In Bed With the Boss

Her lashes fluttered up. ‘Yes. Violet, wisteria, slate-blue. So beautiful!’

There was a discreet cough behind them and Alex had no idea that a man had been standing there for about a minute with his

eyes fixed on her glowing expression directed at Max Goodwin—Paul O’Hara.

Then they both turned and he came forward. ‘Hi, Max! Mrs Mills let me in and told me I’d find you out here. Hello, Miss Hill!’

‘Paul,’ Max said pleasantly, ‘come and join us. What are you doing down here?’

Paul pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘I booked into the Hyatt at Sanctuary Cove for the night rather than driving down tomorrow morning for the golf. So I thought I’d toddle over and fill you in on the afternoon’s proceedings. I didn’t expect to—’ He stopped.

‘Expect to find Alex here? She’s taken on another job for me,’ Max said unexpansively. ‘How did it go?’

Alex pushed herself upright. ‘If you’ll excuse me I’ll leave you to it,’ she said.

‘You don’t have to go on my account, Miss Hill,’ Paul O’Hara said eagerly, and didn’t see the sudden, narrowed glance his cousin cast him.

For a moment Alex was subject to a lunatic urge to tell him that she thought he was probably very nice and in any other circumstances she’d like to know him better.

All she said, however, was, ‘Thanks, but I’ve got a good book calling to me. Goodnight.’ And she walked away.

Nicky was fast asleep with a night light on and with Nemo snuggled up beside him.

Alex grimaced. Somehow Nicky was going to have to learn to be parted from the dog but how, she didn’t know.

And she wandered over to a painting that hung on the wall, a small but vibrant canvas of a seashore with two black oyster catchers with their red beaks in the foreground. It was signed in one corner—Cathy Spencer.

When she’d first noticed it she’d asked Mrs Mills about it.

‘Oh, I rescued it from a cupboard,’ Mrs Mills had told her. ‘I remember when she gave it to Mr Goodwin—she told him not to part with it because one day it would be worth a lot of money. He laughed and promised.’ Mrs Mills had broken off with a sigh. ‘They were lovely together then. Perhaps I only saw the good side of them, but I can’t help hoping, well, especially now with Nicky, they could come together again. I think they should. Anyway, I thought Nicky might like to have something of his mum with him.’

Alex came back to the present and turned from the painting to the sleeping boy. Although he was so like Max, she did sometimes see his mother in him, and it tore at her heartstrings suddenly to think of him being shuttled backwards and forwards between his father and mother.

They should put aside their differences, she thought, and brushed away a solitary tear. They really should.

She showered and changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed with her book, only to find it not nearly as gripping as she’d hoped although she persevered, rather grimly, until she felt sleepy. Then she switched off the bedside lamp, and was immediately wide awake but, not only that, in the grip of some sad memories. And she realized it was the memories of Seisia.

No, don’t go down that road, she warned herself. Think of the here and now.

But the house was quiet and there was nothing to distract her. She jumped out of bed as it got harder to breathe. Action or exercise was what she needed—Can’t lie down and let it trap me, she thought chaotically.

She grabbed her glasses, slipped out of her bedroom and ran lightly downstairs to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. But she couldn’t find the light and what she really needed was a paper bag to breathe into, but she had no idea where to find that; she could only stand in the middle of the floor, flapping her arms as she fought to breathe.

The central light flicked on revealing the state-of-the-art kitchen in all its glory: black marble counters and floor, cream cabinets, stainless steel appliances—and Max stood there, still fully dressed.

‘Alex?’ he said incredulously. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Can’t breathe,’ she panted. ‘Can’t—a paper—need a paper bag,’ she gasped.

‘Asthma?’ he queried as he strode forward.

‘No. P-panic.’

‘A panic attack? What—? Never mind.’ He gathered her into his arms. ‘Shush—no one is going to hurt you, I promise. Calm down—no—’ he resisted as she fought to free herself ‘—do as I say, Alex. Relax. You can do it.’

‘A b-bag,’ she stammered.

‘I have no idea where they are, if there are any.’