by Mary Hawkins
'There was something I was going to ask him, but it can wait until tomorrow. I—I'm sorry I disturbed you,' Jean stammered. She felt her self-control start to slip, and turned to flee.
'That would definitely be best,' she heard the woman say coldly, and then the door slammed before Jean had reached the bottom of the short flight of steps.
Two doors in one day, she thought slightly hysterically as she stumbled home. Two neighbours, too. Not a bad record.
There was not much sleep for her that night as she tossed and turned. She knew despairingly that she had never felt as lonely and desolate in her entire life. Not even when she'd thought George might die when he was unconscious after his stroke. Not even when she herself had been in that hospital bed in London so many years before.
CHAPTER NINE
Jean knew that her carefully applied make-up would not disguise another sleepless night from George, but she was relieved when he refrained from doing any more than frown at her, and shake his head after she had kissed him good morning. By mid-afternoon, Jean was very pleased to see Peggy Howard coming on duty for the evening shift. She waited until the staff had finished their reports and handing over, and then went to see her.
'Good afternoon, Sister Howard,' she said quietly and formally to the figure standing by her desk, and smiled slightly at the other nurses from the morning day shift who were still trying to finish their never-ending paper work so that they could go off duty. 'Would it be convenient to speak to you for a few moments, please?'
'Hello, Miss Macallister,' Peggy beamed at her. 'If you'd like to go and sit down next door, I'll be right with you. I'll just finish getting this specimen ready for the ward clerk to race to Pathology for me.
'Now, Jean, what can I do for you?' she said a few minutes later as she bustled into the small visitors' sitting-room.
'I want to take George home until he can go to the rehabilitation unit.'
Peggy surveyed her pale face thoughtfully. 'There's no need to worry about our friend Mr Wallace getting in to see him, you know. My staff have been well briefed on that points Without them knowing any of the details, I might add.'
'It's not that,' Jean hastened to assure her. 'It's just . . . I'm so lonely. And he'll be in hospital for goodness knows how long. And the dear does so hate being here.'
Peggy looked crestfallen. 'Oh, dear. I'm sorry he's not happy here.'
'Oh, no, Peggy, don't think he doesn't appreciate the excellent care he's been getting,' Jean hastened to assure her. 'Care your staff's given him despite his contrariness, I might add,' she finished apologetically. 'And I haven't said anything about this to him yet, in case you don't think it's best.'
'What does Dr Hansen say?'
Jean felt the colour creep into her face, and looked away. 'I ... I haven't discussed it with him. The most important thing is, do you think I could cope with George again at home for a short period?'
There was silence for a moment, and then Peggy said slowly, 'When I realise how well you've coped for so many months, I think you could manage him. His sugar levels are being maintained on his diet, and his transfers aren't too bad now. But he does require attention during the night as well.' She paused. 'You'll get very tired, Jean, and you don't look as if you're getting enough rest now.'
Jean caught her eye. Sympathy and understanding shone at her. She felt the tears that were so ready to flow lately fill her eyes.
'I didn't sleep very well last night. I do so much want my ... my father home for a while,' Jean said desperately. A solitary tear escaped. She scrubbed it away and said fiercely, 'You don't know what a relief it is to be able to call George that out loud! He always said he didn't want my mother's name tarnished. But if he'd only known . . .'
Next thing the tears were streaming down her face. With a low exclamation, Peggy moved closer, and put her arm around her.
There was a movement in the doorway that Jean was oblivious to as she let out some of the accumulated anguish. Peggy glanced up at the tall figure who paused uncertainly. She saw his expression darken, and when she opened her mouth he shook his head firmly and disappeared.
The storm of tears was curbed swiftly, Jean feeling embarrassed and foolish.
'I . . . I'm sorry. It's been . . . been a strain.'
Peggy was watching her carefully as she sat up and mopped up her face.
'Jean, I don't mean to be nosy, but I thought you knew Dr Hansen pretty well. And I have gained the impression that he. . . he . . .'She paused, and then continued rapidly, 'Look, he certainly has spent so much time and effort on you and Mr Macallister that I thought there may be some—er—personal interest there.'
