200 Harley Street: The Enigmatic Surgeon

‘You know what?’ Edward had got to his feet, taking Isaac with him. Safe and sound in his arms. ‘You and I have a job to do. We’re going to tell your mum that everything’s going to be okay. That we’ll look after her.’

Isaac nodded sagely.

‘I think we could all do with a cup of tea. What do you say?’

‘I want milk.’

‘Good idea. I’ll have some milk, too. And we’ll make your mum a cup of tea.’

‘She likes coffee. The kind with the froth on top.’

Isaac had a tight hold of Edward’s jacket collar, his other arm wrapped around Stinky. Charlotte knew that his tears weren’t too far below the surface, but Edward seemed to be reassuring him with his sheer bulk and unflappability.

‘Okay. Tell you what—we could go out for coffee, if you’d like.’ His gaze moved from Isaac to Charlotte. ‘What do you think?’

‘I...’ She wanted his arms around her so much. His comfort. Charlotte pulled herself upright, squaring her shoulders. ‘We’re all right. Really.’

‘Yeah. I can see that.’ He reached forward, touching her cheek so lightly that she shivered. As his hand dropped to his side his fingers skimmed his thumb, as if he wanted to test the exact nature and volume of the tears he’d brushed away.

‘We can manage, Edward. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t turned up just then, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it...’ Good start. That was really going to make him feel that it was okay for him to go away now, wasn’t it?

‘But...?’

‘But I can’t keep you. You must have things to do.’

Edward always had something to do. His head was always buried in a book, or some papers. Even when she’d chanced to see him in the street he was always deep in thought, and half the time he didn’t even acknowledge her, either because he hadn’t seen or didn’t want to see.

‘I don’t think so. In fact I’ve nothing to do today. It’s only fifteen minutes over to my place.’ He pursed his lips, as if he’d surprised himself by the invitation as much as he’d just surprised Charlotte. ‘We’ll get coffee on the way, and we can talk...privately. Perhaps I can help.’

She could have turned his help down for herself, but she had Isaac to think about, and Charlotte had no choice but to grab at any and every offer that came her way. And there was the matter of that nagging need at the back of her head, which wanted her to explain to Edward, tell him that she wasn’t the person that all of this made her seem. She was going to have to swallow her pride and go for coffee.

* * *

Edward had waited in the hallway while she dragged on a pair of jeans, shoved her feet into her sandals and splashed her face with water. Her eyes had looked puffy in the mirror, but she hadn’t wanted to keep him waiting for too long, so she’d dropped her make-up bag into a canvas holdall along with a few of Isaac’s favourite toys to keep him occupied.

They’d stopped at a coffee shop and Edward had ushered them in. Isaac had slipped his hand into Edward’s, tugging at his jacket until he’d lifted him up to see over the counter. He seemed to trust that if he stuck with his new friend no harm would come to them, and Charlotte hoped that her son was right.

Now they turned into a wide street, dappled by sunlight shining through the branches of the trees. Turned again into a short drive, behind a high wall hung with greenery, and came to a halt outside a double-fronted Georgian house, white-painted with slim, elegant lines.

It was quiet here. Far enough from the main road for them to be able to hear birdsong. Charlotte handed Edward the cardboard coffee holder and busied herself with getting Isaac out of the car.

The silence between them was oppressive. Edward seemed awkward as he opened the front door, walking inside without even asking them in, and Charlotte began to wish that she was anywhere but here. Apart from being at home, that was, waiting for the phone to ring again.

‘Well...’ He clapped his hands together awkwardly, like a man who was unused to guests. ‘Here we are.’

‘Yes.’ Charlotte stepped tentatively over the threshold, holding tightly onto Isaac’s hand. Inside the house it was tranquil—a cream-painted hallway, pictures on the walls, green plants everywhere.

‘Let’s go into the sitting room.’ Edward seemed to galvanise himself into action and opened a wide panelled door, ushering them through it.

Sunlight streamed through the front windows onto pale oatmeal-coloured sofas at the front. A TV, nestling unobtrusively in one corner, conceded pride of place to a state-of-the-art sound system. The room ran the full depth of the house, and next to the French windows at the back stood a grand piano.

‘What a lovely room.’ She gave her son’s hand a squeeze, although whether it was to give or receive confidence she wasn’t quite sure. ‘Isn’t it, Isaac?’

Isaac was too busy looking around to reply. At the lines of glass-fronted cabinets, heavy with books. The green plants, arching gracefully around the windows.

‘Come and meet Archie.’ Edward beckoned Isaac over towards the French windows, where a ginger cat lay stretched out on the carpet, basking in the warm sunlight.

‘Is he a lion?’ Isaac looked up at him gravely.