“The operation was a success.” Alan Bishop answered Liz’s query. “Now it all depends on how well the tendons in his hand respond to therapy.”
“Do you think-“
“I’m not thinking,” Alan interrupted, noticing her troubled expression. “I’m simply keeping my fingers crossed, and I suggest you do the same.”
Liz nodded, then she quickly followed the direction the orderlies had taken with Grant. He was still under the influence of the anaesthetic when she was finally allowed to see him, and the Ward sister suggested that she go home and return again that afternoon.
She hated having to leave him, but she realised that there was nothing she could do to help him if she remained there at his side, so she drove herself back to the house in Grant’s powerful Jaguar. She found the waiting intolerable and, above all, she hated being in that house without Grant. She could never think of it as her home.
It was Myra’s. Myra had chosen the furnishings, Myra had seen to the décor, and … oh, God why was she torturing herself with Myra at that precise moment?
Liz had lunch out on the terrace, she preferred it to eating alone in that large dining-room, and when at last it was time for her to go to the hospital she found herself heavy-footed on the accelerator in her haste. The whining of a traffic policeman’s siren finally got through to her, and she reduced speed drastically while she watched him approach on his motorcycle. Her heart was pounding in her mouth, but he sped past without so much as a glance in her direction in his urgency to reach something up ahead in the traffic. Liz laughed at herself, and she felt lightheaded with relief, but she took care not to exceed the speed limit again.
“How do you feel?” she was asking Grant ten minutes later.
“I feel as though someone has used a mallet on my hand,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain, and she glanced about her searchingly.
“Shouldn’t I find the nurse and ask her for something?”
“I was given a painkiller a few minutes before you came,” he grunted, and she took his left hand in both of hers and held it tightly.
“Please come home soon.” She had not meant to say that, but it did not matter to her that he should know she was missing him.
“I didn’t think you would miss me so soon,” he mocked her, but she made no attempt to avoid those steel-grey eyes.
“It’s lonely there without you, and all those mirrors give me the creeps.”
“You’re much more effective than a painkiller,” Grant laughed. “I think I must arrange for you to stay here.”
Liz did not reply, but in her heart she knew that she would have been quite happy spending the night on the floor beside his bed rather than return to that empty house where Myra’s presence lingered so persistently in every room.
The visiting hour was over much too soon, and she got to her feet reluctantly.
She leaned over him to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his head unexpectedly, and their lips met and clung. His hand slid beneath her thick sweater to lie warm against her flesh, and she drew back sharply. A clinical hospital ward was not the place for the emotions that were surging through her at that moment.
“I’ll see you this evening,” she said, avoiding his mocking eyes.
“I think not.”
Hurt and bewildered, she asked abruptly, “Why not?”
“I would prefer it if you didn’t travel about after dark.” She started to protest, but Grant silenced her with a terse, “don’t make me worry about you as well.”
It made sense, of course, but all she could think of were the long hours alone in his house until the following afternoon when she could visit him in hospital. “Pull yourself together, Liz, You’re not a baby,” she admonished herself in silence and, squaring her shoulders, she said with forced brightness, “See you tomorrow, then.”
She walked out of the private ward with her head held high, and almost collided with a tall, lean man in the passage. She was aware of sparkling green eyes looking her up and down, but his glance was appreciative without being insolent.
“This is Dr. Grant Battersby’s ward, isn’t it?” he enquired a little hesitantly.
“That’s right.”
“I’m Joe Townsend,” he introduced himself.
“Liz Battersy,” she responded, and he studied her a little more closely.
“Are you a relative… or something?”
“I’m his wife.”
“His wife? ” The man’s jaw dropped before he collected himself, but I had no idea Grant had married while he was up in Pietersburg.”
“You’re forgiven,” Liz smile, deciding that she liked him.
“Look, I must see Grant about something, but will you wait for me in the foyer?” He noticed her hesitant manner, and explained hastily, “I’m an old friend of Grant’s, since our varsity days.”
Liz relaxed and nodded. “I’ll wait.”
She seated herself gingerly on the hard, wooden bench in the foyer, and waited. What could Joe Townsend want with her? She wondered curiously, and she was still waiting patiently for an explanation fifteen minutes later. She glanced at the clock against the wall and frowned, but a few minutes later the sound of approaching footsteps made her look up to see Joe Townsend coming towards her.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but my business with Grant took a little longer than I’d expected,” he explained with a rueful grin as she rose to her feet and, taking her arm, he accompanied her out to where she had parked the Jaguar. “Will you have dinner with me this evening?”
Startled by his unexpected invitation, she said mockingly, “I thought you said you were Grant’s friend?”
Joe’s smile widened. “I have permission to take you to dinner.”
“Really?” Her back went rigid. “Did he suggest it?”
“I asked him.”
“I see.”
She relaxed and felt a little less like a parcel being palmed off on to someone for safe keeping.
“Having dinner with me would be preferable to sitting alone at home, wouldn’t it?”
Those green, sparkling eyes surveyed her intently. He had knowingly or unknowingly struck the right chord, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.
