A Diamond In The Snow. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t meet his eye. ‘You’re busy at work, sweetie.’

      ‘Dad’s more important than work, and so are you.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Is he still in hospital? Is he all right? And how are you doing?’

      ‘He’s recuperating at home, and I’m fine.’

      The first bit might be true, but the second definitely wasn’t. ‘Mum, I hate that you went through this on your own.’ On Wednesday night, he’d been out partying. Without a clue that his father was in the emergency department with a potentially life-changing illness. ‘What did the doctors say?’

      ‘That if he wants to avoid having another one, or even a full-blown stroke, he needs to take it easier. Maybe think about retiring.’

      Which was Sam’s cue to come back to Cambridge and take over Patrick’s place as the head of the family firm of stockbrokers. Leave the fast-paced, high-octane job he loved in the buzzing, vibrant capital for a staid, quiet job in an equally staid, quiet city.

      He pushed the thought aside. Of course he’d do the right thing by his family. He wasn’t that shallow and selfish, whatever his girlfriends liked to claim. There was a good reason why he kept all his relationships light. He’d learned the hard way that women saw him as a golden ticket to their future. Which wasn’t what he wanted.

      ‘And he needs to cut down on alcohol, stop smoking the cigars he thinks I don’t know about, eat more healthily and take more exercise,’ Denise added.

      Sam glanced at the wine: his father’s favourite. ‘So this was the worst thing I could’ve brought him.’

      ‘It’s not your fault, love.’

      ‘So, what—porridge rather than bacon for breakfast, no salt, and no butter on his vegetables?’ Which meant his father wasn’t going to be happy.

      Denise nodded. ‘But they’ve given him medication to thin his blood and stop another clot forming.’ She bit her lip. ‘Next time, it might be a full-blown stroke.’

      Which might affect his father’s speech, his mobility and his ability to think clearly. Sam’s duty was very clear. ‘I’ll call my boss tonight and hand in my notice. I’m coming home to support you.’

      ‘We can’t ask you to do that, Sammy.’

      ‘You’re not asking. I’m offering,’ he pointed out, and hugged her again. ‘Mum, I want you to promise me you’ll never deal with anything like this on your own again. You call me. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night. You and Dad come first.’

      She blinked away tears. ‘Oh, Sammy. I know you’ve got a busy life in London. I didn’t want to bother you.’

      ‘It bothers me a lot more that you didn’t tell me,’ he said grimly. ‘Promise me.’

      ‘I promise,’ she said.

      ‘Good. Put the wine in the rack, and I’ll think of something else to give Dad. Where is he?’

      ‘In the living room. He’s, um, not in the best of moods.’

      Sam could imagine. ‘I’ll get him smiling, Mum.’

      Alan Weatherby was sitting in an armchair with a rug over his knees and a scowl on his face.

      ‘Hey, Dad.’ Sam patted his father’s shoulder. ‘On a scale of one to ten of boredom, you’re at eleven, right?’

      ‘Your mother fusses and won’t let me do anything. She says I have to rest.’

      But his father wasn’t known for sitting still. Resting would be incredibly frustrating for him. ‘Maybe we could go to the golf club and shoot a couple of holes,’ Sam suggested.

      Alan rolled his eyes. ‘It’s play, not shoot. Which just shows you’re a complete rookie and you’ll hack divots out of the green and embarrass me.’

      Sam didn’t take offence. He knew how he’d feel in his father’s shoes: cooped up, miserable and at odds with the world. ‘A walk, then,’ he suggested. ‘I could take you both to the university botanical gardens.’ A place he knew his mother loved. ‘And we could have a cup of tea in the café.’ Though without the scones and clotted cream he knew his father would like. ‘A change of scenery might help.’

      ‘Hmm,’ Alan said.

      ‘In your shoes, I’d be bored and grumpy, too,’ Sam said. ‘But your health’s important, Dad. You need to look after yourself, especially as you’re—’

      ‘I’m not old, before you say it,’ Alan cut in. ‘Sixty-three isn’t old. There’s plenty of life in me yet.’

      ‘And I want it to stay that way,’ Sam said. ‘The medics told you to take things easier, eat well, take a bit of exercise and reduce your stress.’

      ‘Your mother’s trying to make me eat lentils. Lentils.’ Alan looked disgusted.

      Sam couldn’t hide a grin. ‘They’re not as bad as you think.’

      ‘Don’t you start. I thought you’d bring me contraband.’

      He had. But only because he hadn’t known the situation. ‘No chance. I want you about for a lot longer.’

      ‘Is that why you’re dragging your feet about settling down and having children?’

      If only his father knew. But Sam hadn’t told any of his family why he’d broken his engagement to Olivia, two years before. Or why he’d got engaged to her in the first place. Even now it left a nasty taste in his mouth. Nowadays he made sure his girlfriends knew that he was looking for fun and not for for ever. Olivia had broken his ability to trust, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to take another risk with his heart.

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘Dad, there’s an easy solution to all this.’

      Alan frowned. ‘What?’

      ‘Let me take over Weatherby’s from you,’ Sam said. ‘You’ve more than earned some time off to play golf and have weekends away with Mum. And I’ve spent the last six years in the City, learning the ropes. You’ll be leaving the business in safe hands.’

      Alan shook his head. ‘The fund you manage is high risk. It’s extreme. Half of our clients would look at your record, panic, and find themselves another stockbroker.’

      ‘Apart from the fact that any strategy I recommended to a client would depend on the client’s attitude towards risk,’ Sam said dryly, ‘I’m good at my job, Dad. That’s why they promoted me.’

      ‘You take risks,’ Alan repeated.

      ‘Calculated ones.’

      ‘You’re still young and reckless.’

      ‘I’m twenty-seven,’ Sam said, ‘and I’m not reckless.’

      ‘Prove it.’

      Sam frowned. ‘How?’

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