by Lilian Darcy
Yes, but he was Dylan’s patient, and his professional future mirrored Dylan’s own fears about what lay in store for him.
Fighting down her reluctance, she walked across the wide corridor of the theatre suite, to where Alex stood talking on a wall-mounted phone. He replaced the receiver in its cradle just as she neared him, and he would have walked off if she hadn’t spoken his name.
‘Alex…’
It was the first time she’d used his first name since the day after their cancelled wedding, when she’d phoned him and begged him for a chance to talk.
‘Yes?’ He turned back to her warily.
‘I just heard that you were doing Jason Gregory’s surgery this morning.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Are you handling all Dylan’s lists over the next two weeks?’
‘A couple of them. Brian Collins is doing some. And Keith Shartles’s registrar, Lucas North.’
‘I know about Dylan’s tumour.’
There was a tiny silence. ‘Then you’re one of the few who does,’ Alex said.
‘Yes. I—I know that, too.’
‘Make sure you keep it that way.’
‘I just wanted to say I hope it goes well with Jason Gregory’s knee, that’s all.’
‘He’s realistic about what to expect. He’s got plans to buy into a tourist development at Port Douglas, apparently.’
‘Dylan was concerned about how he’d adjust.’
‘Better than Dylan will himself, I expect, if he has the same outcome. A surgeon plans for a longer career than a rugby player.’ Alex shifted his shoulders and his weight, as if he was about to walk away, but then he stopped and said quietly, ‘About what happened in January…Would you have preferred a divorce further down the track, Annabelle? Because that’s what it would have come to. I could suddenly see it, right in that moment after Dylan spoke. I could see it wasn’t going to work for us. It was…histrionic of me to blame you and Calford. Then, and later.’
Should I tell him about our affair? Annabelle wondered.
Why, though? It had begun well after Alex had departed from her private life, and it was already over.
‘I should apologise for that,’ Alex went on. ‘I am apologising for it,’ he amended impatiently. ‘The scrub who’s replaced you isn’t nearly as good. Never anticipates what I want.’
‘That’s not why I changed shifts, Alex. It wasn’t because of us. Or not directly.’
‘Yes, well…’ He looked at his watch. ‘No hard feelings now. Things are OK.’
‘Yes.’
‘For us, if not for poor Calford.’
She couldn’t help protesting, ‘There’s a chance the tumour can be removed with no damage to the nerves.’
‘Yes, but they’re not odds I’d take on a horse at the racetrack! No wonder he’s taken this week off! I wouldn’t like to operate while wondering if it was the last time I’d ever be able to do it.’
‘I think he was afraid the pain would compromise his performance.’
‘That, too,’ Alex agreed.
They both saw the plastic doors open at the end of the corridor at that moment. Jason Gregory had been wheeled down from the ward and was ready for his surgery.
Annabelle spent a good day with Duncan—if a little more active than she really had the energy for—and dropped in for an hour at Mum’s. Four days from now, Dylan’s surgery would be over.
That night, she was so tired that she slept long and well, from nine in the evening until Duncan’s little feet running down the passage woke her the following morning at six. They did laundry, ran errands and swam in the morning, and in the afternoon she had Gina and Joshie over to play.
She and Gina had cool drinks together, talking easily the whole time. At school, so long ago, their age difference of two years had seemed considerable, but now it didn’t matter at all. Laurie, who had then been Annabelle’s friend, was living on a cattle station in the centre of the state, and she had children, too.
‘Which most of my friends don’t,’ Annabelle said. ‘And no one I know who lives close. There are a few kids in this street, but they’re school-age.’
‘Compatible kids. That’s what friendships are based on when you’re a parent,’ Gina said with a laugh.
‘Speaking of which, would you like to leave Joshie here for the rest of the afternoon, and have some time to yourself? I’ll feel more comfortable about leaving Duncan with you sometimes if I get to reciprocate.’
‘Well, since I did a pregnancy test last week, and it was positive…’
‘Oh, congratulations! That’s wonderful!’