Jean lifted her face and looked steadily at Peggy. 'I'm . . . we . . . are just his next-door neighbours. His aunt and George are very old friends. That's all,' she finished as firmly as she could, wishing desperately it were not quite so.
Peggy unconsciously echoed her thought. 'Hmm, I'm not entirely convinced that's all it is,' she muttered, then became brisk and professional again. 'Look, there's nothing I can do except pass your request on. Leave it with me. I'll see what I can do.'
It was a cold and distant neighbour standing on Jean's doorstep that night when she answered the imperious ring of the bell.
'I'd like to talk to you,' Chris said sharply, and strode past her without waiting for an invitation.
Suddenly she was annoyed. 'Oh, do come in, Doctor. Make yourself at home:—but not in the lounge if you don't mind. You've interrupted my dinner.'
She stalked past him, as he paused at the lounge door, and continued to the kitchen. Feeling too weary and listless to go to any bother, she had taken a precooked microwave meal from the freezer and heated it up. She sat before her rapidly cooling small plate of lasagne, and began eating. It suddenly tasted like sawdust.
Chris pulled up a chair opposite her. 'Don't you bother cooking for yourself?'
'When I feel like it, yes.'
She forced another mouthful down, and then glanced up at him when he did not speak. He was scowling down at her plate, and then slowly raised his face. His hand ruffled through his hair, and she suddenly realised how familiar and dear that gesture had become.
'Why didn't you come and ask me about taking George home?'
For a moment she thought she saw a touch of pain flicker though his eyes. He looked rather drawn and tired. His lips were tight.
'I . . . went to. But you had a visitor,' she gulped, not able to take her eyes from his face.
'Oh, Naomi came back with me,' he said impatiently. 'She went on to Port Stephens today to see some friends. Look, I wish you hadn't involved Peggy ‑'
They both heard the vehicle stopping outside at the same time. Jean pushed back her chair, glancing at the clock on the wall.
'That sounds like Bill's van. I hope nothing's wrong.'
She was on her way to the front entrance, and didn't see his expression change. A prolonged peal rang through the house. Only as she went to open the door did she realise Chris had followed her.
'Oh, Jeanie, we've got the most marvellous news.'
Julie's voice rang out jubilantly as the door swung open, and then Bill was there, humming a waltz tune. He bowed to the amused Jean, and before she could protest had grabbed her and started to waltz her down the hall. They bumped into Chris, who suddenly caught Jean by the arms, and pulled her away from Bill with such force that she would carry the mark for days.
'Let her go!' he snarled.
'Ooops! A man! It's the handsome hunk, Julie,' chortled Bill in a slightly slurred voice.
Jean had already realised Bill had been overindulging. Julie rushed up to her husband, and grabbed hold of him.
'Oh, Jean, I'm sorry. He's been acting like a crazy man. Insisted we come and tell you in person. That was after he'd finished at least a couple of glasses of champagne and rung all his family. At least he let me drive ‑'
She broke off, as the irrepressible Bill began singing again in a crooning voice as he pull
ed her into his arms and danced her slowly down the hallway to the tune of a lullaby.
Julie looked helplessly over her shoulder. 'Some coffee?'
Chris's arms had slid around Jean and were holding her against him closely as he watched. Jean trembled as she breathed in deeply of the masculine smell of him. He did not smoke himself, but she knew he must have been in a room with plenty of cigarette smoke which had clung to his coat, and mingled with the scent of his spicy cologne. Not an unpleasant combination.
She caught his eye, and saw a mixture of anger and bewilderment. And something else. It suddenly flashed into his eyes and made her catch her breath. Then it was gone, and she knew hopelessly that it must have been her imagination.
'It's just my friends, Chris,' she said softly.
He still stared at her, and suddenly she desperately wanted him to continue to hold her close . . . even closer ...
She felt her body lean closer. His arms suddenly dropped as though he had been stung.
'Perhaps you would introduce us. I think it's more than time that I met your . . .' He paused, and then drawled slowly as he never took his eyes from her face, 'Your friends.'
She tore her eyes away, and looked at Bill and Julie. They were in a clinch, with Bill kissing his wife enthusiastically.
