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‘So, what?’ Leo wasn’t going to be swayed by Francesca’s dramatic musings. ‘I’m supposed to marry Lizzie and have lots of children so when I’m old and mad I’m not alone?’
‘No,’ Francesca said. ‘So when you’re old and sane you don’t spend every day regretting the choices you made.’
‘Thanks for the lecture, Francesca.’ He was not about to be dictated to by some eccentric patient, but he softened his abruptness with a smile and it was back to doctor mode. Carefully he examined her face. ‘Geoff has done a good job,’ Leo admitted, but still held his own. ‘I wouldn’t have put in as much filler, though.’
‘I like it,’ Francesca said, ‘but I think the glow isn’t from Geoff’s filler, more Tony and I making—’
‘I get the picture,’ Leo interrupted. That image he really didn’t need! ‘Right, I’ll give you that name of the tattooist and if you decide you need something done for your wedding, I hope, this time, you’ll listen to me.’
‘I will come in and see you.’
‘And if I say no, will you listen?’
‘Yes, Leo.’
‘Because there’s no point otherwise,’ Leo scolded. ‘If I know you’re just going to take yourself off to someone else every time you don’t get your own way …’
‘I will listen to you, Leo.’
‘Good.’ He went to walk her out then realised he’d almost forgotten. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Francesca …’ He kissed his favourite patient on the cheek as he handed her her flowers and chocolates. ‘Of course I shan’t be offended if you don’t take them—I don’t want to cause any friction between you and Tony.’
‘Ah, a little mystery is a good thing in a relationship.’ She held the bouquet and inhaled the scent, just as if she were accepting the accolade on stage. ‘But isn’t there someone else who you should be giving these to?’
Leo didn’t have the heart to tell Francesca the staffroom was filled with the blooms. ‘As I said …’ Leo gave a tight smile. ‘I don’t need you to sort out my love life.’
‘Love life?’ Francesca checked. ‘I thought Leo Hunter only had a social life.’ She shook her head before walking off. ‘You’d be mad to let her go.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LIZZIE DROPPED OFF her things at the bed and breakfast and told Mrs Hewitt that, no, she didn’t want dinner tonight, before heading off to visit her parents.
It was the tiniest procedure.
A visiting surgeon was there for lumps-and-bumps day and Lizzie held her mother’s hand as the small lesion was removed.
You missed Valentine’s Night in Paris with Leo Hunter for this.
She watched as a small sticking plaster was applied, and stupid tears filled Lizzie’s eyes.
‘It’s not hurting her,’ Shelby, the nurse, said. ‘He put in lots of anaesthetic.’
‘I know,’ Lizzie answered. What was hurting was the full realisation that she had been hiding, had been trying to stop the hurt—and causing it in the end.
Lizzie took her mum back to her room, helped her into bed and then brought her in some biscuits and tea.
‘So you’re off in the morning?’ Thomas asked.
‘Yes, but I’ll come and see you before I go,’ Lizzie said, dunking the biscuit and feeding it to her mum and seeing her smile from the simple pleasure of a tea-soaked biscuit.
‘Nice?’ Lizzie asked her mum.
‘Lovely,’ Faye said. ‘Thank you for being here today, Lizzie.’
As clear as a bell Faye said it and Lizzie started to cry because, yes, she’d missed Valentine’s night in Paris with Leo but it was now actually worth it for this.
Worth it to see her mum to take out a tissue and wipe her daughter’s tears—worth it for a brief moment with her mum that was how it should be.
Not how it was.
‘Have you got my watch?’
‘Actually, I do.’ Lizzie could only laugh. ‘I picked it up this afternoon.’ She put the watch on her mother’s wrist and wished that she could superglue it there. ‘I love you, Mum,’ Lizzie said, but Faye was back to wherever it was she went.
When the residents had all had dinner and her mum was settled, Lizzie said goodnight.
Lizzie waved to a couple of the other residents as she left and then headed back to the Hewitts’, drained and exhausted from a week of pretending to be fine with Leo, and then the sound of her mother’s clear voice.
One more big cry, Lizzie decided, and stopped for supplies—she already had chocolate but she bought some more and a nice bottle of wine too.
