“I said I might phone her about tonight. That’s all.” Paul crossed his arms. “Don’t read too much into it, Vivvy. There is nothing serious, there’s nothing formalized between Jenny and me. We have a casual, friendly understanding.”
Vivien recalled the possessive way Jenny had sized Vivien up the first time they had met and all the little signals and covert body language she had witnessed since then. Vivien shook her head at Paul’s assumption. “You might feel that way, but I guarantee Jenny doesn’t. She’s young. Don’t hurt her.”
Paul frowned. “She knows the score,” he growled. “She’s been happy with what I could give her.”
Vivien shook her head again, this time in wonder at Paul’s obtuseness. “Well, I for one don’t want to hurt her more than is necessary, which is why I’m leaving now.” She hefted her bag. “Excuse me,” she said pointedly, to make him clear the doorway.
“And what about us?” Paul asked, echoing her question.
“That depends entirely upon you,” Vivien replied. “That phone call tells me you have decisions to make, too. I’m here for another week. It’s up to you. You know what you have to do.”
He stepped aside, letting her brush past. At the last minute he put his arm across the doorway, barring her way. “You know, the last time you left after we had a discussion like this, I never saw you again.” It was phrased casually but Vivien could hear the question in his voice anyway.
“I won’t leave. Not until the week is passed,” she said quietly.
“Come what may?”
Vivien hesitated. No one knew what the next week would bring. There might be unforeseen circumstances that would force her to break her word if she gave it. But she nodded. “Come what may,” she repeated as reassurance. It was only a week, after all. Besides, the time Paul was referring to—the time seven years ago when she had left Paul and left Geraldton—that time, the need to change had rested on her shoulders, not Paul’s.
* * * * *
Paul had been in hospital for a week, recovering from burns, cuts and bruises from having to bail out of the burning helicopter and dive into the sea from a great height. Vivien had virtually camped next to his bed, spending every spare minute of her time there and watching Paul’s injuries heal with astonishing speed.
He had welcomed her presence. Being bedridden was purgatory to someone with Paul’s restless nature and his temper had grown shorter and more astringent as the week wore on. Vivien helped alleviate a little of his frustration with reassurances that the world was ticking along smoothly without his help and that he would be back on his feet soon enough. She spent much of her time devising ways of distracting him from himself.
Con Godrick visited Paul on the Wednesday, a week after the accident and he brought trouble with him. Never the fastest thinking man alive, Con had thoughtlessly divulged to Paul the news that the ship whose passengers he had been rescuing when he had had his accident had now been located and was being salvaged in a bid to contain the cargo of oil in its holds before any possible sea damage breached the tanks.
Vivien shot a glance at Paul, trying to anticipate his precise reaction. She wanted to cut off any budding ideas Paul might have about leaving hospital and lending a hand with the cleanup operation. She found Paul was looking steadily at her, his face calm, but his eyes were glittering with a disguised emotion she couldn’t read.
Afraid, Vivien instinctively jumped in to a brief pause in Con’s monologue and changed the subject, turning it to something innocuous and giving Paul no time to dwell on it.
Later, when Con finally left, Vivien followed him out to the elevators at the end of the corridor. “Do they need pilots for the cleanup, Con?” she asked.
“Not for the actual cleanup,” Con answered. “But they need someone to ferry people and things to and fro. Are you volunteering?” Con’s voice was matter-of-fact. He saw nothing strange in one of his pilots offering to lend a hand. They had such a strong tradition in Paul, after all.
What could it hurt? It wasn’t strictly an emergency but she would have to fly the big Sikorsky, which she’d only handled once under Paul’s close supervision. The only other helicopter the company had was the two-seater Paul had crashed.
“I’ll let you know,” Vivien told Con.
He nodded and stepped into the lift as the doors opened. “Do that. I’m happy to let you use the Sikorsky.”
Vivien waved him goodbye and went back to Paul’s bedside.
Paul’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she sat down next to him. “Tell me you aren’t thinking about volunteering for the cleanup,” he said softly.
Vivien flushed guiltily. “You heard us.”
He looked surprised and then the surprise drained away. “You are thinking about it, then,” he concluded. He shook his head. “Don’t do it, Vivien.”
“Why not?” she shot back.
“You don’t know how to handle the Sikorsky,” he said flatly.
“I know enough. They only want a ferry service. It’s not like I’ll be in any danger—”
“You’ve no idea how to handle the Sikorsky when the winch is in operation, you’ve never had to hover over sea level operations.” Paul shook his head. “You don’t have the experience.”
“I’m never going to get the experience if you keep me wrapped up in cotton wool all the time!” she cried, her anger bubbling over. “Damn it, you’re more stubborn than Lawrence ever was over my safety and look where it’s got you! If I had been on that helicopter with you last week this would never have happened. You wouldn’t be in this damned hospital bed. When are you ever going to acknowledge that I can fly a helicopter as well as you? When are you ever going to stop standing over me like this?”
