Funny how his tone didn’t match the words. Because Toby sounded hungry all right. Maybe not for food. But hungry. Wanting. Needing. Just the same way she felt.
She hardened her heart. It wasn’t going to happen. And, yes, he might feel sore about it right now, but their godson had done them both a huge favour. Billy’s untimely interruption had stopped them making the worst mistake of their lives. ‘I might or might not see you downstairs, then.’
‘Mmm.’
Which told her precisely nothing. Don’t do this to us, Toby, she pleaded silently. Don’t try to change things. It can’t happen, for reasons even you don’t know about yet. I’d tell you if I could. But I can’t.
Silently, she finished dressing and left the room.
A few minutes ago, it had been like all his Christmases and birthdays and red-letter days all rolled into one. Saskia in his arms, naked and aroused. Her words echoed in his mind: Touch me, Toby. Love me.
Heaven help him, he did. Always had. But when he’d first met her, he’d known there was no way the sexiest girl in the entire faculty of medicine would ever consider going out with a shy, speccy nerd. His options had been friendship or nothing. He’d chosen friendship, hoping that one day she might look at him properly, see who he really was and feel the same way about him that he felt about her.
Just as she’d seemed to do this morning.
If Billy hadn’t walked in at that precise moment…
Well, it could have been worse. Three seconds later, Toby wouldn’t have even heard the door bang open. He’d have been drowning in Saskia’s honey-sweet depths, oblivious to everything except her and completely unable to stop.
But they’d been interrupted. For long enough to let Saskia think about it and change her mind. How the hell was he going to cope with being just her friend after this? How was he going to cope, living with her until Lydia came back? But he had to. No way could he let Lyd down and leave Saskia to cope with everything on her own.
‘Looks like it’s going to have to be business as usual,’ he told the still-sleeping baby. ‘Pretending I don’t feel the way I do. Pretending I love her just as a friend, as a sister.’ And all the time he’d ache with wanting her, needing her.
Toby didn’t come downstairs for breakfast. Well, if he was going to sulk, fine, Saskia thought crossly. He’d just have to get over it. He wasn’t the only one who was feeling frustrated, not by a long way. But she managed to chatter normally to Billy, drop him off at nursery and do her shift at the hospital without anyone asking her what was wrong. She also managed to sort out the ward’s ‘secret Santa’ present exchange—where everyone who wanted to take part took someone’s name out of an envelope and bought them a present, given anonymously on the shift before Christmas Eve and usually unwrapped on the ward.
But she still couldn’t help thinking about what had happened that morning, and she was distracted enough to have a near-miss on the way home. Her emergency stop left her bumper mere millimetres from the car in front, earning her a rude gesture from the driver and a blast from his horn. Hell. She really had to concentrate on what she was doing, not think about Toby.
Or was it because of Toby? A nastier explanation suddenly occurred to her, Was lack of concentration a symptom of rheumatoid arthritis?
‘Stop it. Don’t be silly. It’s your joints that are affected, not the synapses in your brain,’ she told herself sharply. But the doubt was still there. The panic. Maybe she’d missed something in her research into the condition. Maybe. Maybe.
She was in a thoroughly bad mood by the time she parked her car outside the cottage, only for her temper to collapse again when she walked into the kitchen and smelt baking.
Baking? Since when did Toby make cakes? He was more likely to buy them from the patisserie at the end of his road.
‘We made Christmas cookies, Aunty Saskia,’ Billy told her shyly, and pointed out the plate of star-shaped biscuits covered in blobs of icing, silver balls and sprinkles. ‘Me and Uncle Tobe. We’re chefs.’
‘They’re lovely, darling,’ she said, giving him a hug.
‘And we made you a special cake. A nana cake.’
A cake, for her? She didn’t think anyone had ever made her a cake. Maybe one of the nannies had. But certainly neither of her parents had. She blinked hard to dispel the threatening tears. She hadn’t cried over her childhood for a long, long time, and she wasn’t going to start again now.
‘Want some?’ Toby asked.
Cake, or you? She pushed the thought aside. ‘Thanks,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. ‘I didn’t know you could make cakes.’
‘We were doing a scientific experiment,’ he said. ‘How was your day?’
‘Average. How was yours?’
‘Fun.’ He grinned. ‘I spent this morning playing with Helena while Billy was at nursery and realising how many nursery rhymes I’d forgotten, and this afternoon chucking flour all over the kitchen with Billy.’
She looked at him, this time about to smile at the picture he’d painted for her.
Then he delivered the killer blow. ‘I think I could get used to being a house-husband.’
The smile died on her lips almost before it was born. House-husband. Well, he’d never be able to take that role with her. She couldn’t have children. And it’d get to the point where she wouldn’t be able to work, wouldn’t be able to contribute to the household budget. She’d be completely dependent on him, so he wouldn’t be able to give up work. ‘Best find yourself a career-woman, then,’ she said, hoping that it sounded light but knowing how bitter it felt.
The cake was delicious, but it nearly choked her—she had to force down every mouthful. ‘I’ll tell Mummy what a good chef you are,’ she informed her godson. She glanced up at Toby. His face was unreadable again. She knew him better than she knew anyone else. He was the last person she wanted to become a remote stranger. How was she going to fix this mess?
Somehow they got through the evening. When Billy was in bed, and Helena was tucked up in her cot, Saskia made some coffee. ‘Tobe. We need to talk,’ she said, handing him a mug.
‘Mmm-hmm.’ His tone was guarded.
‘This morning shouldn’t have happened.’ Why couldn’t she look him in the eye? ‘I think we’re both embarrassed about it. We got a bit carried away, that’s all. So let’s pretend it didn’t happen.’
‘It didn’t happen,’ he said tonelessly.
He agreed with her, then? Good. She smiled in relief. ‘I love you dearly, Tobe. You’re my best friend. You’re important to me and I don’t want to complicate things. Let’s just stay how we’ve always been.’
‘Sure.’
She risked a peep at his face. Inscrutable. Was he relieved, disappointed, angry? She couldn’t tell. Or maybe he felt the way she did: confused.
Whatever he thought about it—and that remained a complete mystery to her—life seemed to go back to normal again over the next few days. She didn’t see Toby as much as usual at the hospital, but she reassured herself that it was because they’d changed their shifts to make sure the children were covered. He didn’t spend much time with her once the children were in bed, but again she knew he was busy, writing a paper. He had to do the work some time. Didn’t he?
A couple of days later, the emergency department paged Saskia. She rang them immediately. ‘Saskia Hayward, Maternity Unit—you called me?’
‘Dr Hayward, we’ve had an RTA in—pregnant driver, suspected placental abruption.’
Placental abruption was when the placenta separated from the wall of the womb. Blood accumulated between