Sommersgate House (33 page)

He shifted
uncomfortably.

“
Point
taken,” Douglas allowed, staring directly in her eyes and not
believing his own words. He wasn’t in the habit of
being
wrong, must less admitting he
was. Although this wasn’t an admission, it was the closest he would
get.

She simply
kept staring at him like she was a schoolmarm and he was a
disobedient student.

“It won’t
happen again,” he bit out.

“See that it
doesn’t,” she demanded and he nearly burst out laughing when she
ruined her well-expressed diatribe by whirling dramatically away
and searching in vain on her dressing table for something. “Now
where’s my damned comb?”

“I believe you
threw it at me,” he informed her helpfully.

She strode
back in the direction she came.

“You’re not
funny,” she snapped as she walked by him.

“I’m not
trying to be,” he replied in all seriousness.

“Good.” The
word was clipped and he wondered how she’d feel if he kissed her.
From the angry line of her back he assessed that wasn’t the
brightest strategic move at that particular moment. Still, she was
magnificent and he longed to do it.

“Who’s Nick?”
she asked, tearing her retrieved comb through her hair and
interrupting his pleasant reverie.

“Nick’s a
friend.”

She eyed him,
her brows raised, doing a bloody good impersonation of him.

Douglas
decided to elaborate. “Let’s just say Nick’s a sort of…
bodyguard.”

“If that’s the
case, you need a new one,” she replied glibly and tramped back into
the dressing room.

Sensing his
setting-down was complete, he sought to change the subject.

“May I use
your phone?” he asked courteously.

“
Be my
guest, it is
your
phone we’re
talking about,” she replied, obviously not feeling less angry after
her rant and Douglas was glad of it. He had to admit he was
enjoying this. Julia was deeply amusing when she was in a
pique.

He went
to the writing desk and picked up the phone, punching in Sam’s
number. There was a knock at the door and he watched as Julia
strode back through, opening it and taking some clothing from
Carter. She closed the door and tossed the clothes on the bed
before sauntering angrily back into the dressing room. He was
enjoying just watching Julia, even if she was angry (in
fact,
especially
when
she was angry), as he listened to the phone ring. He dropped his
eyes and saw the e-mail she’d been writing.

Joe, you’re a
darling, what would I do without you…

He didn’t read
any further as he felt his stomach clench and his lips thin in an
angry line.

Who the bloody
hell was Joe?

Sam answered
and he spoke curtly to her, “I’m out of commission for a few days.
I’ll be in my office at Sommersgate.”

“You okay?”
Sam asked, her voice filled with concern but he put down the phone
on her question and read further.

You can’t
imagine how much I needed a smile. Things could be better here…

“What are you
doing?” Julia asked, back in the room and looking at him in
disbelief.

Douglas lifted
his eyes to her.

“Who’s Joe?”
he asked in return.

Her eyes went
from his to her computer and they narrowed.

Then Julia
flew to the laptop and slammed the top shut before looking back at
him and demanding, “Are you reading my e-mail?”

“Who’s Joe?”
Douglas asked again.

“You’re
impossible,” she announced in a voice that said, eloquently, that
she meant it.

It was his
turn to raise an eyebrow but he did this instead of throwing the
laptop across the room, which was, for some absurd reason,
precisely what he wished to do.

“Joe,” she
started, exuding wounded patience when she realised he wouldn’t let
it go, “is a friend. An assistant coach for the Indianapolis Colts
who was instrumental in getting a number of players to do a
fundraiser for us last year.”

“And what is
he to you?” Douglas asked, his voice very level, so level it had an
edge.

“I told you,
he’s my friend,” she retorted.

“
What
kind of
friend?
” That
edge was now dangerous.

Julia threw up
her hands in exasperation.

