Nick had been at the Mayfair Clinic for nine days now, and still no word from Del. He imagined her walking in the door a thousand times a day, practised what he’d say to her, vowed that he’d give her a fair hearing. People thought of Del as the hard-nosed newshound, relentless in her quest for a story regardless of who got in her way, but Nick knew better. He’d seen behind the curtain. She did a good job of hiding it, but, underneath, Del was as loyal and sentimental as could be – and he loved her for it.
God, how he missed her. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he felt her breath on his neck or her soft lips on his. He heard her voice or the lilt of her laughter. It was unbearable. Once he’d asked his nurse if she could smell perfume. Del’s signature scent of jasmine hung heavy in the
