Mourn not your Dead

proportion sometimes.” Obviously unwilling to say more, Genovase finished his drink in one swallow and set his glass down.
    Deveney followed suit and sighed. “I’m not looking forward to this, I can tell you that. Better you than me in the hot seat, mate,” he added, glancing at Kincaid. “You’re welcome to it.”
    “Thanks,” Kincaid said with considerable irony. He finished his own drink more slowly, finding comfort in the burn as it went down, then stood and retrieved his coat and bag. “That’s it for me, I’m afraid.” He looked at his watch and swore. “Hardly worth going to bed.”
    “You’re last on the left, Mr. Kincaid,” said Genovase. “And I’ll have a bit of breakfast for you in the morning.” Kincaid had said his thanks to both and turned to go when Deveney touched him on the arm and said quietly, “Your sergeant—Gemma. She’s not married, I take it?”
    It was a moment before Kincaid found his tongue, managed to say reasonably enough, “No. No, she’s not.”
    “Is she... um, unattached, then?”
    “That,” said Kincaid through clenched teeth, “is something you’ll have to ask her yourself.”
     

Three
     
    THE HURT HAD BEEN EVIDENT ON HIS FACE, GEMMA HADN’T expected it, and it had almost caused her to lose her resolve. During the days she’d spent hiding at her sister’s, watching Toby play in the park with his cousins and thinking furiously of what she should do, she’d managed to convince herself that he would be glad to ignore what had happened, relieved, even grateful. So she had prepared her little speech, giving him a graceful out that he would accept with a slightly embarrassed grin, and rehearsed it so often in her mind she could almost hear him saying, “Of course, you’re absolutely right, Gemma. We’ll just go on as before, shall we?”
    Experience should have taught her that Duncan Kincaid never quite behaved as expected. Shivering a little in the cold room, she turned back the bed and laid out her nightdress. She fumbled in her carryall until she found the zip bag containing her toothbrush and cleanser and turned resolutely towards the door.
    Then, suddenly, limply, she sat down on the edge of the bed. How could she have been foolish enough, in the days that had passed like aeons since the night at his flat, to think she could grant herself an instant immunity to his physical presence? Memory had flooded back with a jolt like a boxer’s punch the moment she saw him, leaving her breathless and shaken. It had been all she could do to hold on to her wavering defenses, and now she couldn’t bear the thought of bumping into him in the corridor outside her room. She had no armor left—a kind word, a gentle touch, and she would be undone.
    But she must get to bed, or she would feel even less capable of dealing with things in the morning. So she listened, alert for the creak of a tread on the stairs or the sound of a door opening. Reassured by the silence, she slipped from her room and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom.
    When she emerged a few minutes later, the door to the room opposite the bathroom was closing. She stopped, heart thumping, chiding herself for being absurd, until the glimpse before the door swung shut assured her that the person inside was not Kincaid. Frowning, she tried to fit together pieces of the brief image—curling fair hair falling over a surprisingly masculine pair of shoulders. She shrugged and returned to her room, letting herself in with a grateful sigh.
    And if, once she had put on her warm nightdress and tucked herself under the puffy duvet, there was a kernel of disappointment hidden in the relief, she buried it deeper still.
     
    THE SIGHT OF THE ROYAL SURREY COUNTY HOSPITAL DID nothing to brighten the atmosphere in the small car. Gemma studied the sprawl of muddy-brown brick, wondering why it had not occurred to the architects that ill people might need a bit of cheering up.
    “I know,” said Will Darling, as if he’d read her thoughts. “It’s bloody institutionally awful. It’s a good hospital, though. They combined several smaller facilities when they built this one, and it offers just about every sort of care you could imagine.”
    Darling had arrived at the pub just as Gemma and Kincaid had finished their breakfasts. They had eaten in uncomfortable silence, served by an equally subdued Brian Genovase. “Not much of a morning person,” he’d said with a shadow of last night’s smile. “Goes with