The Police Surgeon's Rescue. Abigail Gordon
they were eating tonight, he decided. It would give Helena the chance to be thinking about it while she waited for the funeral to take place.
He had another suggestion that he was going to tag onto it and felt that it might influence whatever decision she came to, but that could wait until that evening, too.
And so he sidetracked the issue by saying, ‘There’ll be time to worry about that when you’ve laid your father to rest. And with regard to tonight, you are welcome to use my spare room again if you don’t want to be on your own in this place.
‘Or, if you want, I’ll come and sleep on the sofa here. But, Helena, do remember that no one, apart from those involved in the witness protection scheme, knows where your father had been moved to. There are no details of where he was living in the piece in the paper, so you should be quite safe here until you decide what to do.’
She nodded, turning away from him again as she did so, and he hoped she wasn’t thinking that he was implying she was making too much of the situation she found herself in.
‘Yes. I know, Blake,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m not usually so reliant on others. It’s just that I can’t seem to gather my wits after finding out from my father what’s been happening while I’ve been away, and then you bringing me the news of his death so soon afterwards. Of course I’ll be all right here. I’ve intruded into your life enough as it is.’
He was wishing that he hadn’t said anything now. In trying to reassure her he’d put her on the defensive. Made Helena feel she was letting everything get out of proportion. He was going to have to tread more carefully. The last thing he wanted was to alienate her at such a time.
‘You haven’t done anything of the kind,’ he assured her and changing the subject, he went on, ‘I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock if that’s all right. There’s a small restaurant not far from here where I dine when I want something special. The food is good and so is the service.’
Blake found he was holding his breath. He sensed that she’d gone into her shell. Was she going to say she’d changed her mind?
‘Yes, all right,’ she agreed listlessly. ‘I’ll see if I can find something decent to wear.’
She was dressed in old jeans, a sloppy coarse-knit jumper and had taken her hair off her face with a rubber band. It would be nice to see her in something else, he thought. Yet he knew that beneath the nondescript outfit were slim hips, firm breasts and skin that had been soft and fragrant to the touch when he’d held her close.
Helena Harris had been propelled into his life and he didn’t want her to disappear from it as suddenly as she had come. She was the first woman he’d really looked at in a long time, but he was pretty sure that she saw him as if through a fog. In her present state, he didn’t think it would register with her if he were seven foot tall and wore a leopardskin.
* * *
When he’d gone on his rounds Helena went to the mirror and looked at herself. Her face was drained of colour. It hadn’t seen make-up since she’d left Australia. Her hair was unkempt, her clothes begging to be sent to a rummage sale. Blake must be dreading what she was going to look like when he took her out to dine later.
It was as if she’d had a personality transplant. The level, uncomplicated attitude that she applied to life in general had been replaced with a zombie-like trance, and who could blame her? She’d spoken briefly with her father on the night of her arrival. It hadn’t been pleasant, and the next thing she’d known he was gone for ever.
But into the middle of her nightmare had come a stranger, a man who had taken her into his care and supported her through some of the worst hours of her life. She owed it to him to make herself presentable, and with the first lifting of her spirits since she’d arrived back in England she set about repairing the ravages.
* * *
When Helena opened the door to him that night Blake’s eyes widened. Her dress of clinging silk was the same colour as her eyes and brought out the glints in her russet hair. Carefully applied make-up gave colour to a face that was still ashen from shock and grief, and if the thought of food made her feel physically sick her smile didn’t give any inkling of it to the man who was putting his own affairs to one side on her behalf.
She’d had a couple of half-hearted relationships before she’d gone to Australia, both of them with hospital staff that she’d worked with, and had gone out with a husky Australian for a couple of months while she’d been over there, but none of them had made her heart beat as fast as it was now.
Blake had style and presence as well as a sort of rugged attractiveness, and she wondered what he’d meant when he’d said that his family weren’t around any more. Was he divorced and his wife had taken the children with her? He didn’t look like the sort of man who would neglect his family commitments.
He was returning her smile.
‘I feel I must have got the wrong house,’ he said teasingly. ‘I’m looking for Helena Harris and you don’t bear any resemblance to her.’
‘The answer to that is simple,’ she told him. ‘I spent some time in front of the mirror and what I saw was not a pretty sight.’
He took her hand, holding onto it for a fleeting second, and then tucked her arm in his.
‘Let’s go and eat,’ he said.
* * *
The moment they walked into the restaurant the proprietor, a fair-haired man in his forties, came forward to greet them with outstretched hand.
‘Dr Pemberton,’ he said warmly. ‘Good to see you…and the lady. How are things with you?’
‘Fine, Robert,’ he replied. ‘How’s that brother of yours?’
The man shrugged his shoulders.
‘All right as far as I know. I try to keep tabs on Michael, but it isn’t easy with this place to run.’
He was showing them to a table and Blake said, ‘I would think that last episode will have made him think twice about a repeat.’
‘I hope so, but he still drinks too much,’ the other man said, and handed them the menu.
‘Are you wondering what all that was about?’ he asked Helena when they’d ordered.
She nodded.
‘Robert’s younger brother was arrested on a drink-driving charge and put in the cells for the night. The police sent for me in the early hours because he’d been complaining of severe stomach pain, but when I got there the discomfort seemed to have gone and they were wishing they hadn’t been panicked into calling me out. But, of course, they can’t take any chances. When a prisoner dies in a cell all hell is let loose.
‘I wouldn’t go without examining him. They’re not the only ones who don’t take chances. There was something about him that worried me and to cut a long story short I found signs of a perforated appendix.
‘As we both know, appendicitis can be fatal and the time of greatest danger is when the agonising pain suddenly disappears. If he’d been left all night he might have died as the police would have taken no heed of his drunken mumblings, the pain having gone.’
‘And so you saved his life.’
He smiled. ‘Only partly. The hospital had something to do with it, too. He was operated on immediately.’
‘He and his family must have been grateful for your presence in the cell. I can see why his brother was so welcoming when you appeared.’
‘Yes, we’ve become firm friends, but Michael, the guy who had the appendicitis, is still drinking too much for his own good and everyone else’s.’
‘You must get a lot of job satisfaction from your police work.’
‘Yes. I do,’ he agreed. ‘Just the same as when I’ve been able to bring