‘It is…and I’m already starting to feel as if I got run over by a bus, so I’ll very happily take you up on your offer!’ Gina finished.
The two little boys played together with no conflict, after she’d gone, for nearly three hours.
Three days until Dylan’s surgery. On Wednesday, Linda—old friend, financial adviser and thwarted bridesmaid—dropped in for a quick lunch between business meetings.
‘Can I do this sometimes?’ she asked. She pulled off the tailored jacket of her conservative navy suit and hung it on the back of the kitchen door. ‘It’s so nice to know you’ll often be home during the day!’
She made awkward small talk for a while as they sat on the edge of Duncan’s sand-pit, watching him play while they ate ham and salad sandwiches, then suddenly the real reason for her visit came flooding out in a rush.
‘I’m seeing someone. It’s serious. He wants to marry me. But he wants kids, and I don’t know what to say. You know, Rob never wanted them…’
Rob was Linda’s previous boyfriend, and he’d never been quite good enough for her, in Annabelle’s private opinion.
‘And so I kind of got used to thinking I didn’t want them either. I don’t know anything about kids!’
‘Nobody does, until they have one,’ Annabelle answered. ‘Because “kids” in the abstract don’t count. It’s only your kid, and in that area, no matter how the kid is acquired, we all start from square one. So don’t let that worry you.’
‘But—but—’
‘Do you love him, Linda?’
‘Uh, yeah, I do,’ Linda muttered. ‘It’s ridiculous, really!’
She was blushing.
‘Then make a leap of faith. Marry him, and try for a baby. Life’s full of twists and turns.’
‘You think so?’ The sun came out on Linda’s face. ‘You think it’s that simple?’
Did she? Annabelle wondered. Her turn to talk now. About some of the things she’d been thinking lately about Vic. Vic had believed so completely that she should follow her heart…only her heart had led her on such a wild, erratic dance. Witnessing this, Annabelle had never dared to do the same. But she was starting to see things differently now. Vic hadn’t been completely wrong in the way she’d lived her short, flamboyant life.
‘Following my heart doesn’t have to mean changing lovers and careers and life goals every few months, the way Vic did,’ she told Linda. ‘It doesn’t have to mean messing things up so that other people are left to pick up the pieces. My heart gives steadier signals, I think. Vic did have a lot of courage, in her way. You have to take the leap, and assume you’ll have what it takes to follow through when the time comes.’
They couldn’t talk about it any more just then. Linda had to put her suit jacket back on and get to her meeting. But their conversation left Annabelle with plenty to think about.
And Dylan was having his surgery in two days.
‘Mum, Duncan’s in bed and half asleep, already,’ Annabelle announced to her mother on Thursday evening at ten past eight.
‘Little darling! I’ll creep in and kiss him once he’s safely off.’
‘Would you mind if I head out now? I want to drop in on a friend before I go to work.’ Her heart flipped as she said it. Would Dylan consider himself a friend?
‘Of course, love. It’s nice for you to get out. Is it Linda?’
&nb
sp; ‘No, someone from the hospital.’
She didn’t even want to say his name. Wasn’t sure why she was doing this. She hadn’t seen him all week, and he hadn’t phoned. They’d ended their last conversation in anger and distance. Several times, she’d thought of phoning him. Twice she’d keyed in the first few digits of his number, but then she’d stopped. After her talk with Linda today, though…
It was time she took the leap of faith that she’d urged on her old friend.
I was wrong to make such an issue about the bills he paid, and about that leering garage mechanic with his ‘doctor boyfriend’ line. Dylan caught me on the raw, and I couldn’t see it then. Maybe it’s too late, but I’ll never know if I don’t try…
She was dressed casually in jeans and a cotton knit top, ready to change into theatre gear once she got to the hospital at just before eleven. It was tempting to dress up a little, but she resisted it. What would she be trying to prove? And anyway, she didn’t have unlimited time. He must be very tense tonight. If he did want to talk it all out…
But when she rang his doorbell, she thought at first that he wasn’t even home. After ringing it a second time and waiting in vain, she’d actually turned to leave before she heard the sound of a lock clicking open behind her. He had been in the pool. He wore baggy black swim shorts, water glistened on his skin and there was a towel draped around his neck.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
‘Come in,’ he growled at her finally, and stepped back to hold the door open.
