him witnessing the dump she was living in. That would be too embarrassing. By his expensive clothes, she could tell this was a man that probably lived in a penthouse apartment. He’d take one look at her bedsit and then what would he think of her? He probably already thought of her as incompetent and she didn’t want him thinking of her as some sort of Cinderella figure.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I do.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve almost fallen once today. If you fell on the ice now, it would undo all of my previous hard work.’
Naomi smiled back, her grin almost freezing into place in the bitter wind.
Right. I just won’t invite him in. Then he won’t understand how bad it is. I can do this. He’s not a complete ogre.
‘Okay.’
They walked along at a pleasant pace. There was a large park by the hospital and, this late in the day, it was filled with people walking their dogs, or couples strolling hand in hand. Naomi always noticed people doing that. It had been something denied to her and Vincent. She’d always been pushing his wheelchair.
But today, instead, she caught herself sneaking looks at Tom and even though she tried to stop herself—sure that he would notice—she kept doing it.
He was so good-looking; tall and broad, yet slim. He frightened her. Not just because he was her boss and probably thought she was an incompetent nincompoop, but because he was without a doubt the most handsome man she had ever met. Handsome men, in her experience, caused trouble. They had certainly caused enough for her mother, who had brought back endless strings of attractive men. Fast-car driving, exquisitely clothed, silver-tongued individuals, so slick you’d have trouble distinguishing them from a vat of oil. Each man had caused their own problems. Borrowing money, never calling, one even taking his hand to her mother. Each and every one had been heartache and pain in a well-dressed suit. Each of them had broken her mother’s easily led heart.
That was why Naomi had fallen so easily in love with Vincent. Why she had married him. He’d been none of those things. He’d been average-looking, physically disabled. She’d always known where she was with him. She’d always known the expectations. It had been simple. And there’d been no worry or risk of him running off, having an affair and breaking her heart.
‘So how was your first day at Welbeck? Scintillating health and safety briefing aside?’
Naomi looked back at the road, busy with cars. ‘It was good. Exhausting, but good. I’ll be glad to get a decent night’s sleep. You? Did you have a busy day?’
See? I can do this. Pretend this is normal. There’s nothing more to it than one colleague walking another home, to ensure her safety. Having a normal conversation.
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you choose A&E as a discipline?’
‘It’s busy.’
She waited, assuming that he’d say more, but when he didn’t, she didn’t push him. They were both still strangers to each other. Perhaps he had personal reasons for his career that he didn’t feel like sharing with someone he’d only just met. After all, she was keeping secrets, too. Holding things back. He was entitled to do the same.
Naomi adjusted her scarf. ‘You know, it’s not far now. You’re probably coming out of your way to walk me home, so you can go, if you want to. I don’t think I’m going to get mugged in the next fifty metres.’
He turned to her. ‘You don’t like people helping you, do you?’
She blew out a breath. ‘I stand on my own two feet. I’ve got used to looking after myself and I like it. The independence. The freedom.’ She couldn’t tell him how much that meant to her. Being out in the world and doing her own thing without having to think of anyone else. She hadn’t been able to do that for a very long time.
They continued to walk, turning into her road, and she felt twisting snakes of nervousness swirl around in her stomach the closer they got.
She knew what he would think. He would see the small front yard, littered with an old settee and someone’s old fridge. The detritus and litter from what seemed like a million previous tenants—empty glass milk bottles, old cans, raggedy bits of clothing, dirtied by the weather and constant stream of car exhaust fumes. And if he got past her front door? Well, she’d tried her best to pretty the place up. She had done what she could, but it never seemed enough. The truth was, she couldn’t afford anywhere better and it would have to do until she’d gathered some more savings for a small deposit elsewhere.
Naomi estimated she had another six months of being here, before she could try and rent somewhere else. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m rude.’
He laughed to himself. ‘I can cope with rude.’
‘Well, I don’t mean to be.’ As they came to a halt outside her front garden she hesitated, sucking in a breath, her back turned to the property. ‘Well, this is me. Unfortunately.’
Tom smiled and looked past her. The smile dropped from his glorious face in an instant. ‘Did you leave your front door open?’
‘Er … no. Why?’ Naomi turned around and instantly saw the splintering down the door frame where someone had pried it open. She gasped and went to take a step forward, but Tom gripped her arm, holding her back.
‘Stay here. Call the police.’
‘You’re not going in?’ Whoever had broken in could still be in there! He had no idea what he would be walking into. There was splintered wood all over the place and goodness knew what they’d done to all her things inside. He could trip on anything, hurt himself. The burglars could be waiting with weapons. It was dangerous, and …
He’s not Vincent. Tom can handle himself.
He’d certainly shown himself to be capable when he’d sent Mick away outside the hospital. He’d had no hesitation about stepping into the fray there.
‘Just stay here.’ He laid a comforting hand upon her arm and then he was gone, darting through the doorway like an avenger, keen to surprise whoever might still be inside.
Naomi pulled her phone from her coat pocket and stabbed at the buttons, dialling for the police. Once she’d reported the break-in, she stepped towards her flat, her legs trembling, her knees weak.
She’d heard no sounds from within. No sudden clashing of Titans, no battle, no fight for survival. Whoever had broken in must be long gone. Feeling sick, she peered through the doorway. ‘Dr Williams?’
‘It’s okay. You can come in, there’s no one here!’
She stepped forward, into the small hall and then through the doorway to her lounge-kitchen.
It was as if a typhoon had swept through it. Sofa cushions had been tossed around, her coffee table knocked over and broken, her books strewn all over the floor. The few pictures she’d found at a market—nothing special, just bright prints—were on the floor, their frames smashed, the glass cracked and broken.
All of her precious belongings had been tossed around, as if they were nothing but rubbish at a dump. The sense of loss and devastation was overwhelming. With her hand over her face, she began to feel a tremble overtake her body, until she was shuddering and shaking, sobs gasping from her body as if every intake of breath were a desperate struggle for survival.
Tom frowned from his place in the kitchen and stood awkwardly as she cried.
She had no idea how long she stood there like that, just crying. For the loss of her things, for the loss of her privacy, for the uncaring way in which her things had been used and tossed aside. She’d never claimed to be rich, or to have expensive objects that she treasured, but this had been her very first venture out into the world to stand on her own two feet alone. The items she’d gathered in that home might have been from car boot sales or markets or pound shops, but they’d