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‘Good. That seems to have healed well, but the muscles in your shoulders are very tight. I can give you some exercises that will help ease them out.’

‘Thanks.’ He reached for his sweater.

‘I can work the muscles out a bit for you if you’d like. It’ll reduce the discomfort.’ It was also going to take every ounce of her resolve to stay professional, but she could do that.

‘That would be great. Thank you.’

She was just debating whether it would be wise to ask him to remove his T-shirt so that she could see what she was doing a little better when he pulled it over his he

ad. Flora watched spellbound as he took an elastic band from his pocket, twisting his hair up off his shoulders.

His skin was golden, a shade lighter than his hair. Slim hips and a broad, strong chest came as no surprise, but Aksel had to be seen to be believed. He was beautiful, and yet completely unselfconscious.

‘Okay. Just relax...’ The advice was for herself as well as Aksel. This was just a simple medical massage, which might make him feel a little sore in the morning but would promote healing. And she wanted very badly to heal him.

* * *

He could feel the warmth of the fire on his skin. Aksel closed his eyes, trying not to think about her touch. Warm, caressing and... He caught his breath as she concentrated her attention on the spot that hurt most.

‘Sorry. I can feel how sore it must be there...’

‘It’s okay.’ He didn’t want her to stop. Flora seemed to know all of his sore points, the things that tore at his heart and battered his soul. He wondered whether all of her patients felt the connection that seemed to be flowing through her fingers and spreading out across his skin.

He felt almost as if he was floating. Disengaged from his body and the cares of the day. Just her touch, firm and assured.

‘My brother has cystic fibrosis.’ She’d been silent for a while, working out the muscles in his shoulder, and the observation came out of nowhere.

‘That’s why you became a physiotherapist?’

‘It was what made me first think of the idea. Alec’s physiotherapist taught him techniques to clear the mucus from his airways, and he benefited a great deal from it.’

‘It’s a difficult condition to live with, though.’ Aksel sensed that Flora had something more to say.

He heard her take a breath. ‘I know how badly you want to help Mette, and how helpless you feel. I’ve been through all that with Alec. You’re tying yourself in knots and that shows, here in your shoulder.’

‘It’s... I can’t change how I feel, Flora.’

‘I know. I’m not asking you to. Mette’s lost a great deal, more than any child should have to. All she has left is you, and you owe it to her to take care of yourself.’

Aksel thought for a moment, trying to get his head around the idea. ‘It sounds...as if you have a point to make.’

He heard her laugh quietly, and a shiver ran down his spine. ‘My point is that you feel so guilty that your lifestyle kept you from her all those years that you just want to throw it all away. I can understand that, I’ve felt guilty about going out and doing things when Alec was ill in bed. But my mum used to tell me that if I didn’t go, then I couldn’t come home again and tell Alec all about it. You can share the things you’ve done with Mette, too. Don’t be afraid to give her the real you.’

‘And that’ll make my shoulder better?’ Flora might just be right.

‘Maybe. I think the massage and exercise might help as well.’

She gripped his arm, rotating it carefully, seeming satisfied with the result. Then she handed him his T-shirt and Aksel pulled it over his head. The movement felt easier than it had for days.

‘That feels better, thank you. Can we have that glass of wine now?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s not something I’d usually advise after a physiotherapy session. Water’s better in terms of reducing inflammation.’

‘Noted. Since I’m going to ignore your advice and have a glass anyway, you can either send me back to my cottage to drink alone, or join me.’

‘In that case, I’d say it’s my duty to keep an eye on you. I might need to save you from yourself.’

Aksel chuckled, getting to his feet.

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