‘OK,’ she bleated, and spent the whole walk through his elegant, masculine townhouse thinking, ‘Why am I here? He doesn’t want me.’
When they reached the living room, which flowed seamlessly out to a beautifully landscaped courtyard and pool, he offered her something to drink. She chose coffee, thinking of the long night ahead, then added, ‘How was your swim?’
‘Nice. It’s a mild night.’
‘Finish your laps. Don’t let me interrupt.’
‘Time I got out.’
‘Get dressed, then. I’ll make the coffee.’
Dylan showed her roughly where everything was—this was the first time she’d been to his home—and disappeared into his bedroom, and she was left with the same regret as before. Leaps of faith were all very well in the abstract, but there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t make a hard landing.
By the time he returned, Annabelle had the electric kettle boiled and the coffee brewing. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, and hadn’t bothered with shoes.
‘I suppose you’ve come to hold my hand,’ he said.
Was it a challenge, or just an attack? Either way, it made Annabelle bristle as she poured the coffee into two mugs.
‘No, I haven’t,’ she said.
‘So you’re not thinking about the fact that I have surgery tomorrow?’
‘Of course I am!’
‘Then why are you here? From the time we’ve spent together, I’d say there are limited options, and you’ve just denied the only one that’s obvious. I overheard Alex calling me “poor Calford” today.’
It sounded like a non sequitur, but Annabelle followed his transition easily—he didn’t want anyone’s pity. Not Alex’s, and not hers.
‘You were at the hospital?’ she asked inadequately.
‘I dropped in to see Jason. He’s doing well.’ He took the mug she slid across to him, but didn’t lift it to his lips. Her own steaming brew was still sitting on the bench-top in front of her as well.
‘That’s a good omen, I guess,’ she said.
He laughed, and it was a harsh, angry sound. ‘Do you really think I believe in omens like that?’ He swore—a couple of short, pithy words. ‘Why are you here, Annabelle? To mouth platitudes? Hell, I hope not! Leave now, if that’s the case, because I don’t think I could take it tonight.’
‘All right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You want to know why I’m here?’
Her heart was hammering, and she was angry at how prickly he was, how hard he was making this for her, but she didn’t let it sway her. Instead, she deliberately skirted around the protective barrier of the kitchen’s black granite bench-top and went up to him. She closed her fingers around his upper arm. The gesture was a demand, but also a caress. His angry prowling ceased.
‘This is why I’m here,’ she said. ‘I want you, Dylan. I don’t have platitudes, or a hand for you to hold. I just want to be here with you, in the hour and a half before I have to go to work, and if you don’t want that, I’ll leave.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘This is sudden.’
‘No! It’s not sudden. You know that none of what we felt…none of the desire and the connection…went away when I yelled at you about the garage mechanic and my mother’s bills. I overreacted that day. We could have got past it if I’d left the door open. I’m sorry I didn’t do that, and I’m here to try again. I’m not thinking of the future. I—I just…want you.’
Love you. Too scary to say it, in case he didn’t say it back. She felt it. It burned inside her. But she contented herself with saying the other part.
‘I want you, Dylan,’ she repeated, on a whisper this time.
He had frozen beneath that one touch of her fingers on his arm, and for a long moment she thought he was going to shake her off and turn away.
‘Do you offer this service to all pre-operative patients?’ he asked finally. Too silkily.
‘No!’
‘Then I’m special.’
‘Yes. You are. If you don’t know that, you’re wilfully blind. Do you enjoy making this so hard for me?’
Surely he could hear her heart beating by now! How long before he would answer?
Never. He never answered. Or not with words. Instead, a hand dropped to her hip, anchoring her in place as he took one small step, closing the space between them. She looked up into his face and saw the way his dark eyes glittered. Was he still angry?