'I think we'd better make that coffee first,' Jean said with an embarrassed laugh as she turned to flee into the kitchen.
A few moments later they heard Julie's half-hearted scolding.
'Come and sit down, you big dill-head, before you fall down,' Julie was saying with exasperated love in her voice, as she dragged Bill over and pushed him into a chair. 'And you must be Chris Hansen,' she beamed at Chris. 'I've been dying to meet you ever since Bill told me ‑'
'Julie!' said Jean a little desperately. 'You'd better tell me your big news before I burst of curiosity.'
'It's a baby. Our baby,' burst out Bill.
'Julie, you're having a baby?'
'Yes, I got the result back this afternoon. I'm pregnant at last,' Julie said with such awe and wonder in her voice that Jean flew across the room to hug her.
'Oh, Julie, I'm so thrilled for you both.'
She knew how hard they had been trying to have a baby for the last few years, and that they had been warned after various tests that their chances were very slim. That had been one of the reasons they had flung themselves so energetically into establishing their business.
'You're married?'
Jean looked up at Chris sharply. His voice had been loud and incredulous. He was staring at Bill as though his eyes were deceiving him.
'Chris! Of course they're married! These are my best friends Bill and Julie Curton.'
'Curtons for curtains,' sang Bill as he beamed at them all in turn.
'Curtains?' asked Chris is a dazed voice.
'They own a curtain-material and supply business.'
'Which would never have got off the ground without all that sewing you've done for us,' said Julie mistily. Now, where's that coffee before he starts singing again?'
Jean hurriedly moved over to put on the water to heat.
'Curtains?' The urgency in Chris's voice had Jean swinging around to gape at him. 'You said something once ... at the hospital . . . about finishing the curtains?'
Julie chuckled. She was studying Chris with a certain gleam in her eyes that scared Jean. 'That must have been the day she messed a set up. Had to get more material to her in a hurry early the next morning. Now I know another reason she was so distracted ‑'
'Are you going to join us for a cup of coffee, Chris?' Jean said swiftly, desperately trying to head Julie off.
Chris just stared at her silently with a most peculiar expression on his face. Bill unconsciously came to her rescue.
'You have any kids, mate?' Bill asked Chris confidentially, as man to man.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jean watched Chris collapse on to the chair next to Bill, and stare at him.
'No. No, I don't have any children,' she heard him say quietly.
'Had much to do with kids?' persisted Bill in his slightly slurred voice.
'Only a few nephews and nieces.'
'Well, I don't know many kids. A bit scary having your own kid, I reckon.'
They heard the sudden fear in his voice.
'Oh, Bill, dear, you'll be a wonderful father,' Jean hastened to assure him.
Chris sprang up. 'Look, I must go.' He ran his hand through his hair. 'It's been a real surprise ... I mean ... a pleasure . . . I'll see you tomorrow, Jean.'
It was the first time Jean had seen him so disconcerted, agitated. She looked at him with amazement.
'But you don't have to go. You haven't told me yet if it's all right for George to come home.'
'There . . . there are a few things to sort out, but if they happen he should be able to. But we'll talk about it tomorrow.'
And then he had gone.
Jean looked helplessly across at Julie. 'That man! He . . . he . . .' Anger and frustration filled her. 'I can't make him out. One minute he can be so warm and . . . and ... the next he's cold and horrible!'
'And you love him very much,' said Julie softly.
Jean stared at her helplessly, and Bill chose that moment to think of another song. Julie groaned as the strains of a love song began.
'I'll get that coffee.' Jean managed a smile, and determinedly tried to push all thoughts of Chris out of her mind as she celebrated with her friends.
She was so exhausted after Julie finally dragged Bill home that she fell into bed and slept dreamlessly. The prolonged peal of her front doorbell woke her up out of a deep sleep. She was muttering about hating that sound, vowing to change it to pleasant chimes, as she angrily flung open the door and peered from blurry eyes at the tall figure standing there.
The figure promptly bowed, thrust a red rose in her hand, then placed an arm around her waist and waltzed her down the hall.