“Never,” came Paul’s cold answer. The coldness congealed her anger and Vivien stared at him, astonished.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I mean that while you are part of my life you won’t ever fly any sort of emergency or sea search or rescue. You won’t do anything foolhardy or remotely risky—not while I’m around.”
“You can’t stop me,” Vivien told him, her voice hoarse with her surprise and the agony spearing through her. “I’m twenty-three. Even Lawrence is no longer my legal guardian. You can threaten all you like about chaining me to the verandah post but you can’t stop me.”
His jaw clenched and Vivien saw the muscle ripple across the corner of his cheek. “No, I can’t stop you. If you fly that Sikorsky, Vivien, I won’t be there to stop you.”
Vivien stared at him, appalled and very, very frightened. “What do you mean?” she asked, wanting him to spell it out for her just in case she might have misunderstood him. Please let me have misunderstood him.
“I mean that if you take the Sikorsky out, I won’t be here when you get back. I won’t stand by and watch you do this, Vivien. I can’t.”
Vivien began to tremble. No words would come to her mind. This was the first time Paul had ever even hinted that their relationship might one day end and it was doubly shocking that he would end it over this. She had always thought, when she had thought about the future at all, that if their relationship didn’t last forever then they would be parted by fate or accident, or even the burning out of their love and desire for each other. But she had never considered this.
Wincing and gasping a little with the movement, Paul reached for her hand. “Vivvy, I would sooner cut my heart out and serve it to you on a plate than hurt you. That’s why I won’t stand by and watch you do this. It would kill me if something happened to you.”
Vivien found her voice. “You can’t fly the helicopter. You’re the one who is always pointing out that someone has to do it.”
He fell back against his pillows then and his breath pushed out in a rush. Vivien looked at the walking cane Con had brought for Paul to use when he finally was allowed out of the hospital. I could have saved him that indignity. If I had been there, then he wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be having this...discu
ssion.
Abruptly she got to her feet. “I have to go,” she murmured, keeping her head averted. Paul had only ever seen her cry once, when her parents had died. She wouldn’t let him see her tears now. Clumsily and cautiously, she made her way out of the room.
Paul didn’t say goodbye.
All the way back to the little house they rented at Sunset Beach, Vivien tried to assimilate Paul’s startling ultimatum. It occurred to her that his words were an echo of what she had declared just before he’d flown out this last time. She hadn’t really meant it then, but Paul had. That was what frightened her the most. He meant it. What was she going to do? Her actions over the next few hours would decide the course of the rest of her life. Could she live the half-life of domestic bliss that Paul was offering her? Could she settle for that?
In the meantime, someone had to help salvage that ship and Paul was patently unable to do it.
Their little house wasn’t right on the beach but even from two blocks away, Vivien could hear the characteristic beat of helicopter wings echoing across the water from the harbor. She paused with one foot still inside her car, her head down, listening to the noise. It had to be the Sikorsky. Con had found someone else to fly it, then.
Inside, she picked up the phone and dialed Con’s home number. There was no answer, so she tried the office. Morris gave his lethargic answer and Vivien licked her lips. “I heard the Sikorsky go up, Morris. Who did you find to fly it?”
There was an endless silence at the other end of the phone and Vivien knew then who had taken the helicopter up.
It was Paul.
“That sneaky so and so,” Morris breathed. “He told me it was all your idea. A way of perking up his spirits. He looked like death warmed up, heaven knows. A nice, safe, easy flight to iron out the kinks, he said.”
Vivien closed her eyes. He hadn’t waited for her decision. He must have pushed himself out of his bed as soon as her back had turned and raced down to the wharf before she could get there. He had been planning it while she was still there in the room with him.
“How could you let him go? He’s barely walking.”
“Aye but you know Paul. That’s one man destined to go down with his boots on. If there’s any flying to be done, he’s the one who’s got to do it. It’s in his blood, Vivvy.”
Vivien hung up the phone. In his blood? Oh yes, she could understand that. Everyone understood that flying was in Paul’s blood. Everyone made allowances for that and gave way to Paul’s needs. While she must suppress hers, if she wanted Paul to remain in her life.
Paul couldn’t ignore his needs.
Vivien slowly compressed the pen in her hand into a tight little circle of stressed and cracked plastic. In the end, she couldn’t ignore her needs, either. She could divert them, squash them for a time but ultimately they would break out again and she would be right back where she started.
Stalemate.
After a long while, Vivien rose stiffly to her feet and went to pack her bags.
Chapter Ten
When Vivien reached the office on Monday morning, she found a series of messages in Jenny’s neat round hand sitting on the desk Vivien was temporarily occupying. They were dated from late Friday afternoon and from an ungodly hour that morning.
Canberra wanted to talk to her.
Vivien checked the times of the messages again. Knowing it was her boss who wanted to talk to her made it seem a little less urgent than the six a.m. time seemed to indicate. Canberra was two hours ahead of Western Australia, so he had been phoning since he had got into the office.
Vivien reached for a telephone and dialed the number from memory.
“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” Jeremy replied in his gruff voice. “Taking a long weekend, Vivien?”