“
The
kind of friend who helped me offer more scholarship money to
students from disadvantaged backgrounds who wanted to be nurses!”
she replied, angrily. “The kind of friend who also happens to be
married to my best friend from high school, Molly, since he got her
pregnant at eighteen when the condom broke. The kind of friend who
didn’t realise he was in love with his wife and family until their
son was diagnosed with leukaemia and I spent six months making
lasagne and tuna casseroles for them so they’d remember to eat
while their boy had treatment. The kind of friend who paid me back
by helping me score a
major
point at work by convincing a bunch of big jocks to use
their big hearts to help some aspiring nurses rather than the kids
they preferred to raise money for. That kind of friend. Would you
like to know more? I don’t know his shoe size but I could ask
Molly.”

Douglas
immediately relaxed and then tensed again as he contemplated his
reaction.

Julia was
staring at him, her expression brooding.

“I don’t know
what to make of you,” she finally admitted.

“I think I’ve
explained quite clearly what you can make of me and what my
intentions are of making you. There’ll be no ‘Joes’ in your
future,” Douglas declared. He knew he was being irrational but he
was in no mood to be anything else and, furthermore, he didn’t
bloody well care.

At that
announcement, she gaped at him, a study of angry astonishment, just
as there was a tap on the door.

“Yes?” he
called as he moved around her and toward his folded clothes on the
bed.

Carter looked
around the edge of the door.

“Sir?” Carter
asked.

“Give me a
minute to dress,” Douglas ordered and Carter retreated, closing the
door.

His hand went
to the waistband of his jeans and Julia cried, “You aren’t changing
in here!”

Douglas
carried on with what he was doing because he knew if he didn’t get
dressed and out of that room he might not be responsible for what
he did do.

And this was
even more absurd. It had been so long that he’d been in complete
control of his thoughts and actions that he found it inconceivable
that now, he was not.

Nevertheless,
he was not.

She watched
him, eyes wide, for only a brief moment before she forced out an
exaggerated sigh, stomped to the dressing room and slammed the
door.

And he was
left with a mental list of things not to think about and not a clue
how to get his own bloody shirt on.

* * * * *

When Douglas
arrived back from his doctor’s appointment much later, which had
included some minor, on the spot surgery for which he only allowed
a local anaesthetic and refused the doctor’s demands that he spend
the night at hospital for observation, Julia was gone.

“At work,”
Mrs. Kilpatrick informed him in a nasally voice, her eyes red and
running, “she should be back around four.” She glanced at his arm
in its sling. “Are you… okay, sir?” She sounded ill-at-ease with
her own question.

“I’m fine,”
Douglas started to walk away then turned back. “Are you ill?” he
asked and found himself uncomfortable with the personal question.
He couldn’t remember Mrs. Kilpatrick ever being sick, not, he had
to admit, that he would have noticed if she was or was not.

Mrs.
Kilpatrick looked stunned at his question.

“Why… no,” she
said then she belied her words with a succession of three quick
sneezes. “Just a head cold,” she wheezed when she was done.

Too exhausted
to pursue it, Douglas let her be. He wanted to go to his study to
catch up on work but was too tired for that as well. Instead, he
went to his room, took a painkiller and went to bed.

He woke
several hours later feeling slightly better but also acutely
feeling the pain in his arm.

And he was
hungry.

He walked down
the stairs in search of food and heard Julia’s voice coming from
the lounge. He turned to the right, rounded the corner and saw her
standing in the room addressing the children who were all sprawled
on the sofas watching television.

“I’ve asked
Mrs. Kilpatrick to go home, she’s unwell, so it’s Chip Shop Night,”
she announced.

The room rang
with the children’s boisterous response to this piece of news and
Douglas saw Julia smile.

“Uncle
Douglas!” Lizzie called as her eyes found him and her face turned
worried when she took in his sling. She got up and then sat back
down immediately, visibly unsure of what to do or how to
behave.

“Unka
Douglas,” Ruby shouted. Never unsure of how to behave, his youngest
niece ran toward him, hell bent for leather, but Julia caught her
about the waist and swung her back.

“Uncle Douglas
has been hurt, you must go gently,” she warned and Ruby’s eyes
widened. Douglas watched and noted that Julia was avoiding his
gaze.

When Julia let
her go, Ruby approached more cautiously and gave his legs a hug. He
patted her affectionately on the head in return.

