half.
Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she should distance herself from him – a relationship would never work – but it was as if her body couldn’t, or wouldn’t, cooperate.
Sighing, she dropped her head on his shoulder as he carried her into the house.
Reality came back with a bang when she noticed that he turned right at the top of the grand staircase instead of left.
‘This isn’t the way to my apartment.’
‘I’m not taking you back there. I want to have a proper look at your ankle, and my first-aid kit happens to be in my private bathroom.’
‘Oh.’
The magical moment had gone, and she allowed him to take her to his quarters, where he set her down on a battered, brown leather sofa in his living room. Pulling up a small footstool, he placed her injured foot on it, propped up by a cushion, and then disappeared down a hallway which led to the bathroom and, presumably, his and the boys’ bedrooms. While he was gone, Hazel drank in her surroundings.
Jonathan’s place consisted of a large L-shaped living room, with windows facing towards the front as well as the east side of the park. The sofa stood in front of a grand fireplace, separated by a Persian rug. One corner of the room was taken up by a dining table and chairs, where the remnants of the boys’ tea was still in evidence, and a desk and book shelves occupied another. The desk was strewn with pens, papers, folders, several mugs and, incongruously, a fire station built out of Lego bricks.
The whole place was just so like Jonathan that Hazel couldn’t help smiling.
Jonathan returned carrying a first-aid box, a glass of water, and a packet of aspirin.
‘Here, this will help with the pain.’
Hazel popped two tablets in her mouth, while Jonathan took off her trainer and sock, and rolled up her trouser leg. Her ankle was swollen to almost twice its size, and she winced as he gently turned her foot this way and that.
‘You’ve definitely twisted your ankle, quite badly by the looks of it, but I don’t think anything is broken. I wouldn’t be able to do this if you had.’ Grinning, he looked up, and Hazel’s heart did a little jig. ‘I’m going to put some arnica cream on it for the bruising, and then a dressing around it for support. Don’t put too much weight on it over the next few days.’
‘I can still work, can’t I?’ Hazel asked. ‘You know, answer the phone and stuff.’
‘At least take a couple of days to rest. There’s nothing urgent on your desk, is there?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good, that settles it.’
‘But ... ’
‘No ‘buts’. A sprained ankle needs rest.’
Leaning back on the sofa, Hazel tried to relax while Jonathan’s cool and efficient hands bandaged her foot, but his closeness and gentleness – combined with her own confusion – was making this very hard.
In the end, to cover up her embarrassment, she said, ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’
‘I’m a dad; I can deal with bumps and bruises, and the like.’ He paused in what he was doing and met her eyes. ‘What I find difficult about being a parent is knowing whether I’m giving my children enough emotionally. I often feel I’m coming up short there.’
‘They miss you when they go away to school.’
‘They said that?’
Hazel nodded.
‘Maybe I need to look into local schools for them. That way we’d be together more, and they’d have friends in the area.’
‘Why did you choose boarding school, if you
Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she should distance herself from him – a relationship would never work – but it was as if her body couldn’t, or wouldn’t, cooperate.
Sighing, she dropped her head on his shoulder as he carried her into the house.
Reality came back with a bang when she noticed that he turned right at the top of the grand staircase instead of left.
‘This isn’t the way to my apartment.’
‘I’m not taking you back there. I want to have a proper look at your ankle, and my first-aid kit happens to be in my private bathroom.’
‘Oh.’
The magical moment had gone, and she allowed him to take her to his quarters, where he set her down on a battered, brown leather sofa in his living room. Pulling up a small footstool, he placed her injured foot on it, propped up by a cushion, and then disappeared down a hallway which led to the bathroom and, presumably, his and the boys’ bedrooms. While he was gone, Hazel drank in her surroundings.
Jonathan’s place consisted of a large L-shaped living room, with windows facing towards the front as well as the east side of the park. The sofa stood in front of a grand fireplace, separated by a Persian rug. One corner of the room was taken up by a dining table and chairs, where the remnants of the boys’ tea was still in evidence, and a desk and book shelves occupied another. The desk was strewn with pens, papers, folders, several mugs and, incongruously, a fire station built out of Lego bricks.
The whole place was just so like Jonathan that Hazel couldn’t help smiling.
Jonathan returned carrying a first-aid box, a glass of water, and a packet of aspirin.
‘Here, this will help with the pain.’
Hazel popped two tablets in her mouth, while Jonathan took off her trainer and sock, and rolled up her trouser leg. Her ankle was swollen to almost twice its size, and she winced as he gently turned her foot this way and that.
‘You’ve definitely twisted your ankle, quite badly by the looks of it, but I don’t think anything is broken. I wouldn’t be able to do this if you had.’ Grinning, he looked up, and Hazel’s heart did a little jig. ‘I’m going to put some arnica cream on it for the bruising, and then a dressing around it for support. Don’t put too much weight on it over the next few days.’
‘I can still work, can’t I?’ Hazel asked. ‘You know, answer the phone and stuff.’
‘At least take a couple of days to rest. There’s nothing urgent on your desk, is there?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good, that settles it.’
‘But ... ’
‘No ‘buts’. A sprained ankle needs rest.’
Leaning back on the sofa, Hazel tried to relax while Jonathan’s cool and efficient hands bandaged her foot, but his closeness and gentleness – combined with her own confusion – was making this very hard.
In the end, to cover up her embarrassment, she said, ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’
‘I’m a dad; I can deal with bumps and bruises, and the like.’ He paused in what he was doing and met her eyes. ‘What I find difficult about being a parent is knowing whether I’m giving my children enough emotionally. I often feel I’m coming up short there.’
‘They miss you when they go away to school.’
‘They said that?’
Hazel nodded.
‘Maybe I need to look into local schools for them. That way we’d be together more, and they’d have friends in the area.’
‘Why did you choose boarding school, if you
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