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had always been spurned. An invasion of privacy that simply wasn’t acceptable.

      Changes were coming, that was for sure. For both of them. Oliver could also be sure that his mother would fight them every step of the way. Achieving them would be no kind of victory either. Not when each one would be so painful for her to accept, removing more and more of her independence and dignity.

      He summoned a smile for his mother. ‘It’s a glorious day. If you got dressed, I might be able to take you for a ride in a wheelchair when I’ve finished work. It would do you good to get a breath of fresh air.’

      His mother shook her head. He clearly needed to find more of an incentive than fresh air. And quickly. A glance at his watch told him he was running out of time and his registrar would be looking for him in Outpatients.

      ‘We could even find something nice for your dinner.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I happen to know where a fast-food joint is.’ His smile broadened as he took out the big guns and tapped into his mother’s most secret vice. ‘Cheeseburgers,’ he suggested. ‘And French fries.’

      The idea was brilliant. Even with her fingers so stiff and useless, Lady Dorothy might be able to manage that kind of food and it would pack enough calories for even a small amount to be helpful. To his horror, however, his mother’s eyes shone with sudden tears. They were gone by the time she had shaken her head in a negative response but Oliver could feel her anguish. He touched her hand gently.

      ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

      ‘Sophie,’ his mother said, her voice wobbling.

      ‘Who’s Sophie?’

      Was that the name of the clumsy, line-dancing blonde who was masquerading as a nurse? If she’d done something to upset his mother this much then she wouldn’t know what hit her. It occurred to him that defending his mother so vigorously in public might brand him as some kind of mummy’s boy, but there was no way he wouldn’t protect his mother with everything he had. She was the only family he had. The only person that really mattered in his world, come to that. And did he care what a junior nurse with oversized blue eyes thought of him?

      Of course he didn’t. The idea was laughable.

      ‘She’s the occupational therapist,’ Lady Dorothy told him. ‘She came in this morning with the kind of clothes she said were ideal because I’d be able to learn to get dressed by myself.’

      ‘Oh?’ Oliver was assimilating more than the information. Was he relieved that this Sophie wasn’t the nurse and he wouldn’t have to verbally rip her to shreds and watch those ready-to-laugh lips wobble when she began to cry?

      That he wouldn’t be in danger of revealing something as personal and vaguely shameful as the fact that he was a thirty-six-year-old man who still lived with his mother? Well, it could hardly be considered living with his mother when they both had entirely separate wings of the house but he was still living at home, wasn’t he?

      And why was he even thinking about how that might appear to some nurse whose name he didn’t even know? It was bizarre.

      ‘They were … track pants, Oliver. With … an elasticised waist.’

      ‘Oh …’

      Track pants. A kind of symbol that his mother equated with fluffy slippers, going out with a chiffon scarf covering hair curlers and a cigarette dangling from a mouth corner. It wasn’t that his mother was a snob—she had genuine friends from all walks of life—but self-discipline was everything and meeting personal standards was a matter of pride. Wearing track pants would be as degrading as putting Lady Dorothy into a nappy.

      Something had to be done. But what? This was new territory for both Oliver and his mother. He needed to think. In the meantime, he needed to find a way of helping his mother cope somehow.

      ‘How ‘bout I bring the burgers and fries in here? Disguised in a plain brown paper bag?’ An old joke for a treat that was deemed illicit.

      The flicker of amusement was only for his benefit. ‘Thanks, darling, but don’t go to any trouble. I don’t expect I’ll be very hungry.’ She had turned her head away very slightly. ‘It really is time we stopped that ridiculously unhealthy habit, don’t you think?’

      Oliver was taken aback by the strong realisation that he didn’t agree with his mother’s suggestion.

      The disturbing awareness that something was happening that might prove to be beyond his control was less than pleasant.

      The occasional foray into the dark side of healthy eating was hardly a habit for either of them. It was a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing, in fact, but it had been a part of their lives for a long, long time. So long that it had become one of his earliest memories. A rare, good memory. One that had bestowed a little pleasure in a life that had often been less than joyful for both himself and his mother.

      OK, maybe it was an ancient ritual associated with childhood and no longer of any significance but losing it would be …

      As sad as seeing his mother like this?

      He heard Lady Dorothy’s intake of breath. A determined, suck-it-up kind of breath.

      ‘Don’t let me take up too much of your time, Oliver. I’m sure you must have far more important things to be doing.’

      ‘I’ve got a clinic to finish, that’s all.’ Oliver could feel his frown steadily deepening. There had to be a way through this. ‘And then a theatre slot this afternoon. And you have to eat, you know that. I’ll be back later.’

      With French fries, at least. He wasn’t ready to let go of the past to that extent. He didn’t think his mother was either. This was just a sign of how miserable she was feeling right now. With a bit of time, she might get over the upsetting episode of the track pants.

      Coming back later was a good idea in more ways than one. If that extraordinarily annoying and probably incompetent nurse was on duty now, she would be due to finish her shift by three p.m.

      There was no chance she would be anywhere in the vicinity if he slipped in quietly this evening with some fast food to try and tempt his mother’s appetite and that suited Oliver very well.

      Very well indeed.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘LADY who?’

      Bella was somewhat distracted from what Sally was telling her because she’d spotted Oliver Dawson leaving the ward. He wore the suit very well, she had to admit albeit grudgingly. If only he was a bit … nicer, she would go as far as thinking he was very good looking. OK, gorgeous, then.

      ‘Lady Dorothy,’ Sally said.

      ‘Doesn’t she have a last name?’

      ‘Of course she does, but nobody uses it. And she’s a very well-known personality who doesn’t want her admission to hospital being broadcast so it’s important that you’re discreet.’ Sally frowned at Bella. ‘Can you be discreet?’

      ‘Of course I can.’ Bella straightened her back. She was being given a new responsibility here. Never mind that it probably had something to do with the ward being even more short-staffed than usual. Bella wanted to prove herself. Partly because she was finding the work here far more enjoyable than she had anticipated but it was also the sight of Oliver Dawson’s retreating back that was firing her new ambition.

      She was good at her job. Maybe now people around here would have the chance to find that out.

      ‘What do you want me to do?’

      ‘She’s due for a BGL test. We’ll hold off on her insulin until I’ve talked to her doctor. That’s more of an excuse to get you into her room, though.’ Sally hesitated for a moment and then spoke quietly. ‘Lady Dorothy’s pretty down at the moment and nobody has been able to get her motivated about the rehab she needs to get started on urgently.’ The charge nurse gave her new recruit a thoughtful glance. ‘You

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