The Doctor, His Daughter And Me. Leonie Knight

to get it right—the balance between friendly helpfulness and the undeniable protectiveness he felt for her. She seemed to want to be treated only as a colleague, but he couldn’t ignore their past.

      He was responsible for the way things were now. The thought kept flashing in his mind like a neon sign that wouldn’t go away.

      It added to his remorse.

      In the end, he decided to let the evening chart its own course and he’d suffer any consequences. After all, it was unlikely they’d have the opportunity to spend much time together at work. Already he had a good idea he’d have little spare time to socialise during the couple of days he spent each week at Keysdale. In fact he’d been prepared for a knock-back when he’d asked Tara to share a meal with him.

      Tara … She was rapidly turning into an enigma. He remembered how self-contained she’d been when he’d watched her get in her car and drive away without any idea he was in the car park on that Friday afternoon a couple of weeks ago. But he’d also seen traces of anxiety mixed with vulnerability during the brief contacts he’d had with her since. His natural instinct was to offer to help, but her independence stood firm as a barrier to his good intentions. He took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door. Tara had moved his bag and settled herself in one corner of the settee.

      She glanced at him, blushed and then focused on the bags on the kitchen bench. She was more ill at ease than he was.

      ‘The food smells delicious.’

      Small talk was definitely a good idea.

      ‘They seem like pretty high-quality leftovers. I hope you don’t mind?’ Ryan stood awkwardly, not sure what to do next. He began unpacking the food.

      ‘Of course not.’ She scrutinised every dish.

      ‘Are you happy to eat now?’

      ‘I don’t mind. Whatever you want to do.’

      Tension buzzed in the air. It was almost as if they were on a first date.

      ‘I somehow managed to miss out on lunch and I’m starving.’ He cleared his throat. ‘My brain functions better on a full stomach.’

      He began to lay out two place settings on the tiny kitchen gate-leg table, but then realised there would be more room on the coffee table.

      ‘I’ll spread the food out here. There’s much more space and we can serve ourselves.’

      ‘Yes, that’s a sensible idea. I’m hungry.’ She paused a moment, then smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind women with hearty appetites.’

      Ryan couldn’t help doing a quick appraisal and it reinforced his first impressions. He was pleased with what he saw. Tara wore trousers and a tailored shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing a hint of cleavage which he hadn’t noticed earlier in the day. Her upper body was lean and well toned. He imagined she exercised regularly to keep in shape.

      She was an attractive woman … and very sexy.

      His heart thudded uncomfortably at the realisation. Sex had been an important and joyous part of their relationship. Making love with Tara had always been a deeply sensual experience—he smiled—laced with a unique sense of fun that he’d never experienced with his second wife, Shannay. With the benefit of hindsight and the lingering pain of a second divorce, he realised his feelings for his second wife had been based on a blinding infatuation, probably arising from a need to escape his grief.

      There was no hint Tara had any similar feeling towards him, though. She was looking at him impatiently, waiting for his reply.

      ‘No, definitely not,’ he said at last.

      Once the food was set out they both loaded their plates and ate their fill.

      When Tara put her empty plate on the table, Ryan cleared the dishes and left them on the sink to deal with later.

      He sat down next to Tara.

      ‘So tell me about your patient.’ It was neutral territory and unlikely to open any old wounds.

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      Focusing on something other than Ryan was exactly what Tara needed.

      Reaching over to her wheelchair, where she’d left her bag, she extracted Pippa Morgan’s file. She opened volume two to the section containing test results, investigation reports and specialist letters.

      ‘Do you want a recap on her history?’

      Ryan nodded. ‘Good idea,’ he said.

      Tara repeated what she’d told Ryan earlier—that the teenager had suffered from the painful and debilitating condition of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis since early childhood, and that her joints had degenerated to the point where her specialist was considering the possibility of surgery to relieve the increasingly severe pain in her right hip.