“As it happens, yes,” Vivien replied, knowing he would not begrudge her the time. “What’s up, Jeremy?”
“I need you back here pronto. The senate committee looking into the Coastwatch operations is meeting on Thursday and they want you to present to them that paper you gave a year or so ago. Your reputation as a tough nut on safety has spread.”
“Thursday,” Vivien repeated flatly, with disbelief. “You don’t think you could have cut it any finer, Jeremy? I mean, it’s only a two-hour presentation and all I have to do is compile about a hundred and fifty slides. You could have left off telling me until Wednesday night at least.”
“I know, I know,” Jeremy returned, his voice sympathetic. “They won’t be expecting bells and whistles. They just want the information.”
But Vivien was already shaking her head as he spoke. “I can’t.”
“Why not? You can read it off a sheet of paper for all I care. You must still have the notes and anyway, I’ve seen you speaking off the cuff—you’ll be fine.”
“I mean I can’t go. I can’t possibly leave Geraldton until the end of the week.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been there a week already. You can always fly back to finish off.”
“No, I’m sorry, Jeremy. I can’t.”
“What’s the problem? I don’t understand.” Vivien could hear impatience coloring his voice.
“I mean I have commitments here that I can’t possibly break.”
“Anything can be rearranged,” Jeremy said abruptly. “You’re not thinking like someone who cares about their career, Vivien. This is a very prestigious opportunity—it could open all sorts of doors for you.”
Vivien closed her eyes. “I can’t,” she said softly. “I can’t leave here. It’s personal, Jeremy.”
“Personal!” he exploded. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I used to live here, a long time ago. There are things I have to sort out.”
There was silence and Vivien knew she was listening to Jeremy’s shock.
“I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “Look, I’ll phone you back.” Abruptly, the telephone was disconnected and Vivien listened to the dial tone for several seconds before replacing her phone gently back in its rest.
Oh lord, what have I done?
Despite her apparent skill with formal presentations and lectures, Vivien hated them. She suspected that her effectiveness was due more to her passion for the subject, rather than any inherent talent for public speaking. She had refused speaking engagements before. Jeremy had been displeased then, too, and she had prudently decided to accept any and all future speeches Jeremy tried to arrange for her.
This would happen now, of all times. Had she caused any irrecoverable damage?
Vivien stared down at the mass of paperwork on her desk. Figures and fuss. Paul probably had the right idea—hire someone else to take care of that stuff, leaving him free to fly.
With a sigh she pushed herself up onto her feet and headed for the kitchenette. It was barely past eight thirty in the morning and already she needed a break. The coffee pot served as an adequate excuse.
Paul was standing at the little table, naked from the waist up. He looked up from the shirt in his hands and leisurely dropped it onto the table. He didn’t seem disconcerted at all by her sudden appearance.
But Vivien found herself coming to a standstill just inside the door, her eyes riveted to his bare chest. His pants were unbuttoned and the belt hung undone.
“Hi,” he said casually. “Damned grease. Got it all over my shirt.”
“Hi,” she said, her voice weak.
His eyes narrowed speculatively. Then he smiled—and it was full of devilment.
Vivien tried to rake her wits back together again but the element of surprise had scattered them afar. She clawed for control. She could feel her pulse leap and her breathing shallow out.
Not now!
He moved toward her. “By the way, I wanted to ask you if you were doing anything tonight.”
“Tonight?” she repeated. His stomach was flat, taut and she could see the beginning of the ridge of muscle that arrowed down to his pelvis just over the top of his trousers.
“Tonight,”
he agreed.
How close was he going to come?
She blinked, recalling the conversation. “Why?” she asked.
He stopped barely half a pace from her.
Way too close.
If she leaned forward a little, she was sure she would be able to smell his scent. And touch him. Even taste, if she wanted to.
“For dinner,” he said.
Dinner! She tore her gaze away from the little whorls of hair on his chest. “Why dinner?”
“To talk. To eat. You do eat these days, don’t you?”
Were the pectoral muscles of his chest more defined? Had he been working out?
“Vivien?”
She frowned. What? Oh, yes. “I eat,” she said.
And his upper arms, did they look more developed? Stronger? She could remember those arms around her, his shoulders above her....
“Say yes, Vivvy,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He seemed to sway a little toward her and she held her breath. Would he....
But he smiled and walked over to his locker.
Vivien felt an almost physical wrench of deprivation.
“I’ll pick you up at seven then,” he said, opening the locker.
But Vivien was looking at his back, at pale, barely visible scars across the back of his shoulder. Burns. From the crash that had almost claimed him.
Her arousal turned to cold mush.
Could she live through something like that again? And again? If she stayed here, there was every chance that Paul would go out one time and not come back.
It had been easier, before. She had been at least a hundred years younger and Paul had been invincible. That had been before he drove a burning helicopter into the sea and she had watched his still body being placed into an ambulance.
Numb, she watched Paul pulling on a clean shirt, hiding the scars. He turned to face her.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He came toward her again but stopped at least a pace away. He had sensed her change in mood, then. “Seven. I’ll pick you up.”
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