Page 8 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

“Nothing, Gid,” Frankie says, his face wreathed in a big smile, no trace of the bully boy anywhere. “Just offering him some advice.”

“I’ll prepare for death, then, because what you know about the medical profession and nursing wouldn’t even take up space on the back of a stamp.”

Gideon raises one eyebrow at me in query and I make myself smile, but I know it’s shakier than I’d like because his gaze sharpens.

“Time to go, Frankie,” he says. “Otherwise you’ll be stuck on the boat and we really can’t have that.”

Frankie laughs. “Not likely. The age range isn’t even close to my chosen choice of partners.

” I make a moue of disgust at the thought.

He claps a hand on Gideon’s shoulder that makes him cough.

I start forward but Gideon waves me back.

“I’m going to meet the boat in Nice. I’ll bring any paperwork with me then.

Okay?” And then he’s gone, leaving the room without even bothering to acknowledge Milo and Niall.

“I’ll look forward to that visit more than a root canal, if it’s possible,” Gideon says acerbically, but his tone belies the weariness in his body. I shoot Milo and Niall a look and they get up.

“We’re off,” Milo says. He bends and hugs Gideon, and something twangs in my chest at the bewildered way that Gideon receives the embrace like he’s never been hugged like that before.

Yet these two men are brothers. Niall hugs him too, yet Gideon seems more relaxed in his embrace as if he’s used to it. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Take care of yourself,” Milo says. “Please use this time to really rest up. I worry so much about you.”

“Don’t,” Gideon says testily. “It’s ridiculous.” But he kisses the hand that Milo puts on his face and his expression is soft. “I’ll be fine,” he says and looks at me imploringly.

“Of course he will,” I say. “I’ll look after him. He’ll have so much clean living and fresh air that when you see him next he’ll look twenty-five and be in the process of being turfed off an OAP cruise.” The two men laugh and leave in a rush of hugs and goodbyes.

I close the door behind them and the suite becomes quiet. When I turn back I find Gideon has closed his eyes.

“Come on,” I say briskly. “Come and climb into bed.”

“What an offer,” he says tartly. “You’ll have to excuse me though, Eli. As the Bible says, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak at the moment.”

“Cheeky,” I muse. I help him up and catch hold of his arm as he sways. “You okay?”

He nods. “Just felt dizzy. What the fuck is the matter with me? I’ve literally just got out of bed, sat in a car and then on a sofa, and I’m fucking knackered.”

“Pneumonia,” I say, guiding him into the bedroom.

I inhale and get a whiff of his aftershave.

It’s a spicy vanilla smell. It even smells expensive, so it seems very him.

“It’ll be like this for a while. You have to give in and listen to your body, Mr Ramsay.

It’s trying to tell you what it needs to be done to get well again, and there’s nothing better for an ill person than sleep. It mends most things.”

I help him onto the wide bed which is full of pillows and dressed in expensive white Egyptian cotton sheets and a thick eiderdown embroidered in a white and grey pattern.

I pull off his shoes and lift his legs up onto the bed before covering him with the eiderdown.

He subsides with a sigh, his long black eyelashes fluttering on his thin cheeks.

“I’ll leave you, Mr Ramsay, but I’m only in the other room. Shout if you need anything.”

I go to stand up but his eyes shoot open and he grabs my hand, so I still. “Gideon,” he says, his voice slurring with tiredness. “You might as well call me Gideon. Mr Ramsay sounds like I’m up in court.”

He’s asleep before I can answer, but I stare down at him for a few seconds. Mr Ramsay might be a better option. Safer all round. But he’s already Gideon in my head, so that’s what it’ll have to be.

GIDEON

I come awake with a start to a room full of the shadows of encroaching twilight. I struggle to sit up, throwing the covers off me impatiently. Reaching for my watch, I shake my head. I’ve been asleep for four bloody hours.

Lowering my feet to the carpet, I sit up fully and wait a few seconds for the now customary dizziness to leave.

Then I lever up and pad over to the window.

The blinds are down but there’s a switch to the right, and when I press it they swirl up and away smoothly with an expensive hum.

I look out at my view and whistle. The windows are floor-to-ceiling across the whole wall, and consequently all I can see is a vast expanse of blue-grey water with violet clouds skidding across the pinkening sky.

I turn around and view my room for what’s the first time, as when I came in all I could see was the huge bed beckoning.

