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She seemed a little unhappy with the arrangement, and Alex answered the question that she hadn’t asked but which was clearly bothering her.
‘You won’t be helping him, Marie. Let him suffer the consequences if he can’t get here on time. If he needs to be told to buck his ideas up, let Sofia and me do it.’
She saw the sense in it and nodded.
‘I rather wish I had brothers or sisters.’ Alex leaned back in his chair. It would have been nice to have someone to care about so ferociously. Someone for whom he’d do anything.
‘Sometimes they’re a pain in the neck.’
‘You wouldn’t be without them, though.’
‘No. I wouldn’t. Even Zack.’
She loved her little brother. He was driving her to distraction at the moment, but she loved him all the same. And she’d given him to Alex, trusting that he’d do the right thing. Alex felt a little unequal to the prospect, but it warmed him all the same.
‘So...’ All that was better left unsaid. ‘Anything you want to discuss?’
‘I’ve got the ideas for the mural in Reception back. Would you like to see them?’
‘Not really.’
Marie’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Surprise me.’
She did that all the time, and it was always fantastic. Alex wondered vaguely what he’d do if Marie ever left the clinic. Left him.
But that wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.
* * *
Alex had stayed out of the way while the artists took over the reception area. He had a final fitting for his dinner suit, and a few other errands to run, and although he’d spent most of the day itching to see what Marie was doing he’d decided that this was her project and she should be allowed to enjoy it alone.
Zack had expressed a fervent desire to come in on Saturday and help, and since he’d managed to turn up on time for nine of the last ten working days Sofia had allowed it.
When he’d arrived at two in the afternoon one day he’d been abject in his apologies. Alex had smilingly shrugged them off and simply docked his pay. After that, Zack had made sure he wasn’t late again.
Alex arrived at the clinic at four o’clock and saw a dark-haired man walking across the courtyard, pushing a buggy and talking to the small boy who walked beside it. Alex caught him up. He introduced himself and they shook hands.
‘I’m Tom Riley—Corinne’s husband. That’s Matthew, and this is Chloe...’ He bent down to the pushchair, taking the little girl out of it and letting her stagger uncertainly towards her brother.
‘We really appreciate this, Tom. I know your wife has a waiting list for this kind of thing.’
Tom chuckled. ‘I get to spend a day with the kids, and Cori gets to cover herself with paint. What’s not to like about that—particularly when it’s for a project as exciting as this one? Although I’m still cross with you for poaching Marie away from the hospital.’
‘I needed someone who’s the best at what they do.’
Alex shot Tom an apologetic look and he laughed.
‘Then you made the right choice. I’m interested to see what you’re doing here; some of my patients’ families live in this borough.’ Tom swung round, calling to Matthew. ‘Leave the tree alone, son. I don’t think digging around it is going to do it any good.’
‘I’ll give you the tour. And if Matthew would like to plant something we have a garden. There are some bedding plants that need to be put into planters.’
‘Thank you.’ Tom grinned down at his son. ‘Hear that, Matthew? We can help with the garden.’
The pushchair was manoeuvred up the ramp and into the reception area. Tom was greeted with an excited cry from a woman in dungarees spattered with paint, some of which had made its way into her red curls. As she hurried towards him Tom backed away, a look of mock horror on his face, and she laughed, leaning forward to kiss him without allowing any of her paint-spattered clothes to touch his. She greeted Matthew and Chloe similarly, making a show of not getting any paint on them.
It was the picture of a happy, relaxed family. Secure in each other and the obvious love that bound them together. Alex felt a pang of loss. It was all that he hadn’t had, and probably never would have. He couldn’t imagine ever trusting himself enough to believe that his were a safe pair of hands which could hold such precious gifts as Tom had.
