was no way she was going to drive any further with this man.
‘It’s either here or nowhere,’ Colleen said firmly. ‘It’s only a five-minute walk home for me from here. And I need my bed.’
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She didn’t want to give him any clues to where she lived. She had the uneasy feeling that he would have no compunction about staking out her flat once she had made him realise that she was serious about not taking the job.
‘Okay, you’re the boss.’ Then he smiled. It was only the briefest smile, vanishing almost before Colleen was sure she had seen it, but in that millisecond his face was transformed, making him look younger and, if possible, even more devastatingly good looking.
The windows of the café were steamed up from the combined breaths of customers filling up on Trish’s renowned breakfasts before setting off for work or college. Trish scurried over to them as soon as they were seated in Colleen’s favourite place by the window. Behind Frobisher’s back, Trish wriggled her eyebrows and pretended to fan herself with her hand.
‘I’ll have my usual, please, Trish,’ Colleen said, pretending not to notice.
‘And you, sir?’ Trish was practically drooling.
‘Coffee. Black. No sugar.’
With a wink at Colleen, Trish sashayed away. Frobisher didn’t even look at Colleen’s friend. He had to be really worried about his son not to. Trish was gorgeous and most men fell instantly in love with her as soon as they set eyes on her. She was always fending off wannabe suitors.
‘Okay. You asked me to listen to you so I’m all ears— though to be honest, I can’t think there’s anything you can say to me to convince me.’ She softened her tone. ‘As I told Mr Haversham—and you—I already have a job here. A job I just happen to love and have no intention of leaving. Besides he told me your home is in London. I’m afraid that in itself makes it impossible. Even if I weren’t working already, I couldn’t leave Ireland. So you see, you’ve wasted your time coming out here, Mr Frobisher.’
‘Call me Daniel.’
‘Daniel, then. Have you tried an agency? From what Mr Haversham told me, your son needs round-the-clock care. There are one or two excellent units in London that I could recommend.’
Trish came back with two coffees and a plate of egg, sausages, bacon and toast. Daniel’s expression changed to one of mild incredulity. Had the man never seen a woman eat before? As Colleen added enough ketchup to her satisfaction and speared a slice of sausage on her fork, Daniel fished a photograph out of his top pocket and handed it to Colleen. She set aside her knife and fork and studied the picture. It was of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and shining eyes. It had been taken on a beach with the sun setting in the background. The woman had her arm around a boy who was smiling self-consciously into the camera. Judging by the brilliant green eyes, which were exact replicas of the ones staring intently at her, there was no doubt whose child he was.
‘That was taken just over two years ago,’ Daniel said softly, ‘when my son, Harry, was ten.’
Haversham had told her Harry Frobisher was twelve. Didn’t Daniel have a more recent photograph of his son, or was this simply his favourite one?
‘That’s your wife with Harry?’
‘My ex-wife. We were divorced. Eleanor was killed outright in the accident that injured my son.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Colleen had to stop herself from reaching out and laying a comforting hand on his. Instinctively she knew the gesture would not be welcome.
Daniel’s expression was unreadable. ‘She had just collected Harry from his boarding school when it happened. They were on their way to the airport …’ He hesitated as if his thoughts were turning inwards, reliving the horror.
‘And your son was badly hurt?’ she prompted gently.
Pain flashed across Daniel’s face. ‘Harry’s injuries were severe. He was in a coma for almost a week. For a time I thought he wasn’t going to make it.’ Daniel’s voice had become clipped, almost as if he were talking about something that had happened to someone else.
‘Harry regained consciousness a month ago. He can’t talk and his movement is limited.’ Daniel’s mouth twisted. ‘For God’s sake, he can’t even feed himself. My child is a prisoner in his own body.’
‘It’s early days yet,’ Colleen said softly. ‘He could improve a great deal in the next six months—with the right kind of care.’
Daniel took the photograph from her hands and placed it carefully back in his pocket.
‘So they tell me. But I’m not convinced he wouldn’t do better at home, getting individual attention from someone with your reputation. I don’t just want good care for my son; I want him to have the best. From everything I’ve learned about you, I believe you are the person he needs. I understand you were a physiotherapist before you became a nurse. I also understand that you specialise in looking after young patients and have had personal experience of this kind of injury.’
Colleen paused, the forkful of egg and toast halfway to her mouth. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Let’s just say that I did my research.’ He studied her calmly. ‘I would never offer anyone a job without checking them out. You trained at Guy’s. I asked Professor Ludwig and without any hesitation he recommended you. I believe if anyone can fix my son, it’s you. And I’m prepared to do anything, pay anything, to make that happen.’
‘Fix your son?’ His choice of words chilled her. What—as if he was a broken car or something? Nevertheless, she spoke as gently as possible, knowing from experience that parents sometimes took years to accept their child’s prognosis. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as easy as that. Even if he gets six months of intensive care and rehabilitation, it doesn’t mean he’ll ever make a full recovery. He may never be the child he once was. In fact—and you should be prepared for this—it’s unlikely he’ll be the child he once was. A brain injury that kept Harry in a coma for a week must have been pretty severe.’
Daniel leaned across the table and fixed his startlingly coloured eyes on Colleen. ‘At least say you’ll think about it.’
God, she hated it when people put pressure on her. Despite her unease about the way this man chose to go about finding someone to look after his son, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. No one should have to go through what Daniel was going through. She knew that better than most. Ten years ago, her youngest brother, Cahil had been in the same situation as Harry. That’s why she did what she did. But however much compassion she felt for Harry, what Daniel was asking was impossible.
‘I’m sorry—the answer is still no.’ Colleen pushed the last piece of sausage around her plate and dunked it in tomato sauce. ‘Look, I’m sorry about your son, really I am. But I’ve got a job and I can’t just up and leave. And I’ve got a life here in Dublin—a fiancé, my family …’
‘Three brothers—’ Daniel’s green eyes bored into hers ‘—two of whom still live at home. Your youngest brother, Cahil, suffered a head injury ten years ago. I believe he’s now his school’s football-team star striker.’
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Colleen was speechless.
‘You’re engaged to your childhood sweetheart, Ciaran, but don’t live together,’ Daniel continued. ‘You’ve started to build your own house and when you have enough money to finish it then you’ll get married. Some may think that’s old fashioned …’ he paused ‘… unusual, even.’
Anger knotted in her stomach. To think she’d felt sorry for him! Research into her suitability as a nurse for his son was one thing—even if she hadn’t applied for the job—but digging into her personal life? That was too much.
‘How dare you snoop into