of great-aunts had all been well when he’d last seen them, but who knew what toll the years had taken? Any one of them could be in the same situation as Emily’s grandmother.
Not that he could do anything about it. He was the very last person they would want to see on their doorstep.
‘So, do you want me to drive you up to the house, or shall I follow you?’ Emily asked, and he realised with a start of surprise that he must have been sitting lost in his thoughts for several minutes.
‘You could follow me up there,’ he suggested, releasing his seat belt and unfolding himself from the cramped position, grateful to find that his back hadn’t seized up in the time since he’d climbed into her little car. ‘Then you will have transportation to escape when you are too bored.’
‘I’m still not certain I should be going
anywhere
when I look such a mess,’ she complained with a despairing
flick at the damp tangled ends of her hair. ‘I haven’t even got a comb with me and it looks like a rat’s nest…a
salty
rat’s nest. I should have stopped off at the cottage on the way past and done something about it.’
‘You will not find any of the patients complaining,’ he promised as he ducked back down to look at her, lit only by the courtesy light inside the car. ‘Most of them will probably think you are some kind of exotic sea creature with your long wavy hair and your green eyes.’
He wasn’t immune either. She looked perfectly stunning without a scrap of cosmetics on her skin, fresh and youthful and…and everything he had no right to be looking at.
‘If you’re sure?’ she said doubtfully.
‘I
am
sure.’ He closed the car door to stride across the car park to his own vehicle.
It only took a few minutes to turn up past the surgery and climb the hill onto the top of the cliffs, and from there it was a relatively short run to the driveway leading to the strikingly modern house with the commanding view over both town and sea.
The security lights came on as soon as they approached the house and he signalled for Emily to draw up beside him, close to the front entrance.
‘A word of warning,’ he said as he reached for the door, suddenly unaccountably nervous about taking her inside. For some crazy reason, it really mattered what this young woman thought of the facility he was setting up here. ‘Because they have a sleep in the middle of the day, not all of the children will be in bed yet, and it can be a little noisy.’
‘A
little
noisy?’ Emily echoed a few minutes later when she could almost hear herself think, again.
When Zayed had opened the door there had been a couple of seconds of absolute silence as everyone had looked to see who had arrived, and then the place had erupted into chaos, with every child shrieking for attention at the same time, each one with a smile from ear to ear as soon as they saw him.
Emily realised that she may just as well have been invisible as far as his little charges were concerned, and she slipped in quietly and closed the door, quite content to stand to one side and watch what was happening.
Those who were mobile had mobbed him and he’d rapidly disappeared under a maul of bodies, arms and legs, many sporting casts of varying lengths and colours. Those unable to join in had been forced to shout for attention in what was obviously a regular occurrence, while a scattering of their carers and parents looked on indulgently.
For a moment Emily had been worried that the children might be in danger of re-injuring themselves until she saw just how gently Zayed was treating them in spite of his blood-curdling growls.
‘He should have children of his own…lots of children,’ said a middle-aged woman who was obviously from Xandar, too, her accent full of the same liquid syllables as her countrymen that Emily had met on the unit at St Piran’s. ‘Taking care of other people’s children is good but it will never fill the empty space inside him.’
Emily had an instant vision of dark-haired children with cheeky grins and the same gold-shot dark eyes that she saw over Zayed’s mask every day, then ruthlessly shut the images away, refusing to let herself think about his eventual children. There was so little likelihood that they
would be her children, too, that the thought of him surrounded by them was sharp enough to cause a physical pain around her heart.
‘I am Reza Saleh,’ the woman introduced herself, and settled herself comfortably against the wall beside Emily. ‘I was one of those who worked with Zayed in our own country, before tragedy struck. Then, when I heard he needed staff over here in Penhally…’ She shrugged eloquently. ‘I learned English so I can come here to help him.’
‘Reza! Come and save me from these terrible children!’ Zayed called, then used exactly the same inflection when he said something in his own language, so it wasn’t just the children’s hilarity that told her he’d said the same thing again.
‘Time for bed, children,’ Reza said firmly with a clap of her hands, and copied Zayed in translating the order to their little charges.
‘Not bed! No!’ called several voices, obviously not tired of their game yet.
‘No bed, no story,’ Reza decreed in no-nonsense tones, and the children clearly understood that threat without the need for any translation.
Zayed was still helping the last of the children to their feet when someone caught sight of Emily for the first time.
