'When may I go home?' Christie asked the moment the thermometer was removed from her mouth.
'Oh, not for another day, or so,' the sister said, checking the thermometer reading and recording it on the chart. 'The doctor will want to be absolutely sure that you're in tip-top condition before he allows you to leave here.'
Christie raised a hand to her forehead and her fingers tentatively explored the neat row of stitches. Her head was still pounding savagely, but it was not her head she was thinking about that moment. 'What happened to the people in the other car?'
'There was only one person in the other car, but he was mercifully not injured.' The sister smiled, straightening the sheets. 'Your husband said I was to tell you not to worry about your car, and that he would be taking care of everything.'
'My… husband?' Christie asked weakly, her eyes following the brisk professionality of the woman's movements.
'He spent the night sitting next to your bed and, if I hadn't insisted that he go home and get some rest, he would still have been here.'
'My husband!' Christie asked again, her head pounding worse than before, and her mind whirling with scattered thoughts.
'Yes, dear,' the woman smiled curiously. 'Professor Venniker.'
'Oh, God!' Christie groaned. It had not been a dream, or a hallucination. It had been Lyle who had sat so grim and white next to her bed all night. But why? Why?
'You're not suffering from amnesia now, are you?' the sister enquired jokingly, but Christie was beyond the stage where she could appreciate it.
Something exploded inside her that brought her close to the point of hysteria, and she snapped at the sister, 'If he comes again I don't want to see him.'
'But he—'
'I don't want to see him!' Her voice was shrill with agitation, and a blinding pain shot through her head when she tried to sit up. 'I tell you I don't want to see him!'
'Now, calm down, my dear,' the Sister instructed, her hands on Christie's shoulders in an attempt to lower her back against the pillows. 'We can't have you upsetting yourself this way.'
'I don't want to see him!' Christie hissed frantically through her teeth while she fought off those restraining hands. She had suffered enough because of Lyle, and she was not going to let him humiliate her once again.
'You shan't see him, if that's what you want, and you have my word on that.' The sister's calm voice finally penetrated through that wall of pain, and Christie slumped weakly against the pillows.
'Oh I wish I was dead!' she croaked, and then she lapsed into a bout of uncontrollable, near-hysterical weeping.
She was behaving like an idiot, but she could not control herself. Her mind was spinning wildly, and painful images flashed cruelly before her eyes. Reality became distorted, and it felt as if she was losing her grip on her sanity, but those images remained with disturbing clarity. Lyle and Sonia were illuminated in the lights of an oncoming car, and they were laughing… laughing… and far into the distant past a legendary chieftainess was… laughing! Their laughter went on and on. Or was it her own? A black mamba reared it head and struck. Christie felt its venomous fangs jabbing into her arm, and the mocking laughter began to fade as she drifted off into an ever-narrowing tunnel of darkness.
It was some hours before Christie came to her senses again. Her head felt lighter, and her body felt stiff and bruised, but her mind was still filled with anxiety until the sister assured her that Lyle had been instructed not to come and see her. Only then did a calmness begin to surge through her, and she drifted into a natural sleep from which she did not awake until early evening. A tray of food was brought to her of which she ate a little, and she promptly went to sleep again.
Christie awoke on the morning of her second day in hospital to find the sister with the cheery features hovering over her again. 'Are you feeling better this morning, Mrs Venniker?'
Christie opened her mouth to protest against the Mrs Venniker, but, when she thought of the effort it would take to explain, she said simply, 'I'm much better, thank you.'
'You gave me quite a scare yesterday morning, and I'm afraid I had to give you a sedative to calm you,' the woman explained as she went through the same ritual of taking Christie's blood-pressure, pulse-rate and temperature. 'The doctor will be seeing you shortly.'
'I want to go home,' Christie complained almost childishly. 'Do you think he'll let me go?'
'Perhaps,' the sister smiled, 'but my guess is he will want to keep you here another night.'
The sister was right. Despite Christie's insistence that she was well enough to go home, the doctor was adamant that he would not release her until the following day. She could get up and sit in a chair, if she felt strong enough, but she had to spend another twenty-four hours in hospital for observation.
It was futile to argue, Christie could see that, so she spent the day leafing through magazines, and being thoroughly bored with herself. She was in a semi-private ward, but no one occupied the other bed, and she was glad of that. She wanted to be alone, she needed to think, but somehow her mind shied away from everything which veered towards the unpleasant.
She was lying back against the pillows with her eyes closed that evening when a familiar voice asked 'May I come in?'
'Dennis!' Her eyes flew open, and she could not hide her delight at having someone there to help her pass the time. 'Pull up a chair and sit down.'
His green eyes smiled at her teasingly when he produced a single white rose from behind his back. 'I must say that the stitches and the bruise adds a very dramatic touch to your appearance.'
'Does it?' She accepted his gift gracefully and brushed the soft petals against her lips to hide her smile. 'You don't think I look very battered?'
'You look ravishing!'
Her smile deepened and could no longer be hidden behind the rose bud. 'I suspect that all this flattery is intended to cheer me up.'
