Once Upon A Christmas Night.... Annie Claydon
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was smiling.
‘Feeling neglected, are we?’
‘Not me.’ Gerry tipped the coffee cup towards him as if in a toast. ‘I’m easily pleased, though. Maura wants to know when you’ll be coming over for dinner.’
‘Soon. I’m on lates at the moment. But I can pop in at the weekend, see the kids. I’ve something for them from America.’ Something that his father’s personal assistant had procured from the toy store. Greg hadn’t needed to ask whether Pat had done the same each time his own birthday or Christmas had rolled around. The meticulously wrapped presents for Jamie and Emma bore the same careful folds that he’d examined and practised himself as a child, thinking that this, at least, would be something he’d learned from his father.
‘… .last time. By the time Jamie’s old enough for that remote-controlled car you sent him, I’ll have worn it out.’ Gerry’s voice filtered back into his consciousness.
‘I thought you’d like it. And I’ve got something a bit more age appropriate this time.’ Greg would rewrap the parcels himself. Then at least he’d know what was inside them. ‘I had some help in choosing. My father’s PA is great with things like that.’ He’d always loved his presents and had no reason to suppose that Pat had lost her touch. As long as the kids were happy, did it really make so much of a difference?
‘Yeah? How are things going over there? You weren’t exactly communicative when we spoke last time.’
‘I know. It’s complicated.’
Gerry bared his teeth in a wry smile. ‘What, there’s a woman involved?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘That’s generally your definition of complicated.’
‘Never make assumptions.’ Greg wondered what kind of rumours had been circulating about his protracted absence. Went as far as hoping that Jess hadn’t heard them and then decided not to go there. ‘Is Jess around?’
‘I think she’s doing a ward round.’ Gerry flipped an enquiring look at the receptionist, who nodded. ‘She’ll be back soon. Can I help?’
‘Not unless you’re in charge of the Christmas pageant.’ Gerry wouldn’t question the excuse. Jess wasn’t ‘his type’. It occurred to Greg that perhaps it was the women he usually dated who weren’t his type.
‘So she’s got you involved with that, has she?’
‘Not yet. I thought I might lend a hand, though. Anything that involves you in chains has got to be worth a look.’
Gerry chuckled. ‘Yeah. Think I got lumbered there.’ Something caught his eye and he gestured. ‘Jess. You’ve got a new recruit.’
By the time Greg had turned, her initial reaction to his presence, if indeed there had been one, was under control. He’d never seen her in anything other than scrubs or jeans before, but today she wore a skirt and blouse under her crisp white coat. Hair tied back, showing off the curve of her neck, and, though it came as no particular surprise to Greg that Jess had legs, somehow he couldn’t drag his eyes away from them.
‘Don’t eye my staff up, mate.’ At least Gerry had the grace to lean in close so no one else could hear him. Greg shot him a warning look, and Gerry laughed, turning to the receptionist, who immediately gave him something else to do.
‘You want to help with the pageant?’ Jess’s voice next to him was uncertain.
‘Oh. Yeah, I thought if you wanted a hand… ’ He stopped. Suddenly it seemed crass to just breeze in, as if the last ten months hadn’t happened.
‘Yes. Always.’ She twisted her mouth. ‘Greg, I… It was such a surprise to see you last night, and I didn’t… ’ She took a breath. ‘I just wanted to say that I heard about your father. I’m very sorry. I should have made sure that I got the chance to say that before now.’
He stared at her. He’d left her hanging, without a word, and she was the one who seemed to feel she had something to explain. ‘Thanks. And… I was the one who wasn’t around, not you.’
‘That’s understandable.’ Suddenly they weren’t talking about his father any more. It was all about Greg and Jess. And that kiss. No, not the kiss, that had been just fine. The promise he’d made and then broken.
‘You think so?’ Calling her, from his father’s place or long distance from America, had seemed somehow indefinably wrong. Now he was back in London, it felt wrong that he hadn’t.
She shrugged. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’
That was all he needed. ‘Well, in that case, do you want to meet up? To talk about the pageant, I mean. I could buy you lunch perhaps.’
She pursed her lips. ‘You might like to reconsider that. I can think of a lot of jobs in the time it takes to eat lunch. Maybe just a coffee.’
He wanted so badly to push her, not to take no for an answer. But he didn’t have the right. Thinking about her for the whole of the last ten months didn’t count as any form of contact, unless she happened to be psychic. ‘Whatever suits you. Would you like me to call you?’
She nodded, pulling her phone out of her pocket. ‘What’s your number?’
She thumbed in the digits as he recited them and his mobile sounded, one ring from his back pocket. ‘There, you’ve got mine now. If you want to risk lunch, I’ll make a list of things we need help with.’
He grinned. Jess had come through for him yet again. This time he wouldn’t let her down.
Are you free for lunch on Sunday?
Jess wasn’t about to admit that those seven words were the ones that she’d been waiting for ever since she’d last seen Greg. She texted back with the minimum of information.
Yes.
Come over to mine. I’ll make lunch. You can give me a rundown on what you want me to do.
‘Don’t tempt me… ’ She hissed the words between her teeth, but couldn’t help smiling to herself. He might have left her hanging, and it might have hurt, but Jess wasn’t quite sure what she would have done if he hadn’t. If Greg had come knocking on her door, she might just have taken fright and pretended she wasn’t home.
Sounds good. What time?
I’ll pick you up at twelve.
No, that was one step too far for the moment.
Send me your address. I’ll make my own way.
There was a pause, and then her phone beeped again. His address, along with an electronic smile. Nothing like his real smile. Good. It was far too early to start thinking about all the things his smile did to her.
The climb up to the top floor wasn’t anywhere near long enough to make her feel dizzy, but then Greg answered the door. A blue shirt, open just far enough to show improbably smooth, olive skin and jeans that fitted him like a glove. Dark hair, and dark eyes, which were even more striking here than in the fluorescent glare of the hospital. Couldn’t he give a girl a break?
‘That smells fabulous. What is it?’ When she followed him through to the large, sleek kitchen, the smell curled around her like a warm, comfortable blanket.
‘One of my mother’s secret recipes.’ Greg had clearly come to the same conclusion that Jess had. The easy humour they’d shared at work was the best way to forget that they were alone together in his flat. ‘You know the score. If I tell you what’s in there, I… ’
‘Yeah, I know. You have to shoot me.’
‘Yep. Or challenge you to a duel.’
‘You prefer hand-to-hand fighting?’
‘Every time.’ He surveyed the pans on the stove, gave one a stir and then