you have,’ she said quietly, and then she straightened up and looked him in the eye with that way of hers that told him she knew he was lying.
He felt a flicker of guilt and dismissed it. It wasn’t really a lie. She wouldn’t see him deteriorate like his grandfather—but possibly only because she was unlikely to live long enough for the disease to manifest itself. If he’d even got the gene...
He drank his tea, chatted about his day to give his grandmother something to distract her from the topic he was so keen to avoid, and then left her, driving the short distance to his rented house.
He hadn’t needed to rent it. He could have stayed with his grandparents or his parents. Both of them lived within minutes of the hospital, but this had been closer, and he’d used that as an excuse because he’d needed it. It was his sanctuary, his private space, his bolthole from the awful reality that was his potential destiny.
He parked in the carport at the back of the garden and let himself in through the conservatory. It was a lovely evening, a little chilly but he didn’t mind that. He needed the fresh air. He poured himself a glass of wine, took it back out to the garden and dropped into the swing seat, shifting it idly to and fro with one foot and letting his mind drift over the day.
And centre stage was Annie Brooks.
She was older than him. Mid-thirties? Maybe late? He didn’t know exactly, but she was consultant grade and even with his rigid focus on his career he hadn’t got there yet. Just this last rung on the ladder to go and he’d be able to look for a consultant’s post.
Where would he be then?
London? Back to Great Ormond Street, maybe.
Not here, that was for sure. Once his grandfather had gone, there would be nothing to keep him here in this quiet coastal backwater where nothing much ever happened.
At least, it hadn’t in the last thirty-two years, and he had no reason to believe it would happen now just because he’d come home to watch his grandfather die a slow and lingering death.
He sighed, the image of his grandmother’s face as she’d looked at him in the kitchen triggering another twinge of guilt.
Did she really know he was lying?
He hadn’t lied, though. Not exactly, and she wouldn’t have to watch him disintegrate, not unless he got really unlucky. He’d told her he hadn’t had a positive result from the predictive screening test, which was true, because he hadn’t had the result at all.
He’d had the genetic counselling, the blood test, gone through the whole process right up to the bitter end. But he hadn’t taken that last step of hearing his fate, and he didn’t want to. It was his life. He could make his own decisions about it, and choosing whether or not to know the truth about his own destiny was one of them. Not telling his family about that decision was another, but it would stop with him, that wasn’t a lie, because he wasn’t having children.
Ever.
And nor was he taking some poor unsuspecting woman with him on the journey to hell, if that should turn out to be his fate.
His grandmother’s face disappeared, replaced inexplicably by the face of Annie Brooks, and he frowned.
No. No way. He wasn’t touching her with a bargepole. She was too nice, too decent for the only kind of relationship he had in mind. He’d be better off with Kate. At least she knew the rules.
Except he didn’t want Kate.
He wanted Annie, and he couldn’t have her. It wasn’t fair to her. And anyway, she’d made it clear she wanted to put as much distance as possible between them at all times.
Well, thank goodness one of them had some common sense.
He swore softly, drained the wine and went to bed.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE WAS SOMETHING different about him the next day.
Annie couldn’t put her finger on it, and it took her till lunchtime to work out what it was.
He was avoiding her eye.
It had taken her that long to cotton on because she’d been so busy avoiding his, but once she realised it, she felt curiously, stupidly disappointed.
Why? She didn’t want him to look at her, to crowd her space, to be underfoot all the time like he had been yesterday.
Did she?
No!
‘Annie?’
She glanced up to see James Slater, their clinical lead, standing a few feet away, watching her with his head tilted to one side.
‘Oh. Hi.’ She smiled apologetically at him. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. What can I do for you, James?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing, so why don’t you take lunch now while it’s so quiet?’
‘Shh.’ She pressed her finger to her lips, and he chuckled.
‘Superstitious?’
She grinned. ‘Always. But I will grab some lunch while the going’s good. We didn’t have time yesterday, in case you’re running away with the idea that we had an idle day!’
‘No, I gather it was chaos. Sorry I had to bail on you for that meeting. How was Ed?’
Too beautiful for his own good. Or hers.
‘Good. Great. Excellent doctor.’
‘I’m glad about that. I thought he would be. His references were stunning and we were really lucky to get him. Right, off you go before that damn phone rings.’
She grinned again, saluted and went, grabbing her bag from her locker on the way, then hurried outside to go round to the café in the sunshine.
And bumped straight into Ed.
Literally.
‘Aagh!’
She leapt back, clutching at her scrub top and pulling it hastily away from her chest. ‘Sheesh, that’s hot!’ she gasped, flapping the fabric to cool it as the coffee soaked straight through and drenched her.
‘Hell, Annie, I’m sorry. Are you all right?’
He was shaking cappuccino froth off his hand, and she tilted her head and gave him a sarky look. ‘Oh, peachy—apart from being doused in scalding coffee! Why didn’t you have a lid on it?’
‘I did—you squashed it when you ran into it. I’m so sorry. Are you all right? You’re not really scalded, are you?’
She thought about it and shook her head. Her bra was sopping, and the coffee had been hot but not hot enough to damage her. She could feel it cooling down already in the light breeze.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t sue you. I’m just going to be wringing wet and a little fragrant for the rest of the day,’ she said wryly.
‘Yeah, you probably need to change.’
‘Really? I thought I’d wander round like this all day wearing cappuccino—set a new trend, you know?’
‘You don’t have to be sarcastic—’
‘I can be what I like, I’m the one soaked to the skin with it,’ she retorted, but then she gave a despairing laugh and shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, I can find myself some new scrubs. The underwear might be harder.’
‘Ah. Sorry, I can’t help you there. I don’t have my spare bra in my locker today.’
She looked up, a surprised laugh on her lips, and their eyes met and locked, the laughter dying as heat flared between them.
Why were they even talking about her underwear?
She dragged her