by Sarah Morgan
The mark was on her skin.
‘Who is this?’ he asked. ‘Why did you give this to me?’
‘Don’t you recognise her?’ she asked. ‘She’s a girl people wrote off—because of the way she looked. Because of a birthmark that covered half her face people turned their heads away when she came down the street. People couldn’t bear to look her in the eye, and when they did it was always with horror. Or, worse still, pity. Those people judged her because of the way she looked. She was worthless in their eyes.
‘And you’re no different to the people who shunned her because she didn’t fit into their neat little view of the world. Because she’s someone you summed up in a second simply because of the way she looked.’
He frowned down at the photograph. Her words burned in his psyche. It couldn’t be possible—what was she trying to say? Nothing made sense. But there was something in the angle of the chin of the girl in the photograph, the slope of her cheek, something achingly familiar.
He looked from the photo to Jade and back again. ‘Surely…?’
She laughed, and he knew she was laughing at him—and at his battle to come to terms with what was staring him in the face.
‘It is me, Loukas. That’s the real me as I had to live for sixteen years of my life. And that’s the real me you apparently would rather see. That’s the real me you would have preferred in your bed—someone unsullied by the evil hand of cosmetic surgery.’
He brushed aside her barbed comment—there was more at stake here than his own preconceived notions. ‘What happened to you to give you this?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing “happened”. I was simply born like that.’
‘And there was nothing they could do then?’
‘You have to understand it was a small country hospital and my mother was their main concern. She started haemorrhaging shortly after I was born. They tried to save her but just weren’t equipped. By the time they transferred her to Sydney it was too late. They lost her en route. And my father was left without a wife and with a baby he couldn’t bear to look at. He’d lost his childhood sweetheart and was lumbered with the ugliest creature he’d ever seen—something that could never replace the woman he’d lost, or ever stop reminding him of the pain.’
She paused for a couple of moments before continuing.
‘And so for a while he refused to take me—and it looked like I would have to be adopted. But somehow someone managed to convince him to keep me, maybe because they couldn’t find anyone else—God, it must have just about killed him.’
She stopped again then, as if thinking back. ‘I think he really must have loved me to do that,’ she said.
‘What about when you were older?’ he asked. ‘They must have tried something in all that time.’
‘Oh, yeah, they sure did.’ Now her voice was more strident, almost bitter. ‘Laser surgery was only new—experimental, really—and my doctors asked my father if I’d be game to give the new technology a try. I was only twelve years old, but I begged my father to let me do it. Because even if the people of the town had grown used to seeing me the way I was, had become accustomed to averting their eyes or masking their pity, still none of their sons asked me to school dances. Nobody wanted to be seen with me. And so I begged him to give me the chance to be as beautiful as my mother had been.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘And it worked?’
She laughed, her face raised towards the high ceiling. ‘No, it didn’t work. Far from it.’ She wandered out onto the deck, needing the fresh air and aware without looking that he was following her a few steps behind. ‘I’m sure you know, but the way laser surgery works is to damage the underlying cell tissue in the skin just enough to encourage new cell growth. Ideally what will happen is that the cell tissue will be spurred into action so that basically the skin heals itself—’
He interrupted. ‘But that didn’t happen with you?’
‘No. The technology was too new, too raw, and the technician misjudged the dosage. Instead of taking away the mark he used too high a dose. It burned my skin too deeply…’ She trailed off, her blue eyes rippled with what he could tell was crushing pain. And still he could only imagine the disappointment of a young girl with a dream to be as beautiful as her mother. To be as beautiful as she could be.
As she should have been from the start.
As she was now.
‘But there’s no trace of anything. What happened?’
From his angle at the side of her he could see the grimace that screwed up her face, could almost feel the death-grip her hands had on the railing. He watched her take in a couple of breaths, almost as if she was forming her words. And then she spoke.
‘I got lucky. There was a doctor visiting from the US who was said to be performing miracles with laser surgery, but the medical authorities at home were sceptical—nobody trusted the new technology after a series of bungled attempts. I wasn’t the only experiment gone wrong, apparently.
‘Anyway, somehow the doctor heard about my case, and decided I would be the perfect one to prove that laser surgery had improved and could perform miracles.’
‘Weren’t you scared to go through that again, after the first attempt?’
‘I was petrified. I didn’t want to do it. But that doctor explained everything so well—they were past the experimentation stage, they were really getting results—and convinced me that the surgery really could make a difference. I was sixteen years old with no family to protect me, and I wanted to go to university. I was a good student—my scar saw to that; there was no chance of boyfriends or distractions—and I knew I was good enough to get into medical school if I kept going. But I couldn’t stand the thought of going like I was.’
She turned her face towards his. ‘You see, I’d had enough of looking like a freak. I was growing up, and I wanted to be pretty. I wanted to have boyfriends and relationships. Is that so hard to understand?’
She wandered to the corner of the deck, placing her arms on the railing and looking out over the sand and surf, looking beyond the ocean, remembering her past and her pain.
