‘Not enough of me, I hope?’
‘No,’ said Fran, reaching for him. ‘Never that.’
ChapterNineteen
Fran was in the kitchen the next morning, wearing one of Antony’s shirts and nothing else, making sense of the coffee machine, when she heard her phone ting in the bedroom, indicating she had a text.
When the coffee was doing what it was supposed to do she went into the bedroom to look at her phone.
Antony was in the shower. She allowed herself a couple of seconds to wonder what might happen if she was still in the bedroom when he came out of it and decided to find out. But first, the text.
It was from Issi.
Can you give me a ring, soonest? It’s urgent.
She ran from the room to the hallway, finding Issi’s number. Issi answered instantly. ‘Is? What is it?’
‘It’s Amy. She’s in hospital. She was taken in during the night. It’s not looking good, Fran.’
‘Oh God! I should be with her.’
‘Well,yes. As soon as you can. Roy’s on his way there now.’
‘Oh no. He’ll tell her how I’m in London with Antony, the man she loves to hate.’
‘She’s not making a lot of sense apparently, so don’t worry about that. They think it’s probably a UTI – urinary tract infection, in case you don’t know. My grandmother kept getting them. They make you doolally for a bit but she should be OK once the antibiotics kick in.’
‘But you think she’ll be OK permanently?’
‘Hon, I’m not a doctor. Just get here.’
Fran ran back into the bedroom. Antony was getting dressed. ‘What’s up?’ he asked, buttoning his shirt.
‘It’s Amy. She’s in hospital. I need to go to her.’
‘Fine,’ said Antony. ‘Then I’ll take you there. You get dressed; I’ll order some breakfast which we can pick up from reception and eat in the car.’
He was so calm, so in control; his clear instructions made her feel less panic-stricken.
‘Keep my shirt on,’ he added with a smile. ‘It suits you. I’ll find you a jumper to put on top. It may be a bit fresh out there.’
Everything happened very smoothly after that. Wearing Antony’s shirt and one of his cashmere sweaters over the top of her own clothes, Fran got into his car, which had been brought to the door bytheparking valet, clutching a cardboard carrier with coffee and a bag with croissants. Her belongings were on the back seat.
‘I’m so grateful, Antony,’ she said when she’d taken a sip of the strong, but very good coffee.
‘You don’t ever need to feel grateful for anything I do for you. I love you, therefore I look out for you. Simple as that.’
Fran couldn’t speak. She thought she might cry, which would be ridiculous. She cleared her throat, but still couldn’t utter a word. She patted his hand instead, hoping he’d understand. Part of her was so happy, but the other part was desperately anxious. She couldn’t help remembering what the nurse had said about Amy’s heart condition. Supposing Amy died before she got there?
She bit her lip hard and tried to focus on the passing streets. Never to see that often-cantankerous old lady again was a horrible thought. It hadn’t always gone well. It had taken them both a little while to get the measure of each other but Fran realised she now loved her, for all her cranky ways. And she sensed that Amy liked her back. Fran couldn’t assume she was loved, but liked, certainly.
But did she like her as much as the oleaginous Roy? Roy, who put on the charm, suppressed his less attractive characteristics and claimed to be a farm boy who’d always wanted a little spot in the Old Country?
Thestaff at the care home had told her, and she had sometimes observed it for herself, that Amy liked men. She had very old-fashioned notions and in spite of her own life as a farmer, she did seem to think that men were better at it that women. Feminism seemed to have passed her by. And to be honest, Roywasa lot better qualified to run the farm than she was. She was a city girl who was afraid of cows. But she loved the farm and Roy seemed only to love its potential value.
They didn’t speak much on the journey home, but as they started on the last leg, Fran said, ‘Should I go home first and change, do you think?’
He glanced at her and smiled. ‘I’d ask Issi. You do look – well …’
