For fifteen minutes he worked like lightning. Stuff was shoved back into cupboards and windows were flung open to dispel the lingering smell of last night’s fish and chips. Not wanting to irritate Hallie’s lungs, he didn’t risk spraying air freshener but splashed a bit of his best aftershave on to the curtains instead. Magazines were collected up and cleared away, coffee mugs and a couple of plates were thrown into the sink, and in the living room the cushions he never bothered with were retrieved from behind the sofa and placed at jaunty angles next to each arm. No time to vacuum, but he picked a few crumbs off the carpet and did a bit of emergency dusting with a J Cloth. Gym clothes and trainers were stuffed into his sports bag and hidden in the utility room. The empty tube of paprika Pringles he’d finished last night went into the bin. God, preparing the place for unexpected guests was exhausting.
Just as he was finishing, he heard the sound of tyres on gravel and looked out of the window – great, a bird had left its calling card all the way down the glass – to see the airport cab pulling up outside.
Hallie was here.
He went outside to greet her. She was looking pale, feverish and exhausted.
‘Thanks so much. Sorry to be a pain. I feel like a right Nellie No-Mates.’ Hallie coughed into a tissue and managed a weak smile.
‘Hey, no problem, happy to help.’ He lifted her wheelchair out of the cab, followed by the boxes of equipment and her suitcase. ‘And you do have mates. They just all happen to be in Paris for the next three days.’
‘But you stepped up. Like a complete star. And as soon as my mum’s left, I can go home.’
‘You don’t have to. You’re welcome to stay.’
‘I know. I hate to be a nuisance, though.’ She shrugged and coughed again. ‘You don’t want your weekend messed up too.’
Luke shook his head. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside for now. You’re not well. We can argue about the rest later.’
He carried everything into the cottage, closed the windows, settled Hallie on the cushion-strewn sofa and fixed up the oxygen feed. She administered her next dose of IV medication via the portacath in her chest.
‘Now, what can I get you? Coffee? Tea? Anything to eat?’
‘Actually, don’t worry. I’m feeling a bit wiped out. All that pretending to be well earlier . . . it’s pretty exhausting.’ She half smiled. ‘Whatever it is you’re cooking, by the way, I think it’s done.’
‘What? Oh God . . .’ In his desperation to cover up the fish-and-chip smell, he’d switched the oven up high and thrown in a slice of bread because an estate agent had once recommended it for giving potential properties that fresh-baked air of homeliness.
In the kitchen, he discovered that the bread was now charcoal. Feeling like a complete idiot, he flung open the windows once more and energetically dispersed the billowing clouds of smoke with a tea towel.
By the time he’d finished fumigating the kitchen, making tea, unwrapping a cake from the village store – because he wasn’t Superman – and carrying everything through to the living room – Hallie was fast asleep.
He paused in the doorway, holding the tray in front of him. She was lying on her side on the faded red sofa, her breathing shallow but regular. The nasal specs were in place, boosting her oxygen intake by a couple of litres a minute. If she needed it, she could switch to the portable non-invasive ventilator he’d unpacked and left on the table beside her.
But for now he’d leave her in peace, to sleep and regain some energy.
She looked beautiful, with her cheek resting on her hand and her other arm dangling over the edge of the sofa. Those dark lashes covered the shadows beneath her eyes, and her delicate bone structure was accentuated by the glow of the fringed table lamp behind her. She was wearing a navy jersey top and skirt, navy tights and a deep purple wraparound cardigan-type thing. She’d taken off her boots. Were her feet cold? Her circulation wasn’t good . . .
And look at me, standing here in the doorway like Mrs Overall. Luke glanced down at the tray in his hands, turned around and took it back to the kitchen. He would get on with some paperwork in the office, leave Hallie to sleep for now and check up on her in an hour.
At nine o’clock, she was still sound asleep. Luke had checked on her regularly, in between catching up on admin, cooking a roast dinner and watching a mind-boggling documentary on the tiny kitchen TV about extreme cosmetic surgery in Beverly Hills. God, some people were weird. The pain they chose to put themselves through. One woman was undergoing her seventh procedure in order to correct her slightly asymmetric toes.