‘And that was enough for you to decide to end your marriage?’
‘It was enough for me.’ More than enough.
‘Let’s assume for the sake of argument that your Fallopian tubes are blocked—there are still other options. IVF? Adoption?’
Amy stilled. ‘Those aren’t options for me.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have my reasons.’ And she wasn’t going to share those reasons with anyone. She’d already said more than enough. ‘So now you see why I had to leave.’
‘Well, not really, no. I see why you think you had to leave. You managed to convince yourself that Marco would be better off without you. So you spun a story about choosing a career over a family and about not loving him enough.’
‘I had to give him a reason.’
‘Why not give him the truth?’
‘Because then he would have felt an obligation towards me. I was already his wife. I decided that the easiest way was just to end the relationship. It would have ended at some point anyway, so I didn’t do anything except bring forward the inevitable.’
‘That’s a very negative attitude. Why would it have ended anyway?’
‘Because infertility wrecks marriages. It tears them apart.’ She stared out of the window, her expression bleak. ‘Even strong marriages, and ours wasn’t that strong. We hadn’t known each other long. He didn’t love me enough.’
‘Didn’t he? That’s interesting,’ Nick said calmly. ‘So why did he go completely off the rails when you left?’
Startled, Amy turned to him. ‘What do you mean, “off the rails”?’
‘I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say that he wasn’t a happy man.’ Nick’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve known Marco for years, as you know. I can honestly say that you were the first woman he ever really loved.’
‘He didn’t love me. He couldn’t have done.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we were together such a short time.’
‘But you loved him in that same short time,’ Nick pointed out calmly, and she gave a reluctant nod.
‘Yes, but…he didn’t love me.’ Amy frowned and shook her head. ‘He never said.’
‘Ah. Didn’t he?’ Nick gave a wry smile. ‘Well, we men are terrible at saying what women want to hear, you should know that. But just because the words aren’t there doesn’t mean that the emotions aren’t.’
‘He didn’t love me, Nick.’ She clasped her hands in front of her. ‘He didn’t try and stop me going.’
‘He was in shock. You’d just bought a house to move into together and then suddenly you changed overnight. He assumed you’d met someone else and were just throwing excuses at him.’
Amy felt the colour drain from her face. ‘There was no one else. There’s never been anyone else.’
‘I’m just telling you what he assumed. He couldn’t think of anything else that would explain the sudden shift in your behaviour.’
‘Is that why he didn’t come after me?’
‘He’s a proud man, Amy. He assumed that you wanted to get away from him so he wasn’t about to follow you. And after he calmed down—well, that was when things fell apart here.’ Nick’s face was expressionless as he referred obliquely to the death of his wife. ‘I expect he felt he couldn’t leave.’
‘Of course he couldn’t. I understand. It must have been a horrendous time for you. And I didn’t want, or expect, Marco to follow me.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I’m so, so sorry about your wife, Nick.’
‘We’re talking about you, not me.’
‘I think we’ve said all there is to say. I can’t have a child, Nick. I can’t give Marco the family he wants so badly. And he does want it badly—you of all people should know that. He’s Italian. He wants a big, noisy, busy family with at least four children as beautiful as he is, fighting over the large bowl of spaghetti in the middle of the table.’
‘I don’t understand why you’re so black and white about this.’ Nick stood up and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘There are other options, Amy. If it’s so important to you both, you could look for a solution.’
The past clawed at her and she gave a little shake of her head, trying to dispel the memories. It was always there in the background.
‘I’m not interested in any of those options. I’ve seen what—’ She broke off but Nick’s questioning gaze was enough to tell her that she’d already said too much.
‘What have you seen, Amy?’
‘Nothing.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘Nothing. I just know that those aren’t options.’
Nick studied her face for a moment but he didn’t push her for more information. ‘Well, at least now I understand why you didn’t want to do the antenatal clinic.’
‘It was difficult,’ she said honestly, ‘but you don’t come to terms with something by ignoring it, so I’m sure that taking that clinic will do me good in the long term.’
‘Some things are more difficult to come to terms with than others. Marco can do that clinic from now on, Amy. Or I will. You can do child health or minor surgery.’
‘If we swap things around then he’ll ask questions that I don’t want to answer, and anyway he should do child health—he’s a paediatrician. I’ll be fine, Nick. I can do the clinic.’ Amy walked back to her desk and picked up her coat and bag. ‘I’m sorry to dump all over you like this. I can’t think what came over me.’
‘If a problem is big enough then it eventually finds its way out,’ Nick said softly, and Amy slipped on her wool coat and belted it.
‘Maybe.’
‘My guess is that you’ve bottled this up for two years. You should talk to someone about it. Talking can help.’
She picked up her bag. ‘Do you talk to anyone, Nick?’
His gaze held hers for a moment and then he gave a humourless laugh. ‘I’m not sure if you win that point or not. It’s different. I’m a man.’
