of but never visited. Charlie had been here before, but that had been with his parents. She pressed the button for the lift and looked around the ultra-modern foyer. There was a café on one side of the lifts and a pharmacy on the other. The building itself looked new, and the foyer and café were both brightly decorated in primary colours. Signs pointing down a corridor indicated directions to Physiotherapy and a hydrotherapy pool. The tenant directory beside the lift listed Speech Therapy, Occupational Therapy, General Practitioners and Psychology. There was a constant stream of families through the door.
Rosie and Charlie squeezed into the lift with a dozen other people and popped out at the third floor in front of the reception desk for the specialist suites. The girl directed them to the waiting room at the eastern end of the building and Rosie wasn’t surprised to find the area had a magnificent view over the famous beach. Charlie immediately made himself comfortable in a bean-bag chair positioned in front of the enormous glass windows and settled down to watch the weekday surfers carving up the water.
Rosie flicked through a pile of magazines, all current issues, but the lure of the morning sunshine bouncing off the water was too enticing and she gave up on the magazines, instead choosing a chair where she could watch the beach too.
Movement to her left caught her attention and she turned to see a family coming through a doorway. The mother and daughter didn’t hold her attention but the man behind them was a different story.
Nick.
The attraction she’d felt on Sunday had been strong, so strong she’d let her imagination run off in all sorts of directions. She’d entertained the possibility he’d be married with children but, still, her disappointment when she saw him with a family of his own surprised her.
From the safety of the anonymity of a crowded waiting room she let her gaze linger. There was no harm in looking. Or, at least, no harm in looking if no one knew.
Nick was dressed far more smartly than the other day but looked just as handsome. His dark grey trousers with a fine pinstripe and a crisp white cotton shirt looked simple but expensive. Quality. Style. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his forearms and face were tanned golden brown. She sighed, daydreams of time with Nick fading into nothingness in view of the woman at his side.
He came to a stop just past the doorway and the woman and child continued on, saying thanks. He looked around the waiting room and at that moment Rosie realised he wasn’t part of the family. This was his workplace. Visions of going with him, wherever he wanted, surged through her mind again. It was madness. Wholesale craziness. She knew that.
But it was a madness that left her tingling in such a delicious way it left her in no doubt that guardian aunt was not the only side of her still alive and kicking. She was still a woman, with desires and wants and needs, even if they had almost no chance of being satisfied in the near future. It was nice, though, very nice, to be reassured she hadn’t totally disappeared, as a woman, during the events of the last months.
As he scanned the room, his gaze locked with hers and he lifted a hand in greeting as he broke into a broad smile, his cupid’s-bow lips opening to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. Her response was automatic, the rush of warmth spreading upwards from deep in her belly until it gave her away with the blush that stole over her cheeks. She smiled through her embarrassment, still looking into blue-grey eyes that sparkled their pleasure at seeing her. All up, the exchange was only seconds. Certainly no one around them had noticed anything odd. People had their heads down in magazines, were murmuring to one another or were distracted by the demands of their children. For Rosie, though, it could have been minutes, hours even, that they’d looked at one another across the waiting room.
And Nick?
Nick had obviously remembered he was there to work and had broken the gaze after one more nod of his head and was scanning the waiting room. ‘Charlie Jefferson?’ Nick spoke softly but his deep voice penetrated through the general noise of a dozen waiting room conversations.
Rosie’s eyes widened in surprise.
Nick wasn’t just any doctor.
He was Dr Masters, Charlie’s specialist.
Charlie appeared from his hiding place in the depths of the bean-bag where Nick hadn’t had a hope of seeing him, and stood up at the sound of his name. Grabbing Rosie’s hand, he tugged her to her feet. The pressure of his grip was enough to snap her into action and she followed Charlie as he crossed the waiting room.
‘Hi, there, Charlie, nice to see you again.’ He greeted Charlie first and the little boy smiled shyly at him, which was something, but, as expected, didn’t speak. ‘Rosie!’ He held out a hand and shook hers briefly, his grip warm and sure, pleasure in his eyes. ‘For a moment I thought you’d come to claim that cup of coffee I offered at the beach.’
Rosie saw Charlie look from her to Nick and back again, a frown creasing his forehead. He was still holding her hand and his fingers tightened on hers. She knew he was wondering how his aunt knew his specialist but his curiosity was not sufficient to get him asking questions.
‘I didn’t realise you were an ENT specialist,’ she blurted out.
‘We didn’t have time for that conversation, it was a busy morning.’ Nick’s tone didn’t change; he obviously didn’t seem nonplussed as he led them along a short corridor, walking just in front since all three of them couldn’t fit abreast and there was no way Charlie was letting go of his aunt. ‘But, for me, things are now starting to fall into place. Lucy is Charlie’s twin and you are their aunt.Yes?’ He glanced back at her and she nodded in confirmation. ‘Charlie’s GP told me what happened.’
At her side, she felt Charlie relax a little, his fingers no longer clenched on her hand. Apparently he was satisfied that his aunt knowing his doctor was above-board. Perhaps he’d thought they’d been discussing him behind his back? Being talked about was something Charlie detested.
So at least there was now one less thing to explain in front of Charlie. He hadn’t seen Dr Masters since before his parents had died and Rosie hadn’t been keen on explaining the situation in front of her nephew.
Nick opened his office door, holding it open for them to enter. Rosie misjudged the width of the doorway and brushed against his arm as she passed him. Purely an accident, but the brief contact made her nerves jump to attention, covering her flesh in goose bumps. She hurriedly took one of the three seats alongside Nick’s desk, leaving a chair for Charlie to sit next to her.
Nick settled himself into the third chair, sitting next to Charlie instead of behind his desk, surprising, but a nice touch.
‘Not feeling too great, Charlie?’ Nick asked. ‘Doc Hawkins told me this is your second bout of tonsillitis since Christmas. Do you ever think of sharing it with your sister?’
Charlie smiled but shook his head.
‘Let me have a look at this throat of yours, then.’ He was natural with Charlie, focused on him, talking to him and not over his head, more adult-to-adult than adult-to-child. He was chalking up more points every second, with her at least, but she wasn’t sure his warm demeanour was penetrating Charlie’s armour.
‘You know the drill.’ Nick picked up his laryngoscope and Charlie dutifully opened his mouth.
‘He’s been on amoxicillin?’ Nick asked Rosie. He glanced at her and another surge of attraction shot through her, so physical it was like a blow to the chest, and she literally had to catch her breath. He didn’t seem at all distracted by her, whereas it was all she could do to concentrate on why they were there or even breathe normally.
‘Yes.’ She shifted her focus to Charlie as Nick had done and steadied her breathing before continuing. ‘It helps but the episodes are so frequent and I’m concerned about Charlie missing so much school.’ She caught Nick’s eye, sending a silent message along with her words.
Nick’s gaze narrowed slightly and he nodded, letting Rosie know he understood her meaning. ‘Charlie, I’m almost out of tongue depressors.’ Nick held up one of the flat wooden sticks