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Tim smiled wanly. 'It's too small.'
'For these magic fingers?' David waggled them comically. 'You wait and see.'
'Thank you,' said Clare softly when they were tack in her lounge.
'For not making a fool of myself? Anyone can see that he's not well,' said David abruptly. 'Have you called a doctor?'
Clare shook her head. 'I've given him some of his asthma medication, but this is really only a mild attack. Maybe he's got a cold coming on, or has a flu bug—his resistance isn't very good to that type of thing—and then he began to panic when he felt sick. I told you about Lee… I wasn't at the hospital when he died, and Tim knows that and so he likes to know I'm around when he's ill. I guess in a way he is putting it on, but it's something that he has no control over, and in this case it doesn't pay to be cruel to be kind. I've tried it, and that's when he gets his severest attacks.'
'It's all right, Clare, you don't have to convince me. I feel guilty enough as it is,' said David, cutting across her anxiety. Clare looked very like her son with her pale, earnest face and tense determination not to give in to her fears. Her mind was wholly with Tim, he realised ruefully. David was just a distraction that she didn't really want or need. She had coped before on her own, and that was the way she preferred it. The feeling of thwarted protectiveness, of helplessness, reminded David of the way his daughter made him feel. He was well aware that she viewed his interest in the Malcolms with dismay. Perhaps tonight might be a good time to try some tentative fence-mending. Tamara had all but ignored him for the last few days… perhaps she was waiting for her father to make the first move…
'I'll leave you to look after Tim,' he said reluctantly, turning Clare towards him with a firm hand on her shoulders as she frowned towards the bedroom. 'But let me say first that you look very beautiful, and I'm sorry that the evening has to end before it's begun.' He had her attention now, and he savoured her gentle blush at the sensuous promise in his eyes. 'Another time, perhaps?'
'Perhaps…' Clare murmured vaguely, wondering at the swift succession of emotions he evoked in her. He had made her feel guilt, anger, tenderness and desire, all in the space of ten minutes. Somehow he bypassed her reserve and pierced to the passionate heart of her. His eyes flared with need at her dreamy response, and it was only as he drew her into his chest that reality impinged on her hypnotised state. A faintly sour smell clung to her evening skirt, and reminded her of her obligations.
'Not even a consolation prize?' murmured David, not understanding why she pushed him away, but resigned to the total annihilation to his hopes for the evening.
'I… Tim was sick on my skirt. I haven't had time to change it yet,' said Clare, grabbing the velvet folds against her in embarrassment.
'And you think that might put me off?' David guessed. 'My darling girl, I'm far less squeamish than you seem to think. I've dealt with my fair share of dirty nappies and upset stomachs. Nina made sure I kept in touch with the flip side of parenthood.' He reached for her again, but she backed away, the mention of his wife reminding Clare of all the women that he had romanced—most of them probably just as gorgeous as Tamara had claimed they were. None of them would have glided into his embrace smelling of 'eau de sickroom'. She wanted to be their equal, not pitied and equated with memories of unpleasant bodily functions!
David sighed. 'All right, Clare, have it your wa
y. I'll call later and see how Tim is. If he gets worse or you need anything, you know where to find me.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tim had two more bouts of sickness before he finally fell into a fitful sleep around eleven o'clock. By that time Clare, who had substituted practical jeans for her ruined skirt, was feeling a few stomach pangs herself. She was hungry. The restaurant that David had booked into was one with a reputation for the very rich, heavy, classical French cuisine that Grace disdained, so Clare had prepared herself by eating only a snack lunch. Perhaps some food would lift her out of her depression— a mingling of disappointment and relief. Tim had probably done her a favour by falling ill and saving her from her own unruly desires.
She was debating whether it was safe to leave him for a few minutes and go and forage in the kitchen, or whether she should ring and see if Grace was still up, when the phone rang beneath her hovering hand.
'Is he asleep?'
David. His earlier phone call to check on Tim had been brief enough to cause her to feel slighted, as if he were impatient to have it over and done with so that he could abandon her to her tiresome maternal duties, so consequently Clare was cool.
'Yes.'
'Good.'
Clare listened in disbelief to the terminating click. So much for his appreciation of the flip side of parenthood. Suddenly Clare was both ravenous and angry. He could have at least asked how she was feeling!
Her mind made up, she pulled open her door and stepped into the hall, only to run into David, who was wheeling a covered trolley.
'Hungry?'
'I… yes.'
'I thought you might be. Hold your door for me, would you?'
Clare did so automatically, watching him wheel the trolley into her room and begin to lift off covers. When she didn't move, he paused with raised eyebrows. 'What's the matter?'
She opened her mouth to throw his generosity in his teeth, and then closed it again. That would be cutting off her nose to spite her face, the kind of thing that Tamara seemed to specialise in.
'I… I just wasn't expecting…' She spread her hands vaguely.
'You thought I would cheerfully go to sleep, perhaps even arrange for my appetite to be satisfied, with never a thought for yours?' From his silky tone of voice, Clare wondered which particular appetite he was referring to, and she flushed at both the implication and the accuracy in his sarcasm. 'I really am an utterly selfish bastard, aren't I, Clare? Never a thought of anyone else but myself. Heavens, I'm amazed I actually possess any friends, the thoughtless way I carry on…'
'All right, all right, I'm sorry,' Clare burst out as she pushed the door closed with her back. 'What do you want me to do? Go down on my hands and knees?'