'Naturally,' he grinned, pulling the chair closer to her bed and sitting down. 'There's a notice board at the entrance to the hospital which instructs all visitors that the patients must be left in a cheery mood after visiting hours.'
'Really?'
'Don't you believe me?'
She laughed at his attempt to adopt an injured look. 'No, I most certainly do not.'
'Wise girl.' His expression sobered a fraction. 'You do look ravishing, though, even in that awful hospital nightgown.'
She absently fingered the unattractive garment she was wearing, and during the ensuing silence her expression became grave. 'How did you know I was in hospital?'
'The professor told me about the accident.' The chair creaked beneath his weight when he leaned towards her urgently. 'He's been very anxious about you.'
'Has he?' she asked casually, avoiding Dennis's eyes and carefully placing the rose in the glass of water beside her bed.
'Why won't you see him, Christie?' She shied away from the subject. She did not want to discuss it, but Dennis was persistent, and repeated his query. 'Why won't you see him?'
'He lied to me about Sonia.' The words were finally torn from her. 'He told me he had broken off his relationship with her, but she was there the night before last when I went to see him at his home, and I didn't get the impression that she was there without his approval.'
Dennis appeared to consider this for a moment before he said, 'You could have been mistaken, you know.'
'I very much doubt it.' She rejected his suggestion cynically, recalling how Lyle had made it very clear that she was an intruder.
'There might be a totally different reason for Sonia's presence in his home that night,' Dennis insisted, 'and the least you could do is give him the opportunity to explain.'
'Does he feel the need to ease his guilty conscience?' she demanded caustically.
'Give the man a chance, Christie.'
'I'm sorry, Dennis, I can't do that,' she retorted coldly, 'so you might as well report back to Lyle and tell him you have failed in your mission.'
'He does
n't know I'm here.'
There was a horrible little silence while Christie digested this information, and she squirmed inwardly when she realised her blunder.
'That wasn't very nice of me,' she murmured apologetically. 'I couldn't help thinking that he had asked you to come and speak to me on his behalf, but I should have known better.'
'The professor is quite capable of looking after his own interests,' Dennis informed her with a sternness he might have copied from Lyle, then a wry smile softened his features. 'But I did think I might succeed in paving the way for him a little.'
Christie stared at him in silence for several seconds before she could trust herself to speak. 'I hope Lyle realises what a wonderful friend he has in you.'
'I'm your friend, too, Christie.' He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. 'Don't forget that.'
A warmth surged into her heart for the first time since that dreadful night she had had the accident and, when she was alone moments later, she felt warm, moist tears hovering on her lashes. She dashed them away angrily. There would be no more tears; not for Lyle Venniker. That familiar coldness shifted about her heart again like an armour against the hurt. For the second time in her life she had made a fool of herself over the same man, but it would not happen again. No man was worth the agony she had suffered.
CHAPTER TEN
It was good to be back in her own environment, but the flat felt empty, and so did Christie. She had been sent home from the hospital that morning in a taxi, and she had found the key to her flat among her personal belongings. Someone, possibly Lyle, had detached it from the holder containing her car keys, and for that, at least, she was grateful. Her body no longer ached, but her bruises felt tender, and the cut against her forehead was throbbing slightly. She rested on her bed most of the afternoon, and tried to read, but she found herself staring blankly at the pages without taking anything in.
Christie was not hungry, but she made herself a cheese omelette and a slice of toast that evening, and forced herself to sit down and eat it. She watched a programme on television for a while, but she found it boring rather than entertaining, and she switched off the set to take a shower instead before going to bed. The warm jet of water seemed to pound the tension out of her muscles, and she felt considerably better when she had washed her hair. The silky softness of her nightdress felt good against her skin after the hospital gown, and her wide-sleeved silk dressing-gown was warm despite its thinness. A small towel took most of the moisture out of her hair, but the electric drier did the rest, and with that it felt as if she had shed the last of the hospital atmosphere.
She wanted to go to bed early, but she doubted whether she would sleep. The doctor had given her tablets which she could take if it was necessary, and with that consoling thought in mind she brushed her hair until the sheen of fire was in it. Her reflection in the mirror was pale and drawn, and her eyes were shadowed with an inner pain and suffering. She had survived once before, she told her image in the mirror, and she would do so again.
The doorbell chimed, jarring her nerves, and she almost dropped her brush. If this was Sammy, then he could not have chosen a worse time to call on her. She was not in the mood for his persuasive tactics, and she was tired of having to think up a polite refusal every time he approached her with a new contract.
She marched through the lounge and opened the door as far as the safety chain would allow, but the man who stood there was not Sammy. It was Lyle! His shadowed features looked grim and tired, but his jaw was set with a savage determination that made her feel uneasy.
'Open up, Christie, I want to talk to you.'
'Go away!' she almost shouted at him, her heart beating fast with anger and something else which she refused to acknowledge. She slammed the door shut and locked it, but the doorbell rang again with more insistence than before. The sound jarred her sensitive nerves, making her want to scream, and it was self-preservation that forced her to unlock the door and wrench it open again. 'Will you please go away!'
