What would Isabella and Max do then with a flatmate playing gooseberry? Would Max invite her to stay at his place?
Of greater concern to Isabella was her extended absence from the theatre, but the doctor who Max had insisted make a house call to see her had said she was in no fit state to work, let alone perform nightly on stage.
‘You may well regard yourself as a trooper, Miss Hartley,’ he’d told her, ‘but you’ll be of no use to anybody if you go down with pneumonia as a result of not following my instructions. Complete bed rest and plenty of fluids.’
After an awkward telephone conversation with the director of the play, it was agreed the understudy would continue standing in for Isabella until the new year.
Yesterday morning she had gone out for the first time in weeks to do her Christmas shopping. She had returned home exhausted, her body limp and clammy, her chest rattling like a battered tin with a couple of coins in it.
Her ear pressed to Max’s chest, Isabella listened to his heart thudding inside his ribcage. She lay like that for some time, thanking providence that they had met. Compared to her previous lovers, he was by far the most experienced and expert. He took his time, teasing her with his fingers and his mouth, keeping her deliciously on the brink before finally bringing her to climax. He seemed to care much more about her pleasure than his own, which heaven knew made a refreshing change.
In the quiet still of her own company while Max was at work, she was plagued by a small but insistent voice: Was he too good to be true? What was he doing when he wasn’t with her? Who was he with? He rarely spoke of where he worked, or with whom he worked, just that he was a civil servant and worked in an office where nothing of any significance was done. But then come six forty-five, as regular as clockwork, he would appear with food to cook for her, and the doubts would vanish like steam on the bathroom mirror. Be happy for the moment, she would tell herself. And she was happy. Oh, she was blissfully happy! She was also, very much to her astonishment, most definitely in love.
‘What are you thinking?’ Max asked, his hand now stroking the nape of her neck.
‘How happy I am.’
‘What would make you happier?’
She raised her head and looked into his eyes. ‘Right now, I don’t think that’s possible.’
He smiled. ‘There must be something. Something I can do, or something I could give you?’
‘What about you? Could I give you something that would make you happier?’
He breathed in deeply so that his chest rose beneath her. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I want to spend Christmas Day with you.’
She was both pleased and disappointed. ‘But I’m going up to Suffolk this afternoon. It’s all arranged.’
‘I know that. But I don’t like the thought of you travelling alone on the train in this cold weather. You might have a relapse. Or far worse, the train might get stuck in a snowdrift and some heroic young man might come to your rescue and carry you off on his steed.’
She tapped his chin with a finger. ‘And what makes you think I’d allow a complete stranger to carry me off on his steed?’
‘You agreed to have dinner with a complete stranger the night we met.’
‘Hmmm . . . so I did. What could I have been thinking?’
‘And besides, you know perfectly well what I mean.’ He moved his head down and clamped his teeth lightly around her finger.
She found the sensation of his teeth pressing against her skin hugely erotic. ‘I’m not sure that I do, Dr Max.’
He now kissed her finger. ‘Don’t be disingenuous, my darling. I’m displaying all the classic signs of a jealous lover, so please do me the courtesy of not compounding my shameful agony.’
The admission sent a spark of pleasure running through her. ‘Why should you be ashamed of your jealousy?’
‘Because it’s not something I’ve experienced in a long time.’
She smiled. ‘Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?’
‘Such as?’
‘You must come to Suffolk and spend Christmas there with me.’
He looked doubtful. ‘You wouldn’t rather stay here in London and let me spoil you?’
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t ever missed Christmas at home. It’s a tradition. Come with me,’ she added, her mind running over the pros and cons. Romily wouldn’t mind one more guest, surely? But how would the rest of the family greet Max, him being so much older than she was? And what would Evelyn think? There was also Hope’s condition to consider. Would it be inappropriate to bring a stranger into the family at such a time? But then Max wasn’t a total stranger, was he? Not from what he’d told her about knowing Romily and Evelyn from before and during the war.
‘Won’t that be a break in tradition, having somebody with you?’ he asked, while her mind was racing on ahead.
‘It had to happen some time,’ she said, ‘it might just as well be now. And with you.’
‘In that case, we ought to telephone Romily and make sure it’s convenient for her to have an extra guest.’
But each time they tried ringing, there was no reply; the line was permanently engaged. ‘I don’t feel comfortable showing up without warning Romily,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Nothing ever fazes Romily.’
Isabella shivered and pulled her mink coat around her. The heater wasn’t working in their compartment on the train, which explained why it was as cold as an iceberg and why they were the only ones occupying it. They had tried looking for two seats together in the other compartments, but despite catching an earlier train than planned in the hope they might avoid the worst of the crush of people going home for Christmas, there were none to be had. At least she had Max to help keep her warm.
‘I’m intrigued,’ he said, ‘am I the first man you’ve taken home to meet your family?’
‘Yes,’ she said, trying to suppress a cough. Since leaving the cosy warmth of the flat, her chest had felt like hot daggers were being systematically pushed into it. Maybe Max had been right to say that she wasn’t well enough to travel yet. But it was too late now to regret leaving London. Too late also to worry about the reception they might be given on arriving at Island House.
‘I’m honoured,’ he said.
‘So you should be.’
‘Does that mean I’m special to you?’
She nestled in closer to him, both for warmth and because she loved being wrapped in his arms. He made her feel cherished. And safe. No man other than Elijah had been able to do that. ‘Max,’ she said, ‘what is it you’re really trying to ask me?’