Lifting Suspicion

by Gill Sanderson

  Inside, a worried-looking Arthur came forward to greet them. She remembered him starting at the store ten years previously. Now he was losing his hair and looked plumper than she remembered.

  ‘I’ve brought my niece and nephew in to help out,’ he told her. ‘Tell your parents that we can cope easily till they’re better. An awful lot of people have asked after them – I’ve got a list here. And I’ll be in to see them later.’

  ‘Dad knows he can rely on you, Arthur. You just carry on as you’re doing.’

  ‘Are you going upstairs?’

  ‘No. I just came to say hello and thank you, Arthur.’

  ‘I just couldn’t face going upstairs when they weren’t there,’ she told Christopher outside. ‘I’d feel like an intruder.’

  ‘I doubt if they would think that, but it’s your decision. Can we go down by the river now?’

  They walked along the park by the river for an hour, and then he offered to get them lunch in a pub. But she felt she couldn’t eat. For long enough she’d put things out of her mind – now she needed to go back. If she was nearby, then her very desperation might somehow help her mother. ‘I want to go back to the hospital,’ she said.

  ‘Very well. In fact, there are a few phone calls I need to make. Any hope of you getting some sleep? You look a bit ragged.’

  ‘I won’t be able to sleep till I know how my mother is. And I can see if Dad’s awake yet.’

  Christopher drove her back to the hospital, and as they sat side by side in the car park she threw her arms round him impulsively and kissed him. ‘You’re so good to me,’ she murmured. ‘You look after me. You said you loved me, which is wonderful, but I told you I couldn’t cope with that just now. Christopher, I do think I –’

  He kissed her back, stopping her from saying more. ‘For the moment you’ve got enough to worry about,’ he told her. ‘We’ll think about you and me later.’

  Her father was in considerable pain and had been given powerful analgesics. She sat by him, holding his hand as he dozed, and perhaps dozed off herself. The rest of the afternoon passed and evening came on. After a while a nurse shook Megan’s shoulder gently. ‘There’s someone who wants to see you outside.’

  There was Christopher, and standing next to him in blood-stained greens was Andy. Both had broad smiles. ‘I’m a genius,’ Andy said modestly. ‘The operation was a complete success. Megan, your mother is now a lot better. But she’s still seriously ill, and there could be problems yet. However …’

  At first she couldn’t take it in, then she threw her arms around him and kissed him. He kissed her back heartily on the cheek, and said, ‘I liked that, but I think you’ve got the wrong man. Now, why don’t you go up and see your mother?’

  Her mother had just come back from Theatre and was once more in Intensive Care. If possible, she looked even paler than before, and she was obviously still drugged. But Megan knew that this was how all patients looked after such an arduous operation. Her mother would slowly get better.

  ‘You look dreadful,’ the nurse in Intensive Care told her frankly. ‘There’s nothing more you can do here. Why don’t you go and get some sleep?’

  Suddenly it seemed like a good idea. She went to see her father to tell him the good news. He was still half-asleep but she thought he understood what she was saying. Then Christopher, who’d been following her, took her firmly by the arm. ‘It’s time for a rest,’ he said. ‘Shall I take you back to the shop?’

  But she couldn’t go back there until her parents were in the house. Somehow it wouldn’t be right. She told this to Christopher. ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve booked in at a pub recommended by the hospital called the White Rose. I’ve got a suite. We’ll go there and see if they’ve got a room for you, too.’

  They walked down to his car and he grabbed her as she tripped and nearly fell. She felt so tired!

  ‘Andy told me that a good breakfast should last till suppertime,’ she told him. ‘I think it’s nearly suppertime now.’ She hadn’t eaten all day – she hadn’t been able to.

  He looked at her grimly. ‘You can barely stand, can you?’ he asked. ‘You had four hours’ sleep last night after a very full day and a long drive, and today, well, emotion is more tiring than work. You’re exhausted.’