'I'll stand here ringing your doorbell all night if I have to,' he threatened her, and one look into those hard, glittering eyes told her that he would do exactly that.
'You're a—' She bit back a nasty word and, defeated, she closed the door and unhooked the chain. The door swung open without her assistance, and Lyle was already inside when she murmured a helpless, 'Come in.'
'We both have some explaining to do, and some of the explanations have been long overdue,' he announced harshly, locking the door and turning to face her with a look in his eyes that made her insides quiver.
'Perhaps you're right,' she agreed, releasing the tight rein on her fury which had been simmering for days. 'I think you can start by explaining why I was admitted to the hospital as Mrs Venniker, and why you had the gall to tell them you are my husband?'
'They wouldn't have allowed me to stay with you through the night if I hadn't said that I was your husband,' he explained simply, taking off his jacket and flinging it across the back of a chair as if he intended staying for quite some time.
'Did you think that staying with me would help salve your guilty conscience?' she demanded sarcastically, and Lyle's eyes narrowed to slits of anger in his white face.
'All right, if you want the truth, I did feel guilty since I knew I could have prevented the accident if I hadn't been such a stubborn idiot.' He was breathing hard, and his hands were clenched at his sides as he towered over her. 'You left my house at such a breakneck speed that I followed you in my car, and I was almost directly behind you when the accident occurred. My God, Christie…' He went several shades paler. 'You could have been killed!'
'I wish I had been killed!' she shouted at him as she turned away to hide her anguish. 'God knows, I wish I had!'
'Don't say that!' His hoarse, unfamiliar voice rebuked her sharply, and he was silent for several seconds before he spoke directly behind her. 'I'd like to explain about Sonia.'
'What is there to explain?' She laughed humourlessly while she put a safer distance between them. 'You lied to me about her, and that doesn't need an explanation.'
'She didn't come to my home that evening at my invitation.' A heavy hand gripped her shoulder, and she had only a fraction of a second to control her features before she was spun round to face him. 'She had been given two tickets to the theatre, and she wanted me to go with her, but I refused her. I offered her a drink, and she was on the point of leaving when you arrived.'
It was such a plausible explanation, and he looked so sincere, but she was still cautious. 'Can I really believe that?'
'If our relationship means anything to you, then you will have to believe it,' he said in a clipped voice, straightening to his full imperious height and looking down at her along his beak-like nose. 'Now it's your turn.'
She felt bewildered and must have looked it too. 'My turn?'
'I want to know about that contract Sammy Peterson took such delight in waving under my nose,' he prodded her memory, and he hooked his thumbs into his belt while he waited for her to speak.
Christie was still too angry and too hurt to want to comply with his wishes. She felt cold inside, and her mind was shut to everything except the fear of more pain, but something deep inside her warned her not to cast aside this very last chance with such negligence.
'I didn't sign it.' She heard the words as if someone else had spoken them for her.
'That isn't a good enough explanation.'
'I didn't sign it because I never had any intention of signing it,' she tried again, sitting down heavily in a chair before her legs gave way beneath her, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to prevent them from shaking. 'It was simply one of the many contracts Sammy has pestered me with over the past three years. I read them all not to hurt his feelings, but I always return them unsigned.'
'Why don't you sign them?' he demanded, his piercing glance making her shift uncomfortably in her chair.
'I don't sign them because I have no desire to go back to the l
ife I used to lead,' she explained, wishing he would sit down instead of towering over her in that frightening stance. She was having difficulty in thinking clearly, and he was certainly not making it easier for her. 'I suppose your next question is going to be, where did I find the ivory disc, and why didn't I give it to you before?' She finally found the courage to mention that dreaded subject.
'It was in that small black jar you found.'
Her head shot up and her eyes widened incredulously. 'How did you know?'
'Other than myself, you are the only one who is aware of the history attached to those particular artefacts, and I think you must have known that I was hoping to find the copy of the one you already had in your possession. The jar was the most logical place for it to have been hidden, and my instincts told me that I was right.' He sat down on the arm of the chair close to hers and studied her with a faint smile curving his stern mouth. 'You're also a very bad liar, Christie. You always were, and you always will be.'
'If you knew…' Her hands fluttered helplessly in her lap in her search for the right words. 'Why didn't you say something?'
'I came to the conclusion that you must have had a very important reason for keeping that disc and not telling me about it.' His glance held hers compellingly. 'Are you going to tell me about it now?'
Was she going to tell him? Could she tell him? Did she have the nerve to risk everything, including her pride, in the act of laying her soul bare to this man who has caused her so much pain in the past? She shied away from the thought, but something warned her that this was one of those moments in time when complete honesty was the only thing which would suffice.
She could not bear to look at him while she spoke, and she got to her feet to walk jerkily across the room towards the window. She drew the curtains aside and stared blindly down into the well-lit street while she scraped together the remnants of her courage.
'I had this—this crazy idea that—that there would be a certain magic involved in uniting the two discs.'
'And, was there?'
A Moment in Time Page 14