Angel Kate by Anna Ramsay Page A

treatment and wild horses won't drag Kate back to you.
    *  *  *
    After a rare night of tossing and turning, Kate woke late. Had she slept at all? It didn't feel like it. Every hour, on the hour, she had counted the  cathedral's solemn chimes. She stumbled around the bedroom, bumping into chairs and dropping things in her fumbling haste.
    Bundling her hair into a plastic cap, she stepped under the deluge shower while the water was still running cold. It made her gasp, shocked her wide awake. What a restless, frustrating night. And all because of Tom.
     He'd been so aloof. And not a word of thanks for taking the trouble to come back for the letters.  She'd been made to feel like a stranger, which was utterly ridiculous when nurse and patient were involved in a situation of such intimacy that she could have described the mole below his left shoulderblade and the exact location of the suture line; with closed eyes recall the texture of smooth olive skin and the mingled smell of sandalwood soap and warm masculinity, the way the hair curled thickly on the nape of his neck, the shape of his mouth …
    Why, I couldn't even describe my James in such detail! Kate reflected indignantly, rubbing goose- pimpled flesh with a big blue towel. Her hand reached automatically for the bottle of baby oil, hovered over it and then picked up the one she saved for best, Mitsouko-perfumed body lotion, smoothing it generously all over her damp skin, wanting to smell nice for Tom.  So what if there was no time now for breakfast.
    One small self-indulgence remained from her Paris modelling days: the caressing softness of pure silk against her skin. Shivering a little, she slipped into a delicate shell-peach Lise Charmel bra and briefs, clasped the matching garter belt round her narrow waist and fastened pale stockings to the suspenders. Tights weren't comfortable on the hot busy wards; nurses preferred minimal underwear beneath their uniforms.
    All the time her thoughts were on her surgeon patient… how strangely he'd looked at her, as if he didn't think much of Nurse Wisdom in her dark clothes with her hair flopping down her back.
    'Perhaps he'd appreciate me more in palest peach,' she thought naughtily. Then, Really Kate! as her sensible side took back the lead.
    With an ironic half-smile Kate assessed the steamy image in the bathroom mirror, trying to picture herself through another's eyes. It was difficult to be objective. At eighteen she'd been obsessed with clothes and the way she looked, slim as bamboo, with a natural elegance, perfect skin and masses of dark hair. That looked great, of course, when she was modelling Galliano or Chanel, not a serious thought in her silly head. Spoiled and petted, the daughter of Archie Wisdom, the wealthy and celebrated theatrical impresario. Only one thing she'd ever refused the top designers and that was to cut off her long mermaid hair.
    'Katie darling, whatever you want to do, you know I'm right behind you. But leave your hair alone. Don't ever let those people cut it. Promise me that. You'll never need to work, princess, but you're as lovely as your mother and if you choose to cash in on your model girl looks I'll be in the front row at all your shows.'
    His only child, Kate had always been able to twist him round her little finger. 'So you'll ring Wycombe Abbey and tell them I won't be finishing my A levels.'
    She had total recall of that conversation. It was the first and last time she'd ever reproached her father. 'Why didn't youand Mum staymarried to each other?'
    He had stroked her glossy head with a rueful hand. 'We drifted apart, sweetheart. One day you'll understand.'
    The truth of the matter was that it had been  Stephanie who had left her husband and child. She had fallen head over heels in love with a celebrated German writer whose books she'd been  translating into English for his London publisher. But Archie Wisdom hid his sorrow and bitterness from his young daughter, determined to