Mistletoe Mother. Josie MetcalfeЧитать онлайн книгу.
decorations? It’s not something I’ve had much experience with buying.’
She gave her hand a little tug and for the briefest second he seemed strangely reluctant to release her, then let go of her hand with a jerk as though suddenly remembering where they were and what he was doing.
‘I’m due to finish at three, but—’
‘But that will depend on whether you’re in the middle of a delivery,’ he finished for her. ‘You don’t have to tell me how it works.’ He thought for a minute. ‘I’ll come up at three to see how the land lies and we can take it from there. Did you drive to work this morning or shall we go in my car?’
Ella’s head was still whirling with the speed of events long after he’d left the room. Thank goodness the department was so quiet. She wasn’t at all sure that she would have been capable of concentrating on managing even the most straightforward delivery.
Even the simple task of wandering around the department to get an idea of just how many doors and windows there were seemed to be beyond her. It wasn’t until she nearly tripped over her own feet that she finally got her head on straight and began to think logically. She even managed to take a wicked delight in weaving a web of suspense about what she was up to, carefully keeping Seth’s part in the plans strictly to herself.
It nearly drove the rest of the staff mad as they pestered her for details. It was only when a couple of them cornered her during her lunch-break that she realised that the decorating of the department was an annual bugbear that everyone tried to palm off to whoever didn’t run fast enough in the opposite direction.
As the newest member of staff she had been a sitting duck.
‘Well, this duck won’t quack,’ she murmured to herself, knowing that her mysterious grins and misleading hints were putting everyone off the scent. As if she’d actually intended taking the tinsel home to iron the crumpled sections!
On the other hand, the patients were thoroughly enjoying the situation, taking an almost evil glee in winding the rest of the staff up for her.
As she’d gone into each room, from the four-bedded wards to the single-occupancy rooms, she’d sworn each inmate to secrecy before explaining what she was doing.
Several of them had offered suggestions, either of decorating schemes or of good places to find the decorations at a reasonable price.
By the time three o’clock came around without a potential new arrival in sight, Ella had a notepad full of diagrams, measurements and totals and was ready to go.
The sight of Seth’s dark head appearing round the door of the staff lounge was enough to double her heart rate, but she determinedly told herself that it was just a result of their subterfuge.
‘You’re ready,’ he said with a satisfied nod. ‘I’ll get the car and meet you down by the entrance to the staff car park.’
‘Um…’ She paused, suddenly tongue-tied because she didn’t know what to call him. ‘Ah, Mr Gifford, I don’t know—’
‘Ella, it’s Seth,’ he interrupted quietly. ‘I’m only Mr Gifford in front of the patients. OK?’
‘OK.’ She swallowed, surprised by how intimate it felt to be invited to use his first name. ‘I was only going to say that I don’t know what your car looks like.’
‘It’s white. A BMW, 3-series.’
She couldn’t help the grin.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ His forehead pleated in a swift frown.
‘I wouldn’t know a 3-series from a moon-rocket,’ she explained with a chuckle. ‘But I do know what the BMW logo looks like on the bonnet and I know the colour white.’
He raised his eyes in typical male exasperation and one corner of his mouth actually lifted in a wry grin before he raised a hand in farewell and let the door close behind him.
‘BRR! I hadn’t realised it was so cold out here!’ Ella exclaimed through chattering teeth as she slid hastily into Seth’s car.
‘And the forecast is for worse to come,’ he warned as he leaned forward to turn the heater up to maximum then glanced across at her, obviously checking that she’d fastened her seat belt before he set off. ‘Apparently, there’s some local man who’s been doing his own forecast for the last forty years or so—gets it right more often than the pundits with their electronics, by all accounts—and he reckons it’s going to be another long cold wet winter.’
‘Thanks! That’s just what I needed to hear! Couldn’t he at least have sweetened the pill by mentioning a few brief spells of sunshine and unseasonable warmth?’
He laughed. ‘Sorry. Not a balmy breeze in sight. Still, what are you worried about? You work in a fully heated hospital, warm enough for people to wander about in their shirtsleeves all year round.’
‘That’s the trouble. It makes coming out into the cold so much more of a shock to the system.’ Almost as much of a shock as finding herself sitting side by side with Seth Gifford in the intimate confines of his quietly luxurious car. Thank goodness they had the weather and other allied subjects to talk about or she’d be sitting here tongue-tied.
‘I’m sure that central heating has a lot to do with all these flu epidemics we keep having each year,’ she continued hastily, not wanting the silence to stretch too long in case she leapt into the void with something embarrassing. ‘My grandmother always maintained that people aren’t nearly so hardy as they used to be when they lived in virtually unheated houses.’
‘Tell that to the ones who died of the flu pandemic just after the First World War,’ he argued. ‘Twice as many died of that in a matter of weeks as were killed in the four years of the war itself, and none of them were living with central heating.’
‘I know, but they didn’t have access to the Health Service or the variety of drugs we have now, so there would have been far more people in the “at risk” category.’
‘True,’ he conceded, more than half his concentration on manoeuvring the car into a parking space in the car park attached to the shopping centre. ‘There are fewer deaths from flu these days than back in 1918, but…Oh, for goodness’ sake, what are we debating this for?’ he exclaimed with disbelief clear in his voice as he turned to face her with the keys in his hand. ‘We’re on our way to buy Christmas decorations, so let’s declare a truce.’
‘A Christmas truce, like they had in the trenches during the War?’ she proposed cheekily.
‘Does that mean that hostilities could break out again as soon as the last mince pie has been eaten?’ Seth frowned as he pretended to consider the idea seriously. ‘Still, a Christmas truce that starts now means that there should be at least two weeks of peace, so I accept.’
He held out his hand and without a moment’s thought Ella took it.
It didn’t matter that she was wearing gloves this time, the effect of the contact between them was just as strong and just as startling. What was going on here?
His hand tightened briefly around hers and her eyes flew up to meet his. He was frowning again, his gaze flicking from her face to their joined hands and back again before he suddenly released his hold on her.
‘Well,’ he said, his voice rather too hearty for the enclosed space as he turned away to open his door, ‘I hope you know where we’re going to be able to get these things because I haven’t a clue.’
So, what happened there? she mused as he strode off to fetch a parking ticket from the dispenser. It didn’t seem very likely that he had felt the same reaction that she had, there’d certainly been no evidence of it in his expression. Dear God, she hoped he hadn’t seen something in her own face. It