by Maggie Brown
“Sorry…it’s eleven… I’m a bit late.”
“No…no. That wasn’t what I meant. You’re not late at all,” said Eleanor gently and patted the bed. “Come. Sit down and tell me what you did this morning.”
Sophie sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful to keep her distance. Her tongue felt useless as she tried to say something constructive. “Yes, sure, okay.”
“Well?” said Eleanor with an encouraging smile.
Sophie blinked, once, twice, then found herself smiling back. Her insecurities vanished as she gazed into the soft eyes. Coherent sentences finally came. “Firstly, you’re never going to believe how awesome the backyard is. There’s a great pool and a tropical garden. When you’re feeling better, we can go swimming to make you stronger. The beach is fantastic, the water so clear you can see the coral and fish as plain as day. I don’t know if we can swim in the sea, though. I’ll have to find out.”
“You obviously like swimming.”
“Shit, yes. Um…sorry.”
Eleanor chuckled. “I think I’ve heard a few choice words once or twice. Do you like running as well? Or jogging?”
With a laugh, Sophie whipped up the bottom of her tank top to expose the soft swell of her stomach. “Do I look like I run ten miles a day? See…no six-packs in sight.” When a blush spread over Eleanor’s cheeks, Sophie quickly pulled the top back down. “Sorry. I’ve embarrassed you with my flab. Sometimes I don’t think.”
With a little ticking sound, Eleanor put a spoonful of sugar in the coffee. “It’s nice to see a woman with curves.”
Sophie stood up abruptly, conscious she had been tactless. The woman was ill and had to put on weight. She didn’t need Sophie rubbing it in. “Yes…well, I’d better go and do something. I’ll make garlic prawns for lunch and leave the fish for dinner. I’ll be back shortly and get your tray.”
“I’ll come down for lunch. I’m sick of the bed and I can rest on the couch.”
“Okay,” said Sophie. She hesitated at the door, then came back and patted Eleanor’s hand. “Don’t worry. After a week of my cooking you won’t look back.”
She berated herself all the way to the kitchen. Damn! Eleanor was getting under her skin. She was so darn nice. If Sophie didn’t start being more objective, she’d never be able to write the article. Already she had learned something very important about the star. And it wouldn’t take too much digging to substantiate. Some past lover, or lovers, would be willing to tell the truth for a price. Eleanor was a lesbian. It was obvious the instance Eleanor had run her finger down her cheek. Her expression had been one of unabashed desire, as though she had wanted to taste Sophie. It was a look no lesbian could mistake. And then she had called out a woman’s name…Maria.
Sophie shuffled the information around in her mind as her inner reporter wrestled with her emotional side. Though it would probably be enough to satisfy the gossipmongers, being gay in today’s society was not front-page stuff even for a person of Eleanor’s stature. More and more celebrities were admitting their sexuality and if anything, it was becoming fashionable. If Sophie wanted to make a mark, she’d have to come up with a better slant to her piece than that. Her gut instinct told her what the real story would be.
It was Maria who?
Chapter Eight
At one o’clock, dressed in a light kaftan, Eleanor appeared at the kitchen door. “How’s lunch coming along?”
Sophie looked up from the dishes, pleased to see her downstairs, though whether she was very well was debatable. Eleanor appeared sicker since she had last seen her, more peaked and tired. “I’ve just finished the prawns and the rice is cooked. The table’s set, so you can start. There’s a small bowl of berries to sharpen your palate as an entree.”
“You’ll eat with me?”
“If you wish. I’ll only have the main course.”
“I’d prefer if we shared meals. I don’t stand on ceremony.”
They ate in silence, Eleanor seemed to be having difficulty eating as well as carrying on a conversation. By the time coffee was served, she was deathly pale. Sophie studied her anxiously over the rim of her cup, prepared to leap up if she toppled off the chair. Instinct told her that Eleanor would be reluctant to acknowledge how ill she actually felt, so she said in a mild voice, “Would you like to go back to your room now?”
“Please.” It came out as a strangled moan.
