Page 86 of Doc Hollywood

“Come in,” a woman called out.

Clara frowned in confusion and double-checked the number on the wall; it was definitely the one she had been given. She slowly poked her head around the door and saw a very beautiful and well-put-together woman sitting in a chair beside Mr Atrosky’s bed, holding his hand.

“Hi, Mr Atrosky,” Clara said as she stood nervously by the door.

“Clara,” he exclaimed, a broad grin splitting the director’s face, an expression she hadn’t seen before. He had been so serious when he was on set.

Clara was about to answer, but the woman who had been next to the bed was on her feet and across the room in only a couple of strides and had pulled her into a hug, clutching her tightly, which stunned her into silence.

When the woman pulled away, Clara could see the redness in her eyes and the exhaustion clouding her beautiful face.

“Thank you so much,” the woman said as she gripped Clara’s hands.

“This is my wife, Louisa,” Mr Atrosky supplied from the bed.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Louisa. I’m so glad I was there to help.” Clara squeezed her hands back. “Mr Atrosky, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well.”

She nodded her head towards the director, unable to move any further into the room, as his wife didn’t seem to want to let her go.

“My name is Damien. When you save a man’s life, you earn the right to use his first name. Darling, let go of the young lady; her hands are quite white from you holding onto her,” the director told his wife.

“Oh yes, sorry.” Louisa dropped Clara’s hands and stepped away.

“Thank you, Mr—“ Clara hesitated and corrected herself. “Damien. It was a team effort. The crew did everything they could to help.”

Damien made a dismissive gesture from the bed. “I’ve watched the replay. It was quite something. It’s not every day that you get to see yourself brought back from the dead. Don’t undersell yourself. There was no team without you. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be sitting in this bed talking to you. It took the ambulance twenty minutes to arrive, and in those twenty minutes, I saw you not only save my life but work hard to stabilise me after the shocks. So yes, I owe you my life.”

Clara inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Like I say, I’m grateful that I was there.”

“That’s a lovely blue handbag you have,” Damien observed, suddenly changing the subject.

She stood there blinking back at him, confusion pulling at her brows, until he carried on talking.

“It’s very similar to the one that Taylor picked up that day and left with.” Damien’s face was blank when he said that.

Clara blinked a few more times before she muttered, “Really?” While hoping her cheeks weren’t as bright red as she feared they were.

“Anyway. These flowers are for you,” Damien said, gesturing to the huge bouquet sitting on the floor beside his bed.

“Those are beautiful. You didn’t have to.” Clara didn’t step forward to pick them up, feeling a little awkward.

“We did have to,” Louisa said firmly. “My husband is not the easiest man in the world.” She strode back over to the bed, sitting on the side and gesturing for Clara to take the seat. “But I’ve loved him for twenty-five years, and hopefully now I will get to love him for twenty-five more, and that’s all thanks to you.” She reached up and wiped at a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.

Clara looked at the two of them, and her heart hurt. She wanted what they had—love—love that would last her a lifetime. Her mind flickered to Taylor, and she dragged it away. He wasn’t someone who could be her forever.

“Clara. I get the feeling you’re the type of person who won’t take this next bit seriously, but I owe you my life, and if there is ever anything you need, I want you to call me. Make sure you have my number saved in your phone,” Damien stated firmly.

Clara nodded to keep him happy, although there was no way she would ever ask him for anything.

Clara lay on the bed in her hotel room, gazing at the flowers, which were more beautiful than anything she had ever been given before.

Jack had always told her that flowers were a total waste of money. She had once replied that the craft —expensive—beer he was so fond of was also a waste of money but had never said anything again, as that time he had shoved her so hard into a wardrobe door that her head ached for a week.

Sniffing hard, she appreciated the floral aroma that filled her room and pushed any thoughts of her ex back into the tiny box at the back of her mind. The problem was that this allowed the box she had shoved thoughts of Taylor in to spring open.

Picking up her phone, she opened the messages from Taylor and began to scroll through them, laughing at some of the silly things they had sent to each other.

She nearly dropped her phone in surprise when a new message from Taylor appeared at the bottom of the screen.

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