'Chris! You . . . you ...'
'Can't let Bill have the only dance,' he sang with difficulty to the tune of 'I Could Have Danced All Night'.
She thought perhaps she was still dreaming. But he was wearing his ragged cut-off jeans and a T-shirt, and she clutched at him so as not to lose her balance. He was warm and vibrant with a delicious smell of early morning freshness.
At the other end of the short hallway, he bent her back dramatically over one arm and kissed her. The kiss started out as a brief touch of her lips. Then he groaned, and gathered her flimsily clad body into his arms, and his lips were devouring her face and throat before returning to savour and plunder her lips and mouth again. She felt her body come out of its torpor of unbelief and spring to life in his arms.
It was Chris who at last loosened his arms slightly, and moved back to study her dazed eyes and slightly swollen lips with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
'Good morning, green eyes.' He lightly touched her lips with his again. 'It's a glorious, frost-free autumn morning. Coming for a walk with me?'
'A walk?'
'Yeah. Fresh air will do you the world of good. Prescribed by every doctor worth his salt for his favourite patient's daughter.'
'But . . . but . . .'
'Oh, come on, Jeanie,' he coaxed, his eyes warm and loving.
Loving? Now she knew she was dreaming.
She suddenly realised her body was still leaning against his strength. Unbelief and sudden fright made her wrench herself away from him.
She tried desperately to sound angry as she said, 'You . . . you ... I don't understand you. Last night you. . . You've thought-for some unknown reason that Bill . . . that Bill . . .'
'I was crazy,' he said simply. 'Please come. It's a glorious morning. And we do need to talk . . He hesitated, and then grinned triumphantly. 'About George. If you want to take him home for a while, that is?'
She stared at him suspiciously. He was smiling at her with all the warmth she had dreamt could be there. The early morning sun was streaming from the open doorway on to
the carpet. Suddenly the world was a bright and brilliant place.
'I'll be right with you,' she laughed happily and went to move away, but he grabbed her again for a robust kiss on her flushed cheek.
'Good girl! Don't be long!'
She raced to her room, flung on a pair of jeans and a favourite top, slipped into a pair of low-heeled walking shoes and raced off to the bathroom. It was as she looked in the mirror at her flushed, radiant face that she plunged back to earth.
So he had time for her this morning. It was a beautiful morning. He wanted some company. This time. What about tomorrow, and the next day when he was trying to advance his career? What about the weight of her money that was always hovering there in the back of her mind when she saw him?
She slumped on the side of the bath. Bitterly she remembered the numerous times she had danced to get ready to spend time with Tony. With hindsight, she recognised it had always been when it had suited him, too. Dared she let herself get any closer to this man who seemed to be so different from Tony in many ways? And yet . . .
It was a composed, subdued woman who left her room at last, and slowly made her way to the kitchen where she heard Chris cheerfully whistling.
'My goodness, you took your time,' Chris tossed cheerfully over his shoulder as he opened the refrigerator. 'I made you a glass of orange juice, but I put it back when . . .'He saw her set face for the first time, and paused briefly. 'It's best not to go for a walk on a completely empty stomach, so drink it down,' he recovered quickly, continuing in a firm voice, 'And we have quite a lot to discuss about George.'
Slowly and reluctantly she took the proffered glass, careful not to touch him. But he was having none of that. After she had drained the glass, barely able to taste the freshly squeezed juice, he took it from her, replaced it on the table and grabbed her hand.
'Come on, let's walk along the lake, although it may be a bit chilly if a wind springs up.'
He resisted her effort to pull her hand away, as they crossed the grass between their two houses, and made their way down a well worn track through the low bush that grew down to the small strip of sand.
'Did you know that the water of Lake Macquarie covers about one hundred square kilometres? That it's the largest tidal salt-water lake in Australia?' he said chattily, after a brief glance at her averted face as they started along the water's edge, 'And is almost twice the size of Sydney Harbour? I loved to stay with my aunt and uncle for holidays when we were kids.' He sighed as they started down the steep incline to the water's edge. 'We used to keep a small sailing boat then when Uncle was alive. Ever been sailing, Jean?'