“You’ve persuaded me.”
“Good,” he said abruptly, holding car door open for her so that she could slide into the driver’s seat. “Shall I call for you at seven?”
“That would be fine,” she agreed, turning the key in the ignition as he closed the door and stepped back.
“Till this evening, then.”
When she passed through the gates of the hospital ground Joe Townsend was still standing where she had left him. He waved and she waved back, and she decided yet again that she liked him. He seemed harmless enough, she told herself, and if Grant had agreed that she could have dinner with Joe this evening, then she obviously had nothing to worry about.
Liz took her time preparing herself for her appointment with Joe Townsend that evening, but somehow she was ready long seven o’clock. The silence in the house was oppressive, she wanted to get away from it, and most of all she was missing Grant. The mirrors against the living-room walls reflected her edginess, and no matter how much she tried she could not avoid seeing herself. She felt like throwing something at her mirror image, but that would not solve anything, and she found herself laughing softly to herself when the words of an old fairy tale came to mind.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of us all?
The answer would undoubtedly be Myra Cavendish, and Liz groaned inwardly at the thought of what would happen if Myra should return.
Joe Townsend arrived promptly at seven, and when he was shown into the living-room he found Liz waiting almost anxiously for him.
“Am I late?” he asked, his friendly, interested glance travelling over her.
“I’m early,” she confessed without hesitation.
His glance sharpened. “Something tells me you
dislike this place as much I do.”
So he felt that way about it too, she thought, and the discovery seemed to forge a bond between them.
“Shall we go?” she asked, and a sparkle of mischief leapt into his eyes.
“My carriage is waiting, madam,” he informed her with a sweeping gesture of his hand.
It was going to be a pleasant evening, she knew it, she told herself, but some sixth sense warned her not to be too sure of that.
It was a fifteen-minute drive into the city, but the conversation flowed between them with an ease which surprised Liz. Nothing personal was discussed, and they kept it strictly light-hearted. They seemed to laugh a lot about silly little things, and she found herself relaxing so completely in his company that she eventually found it difficult to believe that she had not known this man longer than a few hours.
The restaurant was crowded, but Joe had fortunately reserved a table and, as the evening progressed, Liz began to study him more closely. She guessed his age to be the same as Grant’s, but he looked considerably younger. There was no sign of grey in the crisp, reddish-brown hair, and he laughed a great deal more than Grant did these days.
Grant…it was difficult to drag her thoughts away from him. Was he still suffering the painful after-effects of the operation that morning? Was he thinking of her? Would they allow him to come home soon?
“How long have you known Grant?” Joe asked, almost as if he had guessed the direction her thoughts had taken, and she looked up from her dessert to smile at him.
“I’ve known Grant practically all my life. Our farm is… was next door to his in the Pietersburg district.”
Joe studied her intently for a moment, then he shook his head as if something puzzled him. “You’re not the type of woman I thought he would marry.”
“You mean I’m not like Myra?” she voiced what she guessed was in his mind, and his discomfort told her that she had guessed correctly.
“You know about her?”
“Myra was in the same grade at school as my sister Stacy who’s six years older than I am.”
“You’ve known about her all along, then?”
“It was on our farm, more than six years ago, that she met him,” she replied distastefully.
Joe had something on his mind, and Liz sensed it when he spoke. “Grant’s a brilliant surgeon, and in every other way a shrewd, clever man,” he said thoughtfully, “but where Myra was concerned he was as blind as a bat. He became totally obsessed with her, and she could do almost as she pleased with him. He wanted to marry her, but Myra was not the type to settle for one man. She wanted to be free; for Grant, and for any other man who might be foolish enough to fall for her particular brand of beauty and charm.”
“So they lived together,” Liz drove the sword into her own heart.
“Not exactly,” Joe contradicted her. “Grant bought that house a year ago and gave Myra a free hand with the décor. I can’t say for sure whether that helped to change her mind, but she finally agreed to marry him- only to drop him like a hot potato when it was thought that his career as a noted surgeon was at an end and, as far as I know, Grant only moved into that house after she’d left him.”
Liz felt her insides jerk. Was it shock…or relief? She could not be sure.
“Are you telling me that they never actually lived there together?”
“Myra lived there for some months, but Grant continued to occupy his flat in Hillbrow.” Joe smiled wryly. “If they were having an affair, then they were very discreet about it.”
A load had suddenly been lifted off her mind. She had imagined them living together in that house all these years, but now the picture looked considerably brighter.
“Tell me about yourself, Joe,” she changed the subject. “Are you a doctor as well?”
“Nothing quite so glamorous, I’m afraid,” he laughed. “My speciality is law.”
“That’s interesting,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table and cupping her chin in her palm so that the candlelight danced in her eyes. “Apart from being a friend of Grant’s, do you also handle his legal affairs?”
“That’s right,” he smiled, then he gestured towards her empty glass. “More wine?
“No, thank you,” she shook her head. “I think I’ve had enough for one night.”
“Do you love Grant?”