“Lean on me to negotiate the stairs.”
Eleanor didn’t argue. They managed the climb with difficulty, taking a step at a time, with a pause before an attempt at the next. By the time the bed was in sight, Eleanor was on the point of collapse. She took a long strained breath, barely able to stand erect while Sophie turned down the covers.
“I’ll call the medic,” said Sophie as she carefully edged Eleanor between the sheets.
“No, no, please don’t. This will pass. I’ve had attacks before, though this one is very nasty. The doctor said the medication would take at least another week to work and I would have to expect this.”
Sophie looked at her dubiously, not entirely convinced. “I’m not a qualified health professional, Eleanor. I would like to get you checked out, for you are my responsibility. I don’t want something happening to you on my watch.” She took her hand, rubbing her thumb over the silky skin. “Please.”
“Okay. If you must.”
A weak smile accompanied the answer, but it heartened Sophie. “Good. I’ll ring immediately. Could you give me the name of your specialist? The medic is sure to ask.”
“Dr. Edward Davies. His number is in the side of my purse.”
The medic, Bernadette, arrived five minutes after the phone call. She was a woman in her forties, with a kindly face and an air of authority. Sophie let her in, happy to pass over the responsibility for Eleanor’s well-being. She had found Dr. Davies’ number and was already at the front door when the buggy pulled up. After a quick introduction, she handed over the slip of paper and led Bernadette upstairs.
After the medic completed her examination, she disappeared to phone the specialist. Eleanor immediately dropped back into a sound sleep. Sophie pushed back a strand of hair from Eleanor’s forehead, and feathered the back of her hand down her cheek. Curled around a pillow, Eleanor looked so wan and helpless in the king-sized bed that Sophie’s heart was filled with a wave of compassion so intense it made her chest ache.
Then Bernadette appeared on the threshold, her face creased in a reassuring smile. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t wake her. She needs the rest. I’ll come back later to take blood. The specialist wants an update. Let’s go downstairs to talk.”
Sophie let her gaze roam again over the figure in the bed before she turned to follow. “Will you like something to drink?” she asked when they were perched on the kitchen chairs.
“Just water thanks.” She waited while Sophie filled two tumblers with iced water before she continued. “I know you’re anxious, so I’ll fill you in. It was a relapse he was afraid might happen because Eleanor refuses to rest. Her thyroxin levels were extremely low when she presented three weeks ago to her doctor in the US. Apparently, she’d been sick for over two months before she finally sought help. Then she insisted she had contractual obligations for her new film, so the doctor allowed her to fly to Australia on the condition she rested as much as possible, and that Dr. Davies take over her care when she arrived.”
“Silly woman,” murmured Sophie.
“Aren’t workaholics all the same?” said Bernadette with a knowing smile. “We get plenty of overworked people here. And with an underactive thyroid, it normally takes seven to ten days before the meds work, but in severe cases, it can take several weeks. Even then, only some of the symptoms will improve in the beginning. The tiredness will go shortly if she rests, but she may have occasional mood swings. Weight gain is a side effect, but he wants Eleanor to gain the kilos she lost, so feed her up well. He’s sure because she’s youn
g with no prior history, once she is back looking after herself, it will heal without any lasting effects.”
“That’s a relief. So what do I have to do?”
“With such a debilitating episode, she’ll need looking after. He says there’s no need for her to be hospitalised, but ordered complete bed rest for two days, then limited mobility for at least a week. Expect that she’ll be plagued with waves of anxiety, which will leave her sweaty and trembling. Make sure you keep up the fluids and keep her comfortable.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. TLC is the best nursing procedure. Try allaying her fears and make sure she takes her medication.” Bernadette gave her a nod of approval as she rose to go. “I can see you care very much about her welfare. Just keep her happy and stress-free and she’ll be on the mend in no time. I’ll call in at four to do the blood work. The helicopter leaves at five for the mainland. See you then.”