  ‘A bit,’ she agreed. Somehow he stowed her in the car, and then she fell into a doze. She was vaguely aware of a drive, of Christopher parking outside the White Rose. He took her bag and helped her out of the car, his arm supporting her as they walked upstairs. They went to his suite, through a tiny living room with a dining table, easy chairs and a television and into the much bigger bedroom. It was old-fashioned, warm and comforting. He pushed her towards a door at the far end.

  ‘Bathroom, he told her. ‘You’ll feel better after a soak. I’ll have something sent up to eat.’

  She did feel better after the bath. From her case she took a robe, and put it on over her T-shirt. She knew she was still vastly fatigued, but she didn’t feel quite as sleepy.

  As she walked into the sitting room a waiter arrived with a trolley. He set out their meal on the table – a bowl of soup each, a ham salad, and a bottle of wine.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ Christopher said. ‘Sit down and eat.’ She did, finding she was ravenous. And afterwards she felt better.

  ‘Bed now,’ he told her, ‘and I’ll ring for them to take this tray away. You’re sleeping in the bedroom here.’

  Now that she was making sense of things, she realized that this was his suite. ‘Where are you sleeping?’ she asked.

  He looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid this was the last room they had,’ he said. ‘They’re fully booked. I’m sorry about it, but I’ll spend the night in one of these chairs.’

  ‘You sleep in a chair while I have your bed? Never! I’ll have the chair, you sleep in the bed.’

  ‘I won’t hear of it. I’ve slept in chairs no end of times.’

  She giggled. ‘I didn’t know you had to fight so hard to get a man in your bed,’ she said. ‘Remember that story where the prince and the princess had to sleep in the same bed so they put a sword down the middle of it to stop either of them crossing? Well, we could do that, but use a scalpel instead of a sword. Look, Christopher, we’re both exhausted and we both need a good night’s sleep. It’s a big bed – let’s share it.’ It seemed to her the obvious thing to do.

  He looked at her for a while, and then said, ‘All right. You get into bed and I’ll go in the bathroom.’

  When he’d gone she phoned the hospital, and the nurse by her mother’s bed said she was doing well. Then Megan turned off all the lights in the bedroom but for the one by Christopher’s side of the bed. She slipped under the duvet, turned her back to where he would be and closed her eyes. She tried to sleep.

  After a while there were the sounds of the bathroom door opening, soft footsteps across the carpet, and then the creak and sway of the bed as he climbed into it. He was in bed with her.

  Surprisingly, she felt no apprehension. He had faults. She knew he was attracted to her, but she also knew that she would be safe with him. He would never reach across. There was no sword or scalpel there, but nothing would make him cross to her side of the bed.

  Unless she asked him.

  She was exhausted but, unlike last night, she couldn’t sleep. She should be able to, now that her greatest worries – the health of her mother and father – had disappeared. But she couldn’t sleep. She tried to breathe as if she were asleep.

  She was aware of his breathing by her side. As a doctor she spent a lot of time listening to people breathe. She recognised that he was doing what she’d been doing, pretending to be asleep. ‘Why can’t you sleep?’ she asked.

  He took his time, before replying. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘But I asked first so, come on, why can’t you sleep?’

  She could sense the patience strained in his voice. ‘I can’t sleep becaus
e I’m aware of you next to me and it’s … it’s not conducive to sleep.’

  ‘Not conducive! Does that mean that I’m exciting you?’

  He sighed. ‘Go to sleep, Megan. In fact, I think I’d be better off in that chair.’

  He sat up and the bed creaked again. She rolled over, reaching out for him. ‘Don’t go!’ She caught his arm, which was covered in some smooth material. ‘What are you wearing?’

  She half-heard his muttered curse. ‘What kind of question is that? I’m wearing my shirt. I didn’t bring any pyjamas – in fact, I don’t possess any. But I thought if I was in the same bed as you I ought to –’

  ‘Take it off and come back here.’