Oh, and a DVD.
Oh, and a big box of tissues with aloe vera in them so her nose wouldn’t be all cracked on Monday.
‘Evening, Lizzie.’ Mrs Hewitt’s eyes lingered on the bag as if she was smuggling in contraband. ‘You just made it. Howard was about to close the kitchen.’
‘I didn’t want dinner,’ Lizzie said, even though she was starving, but sitting alone on Valentines night really was about the limit. She could hear the sound of laughter and the chink of glasses coming from the dining room.
‘Howard waited for you,’ Mrs Hewitt said. Which meant, in her oh-so-passive-aggressive way, “get through there now and eat your dinner!”
‘Okay, thanks …’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll just go and put my coat away.’ And sign up for a course on self-assertion, Lizzie thought darkly as she climbed the stairs. She just wanted to be alone and to think about Leo.
Oh, Leo.
She missed him.
Missed his snobbish sense of humour and missed being the other person in his life.
She understood Flora totally now because it would be terribly easy to make a fool of herself, Lizzie thought as she took her phone out of her bag.
Terribly easy to text him and plead for that helicopter to come and whizz her away and to promise she could handle it for a little while longer, even though it could never last.
Put down the phone, Lizzie!
She did as pride told her and put some lip-gloss on instead then chewed it off as she made her way down to the dining room, bracing herself to enter couple’s world alone on Valentine’s night.
She was sure she was seeing things.
There, rising to stand as she walked in, was Leo.
‘He told me to say nothing,’ Mrs Hewitt said.
‘What are you doing here?’ Lizzie asked, trying to tame her heart, trying not to rush over and burst into tears and read far more into this than there was.
‘I felt like splurging,’ Leo said. ‘I ordered three courses and we get a free bread roll and coffee.’
‘Stop it.’ Lizzie laughed.
‘I haven’t told you the best bit.’ His face was completely deadpan. ‘Howard made rum balls with our coffee, given it’s Valentine’s Day.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Lizzie asked, after Howard had served them their tomato soup, with a very wobbly cream heart drizzled on top.
‘I miss you,’ Leo answered simply.
‘You saw me this morning.’
‘You know what I mean.’
She did.
‘Mrs Hewitt wouldn’t let me into your room …’ He always had and always would make her smile. ‘I’m across the hall. Can I sneak over?’
‘I can’t have sex here, Leo. It would be like doing it at home.’
‘We’ll be very quiet,’ Leo said, pressing his knee into hers, ‘but we’ll have to do it on the floor or we’ll self-combust with those nylon sheets.’ He saw the glitter of tears in her eyes even as she laughed. ‘How was your mum?’ he asked, as the second course was served.
‘I was just sitting there feeling sorry for myself that I’d missed Paris with you, but then she smiled and thanked me for being there. She really did recognise me.’
‘Worth it, then,’ Leo said, and it was without even a trace of sarcasm.
‘Yes.’
‘But it doesn’t make it easier.’ His insight shocked Lizzie. ‘That she does know that you’re there sometimes must make you wonder if she misses you when you’re not.’
Lizzie nodded and she felt his hand on her cheek but she moved her face, she just couldn’t pretend it wasn’t agonising. ‘The thing is …’ Soup was a terribly hard ask and she shredded her roll instead and wondered how best to tell someone you desperately wanted to be with that it hurt too much to pretend. How to tell him that she loved him, which meant she couldn’t have sex with him because it came with her heart attached and it was soul-destroying, trying to guard it. ‘The thing is,’ Lizzie started again. ‘You remember when we said it might be awkward, us working together—I think, if we prolong things, we could get to that stage and I still want to work at the clinic so I think we need to—’
‘It isn’t awkward for Rafael and Abbie.’
‘No,’ Lizzie said, ‘but they’re a real couple. Leo …’
‘If we were married, would it be less awkward?’
Lizzie’s eyes jerked up, sure he was teasing, that she was supposed to give some witty reply—but she was all out of them.
‘Please, don’t joke.’
‘If you knew how nervous I was, you’d know I wasn’t joking. Look.’ He showed her a small mark on his chin. ‘I cut myself shaving.’