* * *
The next few days were not easy for Eleanor, or Sophie. Eleanor fretted constantly, waking up at night with sheets soaked with sweat. Her bouts of anxiety taxed even Sophie’s good nature, and she became exhausted too. It was easier to spend the night on the couch beside the sickbed, which meant her sleep was repeatedly interrupted. She was kept busy helping Eleanor in and out of the bathroom, cooking her meals, and washing her bedclothes.
Thankfully, by the fourth day Eleanor was definitely on the mend. She ate rather than picked at her food, and the sweats began to abate. Except for taking time each afternoon to visit the centre to de-stress over a cup of coffee with Lisa, Sophie remained at Eleanor’s side. She read to her, talked to her, cajoled her to eat, and generally kept her spirits up as best she could.
As the days passed, they talked and debated a variety of topics, and Sophie formed a deep respect for the star. She was a smart, intuitive woman who cared deeply for others.
“How easy was it to make a success in the movies?” Sophie asked as she massaged Eleanor’s feet, something she had begun to do when Eleanor became restless with her forced confinement.
“It’s a hard business to break into. Much like writing…once you have that first novel published, it’s easy to get the second one out there. You have to have talent, but being successful in the movie industry is just as much about that first big break. I started in the Sydney Theatre Company and was lucky enough to win the Critics’ Newcomer Award. From there it was bit parts in TV in Australia, and later in America. Then I auditioned for the ex-girlfriend in Golden Moon. Only a supporting role, but it launched my film career. A prominent director noticed me, and…bingo…a plum part in his next movie. Four years later I won the Oscar, which catapulted me into stardom.”
“How come I’m getting the vibes you’re not entirely happy with your success?”
Eleanor plucked at the sheet absently. “It’s not that I’m unhappy…it’s just that…well…with success comes a new set of restrictions.”
“Such as?”
“Like my life isn’t my own anymore. I’m virtually owned by my fans and I can’t move without the press dogging my trail. If I become friendly with anyone, the tabloids will have me in bed with them by the afternoon. Then they’ll have me in an abortion clinic the next week.”
Sophie burst out laughing. “Have they had you screwing someone?”
“I make sure I keep out of the limelight. I don’t want to read about myself in a magazine in the doctor’s waiting room. Mind you, I can’t stop them making up rubbish. But so far, I’ve managed to keep a low profile in the scandal stakes.”
“But you must have some love life, Eleanor? Any woman who looks like you should be knocking them back in droves,” Sophie said teasingly, but watched her closely, waiting for the reply intently.
Except for a slight tightening of her jaw, Eleanor didn’t rise to the bait. She was very adept at evasions, Sophie noted. She merely gave a secret smile and pointed to the left foot. “This one needs some attention too.”
Sophie squeezed cream on her hand and skimmed her palm under the foot in a steady rhythm. When she looked up to say something, she found Eleanor staring at her with a quiet intensity. Their eyes met. Eleanor looked quickly away. Sophie let out a huff of a breath, grateful that her hands were busy. A glint had been in those eyes that hinted of desire and longing.
Lucky Maria.
Chapter Nine
Eleanor woke up feeling completely well for the first time in months. It was hard to believe they had been twelve days in the villa. She stretched languidly and took a deep breath as she watched the sunlight filter in soothing beams through the sheer blue curtains. The pretty glow matched her mood. It was such a relief to be healthy again after the gruelling time, for the severe bout of exhaustion had left her feeling gutted. Now finally, the tide had turned. She’d woken up refreshed and she knew she owed Sophie a huge debt for her recovery.
Eleanor glanced at the clock on the side table—seven thirty, time to get up. Time, too, to dispense with being an invalid. Since she was so much better, she’d surprise Sophie and come downstairs early. She would no doubt be very relieved she didn’t have to play Florence Nightingale any longer. Not that she had ever indicated it was a burden. On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy fussing over her. And Eleanor had let her fuss, even when she was on the mend. It felt wonderful to be taken care of after living alone for so long.