‘And you know as well as I do that talking doesn’t always help anything. Sometimes it makes things worse. I’d be grateful if you didn’t say anything to Marco.’
‘He’d want to know, Amy.’
‘It would make everything a thousand times more complicated and painful and it wouldn’t change the outcome.’
‘He loves you.’
Amy felt as though her heart was being squeezed by a vice. ‘Even if that were true, it wouldn’t change the outcome either,’ she said quietly, walking towards the door. ‘Thanks, Nick, for listening. Actually, it was good to tell someone. I feel better now. More in control. I can do this. I can work as a locum and then walk away and pursue a career.’
‘And is that what you want?’
She paused with her hand on the door. ‘No. But life doesn’t always give you what you want, does it?’
‘No. It doesn’t.’
She left the room and immediately bumped into Marco in the corridor. Knowing that the evidence of her distress would still show on her face, she kept walking. ‘I’ve finished the clinic. I’ll see you at home.’ She kept her head down but he caught her arm.
‘You’re always in such a hurry! I just spoke to the hospital. Eddie doesn’t have a skull fracture and they’re happy with him. He’s coming home tomorrow.’
‘That’s good. Really good. His mother must be relieved.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to dash.’
‘Why?’ He slid a hand under her chin, lifted her face and then swore softly. ‘You’ve been crying.’
‘No, of course I haven’t.’ She tried to ease her arm away from his grip but he held her firmly.
‘Your eyes are red.’
‘I think I’m getting a cold.’ She sniffed to prove the point. ‘It’s that time of year. Germs everywhere.’
‘Germs don’t give you swollen eyes. You’ve been crying, Amy. Why?’
Given the determined pressure of his fingers, she had no choice but to look into his eyes and this time there was no trace of anger. Just concern. And the c
oncern brought the lump back to her throat.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, what was the matter with her? Why did her body have to pick this particular moment to release all the tension that had been building inside her? She’d had two years to break down and she’d chosen the most inappropriate moment possible and the most public place.
With a determined effort she freed herself from his grasp and stepped away from him. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. I’m really, really pleased about little Eddie. I’ll see you at home.’ And she turned and hurried away from him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘SHE was crying.’ Marco followed Nick back into his consulting room, anger shaking his powerful frame. ‘Amy has been crying and you were with her! What did you say to her?’
‘I can’t discuss it.’
‘You will discuss it!’ Marco slammed the door shut with the flat of his hand and gave a low growl. ‘This is my wife we’re talking about.’
‘You’re separated.’
‘She’s my wife.’
‘Why would you care if she’s upset?’ Nick’s tone was even. ‘You’ve been angry enough with her for the past two years.’
‘She left me. I’m human. Yes, I was angry. But that doesn’t stop me caring about her.’
Nick sat down in his chair. ‘How much do you care about her?’
‘What sort of a question is that? So now you are—what do they call it?’ His English momentarily abandoning him, Marco switched to Italian and then back again. ‘A marriage counsellor?’
‘Do you still love her?’
Thrown by the intimacy of the question, Marco prowled across the consulting room and stared blankly at the wall displaying a poster on the dangers of smoking. ‘Yes. I still love her.’ He turned sharply. ‘So now will you tell me why she was crying?’
‘I can’t do that. Our talk was confidential.’
‘So you do know what’s wrong.’ Exasperated, Marco spread his hands in question. ‘Tell me what she said! How could it be confidential?’
‘Because she spoke to me as a doctor.’
‘It was a consultation?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s ill?’ Anxiety replaced anger, but the emotion was just as sharp. ‘Is something the matter with her?’ He’d wondered. It might explain why she’d lost weight and why she was looking so pale.
‘She isn’t ill.’
Marco let out a long breath. For a moment he’d been afraid that—‘Well, if she wasn’t ill, why did she need to talk to a doctor?’
Nick was silent for a moment. ‘How well do you know Amy?’
Marco frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Well enough to love her. I know the sort of person she is. She’s shy with people she doesn’t know, she finds it quite hard to talk about her feelings but underneath she’s very loving and giving. She loves children, or at least I always thought she did.’ Marco broke off, wondering why he was revealing so much to his partner. ‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at.’
‘How much do you know about her past? Her background? Before she met you?’
‘I don’t know. Not much. I never really worried about it. It’s not that relevant, is it?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘You think it’s relevant?’
‘I don’t know.’ Nick’s voice was thoughtful. ‘I think it could be. If you want my advice, and frankly I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t take it because advice on the matters of the heart isn’t exactly my strong suit, I’d get to know her better. I mean the Amy underneath. What makes her tick? What made her believe the things she believes? Find that out and you might find the answers you’re looking for.’
‘You can’t tell me more than that?’
‘No. I can’t.’ Nick leaned forward and switched on his computer. ‘That’s already far more than I should have said.’
Amy took a hot shower but it didn’t stop the shivering. Desperate for warmth, she dressed in a pair of jeans and a warm jumper, her hair hanging damp and loose to her shoulders.
