A Man of Honour. Caroline Anderson

was slightly breathless, like an eager girl’s, she thought in disgust.

      Ross shot her a keen look, but simply said, ‘Good. That’s fine. Any time after three.’

      Then she was alone, with the prospect of spending Saturday afternoon and evening with Tom, and wondering what on earth she had let herself in for.

      ‘Wow.’

      Helen glanced across at Ross’s house, sprawling down the hillside like a Spanish villa, and then at Tom, who looked faintly thunderstruck.

      ‘It is a bit, isn’t it? Look, park over there by those others under the trees.’

      ‘Lord—a cast of thousands,’ Tom said softly. He swung his Sierra off the drive on to the broad sweep of lawn that was covered in cars and pulled up beside a big dark grey Mercedes estate. ‘I’m going to lower the tone a bit in this,’ he joked, and tipped his head towards the Mercedes. ‘Oliver’s?’ he asked.

      She nodded. ‘He’s on call, but I guess his registrar will be doing it this afternoon.’

      ‘Surprise, surprise,’ Tom muttered under his breath. ‘The joys of being a registrar.’

      Helen chuckled. ‘Poor old boy—you look really hard done by.’

      He had the grace to laugh. ‘Yes, I’m really badly treated, aren’t I?’

      ‘The trouble with Ross,’ she told him as she gathered her things and climbed out of the car, ‘is that he is incapable of delegating. That’s why he’s always so tired. He flings himself whole-heartedly into his job, and insists on doing the best for his patients. If that means he does the operation, so be it.’

      Tom regarded her thoughtfully over the top of the car. ‘But is it always the best for his patients? If he’s tired, will he perform well?’

      ‘The curse of the houseman. I think Ross perhaps hasn’t realised that he’s grown up!’

      Tom chuckled. ‘No, I think he feels the rest of us haven’t—that’s why he mothers and spoon-feeds us! Where do we go?’

      ‘Follow the noise—and you’re wrong, you know. He’s been very complimentary about your operating—says you’re good—and from Ross, believe me, that’s high praise indeed.’

      They strolled together across the grass and round the side of the house to the pool area, and Helen tried to ignore the long, lean, hair-strewn legs that ate up the ground so easily, and the snug fit of the tailored shorts that emphasised his narrow hips below the trim waist and wide, strong shoulders. She felt more than ever attracted to him, and was sure it must show in her eyes. She just wished she had the nerve to ask him if he was married or had a girlfriend, but she didn’t really want to know. She might not get the answer she wanted, after all!

      They turned the corner and Tom stopped in his tracks. ‘Good God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many babies out of a maternity unit!’

      Helen laughed. ‘Oh, well, they’re all at it. There’s Lizzi—come and meet her.’

      They picked their way through the bodies strewn over the lawn to a slender, quietly pretty woman bent over a tiny toddler.

      ‘Lizzi?’

      She straightened, hitching the baby up on to her hip, and her face broke into a smile.

      ‘Helen! I’m so glad you could come—and you must be Tom. Lovely to meet you. Welcome to the madhouse. Go and find yourselves a drink in the kitchen and come and have a chat.’

      They made their way up the broad flight of steps leading to the house, and Tom shook his head slightly. ‘Wow, again. What a house. I could almost forgive it for being modern, it does it so well!’

      Helen chuckled. ‘I take it you like old houses?’

      ‘Oh, ideally, but I’m not having a lot of joy finding anything I like. Nothing lives up to the estate agent’s blurb!’

      They went into the house and found Ross in the kitchen piling burgers and sausages and chicken legs on to big plates. He was dressed only in a pair of scanty swimming-trunks, and looked disgustingly healthy and youthful.

      ‘Just in time,’ he told Tom with a grin, and handed him two of the plates. Take them down by the pool to the barbecue, and come back for the next lot. Right, Helen, what can I get you to drink? Hot, cold, with or without alcohol?’

      ‘Cold without, please.’

      ‘Fruit juice and fizzy water?’

      ‘Lovely.’

      He handed her the ice-cold glass and then carried on unwrapping food.

      ‘Are you expecting an army?’ she asked quizzically, eyeing the mountain of burgers.

      ‘We’ve got the army already,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Ah, Tom, well done. Help yourself to a drink.’

      He pulled the ring on a can of beer and propped his hips against the worktop beside Helen, but Ross didn’t let him linger.

      ‘Go and enjoy yourselves,’ they were told. ‘Here, give that to Helen to carry and take this lot down to the barbecue on your way—oh, and could you tell Lizzi I could do with a hand with the salad?’

      They found his wife sitting on the grass with her sleepy daughter on her lap, talking to Bron Henderson and Clare Barrington, both obviously pregnant.

      Helen introduced them to Tom and gave Lizzi Ross’s message, then Tom escaped to put the food down and talk to Oliver while Helen chatted to Bron and Clare.

      ‘Lizzi looks tired,’ Helen said thoughtfully, watching her as she made her way slowly up the steps.

      ‘She is—this pregnancy’s making her feel very sick and I think Sarah’s giving them the run-around at night,’ Bron commented with a wry laugh. ‘Dear God, do I know the feeling! Jamie’s being a holy terror at the moment, and heaven knows what it’ll be like when this one comes along. Still, Liwy will be at school in September so it won’t be so bad then.’

      Helen grinned at Clare. ‘Just think, you’ve got all this to look forward to!’

      Clare chuckled. ‘Yes, there are times when I think even sailing the Atlantic again couldn’t be as bad as motherhood! Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

      She looked across the pool to where Michael was standing talking to Oliver and Tom, and the loving expression on her face brought a lump to Helen’s throat. How wonderful it must be to feel like that for someone and know it was returned, she thought wistfully, and found her eyes drawn to Tom.

      He was laughing with the others, but at that moment he turned his head and caught her eye, and her heart turned over.

      ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’

      Helen turned back to Clare. ‘Hmm?’

      ‘Tom—he’s gorgeous—if you like dark-haired men, which of course I don’t!’

      The girls all laughed, and Helen found her eyes drawn back to Tom again. Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was something else, some deeper quality that drew her against her better judgement.

      She had found herself overpoweringly aware of him all week, almost to the point of being unable to concentrate on her job on occasions, and yet he had given her no hint that he returned her interest.

      She sighed softly and turned back to the others, determined to ignore Tom and get him out of her system.

      ‘Sold the cottage yet?’ Bron was asking, but Clare shook her head.

      ‘No—we haven’t really had time to think about it. Michael only started at Ipswich last weekend, and we’ve been too busy sorting things out to worry about putting it on the market. I suppose I’d better do that next week.’

      Helen’s interest was immediately