satisfaction.
‘Carrots,’ she said, and Button considered—and then giggled.
‘Carrots.’
Family, Ginny thought, and then suddenly found herself thinking of Abby, Ben’s clinical nurse.
She seemed lovely. She was a single mum and a competent nurse. She worked beside Ben, and his parents obviously cared for her.
Good. Great, she told herself. It was lovely that he had a lady who was so obviously right for him.
Wasn’t it?
Of course it was, she told herself harshly, and then it was her turn to brush so she needed to focus on something that wasn’t Ben and Abby.
For there was no need to think of anything past Button and the vineyard.
No need at all.
* * *
Ben woke early and thought about Ginny. He should think about Abby, he told himself. His family had been matchmaking with every ounce of coercion they could manage. Abby was lovely. She was haunted a bit by her past but she was a gorgeous woman and a true friend.
As Ginny had been a friend?
See, there was the problem. One hot day in his eighteenth year Ben had stopped thinking of Ginny as a friend. They’d been surfing. It had been a sweltering day so there’d been no need for wetsuits. They’d waited, lying at the back of the swell for the perfect wave, and when it had come they’d caught it together.
They’d surfed in side by side, the perfect curve, power, beauty, translucent blue all around them.
The wave had sunk to nothing in the shallows and they’d sunk as well, rolling off their boards to lie in the shallows.
Her long, lithe body had touched his. Skin against skin...
He’d kissed her and he’d known he would never forget that kiss. It had him still wanting to touch her after all these years. Still unable to keep his hands away from her.
What he felt for Abby was friendship, pure and simple. But Ginny... Seeing her today, spending time with her, watching her care for Button...
Yeah, the hormones were still there.
Hormones, however, could be controlled. Must be controlled.
‘There should be pills,’ he told himself, and then thought there probably were.
Anti-love potions?
Except he didn’t need them. It was true he’d got over his adolescent lust. He’d had other girlfriends, moved on.
Out of sight, out of mind? Definitely. He’d had a few very nice girlfriends. Nothing serious, but fun.
The problem was that Ginny wasn’t out of sight now and the physical attraction had slammed straight back...
But the class thing still held true. He remembered that final night, in his shabby suit, Ginny dressed as if she’d just come off the Paris catwalks, and he remembered her gentle smile.
Impossible.
Yeah, so class, social standing had been important then, he told himself. Not so much now.
But then there were her ghosts. Big ones, he thought. A guy who’d betrayed her? A past that made her want to give up medicine? He didn’t know it all. He could only guess.
If he wanted her...
What was he about, still wanting her?
He didn’t, he told himself. This was nostalgia speaking, surely.
‘Get over it,’ he told himself harshly. ‘She’s rich, independent and wants nothing to do with you. She doesn’t want to be a doctor any more and she can surely afford to do what she likes. It’s her call. Leave her alone. One haunted society doctor who doesn’t want to be a doctor at all—no and no and no.’
* * *
The week wore on.
Down on the docks, Squid’s doomsday forebodings were increasing rather than fading.
‘She’ll be a big one. I’m telling you, she’ll be a big one.’
Ben thought longingly of Ginny’s suggestion of quarantine and locks and keys and thought he could almost justify it.
But despite Squid’s doom-mongering, the islanders were calming down. They were growing accustomed to his prophecy; starting to laugh about it. The urgent medical need faded.
He received a couple of applications for doctors to take Catherine’s place, but neither of them was prepared to come to the island for an interview. What
‘Carrots,’ she said, and Button considered—and then giggled.
‘Carrots.’
Family, Ginny thought, and then suddenly found herself thinking of Abby, Ben’s clinical nurse.
She seemed lovely. She was a single mum and a competent nurse. She worked beside Ben, and his parents obviously cared for her.
Good. Great, she told herself. It was lovely that he had a lady who was so obviously right for him.
Wasn’t it?
Of course it was, she told herself harshly, and then it was her turn to brush so she needed to focus on something that wasn’t Ben and Abby.
For there was no need to think of anything past Button and the vineyard.
No need at all.
* * *
Ben woke early and thought about Ginny. He should think about Abby, he told himself. His family had been matchmaking with every ounce of coercion they could manage. Abby was lovely. She was haunted a bit by her past but she was a gorgeous woman and a true friend.
As Ginny had been a friend?
See, there was the problem. One hot day in his eighteenth year Ben had stopped thinking of Ginny as a friend. They’d been surfing. It had been a sweltering day so there’d been no need for wetsuits. They’d waited, lying at the back of the swell for the perfect wave, and when it had come they’d caught it together.
They’d surfed in side by side, the perfect curve, power, beauty, translucent blue all around them.
The wave had sunk to nothing in the shallows and they’d sunk as well, rolling off their boards to lie in the shallows.
Her long, lithe body had touched his. Skin against skin...
He’d kissed her and he’d known he would never forget that kiss. It had him still wanting to touch her after all these years. Still unable to keep his hands away from her.
What he felt for Abby was friendship, pure and simple. But Ginny... Seeing her today, spending time with her, watching her care for Button...
Yeah, the hormones were still there.
Hormones, however, could be controlled. Must be controlled.
‘There should be pills,’ he told himself, and then thought there probably were.
Anti-love potions?
Except he didn’t need them. It was true he’d got over his adolescent lust. He’d had other girlfriends, moved on.
Out of sight, out of mind? Definitely. He’d had a few very nice girlfriends. Nothing serious, but fun.
The problem was that Ginny wasn’t out of sight now and the physical attraction had slammed straight back...
But the class thing still held true. He remembered that final night, in his shabby suit, Ginny dressed as if she’d just come off the Paris catwalks, and he remembered her gentle smile.
Impossible.
Yeah, so class, social standing had been important then, he told himself. Not so much now.
But then there were her ghosts. Big ones, he thought. A guy who’d betrayed her? A past that made her want to give up medicine? He didn’t know it all. He could only guess.
If he wanted her...
What was he about, still wanting her?
He didn’t, he told himself. This was nostalgia speaking, surely.
‘Get over it,’ he told himself harshly. ‘She’s rich, independent and wants nothing to do with you. She doesn’t want to be a doctor any more and she can surely afford to do what she likes. It’s her call. Leave her alone. One haunted society doctor who doesn’t want to be a doctor at all—no and no and no.’
* * *
The week wore on.
Down on the docks, Squid’s doomsday forebodings were increasing rather than fading.
‘She’ll be a big one. I’m telling you, she’ll be a big one.’
Ben thought longingly of Ginny’s suggestion of quarantine and locks and keys and thought he could almost justify it.
But despite Squid’s doom-mongering, the islanders were calming down. They were growing accustomed to his prophecy; starting to laugh about it. The urgent medical need faded.
He received a couple of applications for doctors to take Catherine’s place, but neither of them was prepared to come to the island for an interview. What
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