Within seconds they were all staring at her as though she were an alien from another planet, their sudden silence erupting into a welter of incomprehensible questions.
‘OK! OK!’ Zayed called, putting both hands up in the air to call for silence as he made his way across to her. To her surprise he took her hand in his to lead her forward into their midst, then apparently forgot to let go because
she ended up standing there surrounded by inquisitive children and adults with the warm strength of his hand wrapped around hers.
‘This is Emily Livingston,’ he said slowly and clearly, while she tried to work out exactly why it felt so right to stand there like that. ‘She is a doctor at the hospital. She helps me to fix bones.’ He repeated the simple sentences in their language to make sure they had all understood, but one little girl began shaking her head.
‘No! No dotor!’ she insisted, wide-eyed, then reverted to her own tongue for several impassioned sentences.
Several of the adults chuckled, including Zayed.
‘What did she say?’ Emily demanded softly.
‘That you are too beautiful to be a doctor,’ he said with a definite twinkle in his dark eyes. ‘That you are really a princess who will wave your magic over them to make them well.’
‘If only it were that easy,’ Emily murmured, even as her pulse responded to his expression. ‘Hello,’ she said to the little girl, finally forcing herself to break the connection between their hands so that she could crouch down to bring them to more or less the same height. ‘My name is Emily. What is your name?’
This time it was Reza who translated for her, and supplied the dark-haired moppet’s name in return.
‘This is Leela, and I don’t think she’ll ever believe you’re not a princess,’ she said with a grin. ‘Just look around the room and see if there are any other people here with blonde hair and green eyes.’
Blonde hair full of dried seawater so that it was as stiff as baler twine and green eyes with the most attractive dark shadows under them, either from too many hours
spent worrying about Beabea or from too many nights spent dreaming about a certain dark-eyed consultant, to say nothing about coping with a demanding job.
Most attractive, she thought wryly, except that to one little girl, it was obviously good enough.
Reza clapped her hands again. ‘Bed or no story,’ she reminded her little charges, but little Leela wasn’t going to be hurried, planting herself right in front of Emily to pose an urgent question.
‘Leela has decided that she wants
you
to tell them the story tonight,’ Zayed informed her with a grin as he gently lifted the little girl up to his shoulder.
Emily was barely aware that her feet were automatically taking her in his wake. ‘Me? I can’t tell them a story. I don’t know any stories.’
‘Oh, I am sure you will think of something,’ he said airily as he led the way into what looked like an extremely well-appointed paediatric ward, albeit one that would have the most fantastic panoramic views once the sun came up in the morning.
‘This is amazing,’ Emily breathed as she looked around. There was everything any of the children might need to make life easier while they were hampered by casts and frames, but the decoration of the room and the colourful bedding and piles of toys gave it a very different feeling. And with the combination of the high staffing level and parents eager to do anything they could to help, it wasn’t long before everyone was in pyjamas and nightdresses and smelling of toothpaste.
‘Story,’ Leela said eagerly, as she held up a slim book for Emily to see.
‘“
The Little Mermaid
”,’ she read on the cover, and
when she heard Zayed choking back laughter she knew where that suggestion had come from. ‘Oh, I’m sure we can think of something else.’
‘You do not want to tell the story of the little mermaid who falls in love with the handsome prince?’
Emily had an uncomfortable feeling that it wouldn’t just be a story in a book if she didn’t get herself under better control. Seeing him by Abir’s cot that first morning had definitely had an unexpected effect on her heart, but learning about this other side to the man had pushed her dangerously close to falling in love with him.
For all the good it would do her, she admitted wryly. He was definitely every inch the elegant gentleman good enough to be a prince, but she was a long way from being the mermaid he would fall in love with.
Anyway, that sort of thing only happened in fairytales.
Looking at the books on the bookshelf, her eyes fell on several old favourites from her own childhood and she exclaimed with delight before pausing for a moment, wondering how on earth she was going to tell any story when she couldn’t speak a word of the children’s language.
‘There is a problem?’ Zayed asked when she scanned the titles, some in English and some in Arabic, and her shoulders slumped when she realised that the task would be all but impossible.
‘There are so many wonderful stories, but I have no way of telling any of them,’ she mourned.
‘So simplify the story and tell it to me, and I will translate it for them,’ Zayed suggested. ‘Come. Sit here and begin.’
Emily hesitated when he beckoned her towards the seat
beside him, knowing she ought to be sensible, but the temptation to be that close to him was suddenly too great to resist.