It’s a lovely room decorated in white and grey, which might be boring if it weren’t for the vibrant colours of the sea and sky.

The central focus is the huge bed which is positioned so you have a panoramic view of the sea.

The walls are lined with expensive grey wood wardrobes and a large white sofa is set in front of a TV.

I swallow, realising my throat is dry, and wander out of the suite looking for my wavy-haired nurse.

I threw everything I had at him this week, demanding things left, right, and centre, and all I got for my pains was a sunny smile and a cheerful voice.

They breed these Welsh people hardy. He’s therefore won my grudging and very tentative approval.

Let’s face it, he won that when he turfed Frankie out of my hospital room and shut the door in his face.

I think of Frankie, and my smile dies. Something needs to be done about him.

Over the last year or so I’ve noticed a definite change in him.

He’s grown more belligerent, and where before he made a token effort to listen to me, now he dismisses everything I say with a wave of his hand and carries on doing everything the way he wants.

I’ve let it go on because he’s always been there for me and I feel a sense of loyalty, but even that’s faltering now.

I wonder what I should do, but just the thought exhausts me, so I push it to one side to be dealt with at a later date.

The lounge area is deserted and I gaze around, finally spotting a messy blond head outside on what looks to be a deck. I get to the door and peer at him. He’s sitting in a comfortable-looking wicker chair, staring out to sea.

He made noises about wearing a uniform at the beginning of the week, but I vetoed that straightaway.

I’d have looked like an inmate from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest if he’d been wheeling me around dressed in a uniform.

Now he has on a faded navy sweatshirt over his usual outfit of a white t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts, and he’s remarkable in that he’s doing nothing except staring out to sea with a smile on his face.

No phone, no tablet, nothing but him and the view.

It’s so alien to me, who always has to be doing something, that I stare at him like he’s in the zoo.

Something must alert him because he looks round and when he sees me, he jumps. “Sorry,” I mumble, flushing at the thought that he’s just caught me staring at him like a lovestruck schoolboy. “What are you doing?” I burst out.

He looks amused. “Looking out to sea.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Because it’s very compelling. Always different.”

“Is it?” I look at the sea but it’s still exactly the same as the last time I saw it. “It’s water,” I say finally.

He laughs. “It’s the sea. It’s very different.” He gestures at the chair. “Come and sit down. How are you feeling?”

I settle into the chair and relax instantly. It’s as comfortable as it looks, full of scarlet cushions that are just the right size and shape to cradle me. I sigh happily and his lip quirks.

“Shall I leave you alone with the chair?”

I shake my head. “Is it too late to employ a comedian to accompany us? Tell me it’s not too late.”

He grins. It’s a lovely smile. Wide and sunny and relaxed with a charm that’s emphasized by the spray of freckles over that wide nose. It makes him look naughty somehow. I realise I’m staring again and clear my throat.

“Is this all ours?” I ask, looking around at the wooden deck which is filled with more wicker furniture, all with the same scarlet-coloured cushions.

There’s even a hot tub and a bed under an overhang draped with gossamer-thin curtains.

“I sincerely hope that Milo hasn’t arranged for us to share this with a happy band of passengers.

I wouldn’t put it past him,” I say darkly.

“Nope, it’s private. I had a chat with Peter, the butler, while you were asleep. This is totally private and all ours.”

“A week ago I’d have been planning what debaucheries I could perform out here. Now, I’m just thinking how comfortable that day bed looks.” I yawn suddenly. “I still feel tired,” I say in amazement. “How is that possible?”

“It’s completely normal. You’ve been very ill. The body doesn’t bounce back after something like that.” He purses his lips. “Plus, Mr Russo the consultant spoke to me in a very dark tone about the lifestyle you’d been leading.”

To my amazement I flush. Me . I’m never embarrassed. Life and my patience are too short for me to bother with other people’s opinions. “Yes, well.” I clear my throat. “I’m thinking he got that information from the National Enquirer and not the Medical Gazette .”

“I’ll have you know that the Medical Gazette does a lot of celebrity exposures,” he says primly, and I laugh suddenly.

He amuses me when few people do. The coughing starts immediately, and he pats me on the shoulder gently while I cough.

When I’ve finished, he reaches for a tissue from a box on a side table and hands it to me to mop my streaming eyes.