Hearts Of Gold. Meredith Webber

according to Col Bennett, the CEO.

      He remembered the way his hands had almost spanned her waist and the feeling of lightness as he’d lifted her off the stool. Remembered the same feeling of lightness as he’d danced with his ghost. Was he still in post-op euphoria that he couldn’t concentrate on business matters? That he was distracted by this woman?

      Post-op euphoria was common, although, generally speaking, he didn’t get it after a straightforward operation like Baby Ross’s. Different hospital, new theatre—either could explain it. But did the euphoria usually take the form of distraction?

      Not women-type distraction, he was sure.

      In fact, a lot of his ability to focus so strongly on the job stemmed from his deliberate decision to avoid women-type distraction. Not avoiding women as such, just any distraction associated with them.

      Avoiding emotional dependency.

      The woman he was pretty sure wasn’t distracting him gave a little cough and he realised he’d been miles away, lost in his thoughts—distracted!—instead of checking his mail and giving her answers to any questions she’d written on it.

      ‘What if I take it all through to my office and rough out some answers for you?’ he suggested.

      ‘No way,’ she said, then, perhaps noticing his surprise, she added, ‘I’ve worked with doctors for years. That mail will go into your office and not be seen again for months. No, Dr Attwood, today’s the day. There’s nothing difficult, and if we work through it together we should be finished by the time you’ve eaten your lunch.’

      ‘Slavedriver,’ he muttered at her, and heard her laugh.

      The sound, so clear and fresh and light-hearted, startled him, and he looked across at her again and decided maybe he was wrong about her being his ghost. His ghost had had dark, bruised shadows under her eyes, and had carried a weight of sadness he had felt as he’d danced with her.

      Annie Talbot of the carefree laugh was exactly who she said she was, a super-efficient, career-driven woman who would help him make his dream a reality.

      She leaned forward again, jotting a note on the file, and he saw a line of pale hair along her parting. The sight jolted him nearly as much as her touch had earlier. She was either prematurely grey, or dyed her blonde hair dark. And didn’t women usually go the other way—go blonder rather than darker?

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ANNIE heard the hum and beep of the machines that guarded Baby Ross’s life, but they were no more than background noise, a kind of counterpoint to her thoughts. It was late evening, but she’d been unable to go home without seeing him again, and now she was sitting by his bed, her forefinger gently stroking his skin, and wondering about fate.

      A sound outside, beyond the glass, made her look up. How appropriate—here was fate himself.

      The door opened, and Alex walked in.

      ‘He’s doing well—better than I’d expected,’ he said, and Annie nodded.

      ‘I know. I’m not here because I’m worried, but because Madeleine—Mrs Ross—needed to sleep and she wasn’t happy about leaving him on his own.’

      Alex smiled.

      ‘Then you’ll be pleased to know the cavalry’s arrived. I’ve just been talking to Ben, Madeleine’s husband. He’s come down from the country with a tribe of relatives—a brace of grandparents, several aunts and the odd cousin, if I got the introductions right.’

      ‘I’m glad they’re here,’ Annie told him, ignoring the squelchy feeling of regret she’d felt as Alex had spoken of family. She, too, had a brace of grandparents, several aunts and various cousins—relatives she no longer saw, who no longer knew where she was, or even who she was. ‘Madeleine’s been strong, but she’s still only, what, three days post-partum, and she needs to look after herself as well. With family support she should be able to do that.’

      The door opened again and Madeleine Ross returned, with a tall, suntanned man she introduced as Ben. As she moved to the bed to introduce her husband to their son, Annie slipped away.

      She assumed Alex had stayed to answer any questions Ben might have, so was startled when he joined her in the lift.

      ‘Are you heading home?’ he asked, no doubt finding the conclusion easy as she had her handbag slung across her shoulder.

      She nodded confirmation and edged slightly away, al-though there wasn’t much room for manoeuvring in a lift crammed with end-of-visiting-hours commuters.

      ‘I’ll walk you there,’ he announced, leaving no room for manoeuvre at all.

      She could hardly say there was no need when he lived only four doors up the road, and they could hardly make the walk—if he was going to his place—ignoring each other.

      So they left the building and walked through the soft autumn night, cutting down the side street away from the hospital traffic and along the tree-lined avenue where they both lived.

      ‘I flew up a month ago to look for a place to rent then I saw these old houses and knew I wanted one,’ Alex remarked. ‘They’re like something out of a fairytale.’

      They were. It was exactly what Annie had loved about them, but walking with Alex in the lamplit darkness had filled her with too much emotion for speech so she made do with a nod of agreement.

      Until they passed his house.

      ‘You’ve missed your gate,’ she told him, stopping on the pavement outside his place. He smiled at her.

      ‘I’m walking you home, remember?’

      ‘It’s only four doors. I hardly need an escort.’

      ‘No, but I’ll escort you anyway,’ he said, and waited patiently until she began walking again. ‘See you safely home to Henry and your father.’

      Already confused—by the walk, his presence, her own reactions to it—she was even more fazed by his mention of the dog. Suddenly letting him believe Henry was a person seemed unfair and yet…

      Surely it was OK if she was doing it for protection?

      Protecting herself against herself?

      They reached her gate and he leaned over to open it. A low, gruff bark woke the night’s stillness, and as Alex straightened he smiled.

      ‘Henry?’

      Then, without acknowledging her reluctant nod of agreement, he put his hand behind her back and guided her down the path, up onto the little porch with its gingerbread decorations and into the shadows cast by the huge camellia bush that grew beside the fence.

      And Annie went, propelled by something beyond the pressure of his hand on her back. Guided by the acceptance of fate.

      He turned her, slid his hands behind her back and drew her close, then he bent his head and kissed her.

      Annie stood there, held not by the light clasp of his hands on her back but by memories, then, as the gentle, questing exploration continued, she kissed him back, losing herself in sensations she’d forgotten existed because five years ago she’d been too frightened to enjoy them.

      The kiss went on for ever—nothing hasty or half-hearted in Alex Attwood’s kisses—but just when Annie knew her knees were going to give way beneath the emotional onslaught, he raised his head and looked into her eyes. Another long moment, then he said, ‘I had to know!’ And walked away.

      Annie slumped against the wall and watched him. Up the path, out of the gate, along the street, in through his gate—then he disappeared behind the shrubbery in his front yard.

      Thoughts and feelings battered at her, so strongly felt she rubbed her arms as if to stop them bruising. Clearest of all was the knowledge that Alex knew exactly who she was—maybe not her old name, but certainly that she was the