Head Over Heels by Jill Mansell (Retail)

Author:Jill Mansell (Retail) [Mansell, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2017-07-06T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 36

“I don’t really have a splinter,” Savannah explained as they made their way back to Sisley House. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“I see.”

Doug gave her a guarded look. Something was up. Surely she hadn’t seen him legging it across her backyard yesterday morning.

“A big favor. Huge, actually.”

“What?”

“The thing is,” Savannah said, “you know how to keep secrets, don’t you? I mean, you’re a doctor and you take that oath thingy, so I can definitely trust you one hundred percent. Whatever it is, you won’t breathe a word to another living soul.”

Doug frowned. “Well no, of course I wouldn’t. But if it’s something serious, you really should be seeing—”

“It isn’t that kind of serious,” Savannah assured him gaily. “More…well, sensitive. Not open heart surgery on the kitchen table, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me what this is about,” Doug said, although he could hazard a guess. Either Savannah thought she might be pregnant or she was afraid she’d caught some form of sexually transmitted disease.

But as they rounded the corner, he was taken aback to see Deborah’s car parked at the top of the drive.

“Um…does this involve your mother?”

“Oh yes.”

Shit. He hoped Deborah didn’t have some form of sexually transmitted disease. “Look,” he said warily, “if someone’s ill—”

“Nobody’s ill. We’re expecting a visitor.” There was an air of excitement about Savannah; her eyes were almost feverishly bright. “And I want you to take a couple of blood samples, that’s all.”

Doug looked at her. “Blood samples?”

“You mustn’t let them out of your sight until you send them off to the lab.” Savannah had read enough Jeffrey Archer novels to know you couldn’t trust politicians. “Then when the results come back,” she concluded triumphantly, “you give them to me.”

* * *

This was surreal.

Doug slid the hypodermic needle into the bulging vein and slowly drew back the plunger. Right first time, thank God—the blood flowed smoothly into the syringe.

David Mansfield watched him withdraw the needle and decant the sample into a thin plastic vial. He had driven down, alone, to Upper Sisley. Now he watched Doug Flynn write a fictitious name on the vial’s label.

He rolled down his sleeve and looked across at Deborah Gillespie’s daughter, perched on the edge of the kitchen table in a barely there skirt and a tank top that stopped short of her navel. If she were his daughter, he thought with an irrational flash of annoyance, he’d tell her to put some proper clothes on and stop dressing like a tart.

“Well, that’s done,” said Deborah with some relief. “Now, can I get anyone a drink?”

David Mansfield stood up. “I should be going.”

Deborah poured herself a massive vodka and tonic anyway. She needed it, even if nobody else did.

“I’ll show you out,” Savannah said, jumping down from the table. “It’s all right,” she added kindly as she saw David Mansfield to the front door. “I’m doing this for love, not money. You don’t have to worry. I won’t blab.”

“Where’s Dizzy?” Doug asked while he and Deborah were alone in the kitchen.

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