He leaned against the frame of the open door, sensing that she wanted him to keep his distance right now. ‘And this time?’
She straightened and turned suddenly, her eyes bright. ‘It worked. It worked so well that no one could even tell I’d ever had a birthmark on my face. And I decided then and there that I was going to become a laser surgeon to perform miracles and change lives like that doctor had done for me.’
It was like a kick to the guts. So that was why she’d become a laser surgeon? Not for the money. He stood transfixed as another of his preconceived notions about Jade disintegrated into dust.
‘So is that how the foundation came about? Was it your idea all along?’
She nodded, her face wistful. ‘I knew how lucky I’d been. If it hadn’t been for that visiting specialist I never would have had the chance to be treated by someone so talented, with the power to completely obliterate my birthmark. When I set about establishing the foundation, I wanted to make that possibility a reality for other kids who couldn’t afford treatment and would otherwise be forced to spend their lives like I spent my early years—hiding my face—hiding from the staring eyes and the spiteful names. I knew how that felt. I knew exactly how much it meant to look normal.’
He nodded, the pain of her youth a tangible thing, weighing down her words. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I’m finally starting to understand why you ended up working where you did.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ she replied, the wistful tone in her voice replaced with a sudden burst of bitterness, knocking him off balance yet again.
‘You don’t see at all. You won’t understand anything until you realise that the doctor who performed that surgery, the doctor who made my life worth living and inspired me to do medicine in the first place, was none other than the woman you set out to destroy. My miracle doctor, the person I believed to be so wonderful she had to be an angel, was
none other than Grace.’
‘Della-Bosca!’
‘The very same. It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ she continued. ‘I idolised her. I begged her to let me work with her. She was my own personal hero, and yet she turned out to be so bad, so corrupt. And I was too stupid to see it. I was too stupid to see any of it.’
Guilt twisted Loukas’s gut and pulled down tight. What had he done to her? He hadn’t merely misjudged her, he’d damned her from the start. And she was right. He hadn’t understood a thing. It was like having blinkers suddenly removed—so much more about Jade made sense.
No wonder she’d been so intensely loyal.
No wonder she’d been so doggedly persistent in Della-Bosca’s defence.
No wonder she’d fought tooth and nail against his every attempt to undermine her.
‘Not stupid,’ he said, pushing himself from the doorway and moving close enough to use the pad of his thumb to wipe a trace of dampness from her cheek. ‘Never stupid. Fiercely loyal. Supremely protective. And now I understand why. Thank you for telling me.’
‘But I was so wrong,’ she remonstrated, her voice cracking, her face anguished. ‘All the time I was defending her she was working to destroy herself. And I never saw it coming. All the time I was protecting her—oh, my God, Loukas, how many patients did I leave at risk because I refused to see what was happening? How many more could there been? Because I was blind to everything—she could do nothing wrong in my eyes—it was unthinkable.’
He cupped her face in his hands. ‘Jade, don’t.’
‘And I never even saw it coming. If it hadn’t been for you coming along when you did, how long would it have taken me to realise what was going on? And at what cost? How many more lives might she have destroyed?’
‘Shh,’ he soothed, collecting her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. ‘It’s over.’
‘How many more?’ Her voice sounded as fragile and hollow as the sea urchins that sometimes washed up on the shore, their spines broken off, their insides empty, and their shells easily smashed, and he sensed instinctively that that was how Jade felt. And, as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t put all the blame down to Della-Bosca. He had more than his fair share to do with how she was feeling.
‘She can’t hurt anyone now.’
He held her like that, swaying gently in the morning sun against the backdrop of the constant flow of the tide, one hand stroking her back, the other caressing her neck, his fingers laced softly through her hair.
She’d fought against so much all her life, from such a tragic start, and against the odds she’d battled to make the most of herself. She was so brave, so fierce, so ready to defend those things she believed in—and she was suffering now because of it.
She was amazing. And he’d treated her as if she was a crook. He’d taken advantage of her and used her shamelessly in his quest to pull Della-Bosca down. But the hardest thing to take was that he had without question spoiled any chance he had at all to be with her.
So right now he would take what he could get. He could stay like this for ever, swaying gently in the sea breeze, holding a sun-kissed Jade in his arms. He wanted to lend her his strength, he wanted to see her fight again, he wanted to see her spirit.
And he wanted her for himself.
‘Don’t leave,’ he said, almost before he’d acknowledged to himself that he wanted her to stay.
He felt her breath catch, her body still.
Without moving her head from his chest she asked, ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay with me.’
She lifted her head and looked up at him, her blue eyes smoky and uncertain, searching his. ‘I don’t understand.’
He sucked in a breath. He wasn’t sure he understood either. But he knew that whatever power drove him to want her couldn’t be denied.
‘You’re right. I can’t keep you here. But I’m asking you to stay with me.’
‘What about your sister? What about all your concerns about me going to the press?’
‘You won’t sell your story. I know that.’
