Page 46 of Gideon
Silence falls for a long moment and then I sigh and stir. “This isn’t one-sided, is it?” He looks at me and I gesture between us. “This thing. This attraction. I’m not the only one who feels it.”
He looks torn, and I’m just about to take the statement back so he’s not uncomfortable, when his expression turns resolute. “You’re not the only one.” I sag a little in relief, but he carries on, talking quickly. “But it can’t be anything while I’m your nurse. It’s against everything I stand for. It would be totally wrong, and I would worry that I was taking advantage of you.”
“Makes me sound like the heroine inPoldark.”
He smiles, but it fades quickly. “I’ve been looking after you for a while, and we’ve got close. It’s very common for the patient to mix up feelings of gratitude for something else.”
“I think I’d have had to have felt gratitude for something in my life in the first place.” I shrug. “I’m not terribly good at being grateful. Makes my skin itch.”
He shakes his head reprovingly, but his mouth twitches, and I take that for slight encouragement. I’m coming to realise that I would take anything from him.
“I’m thirty-nine years old,” I say slowly. “I’m not bedridden, and you and I both know that I don’t actually need you at all, unless we count perennial nagging, in which case you’re irreplaceable.” He snorts, and I conceal my smile. “I’m grumpy, as stubborn as a donkey, and resistant to all forms of authority. It doesn’t make me a candidate for romantic dreams.”
He nods, but he looks torn. “I just need to protect you,” he says almost staunchly, and I feel something warm in my stomach at the earnestness in his words. I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before, let alone wanted to do it. I’ve had impassioned words of longing poured into my ears, declarations of infatuation, but nothing like these simple words which are all the more touching for being plain.
I consider his earnest, open face, the freckles on his nose which have multiplied in the hot sun, and the wavy mess of his hair, and I feel something tug in my chest. Something I’ve never felt before. A desire to make things better and easier for him because I don’t want him to feel conflicted or sad.
“If we’re not going to be anything else, then why don’t we be friends?” I say slowly. “I know there’s probably a codicil somewhere that prevents that, but surely it would be okay?” I hate the faint note of begging in my voice but I can’t do anything about it.
He stares at me for a long second. “I can do friends,” he says slowly. “While I’m in your employ I’ll be friends with you.”
“And when you’re not?” I ask, holding my breath.
He bites his lip. “Then we’ll take it as it comes, but friends is a good start.”
I settle back on my lounger. “I’m not sure whether either option is much good for you, Eli,” I say softly. “I’m not good for much, I’m afraid. I haven’t got many friends and the ones I’ve had I’ve treated spectacularly badly.”
“I can’t say I’ve seen much evidence of that.”
“Google me. In fact, just readThe Sun. They’ll tell you everything you need to know, as they have a very unhealthy obsession with me.” He laughs and I sigh. “Maybe you’re different. All I can say is that I’ll try because I want to be friends with you.”
It’s only the partial truth, because I want a lot more. Unfortunately, I can’t name what that is. All I know is that I feel a yearning and a pull towards him. It’s so strong I can feel it like invisible strands of silk tethering me to him even while we sit unmoving and staring out to sea as the sun sinks into a fiery ball on the horizon.
The next day, I stand on the deck, leaning against the railing and looking at the grey mass of Southampton coming into view. Footsteps sound behind me, but I would know it was Eli even if he walked silently. He only has to enter a room and it’s like my senses are tuned into his wavelength.
I remain staring out to sea and he leans on the rail next to me. I shoot him a quick glance. He looks smart for a change, wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, stone-coloured shorts, and black Vans. His hair has even been tamed, and for some reason he doesn’t look right. I’ve grown used to seeing a slightly scruffy Eli who is relaxed and barefoot, and I have a sudden urge to mess his hair up. I resist it, because he looks resolute and a bit sad. I force my gaze back to the view.
“Where are you going when we land?” I say softly.
He shifts his stance against the railing. “I’ve got a couple of jobs that’ll keep me in Dubai for four months. The first job starts in two days. I’ll go home, do some laundry, and pack again.”
“Dubai,” I burst out. I turn to face him, unable to stop, and he looks at me, his eyebrows raised. “That’s so far,” I finish quite spectacularly lamely.
He smiles almost sadly, and it doesn’t suit that wide-open, freckled face. It’s wrong, as if he’s put a mask on. “It needs to be far,” he says grimly.
Too far to meet,I think, and wonder if that’s his reason. “Four months?” I say softly.
He shrugs. “I need you to have some time to think. Some space to work out what’s going to happen between us.”
“I don’t need space,” I start to say demandingly and stop. If this were me a few months ago, I’d have shouted and demanded and behaved so badly that I’d have got what I wanted. Now, I just stand with the words dying away into the wind that whips between us, and I swallow the rest because they would upset him, and for some reason I can’t have that.
I nod. “I’ll do as you want,” I say softly. I hesitate and then the words flood out in almost a begging tone. “Will you write to me?”
I flush because I have never,everbegged anyone to do anything or be anything for me. Not since the grisly morning when I was seven and I cried and clung to my mother and begged her to let me stay at home with her and my father. She’d pulled my arms away, and my father had summoned my new house master to help. As he’d held my arms and talked cheerfully, I’d watched them drive down the winding drive away from me, and I’d sworn right then that I’d never ask anyone for anything personal ever again. However, that obviously doesn’t ring true with this man, and I brace myself for his refusal but it doesn’t come. Why I thought it would is beyond me. He doesn’t do anything I expect.
Instead, he smiles. “That would be nice.” He turns to face me. “I’ll give you my email address.” I nod and his expression clouds. “But only once a week, Gideon. You need the rest of the time to be by yourself without me influencing you.”
“I don’t know where you get the idea that you’re some sort of Derren Brown,” I say loftily, and I’m gratified when he smiles and the shadow in his eyes lifts.