His question was as unexpected as a jab in the midriff, and she was temporarily winded, but the moment she go there breath back she said coolly, “I wouldn’t have married him for any other reason.”
“How does he feel about Myra these days?”
“It’s not a subject we discuss,” she said abruptly, removing her elbow off the table, and fiddling unnecessarily with her table napkin.
“He’s made it taboo, has he?” Joe persisted shrewdly.
“Yes,” she shifted uncomfortably. “He said she belonged in the past.”
“Liz, there’s something I think you ought to Know.” She looked up then, and his grave expression chilled her. “Myra’s back in Johannesburg. She arrived yesterday.”
The coldness spread, clutching at her heart like an icy, clammy hand. “Does Grant know?” she croaked.
“If he does, then I certainly haven’t been the one to tell him,” Joe set her mind at rest on that score.
“Do you think she’ll make an effort to contact him?”
“What do you think?”
She could see the pity in his eyes, and it made her flinch inwardly. “But if she finds out that he’s married-”
“My dear, a marriage licence has never stopped Myra in the past from getting what she wants,” Joe interrupted her, his hand finding hers across the table. “How sure are you of Grant’s feelings for you?”
Liz wished with all her heart that she could have said “He loves me”, but that was something she would never have the privilege of saying. Perhaps he had learned to care for her a little, but then he never gave any sign that he felt anything more for her than desire and, lowering her eyes, she said miserably, “I’m not very sure at all how he- he feels about me.”
“Will you promise me one thing?” Joe’s fingers tightened about hers. “Will you come to me if you ever find yourself in need of assistance?”
“You’re very kind.”
He released her hand and took something out of his wallet. “Here’s my card if you ever have to contact me in a hurry.”
He took her home some minutes later, and although he declined her offer to make him something to drink, he accompanied her into the hall. Liz thanked him very nicely, but she had a feeling that he was not listening as he took her chin between his fingers and tipped her face up to his.
“You have lovely eyes, Liz,” he said softly. “They’re the kind a man could drown himself in, and if Grant can’t see in them what I see, then he’s a bigger fool than I would have thought and deserves no better than the Myras of this world.”
“You’ve succeeded in boosting my morale,” she laughed off his remark.
“I’m serious,” he insisted, dropping his hand to his side.
“Goodnight, Joe, and thank you once again for taking me out to dinner,” she changed the subject.
“What about tomorrow evening?” he persisted with an eagerness that disturbed her.
“I think not,” she shook her head. “But thanks for asking.”
His disappointment was evident, but he accepted her decision, and moments later she was alone with fear and uncertainty as her only companions for the night.
Grant was released from hospital on the Saturday, but the therapy did not start until almost two weeks later, and Liz accompanied him whenever he went for these therapeutic sessions. She was afraid to let him out of her sight; afraid that Myra might hatch out somewhere unexpectedly, and afraid of how Grant would react ot her.
Did he know? Had he heard? She wished that she could ask him, but she did not have the nerve somehow.
The weeks passed, taking them into one of those cold winters on
the reef, and in time Liz gradually began to shake off her fears. If Myra was in Johannesburg, then she was staying out of their way, and Liz prayed desperately that she would continue to do so.
It was mid-July before Grant could return to his consulting rooms in the city.
The operation and the therapy had been a tremendous success, and to celebrate this fact he took Liz out to dinner one evening. His spirits were high, and so were hers.
She was happy, so terribly happy for his sake, and she made no secret of it.
“It was your rock-like confidence that kept me going,” he told her quite bluntly.
“Nonsense,” she laughed it off. “I knew you had enough self-determination to see you through all the difficult moments.”
“Liz…” his hand found hers across the table, “I haven’t exactly been the best husband a girl could wish for.”
“I won’t deny there’s room for improvement,” she teased, her eyes dancing with mirth.
“I wish I could give you more.”
The laugher died slowly in her eyes. “Is it so very difficult to care for me a little?”
“I do care for you, Liz.” His smile was mocking and intensely sensual. “Haven’t I shown you lately how much I care?”
She looked away from him, her colour deepening. “Must you always reduce everything to a physical level?”
“The physical side of our marriage is what interest me most,” he mocked her mercilessly. “Who would believe me if I told them that behind that cool, down-to-earth, country-faced exterior there lurked an intelligent and passionate woman?”
“Stop it, Grant!” she begged, her face burning.
“Can I help it if it’s the truth?” he persisted, raising her hand to his lips regardless of whether people were watching them in the crowded restaurant, and she felt embarrassingly certain that they were.
Some had been watching, but Liz only discovered this when they had had their dinner and were lingering over their coffee.
In the far corner of the restaurant a tall, slender woman detached herself from a group of diners, and she moved with a practised grace. She was elegantly dressed in the latest fashion, and her tawny-coloured hair had been cut and styled into a sleek cap to accentuate the flawless complexion of her classic features. Her beauty was attracting attention, and she revelled in it, but Liz felt as if the air was slowly being squeezed from her lungs as she watched Myra Cavendish approach their table. Soon, very soon, Grant would see her, and then…!
House of Mirrors Page 11