Her breath caught in disbelief. So finally he was giving her some credit for doing the right thing? But why now?
Her words came out in one breath. ‘I didn’t tell you all that just so you would feel sorry for me.’
‘Who said anything about feeling sorry for you?’
Her heartbeat seemed to triple in an instant. If he didn’t feel sorry for her then why else would he want her to stay? Here, nestled against Loukas’s body, she could almost bring herself to imagine he cared for her—at least a little.
And that would be enough. After all that had happened between them there was nothing he could say that would make a difference to their future, but it would be enough just to know that he felt something for her. Just so she could take with her at least the thought that their nights together had meant something.
‘Why else would you want me to stay?’ she asked tentatively, afraid of what he might say, afraid of what he wouldn’t say.
But in the end it didn’t really matter any more.
Because now it was all too late.
He rested his head on hers, his hands skimming her back. ‘It seems I’ve got a lot to make up for,’ he started. ‘I was wrong about a lot of things. I was wrong about you.’
She blinked, straightening her back, forcing away the tightness in her throat. So this was all about paying his dues? He believed he owed her for misjudging her, and he thought he could set it to rights by being considerate to her and offering her a place to stay.
Nothing more.
She squeezed her eyes shut. But why should this latest revelation be such a surprise. Loukas had loved Zoë all along. His actions had made that beyond question. His motivations were now crystal-clear.
Because he still loved Zoë, had loved her even through those passionate nights Loukas and Jade had shared, Zoë had been the one driving his actions, Zoë had been the one he’d been missing. Only in seeking to avenge himself against Grace had he bothered with her.
And so be it. He didn’t feel anything for her. At least they didn’t have that unnecessary complication to contend with.
She’d learned her lesson already in that department. Because she’d imagined for a while that she loved Loukas, had even hoped that her feelings might be reciprocated, but that was before she’d found out that her being in his bed was nothing more than part of his plan to pull down Grace.
And just as he’d succeeded, and Grace’s world had collapsed, so too had Jade’s emotional landscape—shattering around her, scattering everything she knew, everything she held precious.
And now she didn’t know what she felt any more. Now she didn’t know who to trust.
She’d trusted Loukas for a time. And what had that got her? A few nights of pleasure and the bitter aftertaste of betrayal.
And through it all she’d trusted Grace. She’d set her on a pedestal so high, established her so far up on a scale no mere mortal could compete with, never realising that if anything went wrong it was a very, very long way down.
And things had gone desperately, irreversibly wrong. Now there was no way she could trust her own feelings. Now there was no one she could trust.
Not Grace.
Not Loukas.
And least of all herself.
She pushed herself out of the circle of his arms with a sigh and turned to gaze out over the bay one last time.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT HAD been a long day, Jade thought, as she turned her yellow Mini Cooper into the parking bay of her modest Balmain apartment. A tiring day, and yet immensely satisfying. Even after only three months in her new job, already she was making a difference to the tattoos that marred the arms, hands and even cheeks of her patients, slowly eradicating any evidence of ill-thought-out adolescent decision-making or the result of peer group pressure.
It would
take many treatments and some time before the tattoo pigments were broken up by the laser into pieces tiny enough for the cells’ own cleaning processes to deal with their removal. And it might take months or even longer for the tattoos to fade completely, depending on the size, colours and depth of the artwork.
But these guys had the time. They weren’t going anywhere in a hurry. And by the time they were released they’d be rid of their home-made tattoos, the gang-inspired insignias, and any other visible artwork which would otherwise prejudice their chances of getting any job—let alone a good one.
She smiled to herself as she let herself into her apartment. Yeah, it had been a good day. She was doing work that was worthwhile. She was making a difference.
A Red Abyssinian cat bounded to the door as she opened it, greeting her with a plaintive series of mews.
‘Hello, Maxwell,’ she said, reaching down to stroke the elegant animal’s ears. ‘How was your day?’
Maxwell wound himself around her ankles and complained some more about being left home alone without enough to eat before heading for the kitchen, obviously anticipating that Jade would take immediate steps to remedy the latter.
She laughed. ‘Okay, Max, I know it’s late. I’m coming.’
Once fed, the cat was quite happy to curl up quietly next to Jade on the small terrace outside. It was a warm night for spring, the air steamy, carrying the promise of a hot summer to come and filled with the sounds of live guitar music floating up from the nearby bar. Through the gap in the roof-lines she could see moonlight glistening on the dark waters of Sydney Harbour, until a late-night ferry cut a swath through the water, churning up the surface and chopping the reflection into shredded tinsel.
She breathed deeply and let it out on a sigh. It was a different life from the one she remembered in Beverly Hills. No more living in a mansion, no more Mercedes car, no more using her talents on the rich and famous, the celebrities and the already very beautiful.
And yet, for all the things she’d left behind, she was strangely content. She’d used only enough of her savings to buy this apartment and her car. She didn’t need any more than that and, given the associations the money had with her former life, she didn’t want it.