The Rebel of Penhally Bay. Caroline Anderson

garden. I can remember a few spontaneous bonfires…’

      He gave Nick a crooked grin over the rim of his mug. ‘Hmm. My “SAS” phase. Sorry about that.’

      ‘Don’t be sorry. You never really did any harm, and you were always welcome. Annabel had a really soft spot for you, you know.’

      He met Nick’s eyes with a pensive smile. ‘I was very fond of her. You must miss her.’

      ‘I do. She was a good woman. She used to worry about you, you know, and how your mother relied on you so heavily. It was no wonder you went off the rails. You had more than enough on your plate.’

      ‘Yeah, well, that doesn’t change, does it? I can’t believe I’m back picking up the pieces all over again.’

      ‘I can. You were a good boy, and you’ve turned into a good man, just as I knew you would.’

      ‘Oh, that’s just so much bull, Nick, and you know it. I wouldn’t be here at all if I had the slightest damned excuse to get away.’

      ‘Yes, you would—and your mother needs you. She misses you. Lots of people do.’

      He gave a wry snort. ‘Hardly. They all remember me as a hell-raiser. Even Doris Trefusis tore me off a strip on the way in, and I have no doubt Audrey Baxter won’t waste a moment telling me I’m not welcome home.’

      ‘Ah, no—you’ll be spared that one. Mrs Baxter died in the flood.’

      ‘Really? Poor woman.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Not that she’d say that about me. She was always horrible to me—she made damn sure everyone knew everything I ever did, to the point that I used to do things in front of her and place bets with myself that my mother would know before I got home.’

      ‘You were just misunderstood.’

      He wasn’t so sure about that. He grunted and looked around, not wanting to get into the past he was so keen to avoid. ‘So—what’s going on here? It looks a bit different to the last time I saw it. I haven’t been in here since I did work experience when your brother was the GP.’

      ‘Well, it’s certainly changed since then. We reopened it five years ago.’ He paused, his face troubled, and Sam realised he looked suddenly a great deal older. As well he might. Then he seemed to pull himself together and stood up. ‘Come and have a look round. I doubt if you’ll recognise it now. We’ve extended out the back, built a new minor injuries unit and X-ray and plaster rooms, but we’re also planning to build another extension on the side into what used to be Althorps’. The boatyard burned down in September, and it worked in our favour because we were able to buy part of the site—do you remember Kate Althorp? James’s widow?’

      ‘Vaguely. I know the name and I remember James dying in the storm.’

      A quick frown flitted across Nick’s brow. ‘Yes. Well, her brother-in-law wanted to sell up, and without the income Kate’s half was redundant, so they cashed in on the insurance and sold the site. We bought enough land at the side of the surgery to extend it further, and to provide some more consulting rooms so we can extend the facilities offered by the MIU, which will give us a much better use of our space here. Come and see. You’ll be impressed, I hope.’

      He was—but he wasn’t fooled. Nick was angling, but Sam wasn’t biting. Under any other circumstances—but they weren’t. They were what they were, and what they were was too damned hard to contemplate. They were standing at the top of the stairs discussing Nick’s vision for the future of the surgery as a multi-disciplinary health centre with dental and osteopathy services when Nick was called to the phone, and he left Sam there and went into a consulting room to take the call.

      And Gemma, who’d been the one to find Nick and tell him he was wanted on the phone, was left standing there with Sam, her soft grey-blue eyes wary, her body language defensive. As if he was in some way a threat.

      That was a laugh. She was far more of a threat to him than he would ever be to her. She was the one who’d walked away.

      He held her eyes, hardening himself to the expression in them, refusing to be drawn in. ‘My mother said you were back.’

      ‘Yes, I’ve been working here for a year now. How is she, Sam? Nick said she was improving.’

      ‘Doing really well. Rather shocked, I think. We all are. She’s only fifty-seven.’

      ‘I know, but she’s had high blood pressure for years, and her diet’s a bit lacking.’

      ‘What, in anything other than chocolate?’ he said with a wry grin, and then felt his heart turn over when she smiled back. Oh, God, he wanted her—wanted to haul her into his arms, up against his chest and bury his nose in that thick, soft waterfall of hair, to breathe her in and see if she still smelled the same.

      ‘She said you’re still single,’ he told her with an edge to his voice, and the smile faded instantly as she looked away.

      ‘Well, we both know that’s not true,’ she said under her breath.

      ‘I never could work it out. All this time, and you haven’t asked for a divorce. And I wonder why not.’

      ‘Well, you haven’t, either.’

      ‘No. It’s not really been an issue. I’ve been busy.’ Busy trying to forget her, busy pretending to himself that he didn’t need a social life, that his marriage was just on hold and one day…

      ‘I gathered. In Africa, saving the world. So how did you fall off this bike?’

      ‘Oh, you know me—always taking risks, pushing my luck, playing the fool.’

      ‘You’re thirty, Sam. Isn’t it time you grew up and stopped worrying your mother sick?’

      He swallowed. Oh, he was grown up. He’d grown up the day he’d come home late from work with a bunch of flowers for her and found her letter.

      Nick returned from taking his call. ‘Sorry about that. Right, where were we?’

      ‘I’ll leave you to it. Send Linda my love,’ Gemma said, and fled back into her room, her heart pounding, her legs like jelly and her stupid, stupid hormones racing through her body and dragging it from an eleven-year slumber into vibrant, screaming wakefulness…

      ‘So—what do you think of the set-up?’

      Nick had concluded his guided tour after a walk through the minor injuries suite downstairs and a quick chat with Lauren, the physio, a local girl whom Sam vaguely remembered, and they were back in Reception when Nick asked the question, his expression hopeful despite the simple words.

      Except of course there was nothing simple about them, and it didn’t take a genius to read the subtext.

      ‘Excellent—but I’m not falling for it, Nick,’ Sam said softly. ‘I don’t want to work here.’ Not with Gemma.

      ‘Why? You need a job, we need a doctor. Your mother and brother need you and, frankly, looking at you, I reckon you need us. Can’t I talk you into it—at least for a few weeks until we can get someone to take over? We’d be hugely grateful, and it would give you something productive to do while your mother recovers.’

      ‘I’ve got plenty to do. The garden can’t have been touched for years—’

      ‘Gardening leave?’ Nick said softly, his eyes mocking. ‘At least think about it. Maybe it’s time to come home, Sam.’

      But then Gemma came downstairs again, and their eyes locked and pain lanced through him.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ he muttered, and, turning on his heel, he crossed the reception area in two strides and slapped the swing door out of his way.

      Then and only then did he breathe again…

      She didn’t know how she got through the rest of the day.

      Sam had left the building,