“What
happened?” Willie was standing now and his eyes were on the sling.
They, too, were worried.

“Nothing,”
Douglas replied, “It was an…” He was about to say “accident” but
stopped himself. “Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m fine.”

At the
children’s reactions to his injury, Julia’s words of the morning
came back to him and so did the feelings of guilt.

Julia spared
him a quick (and amusing) “I-told-you-so” glance but Ruby was
talking. “Auntie Jewel has the best thing for an owie, don’t you
Auntie Jewel?”

“What’s that,
Ruby?” Douglas asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.

“I hurt my
elbow,” she showed him by jutting out her bent elbow and pointing
to a spot that still was a bit pink, “right there and it felt a lot
better when Auntie Jewel kissed it. She said her kisses have
magical powers.”

Julia’s face
paled and Douglas nearly laughed at her horrified expression.

“I bet they
do,” he murmured in response to Ruby.

“You should
kiss his owie,” Ruby declared authoritatively to Julia.

Julia blanched
and Douglas grinned.

She recovered
quickly. “Maybe later, I’ve got to get your supper. Orders please,”
Julia stated, firmly closing the subject on any kissing of
Douglas’s “owie”.

“I’ll come
with!” Willie offered.

“Me too!” Ruby
jumped up and down.

“We’ll all go,
get your coats,” Julia announced as the children scattered.

“Do I get to
go too?” Douglas asked as she approached the door. He was standing
in its frame and had moved aside to allow the children to race
through but he resumed his position when she came near him.

“No, not
enough room in the car,” she lied. The Range Rover would easily
hold them all. He smiled and she gave him a disgruntled look.
“Anyway, you should be resting. What did the doctor say?”

“I’m fine,” he
replied simply and she looked at him closely, narrowing her
eyes.

She decided to
let it go but he could tell it cost her and he grinned again.

Then she
asked, “Do you want something from the chip shop?”

What Douglas
wanted was a nice, juicy steak, cooked rare, potatoes dauphenois,
asparagus smothered in hollandaise sauce and a huge glass of
full-bodied, dry, red wine. Then he wanted to sleep for three days,
preferably with Julia’s furnace-like body pressed to his side.

What he did
not want was fish and chips.

“Yes, of
course,” he said.

“What do you
want?” she asked.

He wasn’t sure
what to say. He’d never actually been to a chip shop. He figured
his choices were either chips or fish and chips.

“Whatever
you’re having,” he answered.

For a moment,
Julia regarded him curiously.

She opened her
mouth to say something when they both heard Nick’s voice. “How you
doin’, mate?”

Nick was
strutting toward them and with some disappointment Douglas had to
turn away from Julia toward his friend.

He was tired
of telling everyone he was fine so he didn’t say anything at all.
Nick was used to him and didn’t mind not getting a response. What
Nick could see was Douglas alive, breathing and standing and that
was good enough for him.

“All right,
Jules?” Nick asked and Julia gaze moved to him but her brows rose
at the familiar use of her name.

Nick had a
habit of either shortening someone’s name, if he liked them, or
giving them a nickname, if he didn’t like them, usually something
foul. Clearly, somewhere in their short acquaintance, Julia had
passed the Nick Test.

Apparently,
she accepted his shortened name and his silent offer of camaraderie
after the tense night they all shared for she responded, “Yes, all
right Nick.” Then she looked from Nick to Douglas and back again.
Douglas had no idea what was going around in her head but he found
he would give half his fortune to gain this knowledge. Fortunately,
before he could make that asinine offer, Julia continued speaking.
“I’m going to the chip shop. Are you going to be here for awhile?”
she asked Nick.

“Don’t know,”
Nick replied, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms on
his chest.

“Well I do,
you’ll have dinner with us,” Julia returned firmly. “What do you
want from the chippie?”

The chippie?
Douglas thought and glanced at her, suddenly realising she
was adapting quite well to her new environment. They didn’t have
chip shops in America, at least not on every market street as they
did in England. If they did, Douglas doubted they called them by
the shortened “chippie”.