Surely not. Not when he was about to kiss her. She could see it on his mouth, feel it in the tiny puff of breath that warmed her lower lip. They were only a fraction of an inch apart now. She closed her eyes before his lips touched hers, too churned up with emotion to look at him, and when her eyes were closed, she forgot any thought of his anger.
How could he be angry, when he kissed her like this?
He tasted mint fresh, and his body still felt cool and hard from his swim. His arms wrapped around her, as solid as steel bands. They kissed for a long time, and it felt like magic—like an oasis at the end of a desert journey, like hot food on a wet night, like coming home.
His hands loosened around her body and began to drift, stroking the sensitive skin where her waist curved in, rising higher to brush beneath her breasts then capture them greedily in his hands. He unclipped her bra and they both groaned at the same time as he filled his cupped palms with her weight.
He lifted her top higher and thumbed her hard, exposed nipples, then lowered his head and took her into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. She shuddered, arched her back and spread her fingers in his hair.
There was no possibility of going slowly now. He gorged hungrily on her breasts and she held onto him like a life-raft in a turbulent current. His capable body seemed like the only fixed point in a swirling, pulsating universe.
‘I want to take you to bed,’ he muttered. ‘This isn’t enough, Annabelle.’
‘No…’
‘No?’
‘I mean, yes. It isn’t enough. Yes, let’s go to bed.’
They barely made it. Her top and bra fell onto the living-room floor, and his T-shirt marked the doorway to his room. They stopped there and he pressed her against the wall, his thigh between hers, his mouth on her mouth and his hands everywhere.
She unzipped his jeans and stroked him—warm satin on tempered steel. His ragged response sent her closer to the edge, and she was the one to drag on his naked hips, pulling him to the bed.
Tipping herself backwards, she brought him down on top of her, ready f
or him, melting and aching for him. He slid inside her and they began to move together, and the coil of tension within her mounted and mounted, threatening to shatter. When she heard him cry out, she thought at first that he’d left her behind, but the sharp sound he made wasn’t a sound of pleasure. Frozen in place, he gasped out, ‘Stop! Stop!’ And she understood.
‘It hurts, Dylan?’
‘Yes!’ He swore. ‘Too damn much! I didn’t want to take any painkillers tonight. This position. I’m sorry…’
‘Roll over. It’s OK. Don’t stop.’
‘I’ve broken the—’
‘No. Don’t talk.’ She pressed her fingertips to his lips. ‘It’s OK. It’s fine. You haven’t broken anything. We’ll take it easy. We’ll take it differently. Easy is just as good.’
But he shook his head, eased away from her and pivoted cautiously to lie on his back. His mouth was set. In the dim light that stretched into the room from the distant kitchen, she could see him staring sightlessly and silently at the ceiling. There was nothing about his body language that encouraged her to breach the barrier he’d set up.
For a moment, she almost gave up. He was right. The mood was hopelessly broken. He’d shut her out of what he was feeling, and he didn’t want her here any more. The love that burned inside her seemed like a useless emotion, incapable of softening him, incapable of getting through to him, incapable of helping him in any way. Certainly it didn’t offer her any pleasure for herself at this moment.
What could she say?
Unless…
She began to stroke his chest, her fingertips slow, tantalising, light and very patient. He didn’t react. Her fingers whispered across to his nipples and pinched them lightly, then she went lower, finding exquisite pleasure in the contrasts of silky skin and rougher hair, the hardness of his muscles and the careless male beauty of his nakedness.
Propping herself on one elbow, she slid her body half onto his chest. Her nipples brushed his skin, and they were so sensitised now that just this was enough to send pulses clamouring through her whole body.
‘Touch me,’ she whispered, and lifted his hand to place it on her breast.
For a moment, his fingers felt lifeless, uninterested. She slid a little further, one thigh brushing deliberately across his groin. He shuddered, and this time, once more, it was need. It wasn’t pain.