LITMIR.BIZ

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father that I happened to overhear that was the cause.’

      ‘Really?’ Rachel stared at him in astonishment.

      ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘It was one evening when I called for you and I was waiting in the hallway of Ashton House. I don’t know whether they knew I was there or not—the housekeeper, Mrs Newton, had let me in. Anyway, I heard your mother say that I was a no-hoper who would never amount to anything—“a waster” was the expression she used, I think.’

      Rachel stared at him. ‘Oh Nick,’ she said at last, ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘don’t be sorry. It was the kick up the pants I needed. From that moment my mission in life was to prove her wrong.’

      ‘And you’ve done just that,’ she said softly. ‘Look at you—there can’t be too many DCIs of your age.’

      He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’

      ‘It was a shame your marriage had to suffer as a consequence though.’

      ‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it would have worked even if I wasn’t in the force—Marilyn and I were like chalk and cheese really.’

      ‘But you have a daughter?’ she said gently.

      ‘Oh, yes.’ His expression softened at mention of his daughter. ‘I have Lucy. She was the reason Marilyn and I married in the first place. She’s the light of my life. You’ll meet her.’

      ‘I hope I shall but, Nick, I really do need to go now.’ She glanced at her watch as she spoke then drained her glass and stood up.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, doing likewise. ‘I suppose I’d better get back as well and see if our friend is ready to cooperate.’ He stood aside to allow Rachel to pass him but as she did so he caught her hand. Startled, she looked at him, unable to read the expression that had come into his eyes. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel,’ he said softly.

      ‘And you, Nick.’ Her voice was suddenly husky and as he applied a quick pressure to her hand, her skin tingled—just as it had always done at his touch.

      * * *

      It had shaken Rachel, seeing Nick again after all these years, and in spite of the fact that she had made up her mind from the outset that theirs was to be a purely professional relationship, she knew it might not be as easy as she had at first thought.

      To her dismay she found herself looking for him in the town, when she was shopping or out on house calls, and when she was on call she found herself willing the phone to ring to say that her services were required at police headquarters. When one such call did come, it was late on a Saturday night and she was called to attend a victim of a street brawl who had collapsed. To her shame, on receiving the call, her adrenalin level soared at the thought of seeing Nick again and she reached police headquarters in record time, only to find that Nick wasn’t involved, probably wasn’t even there, and that the uniformed staff were in charge.

      After that she tried to get a grip on herself and put him out of her mind. After all, what they had once been to each other had been a very long time ago and no doubt in the intervening years they had both become different people. It didn’t stop her remembering, though, and sometimes as she drove around town memories of that distant time came back in disturbing waves: the rides on Nick’s motorbike late at night; the old cinema—a snooker hall now—where they had always sat in the back row; the café in the high street—a building society had its offices there now—where they had congregated with other bikers to play rock music on the jukebox and drink endless cups of coffee. And then, of course, there was the park where they’d walked late at night, arms around each other, and where invariably they ended up on the mossy ground beneath the trees and had loved each other passionately under the stars.

      As each new memory was rekindled a fresh surge of emotion was released, leaving Rachel in a strange, highly strung state not at all like her usual calm and collected self.

      One evening just as she had finished surgery Danielle buzzed through to say there was a call for her.

      ‘Put them through,’ she replied automatically, and before she even had time to wonder who it might be she heard a voice at the other end, a voice she instantly recognised. ‘Georgie?’ she cried in delight.

      ‘Rachel! Oh this is wonderful. I heard today that you were back in town. I didn’t believe it at first, I said, no, that couldn’t be right, that you were up in Southport or Stockport or somewhere—but they said you were right here in Westhampstead.’

      ‘But what are you doing here?’ Rachel demanded, ‘the last time I heard about you, you were backpacking in Peru, or on a banana boat up the Limpopo or somewhere equally obscure.’

      ‘Oh, I was. I was,’ cried Georgie, ‘but I’m home for a while. Poor old pops is not too well and I’m keeping an eye on him. But what about you—where are you living? Are you at Ashton House?’

      ‘Lord, no,’ Rachel replied. ‘I’m renting an enchanting little house in Cathedral Close. Listen, why don’t you come over?’

      ‘When?’

      ‘What about tonight? I could cook us something and we could have a girly night in—just like we used to.’

      ‘Sounds wonderful—I’ll bring some wine.’

      Five minutes later Rachel had finished signing her repeat prescriptions and had almost cleared her in-tray. She and Georgina Reynolds had started school on the same day and had been friends ever since. There was very little they didn’t know about each other and as far as Rachel was concerned the idea of an evening of catching up and girly gossip with Georgie was the best thing that could happen in her present rather fragile state of mind.

      She took the last envelope from the in-tray and saw that it had been hand-delivered and was addressed to Dr Rachel Beresford and marked ‘Personal’, which presumably was why it hadn’t been opened and dealt with by the staff. Quickly she slit open the envelope, imagining it to be a request for medication or something similar, but when she drew out the single piece of paper and unfolded it she found it was neither. Written in pencil in childish print it simply said: I love you Rachel.

      She stared at it, unable for a moment to believe quite what she was seeing, and then she remembered Tommy Page and what he had said to his mother when he had left the surgery a few days previously. In that moment she guessed that it must have been Tommy who had written this note. With a little smile she folded the sheet of paper and slipped it into the drawer of her desk then, with a last look around her consulting room, she switched off the light and went out.

      * * *

      ‘Actually, Rachel, there’s something I think you should know.’ Georgina peered at her from beneath her cloud of frizzy dark hair.

      ‘Oh?’ Rachel set her wine glass down on the coffee table and raised one eyebrow, suspecting that she knew exactly what her friend was about to tell her.

      ‘I don’t know quite how to tell you really...’ Georgie went on.

      ‘Is it about Nick Kowalski and the fact that he’s back in town?’ Rachel leaned back and rested her head against the sofa cushions.

      ‘Well, yes.’ Georgie stared at her in surprise. ‘But how did you know that was what I was going to say?’

      ‘Probably because you are the only person who knew exactly how I felt about him—that’s why,’ Rachel replied calmly. ‘And likewise,’ she went on, ‘you are the only one who would know how his presence in Westhampstead would affect me.’

      ‘And has it?’ asked Georgie curiously. ‘Affected you, I mean?’

      ‘Is there any point denying it?’ Rachel pulled a face.

      ‘Not with me there isn’t.’ Georgie grinned but it was a sympathetic grin. ‘But surely you won’t need to see him,’ she went on

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