Page 15 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

“Behaviour-wise, I’d say you haven’t got that far to go,” he says placidly, smiling at the other nurse in a welcoming fashion that makes my eyes narrow.

“Gideon, darling,” Constance flutes, waving her cocktail glass at me and narrowly avoiding spilling it. “Fancy seeing you up so early. I must say you’re really spoiling my image of actors, sweetheart. I thought they were up all night having wild sex parties and proclaiming Donne.”

“That’s in a world not ruled by Eli Jones,” I say smoothly. “His official title is Despoiler of Fun.”

“I might have that put on my business cards,” he says meditatively. “Besides, I think you’d be far too noisy proclaiming anything.”

“I’ll have you know that people pay a lot of money for me to read their work. I could do the telephone directory and they’d buy it.”

“That’s lovely, then,” he says in a manner more suited to a nanny for a toddler than a nurse.

I open my mouth but shut it with a snap as Constance’s nurse throws himself down in a chair at our table.

“Do join us,” I say silkily, but he ignores me. Apparently, once you require a nurse, you automatically have the relevance of a Teletubby.

“Eli,” he purrs, looking like he’s thinking of gnawing my nurse’s face off. “You look gorgeous.”

“I do?” Eli looks down at his outfit then up at me.

“Don’t look at me,” I say sniffily. “I can’t see your outfit for the impression of Napoleon that you’re currently doing.”

His lips twitch. “It’s muesli, Gideon, not a political coup.” He turns to the nurse. “Thank you, Oliver, that’s a nice thing to say.”

Ah, Oliver. That’s his name . I study him while he simpers over my nurse. He’s good-looking, I suppose, but if you ask me, his eyes are too close together and his hair is ridiculous.

“Darling, you look absolutely murderous,” Constance proclaims, passing me her glass. I go to lift it, but Eli circumvents me by removing it from my hand and putting it on a nearby table. He pushes my tea towards me, and I turn to her.

“I prefer creatively murderous. It sounds more artistic.”

“What are you doing today?” she asks, giving me a lopsided grin. I bet she was lethal as a young woman, because even now she has a raffish daredevil charm to her.

“Oh well, after breakfast I might push Eli overboard and then this afternoon I’m going to macramé myself a new nurse.”

Eli snorts. “I hope it’s not as bad as your napkin-arranging attempt. You’ll end up with Jabba the Hutt.”

“Who’s probably more charming than you and who will more than likely let me have alcohol.”

We grin at each other until Oliver clears his throat. “It’s so nice to see a nurse get on with his patient so well,” he observes.

It doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment, and I watch as Eli’s cheeks flush.

“I do get on with him,” I say sharply, driven to stand up for him for some godforsaken reason. “He’s not an imbecile like so many other people are.”

Oliver looks like he’s thinking hard, so I leave him to it, giving Eli a half smile of encouragement to ignore the catty twat.

He stares at me for a second with something working on his normally open, kind face. Then Oliver puts a hand on his arm and drags his attention away.

Constance moves into me. “What a little turd he is,” she says.

“Always on the lookout for trouble and the opportunity to bitch.” She huffs.

“And he can’t pilot a wheelchair for love nor money.

Richard Burton once rode past me on a bike while he was drunk, and he still had more balance and spatial awareness than my nurse. ”

I smile and stare at her as she shifts in her wheelchair. “You okay?”

She waves her hand casually. “Fine, fine. Just tweaked my back a bit last night doing the limbo.”

I blink. “How did you manage that with a broken ankle?”

“Oh, I got a steward to hold the pole up. It’s the spirit of the thing that’s important, not the execution.”

“Tell Eli that about my medication,” I say sourly. “He’s got more alarms going off in the suite than the headquarters at MI5.” I smile at her. “How did you break your ankle anyway, if that’s not too personal a question?”

She grins impishly. “I’d like to say something dashing, but unfortunately I tripped on the kerb in Tesco’s.”

“Eli, when’s your time off?” Oliver’s voice is loud and clear, and Constance and I look up.

“Time off?” Eli echoes.

Oliver laughs. “Yes, of course. Time off. When do you have it?”

I narrow my eyes. He hasn’t had any, and I can’t believe I’ve missed it.

“Whenever he likes,” I say evenly. Eli sends me a surprised look, and I look awkwardly back. “You can take time whenever you fancy.”

“I don’t need to…” Eli starts to say but he’s interrupted by Oliver.

“Excellent. Why don’t we go out tomorrow? The ship will be in Cannes. I know a lovely beach there.” He nudges Eli. “Naked,” he says in a loud whisper.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Eli starts to say, looking slightly alarmed, but Oliver shakes his head.

“Of course you can,” he says in a syrupy voice that has a steely tone to it. “Mr Ramsay will be fine and really we need time away from our patients or we lose our joie de vivre.”

“I don’t think you ever packed yours, darling,” Constance says, but I Iook at Eli and something twists in my stomach.

Is that going to happen to Eli? I know myself, and I’m bloody hard work.

I’ve had many people tell me over the years.

I’m grumpy and irritable, and I don’t suffer fools gladly.

I’m also thirty-nine and a closeted actor.

I look terrible at the moment, which was the only plus point to my character that I had.

He’s good-looking, funny, kind, and brave, as I now know from his CV.

Am I sapping the life from him? I thought he was enjoying himself with me sparring and snarking, but maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe he’s being kind to his patient and humouring me while he counts down the time until he gets paid and can leave.

I go hot and cold with the thought and can feel myself retreating like a tortoise into my shell. “Of course you must go,” I say quickly, hearing the strain in my voice. So does Eli, from the look of it, because his eyes widen, and he looks suddenly flustered.

“I’m not sure about that, Mr Ramsay,” he says with a quick look at Oliver who is staring at me like a cat with a mouse. “You might need me.”

My phone beeps and I look down at it to bide myself some time. I read the message which is like a lifeline.

“No need to worry,” I say heartily. “A friend is visiting tomorrow, so I won’t be alone.”

Eli’s jaw firms slightly, and I watch a tic start up. Then he draws in a breath. “Well, if you’re sure?”

“Of course,” I say coolly. “I never say things I don’t mean.”