  ‘Megan! You’re tired, emotionally exhausted, clutching at whatever comfort you can find.’ His voice sounded tortured. ‘This isn’t the way. Please, make it easy for me and go to sleep. I can’t –’

  ‘I can,’ she said. She sat up in bed, flicking on her bedside lamp. He sat there in his rumpled shirt, open down the front, the cuffs undone. His hair was tousled and he looked angry.

  ‘What’s going on, Megan?’ He sounded angry too.

  She looked at him in silence. This was the man who’d urged her to get into the real world, to learn to deal with her difficulties – not hide from them. She had a sense of decisions being made, of her life changing.

  A wild idea struck her. Before she had time to consider, she crossed her hands, gripped her T-shirt, and pulled it over her head. Then she sat there, naked, aware of how obvious her breasts must be. She fought the impulse to cross her arms in front of her. Her breasts seemed to be tightening, the nipples more erect. Of course, the slightly colder air of the bedroom – that was all, wasn’t it?

  ‘Now take your shirt off, Christopher. I want you.’

  He looked at her face and she managed to look back, half defiant, half tempting. Then she saw his eyes waver, and he was looking at her nakedness. The anger in his face drifted away, replaced by an awareness of her, the soft-eyed look of sensuality.

  ‘For the last time, Megan …’ His voice was low and thick. She knew he would say that this was foolishness but he didn’t want to be believed.

  ‘Christopher, I’m an intelligent, aware woman. I know what I’m doing. You’re not taking any advantage of me. Please, think what I’ll feel if you do get out of bed and walk next door.’

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached out his hand, took the duvet from her, and pulled it up and backwards so it revealed all her nakedness. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he breathed.

  It would be all right, she knew. She could even allow herself the tiny touch of nervousness which so far she’d hidden, even from herself.

  She slid down the bed and reached out to him. Desperately, she needed his body with hers. All her senses were energised. A car passed outside. She heard the throb of its engine. The bed creaked again and moved under her. There was the crisp smell of the bed linen and the faintest smell of his masculinity. He was sliding towards her. She knew his head was over hers and now she could feel the warmth of his body.

  His lips settled on hers, and she threw her arms around him to hug him to her. She felt his weight pressing on her body, brushing her breasts against him. She writhed beneath him, wanting him closer to her, closer than her own skin. She wanted him to possess her totally. A distant monitor in her brain observed her wanton behaviour with wry amusement – had she always been as abandoned as this, and not known it? But she was so happy!

  Christopher was moved by her passion. She could tell by the great breaths he was taking, just like her own. His kisses became deeper, more demanding, then he tore his lips from hers and moved to explore more of her body. The duvet was kicked, useless, onto the floor. Now he was poised above her. Instinctively, she knew what to do. She wrapped her legs around him, ground her hips against his. She could feel him, feel his need for her – he was so big!

  There was a moment of doubt, of wonder, and then she knew all would be well. She felt an instant of discomfort and then, as he possessed her, she called his name. Something seemed to be taking both of them on a race which both had to win.

  She could feel the heat of his skin, and knew hers was the same. She called his name again and again, and then with a half-strangled cry he finally came to climax inside her. And she joined him in ecstasy.

  He lay there, still across her body. ‘I love you,’ he said.

  ‘I love you too,’ she mumbled. It was so good to lie there, feeling his weight. Their naked bodies stayed still until their panting grew less, their excitement slowly subsiding. The coolness of the air chilled them slightly. She grabbed the duvet to drag it back on top of them. He rolled to her side, pulling her so that she could sleep with her head on his arm. She was happy.

  It was still dark when she woke at six the next morning. She cautiously climbed out of bed, grinning at her discarded T-shirt on the floor. Pulling on her robe, she padded into the sitting room. First, she phoned the hospital to find her mother had had a good night. Then she made two cups of tea with the little machine on the tray, and carried them back to the bedroom.

  He came awake as she returned, and sat up to switch on the bedside light. She put his tea by the bed, before going round to her own side to take off her robe and get back into bed. Then she leaned over and kissed him. He said nothing, but looked at her broodingly.

