‘I may not be able to tell through your boot.’ She gently prodded.
‘Ow!’ he said.
‘I wonder if it’s broken or just sprained?’ She was thinking aloud.
‘You won’t be strong enough to get me out of here to find out,’ said Justin. ‘You’ll have to get help.’
Meg smiled sweetly at him. ‘Let’s try, shall we? I’ll get myself out of this ditch first, though.’
Someone only had to suggest that she couldn’t do something, and Meg was absolutely determined that she could.
Hanging on to a tree, she pulled herself out of the ditch, the old tennis shoes she was wearing so muddy they probably wouldn’t survive. ‘Right. I’ll hold on here and lean across. You see if you can reach me and then I’ll pull you out.’
‘I really don’t think—’
‘Just try!’ snapped Meg, nervous in case she was about to look like an idiot. She didn’t usually mind about failing in front of other people, but Justin was a special case.
It took a little while and several attempts, but eventually Justin reached Meg’s free arm and between them they managed to get him out of the ditch and on to the road. He then sat down and looked at his injured leg.
‘You know you’re not supposed to move people if they have an accident,’ said Justin. Meg bit her lip in irritation. Surely he should have been thanking her fervently, not criticising her treatment of him.
‘Too late. You’re moved. How’s the leg?’
‘Is there any chance you could prod it again?’
‘I still can’t really tell what’s going on inside your boot. Perhaps you should take it off?’
‘No! I don’t think so. It could be holding my foot on, for all I know.’
‘I think you’d be in quite a lot of pain if your foot was that badly injured!’ said Meg.
‘I am in quite a lot of pain,’ said Justin quietly.
It was his quietness that made Meg worry. ‘I’d better find a phone box and get an ambulance.’
‘No!’ said Justin. ‘I really need to get to the hotel as soon as possible—’
‘You can’t cook if you can’t walk,’ said Meg.
‘I know, but I can reorganise the staff and find someone to rescue the bike. Can we get me to your car, do you think?’
He was definitely more subdued and Meg thought the pain was probably worse now. It took a lot of effort and a certain amount of swearing to get him to her car.
‘Sorry about the bad language,’ he said when at last she’d got him into the front seat.
‘For goodness’ sake! I’ve worked in professional kitchens. I know all the words,’ Meg said, embarrassed by his apology.
‘But still,’ he said, ‘my father would be appalled at me using language like that in front of a woman.’
‘He’d probably be more appalled by you riding your bike without a helmet,’ Meg pointed out. She walked round the car, got in and turned the ignition key.
Justin spent most of the journey with his eyes closed but when they reached the hotel he directed her round the back and she managed to find somewhere to park that was fairly near the door. ‘I’m going to see if there’s anyone to help,’ she said.
‘Good plan,’ he said and closed his eyes again.
She was met at the door by Laura Wilde, no longer so svelte, in a dressing gown, looking panic-stricken. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
‘I’ve got Justin—’