Her head throbbed from crying and outside the wind had picked up. The sky was grey and threatening and the word among the villagers was that there was more snow on the way.
Still shivering, she walked down to the kitchen to make herself a hot drink. The conversation with Nick had left her feeling raw and vulnerable. She felt slightly odd, having exposed so much of herself to another person. And yet, despite that, telling Nick had made her feel better. He was the first person she’d confided in and she felt lighter.
Or did she feel lighter because he’d told her that Marco had been so badly affected by her departure?
He’d cared.
And she’d so badly wanted him to care. Not that it changed anything, she reminded herself miserably. It didn’t change anything at all. No relationship was strong enough to withstand such a bitter blow—she knew that better than anyone.
Thoughts flew into her head and clashed, a cacophony of childhood memories that unsettled and disturbed her.
Not now. She wasn’t going to think about any of that now.
Hearing the unmistakable sound of the Maserati, Amy tensed.
Marco was home.
Which meant more questions.
She was just debating whether to go up to the spare room and close the door when she heard his key in the door and moments later he walked into the kitchen.
‘It’s freezing out there and as for the wind…’ He gave a shudder that more eloquently described his views on the weather than his words did. ‘They were planning fireworks on New Year’s Eve but they won’t be able to do them if this wind keeps up. It will be too dangerous. We will be treating burn victims.’
Amy found herself looking at the curve of his mouth and then at the dark shadow of stubble on his hard jaw. She turned away quickly. ‘It will be a shame if we have to cancel. The fireworks are always a highlight of New Year in Penhally. I used to love them when I was a child.’ Why did she still have to feel like this? It was so unfair!
Marco reached for a bottle of wine. ‘You stayed with your grandmother?’
‘That’s right.’
‘In the cottage? I’ve often wondered why you sold it.’
‘It would have been too small for us.’
‘Sì, but I would have thought it had sentimental value.’ He jerked the cork out of the bottle and reached for a glass. ‘Wine?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘You look tired.’ His eyes lingered on hers for a moment and then he turned away and poured wine into his own glass.
Her heart pumping hard, Amy closed her eyes briefly, hoping that he couldn’t sense her body’s response to him. Everything suddenly felt confused. She’d arrived with one clear objective and an iron resolve, but now everything was clouded. Suddenly what she had to do and what she wanted to do seemed a million miles apart.
It was just because she was living and working with him, she thought helplessly. Marco didn’t exactly melt into the background. He was a very confident, very physical man. Even now, with his powerful shoulders and long, strong legs, he seemed to fill the room, and suddenly the large, beautiful kitchen seemed claustrophobically small.
‘So, your grandmother’s house—was it full of memories?’
Full of memories, many of them not good. ‘I didn’t want to keep it.’ Why was he watching her so closely? Had Nick said something to him?
‘You’re very tense,’ he said softly. ‘Is something wrong?’
Of course she was tense. She was so aware of him that it was almost impossible to breathe.
‘Amy?’ He stepped towards her and lifted a hand, stroking her hair away from her forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘Do you have a headache?’
This was insane. She had to move away now. The brush of his fingers set her body on fire, even though she knew that his touch hadn’t been sexual in nature.
Her gaze lifted to his and she saw the hot burn in his eyes, the look they exchanged an intimate meshing of their thoughts.
Terrified that he’d
see too much, Amy moved away from him, ignoring the instinct that was telling her to move closer. ‘I do have a slight headache. Do you have any paracetamol in the house?’
His eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘Go and lie on the sofa. I’ll bring you something.’
Relieved to put some space between them, she did as he suggested and moments later he reappeared with a glass of water and the tablets.
‘Thank you.’ She took them gratefully and then leaned her aching head against the back of the sofa, hoping that the tablets wouldn’t take long to work. ‘Sorry. Long day.’
‘I can imagine.’ He took the water from her, put it on the table and then moved behind the sofa.
The next thing she felt was the touch of his hands in her hair. ‘Marco—’
‘This will ease the pain of your headache far more effectively than medication,’ he murmured softly, sliding his fingers into her hair and gently massaging her scalp. ‘I remember that you often had headaches when we first met.’
‘Like little Harry. Poor thing. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.’ She knew she ought to move but she couldn’t. His fingers were firm and rhythmic as they moved over her scalp. ‘That feels good.’
‘Tell me about the Penhally fireworks. Tell me about your grandmother.’ His voice was deep and soothing and her eyes drifted shut.
‘I stayed with my grandmother every Christmas and New Year, right through the holidays. There was a window-seat in my bedroom and on New Year’s Eve I’d kneel there and watch the fireworks—they were fantastic. Then we’d have hot chocolate together. When I was older, I was allowed to go along and watch.’
‘And that was fun?’
‘Yes. Everyone was very friendly.’ For a short time she’d felt as though she’d belonged somewhere.
‘You spent every holiday with your grandmother?’
‘Because my mother was working right through and she couldn’t look after me.’
Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 1 Page 26