rolled away from the door and stormed into the kitchen.
At least I do have standards, she thought to his retreating back.
She stayed in the laundry. There was more work to do. She took the bed linen from the washer and put it in the dryer. A few minutes later, a contrite looking Nat reappeared in the doorway.
' I'm sorry, Meg. I've done it again, haven't I, blowing up at you for no good reason?'
'Yes, you have.'
' I know you only ever have my best interests at heart and I appreciate it, I really do. But believe me, I had no interest in the woman apart from…' He hesitated. '…apart from the sex, and even that was a spur of the moment thing.'
' And I just can't seem to help but interfere,' she said.
He dropped down onto the stool and sipped at the water. 'Aye, it's a bad habit you're cultivating there. You might want to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.'
She leaned against the dryer, feeling it vibrate against her back. 'What a pair we make.' She looked down at her feet. 'I know you think it's too late for you, Nat,' she said, 'and that you think you're too old to find someone again, but the truth is, you're never too old and there is someone out there for you. Someone who's good and decent, who'll love you back and give you what you need. You just have to get out to the right places and find her, not try and pick her up in some dubious hangout. A good-looking chap like yourself should have no trouble, they'll come to you like flies round a jam jar.'
He gave a small, sardonic snicker. 'No,' he said. 'It is too late and I am too old. I've already tried to play happy families once , and failed miserably. I'm not willing to jeopardise someone else's happiness just to satisfy my own.'
There was nothing left to say, the discussion had reached a stalemate.
Nat stood, picked up his glass and wandered across the hall to his study. He closed the door firmly, telling Megan, 'I don't want to talk any more.'
Alone, he lowered himself into his chair and closed his eyes. He swallowed the last of the water. His throat hurt and the headache was on him with a vengeance.
Chapter 12
Nat ' s headache didn't get any better. In fact, it got very much worse. By evening, he felt decidedly poorly. His head was pounding and he felt feverish. In the kitchen drawer he found painkillers, swallowed them down with a large glass of water and went to bed.
When Megan arrived next day, she found the back door locked against her and had to use her keys to let herself in. The usual morning smells of brewing coffee and burnt toast were conspicuous by their absence. Nat, it seemed, was not yet up.
' Having a lie-in, you lazy beggar?' she thought, and pottered around as quietly as she could so as not to disturb him. When he hadn't appeared by late morning, she decided he had been indecently idle enough and went to rouse him.
She knocked lightly on his bedroom door and waited for a reply. Not receiving one, she opened it a little and peeped through the gap. The room was dark, but she could make out a shape on the bed. ' Nat, are you awake?' she said, keeping her voice low. 'It's almost noon. '
The shape stirred, groaned and hacked out a rough, deep cough.
'A re you okay, Nat?'
The voice in the dark sounded hoarse. 'No, Meg. I think I'm sick.'
She crossed the room to the bed, taking care as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and switched on the bedside lamp. Nat immediately screwed up his eyes against its feeble light but it was enough for her to see he was, indeed, unwell.
She laid her hand on his flushed and perspiring brow. It was furiously hot. The pulse at his burning neck raced.
'You're very hot,' she said. ' Do you have a headache? ' He blinked his affirmation.
' Do you feel achey? '
'Hmm.'
' How's your throat? '
' Like sandpaper,' he rasped in demonstration.
'And a cough obviously.' She touched his brow again. 'Well, from the symptoms, it looks to me like you might have picked up a touch of the ' flu.' He
At least I do have standards, she thought to his retreating back.
She stayed in the laundry. There was more work to do. She took the bed linen from the washer and put it in the dryer. A few minutes later, a contrite looking Nat reappeared in the doorway.
' I'm sorry, Meg. I've done it again, haven't I, blowing up at you for no good reason?'
'Yes, you have.'
' I know you only ever have my best interests at heart and I appreciate it, I really do. But believe me, I had no interest in the woman apart from…' He hesitated. '…apart from the sex, and even that was a spur of the moment thing.'
' And I just can't seem to help but interfere,' she said.
He dropped down onto the stool and sipped at the water. 'Aye, it's a bad habit you're cultivating there. You might want to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.'
She leaned against the dryer, feeling it vibrate against her back. 'What a pair we make.' She looked down at her feet. 'I know you think it's too late for you, Nat,' she said, 'and that you think you're too old to find someone again, but the truth is, you're never too old and there is someone out there for you. Someone who's good and decent, who'll love you back and give you what you need. You just have to get out to the right places and find her, not try and pick her up in some dubious hangout. A good-looking chap like yourself should have no trouble, they'll come to you like flies round a jam jar.'
He gave a small, sardonic snicker. 'No,' he said. 'It is too late and I am too old. I've already tried to play happy families once , and failed miserably. I'm not willing to jeopardise someone else's happiness just to satisfy my own.'
There was nothing left to say, the discussion had reached a stalemate.
Nat stood, picked up his glass and wandered across the hall to his study. He closed the door firmly, telling Megan, 'I don't want to talk any more.'
Alone, he lowered himself into his chair and closed his eyes. He swallowed the last of the water. His throat hurt and the headache was on him with a vengeance.
Chapter 12
Nat ' s headache didn't get any better. In fact, it got very much worse. By evening, he felt decidedly poorly. His head was pounding and he felt feverish. In the kitchen drawer he found painkillers, swallowed them down with a large glass of water and went to bed.
When Megan arrived next day, she found the back door locked against her and had to use her keys to let herself in. The usual morning smells of brewing coffee and burnt toast were conspicuous by their absence. Nat, it seemed, was not yet up.
' Having a lie-in, you lazy beggar?' she thought, and pottered around as quietly as she could so as not to disturb him. When he hadn't appeared by late morning, she decided he had been indecently idle enough and went to rouse him.
She knocked lightly on his bedroom door and waited for a reply. Not receiving one, she opened it a little and peeped through the gap. The room was dark, but she could make out a shape on the bed. ' Nat, are you awake?' she said, keeping her voice low. 'It's almost noon. '
The shape stirred, groaned and hacked out a rough, deep cough.
'A re you okay, Nat?'
The voice in the dark sounded hoarse. 'No, Meg. I think I'm sick.'
She crossed the room to the bed, taking care as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and switched on the bedside lamp. Nat immediately screwed up his eyes against its feeble light but it was enough for her to see he was, indeed, unwell.
She laid her hand on his flushed and perspiring brow. It was furiously hot. The pulse at his burning neck raced.
'You're very hot,' she said. ' Do you have a headache? ' He blinked his affirmation.
' Do you feel achey? '
'Hmm.'
' How's your throat? '
' Like sandpaper,' he rasped in demonstration.
'And a cough obviously.' She touched his brow again. 'Well, from the symptoms, it looks to me like you might have picked up a touch of the ' flu.' He
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