  ‘Good morning, Christopher. First thing, I’m so happy. Don’t you dare apologise or wonder about the future. Last night was one of the best things that ever happened to me.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Only just past six and you’re starting a conversation like this. I need tea.’

  He reached for the cup, drank from it, and said, ‘We have to think of the future. Our future.’

  ‘Let the future take care of itself. We’ve both got a lot on our plates. You’ve got plenty to do – a new department to run and you’re not quite confirmed as a proper consultant yet. You haven’t even got anywhere to live. And I’m worried sick about my parents – no, don’t worry, I phoned the hospital two minutes ago. I’ve got this problem with the auditors, I’m working hard as an SHO and I’m taking an FRS exam in three months. So there’s no time for passionate declarations or long-term planning.’

  He grinned at her. ‘Did you come out with that long speech to try to stop me feeling guilty?’ he asked. ‘Because there was no need. I don’t. I’ll never forget last night. It was wonderful.’

  He ran his index finger from her lips down across her throat and to her nipple. She felt it tighten with excitement and closed her eyes. What would he do next? ‘Drink your tea,’ he said.

  ‘You’re a beast.’ But she did drink her tea.

  ‘I do think we ought to talk a bit,’ he said. ‘Decide what we mean to each other. What our future will be.’

  She was fierce. ‘No! Too much has happened too fast. Now we take things easy for a while. It’s like diagnosis before surgery. You do all the possible tests first. You never work in a hurry.’

  ‘Making love to you is not in the least like any operation I’ve ever performed,’ he said, ‘but I take your point.’ There was a tiny clatter as he replaced his mug on the bedside table. ‘Finished your tea?’ he asked. When she nodded he went on, ‘Lie down. Lie down on your front. There’s no hurry now, no point in getting to the hospital for a couple of hours. We’d only be in the way. So we’ve got time to ourselves.’

  ‘Time to ourselves,’ she repeated. ‘All right. But why d’you want me on my front? I won’t be able to see you.’

  ‘You’ve got more than fifteen square feet of skin on your body,’ he told her, quoting a well-known fact, ‘and I want to kiss every square inch.’

  So she lay on her front. This wasn’t like the almost frightening passion of the night before. She felt more relaxed, languorous even. But there was an odd thrill of anticipation.

  At first all he did was stroke her, his hands running down her spine, feeling the twin columns
of muscle at each side. Then there was a gentle fear as he knelt astride her, her hips held by his knees and thighs. He lifted her hair and gripped the major muscles on her neck and shoulders – the trapezius and the deltoid, she remembered they were called. He massaged them lightly, squeezing and then rubbing. A most delicious warmth spread through her entire body as he moved down her back, stroking, squeezing, rubbing.

  She felt her breathing altering, becoming slower, deeper. She tried to reach back for him, but he pushed her hand away. ‘My turn first,’ he said. He continued the massage down both of her arms, and then sat back on her and did the same to her legs. It was all so relaxing, and so stimulating. She felt the blood roaring through her, her body dissolving in a flood of sensation. ‘Now, turn over,’ he said.

  She did, still stark naked. If anyone had said two days ago that she would reveal herself to a man like this, she would have laughed. But now she was doing it, and was happy to do so.

  He kissed her, but briefly. ‘I’ve not finished yet,’ he told her. ‘Just lie there and relax.’ She felt his fingertips and thumbs, probing, squeezing, enjoying the rest of her body. It was warm, comforting.

  Then, when he changed from stroking to kissing her body, she stopped him. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘I know you like it. Let me make you happy.’

  ‘I do like it. So I’m going to share it. Lie on your front now.’

  ‘But I want to –’

  ‘Christopher, you don’t make love to a woman, you make love with her. I want to give you the pleasure you gave me.’

  She hadn’t realised that massage was such hard work. Perhaps he had harder muscles than her. But she loved to feel the firmness of his shoulders, the swell and arch of his thighs and calves. She smiled to herself and leaned forward to let her breasts touch his shoulders, slowly pulled them downwards, sweeping his back.

  A groan came from the form underneath her. ‘Megan, do you know what you’re doing to me?’