As she stood under the refreshing jets of water in the shower, her thoughts swung back again to Sophie, as they were apt to do now on a regular basis. Things had become easy and close between them, but all the same, the woman was an enigma. On the surface, she was a gem: she ran the house like clockwork and helped Eleanor through her illness with tenderness and compassion. But underneath, she seemed to be masking another persona, one that was far more interesting. Every now and then, she would catch a devilish twinkle in Sophie’s eye or a hint of sly wit in her conversation. And she was remarkably well read for a woman who spent her working life in such a mundane occupation.
She was a puzzle Eleanor really wanted to solve. At that thought, an annoying voice in her head said sternly. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The woman’s a treasure, so accept her for what she is.
The smell of coffee was enticing as she descended the stairs. She wandered to the kitchen, and finding it empty, went in search of Sophie. She found her folding and sorting a basket of clean clothes in the laundry. When Eleanor stepped into the room, Sophie looked up in surprise. Caught off guard, she gave a shy intimate smile, which Eleanor returned with the same warmth.
“It’s really great to see you downstairs. You must be feeling better this morning,” said Sophie.
“Much. I’m looking forward to getting out in the sun and I’m starved. What’s for breakfast?”
Sophie chuckled. “I’ve created a food monster. First course, yogurt with grapes and muesli, followed by an apple and cheddar tartine with crispy bacon rashes.”
“That sounds divine. Umm…what exactly is a tartine?”
“It’s a French open-faced sandwich.”
“That’ll be perfect. Let’s eat on the terrace. It’s such a beautiful day it’ll be a shame not to enjoy it. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No. Now sit down and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. The rest won’t be long. Everything’s prepared, so it’s only a matter of popping the food under the griller.”
“I’ll get my own coffee while you set the table,” said Eleanor with a smile. “I’m not an invalid now, so you don’t have to wait on me.”
“Of course I do,” answered Sophie a little gruffly. “It’s my job.”
Eleanor felt a sharp pang of hurt at the words. Was Sophie’s empathy all about payment? “Silly of me to have forgotten that,” she said in a clipped voice. “You can bring the coffee out onto the terrace.”
The day was bright and sunny, the ocean a turquoise blue in the distance. Eleanor moved a cane chair around to face the breathtaking scene, but couldn’t gather much enthusiasm as she stared
into the distance.
What price paradise if no one shared it with you?
She pinched the edge of her nose with her fingertips, her eyes clouded with frustration as she struggled to sort out her thoughts. Now she was on the mend, what she needed was a friend more than a home help. And Sophie had been so good to her when she was sick, it felt wrong now to treat her as a servant.
She accepted the cup with a nod, and sipped the coffee while the table was set behind her. Only when the first dish arrived did she turn.
On the other side of the table, Sophie murmured, “Enjoy.”
“I’m sure it will be tasty,” said Eleanor, though she avoided looking at her directly.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?” said Eleanor and sampled the yogurt. “Very nice.” As she ate slowly, she cursed that while her body had energy, her emotions were still all over the place. Her damn thyroid was still out of whack. Why was she feeling rejected? It was ludicrous—Sophie had merely stated a fact. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sharp clatter of a spoon being dropped on a plate. She jerked her head up and their eyes met.
Sophie, who watched her with worry, whispered, “Have I done something to offend you, Eleanor?”
“Honestly, it’s not you…it’s me. Our arrangement…well…it was fine when I was sick, but I don’t think it’s going to work for weeks on end.”
Sophie stiffened. “Oh? I thought I was doing a good job. I’ve given it my best shot.”
“No…no. That wasn’t a criticism. You’ve been wonderful. Fantastic.”
“But?”
“I guess I like help in the house, but I want someone to holiday with as well. A friend to share some fun. And I don’t want to be coddled. I’m quite capable of doing something, though mind you, I’m nowhere near as good a cook as you.”
Sophie was silent for a long moment, and then to Eleanor’s surprise, she laughed. “Really? Then why didn’t you say so in the first place. I was getting bored. The housework is virtually nothing with just the two of us, and now you’re on your feet again, my nursing duties have finished.”