by M E Whiter
“Yes, you are indeed,” he replies, and for a moment, he gives me the strangest look, like he’s expecting me to say something else. He then asks, “I guess you are wondering why I am here?”
“Yes. You could say that.” Obviously!
“My name is Sebastian Knight,” he announces, sliding his hand inside the pocket of his jeans. “I came here to see you. I wanted to make sure you are being well taken care of.” I just notice now, that his deep husky voice has a slight Latin accent. It’s smooth sensual quality, spreads goosebumps over my skin.
Ignoring the question in my head, all I can say is, “Oh.” Why would he be concerned, about my welfare?
“I also have something I need to tell you . . .” He pauses for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the button on his jacket, looking lost in his thoughts. “You see . . . it was my car that knocked you down.” His eyes flicker sideways, as if recalling an unpleasant memory.
My mouth gapes open. I’m dumbfounded by his confession, and I don’t know how to respond. The second question that comes to mind is: Why is he here, telling me this?
“I must say, when I first saw your face, just now, I was in shock. But, it is nice to finally have your name. The reason I am telling you . . .” The alarm in my voice, cuts him off.
“What do you mean, finally?” What’s he talking about?
“You had no identification on you, when the medics brought you in. So, no one knew your name. But, I remember you from . . .” Again, I interrupt him.
I shake my head. The movement, causing a stabbing pain, just behind my eyes. “What? Where's my handbag?” I ask, sounding slightly hysterical.
“I’m sorry, but no one reported finding a handbag. It was just assumed, you didn’t have one with you.”
“Oh my God. No!” I cry out, closing my eyes, overcome by the sinking feeling, in the pit of my stomach. My handbag contains my whole world and now someone has stolen it. I open my eyes again, when a thought crosses my mind.
I look up at him, with a plea written in my expression. “My suitcases? They should still be at the hotel, where I was staying.”
“If you’d like, I can arrange to have them picked up and brought here?"
“Thank you. I'd appreciate that. At least it's something, I won’t have to replace.”
“Miss Day, as I started to say before, I came here to apologise to you personally. I want you to know, that I take full responsibility for the accident, and for the injuries it has caused you.”
“Thank you,” I start to say, my eyebrows creasing in confusion. “But, I’m not sure I understand. Why are you apologising?" I don't remember much about the accident. But, from what Dr Logan told me, it had been my fault. I stepped out in front of the car, against a red signal. The car had no chance to stop, in time. Still, his apology is heartfelt.
“Because, it was my car that knocked you down. So, it’s my fault you were injured.”
“Bu, you’re not the one responsible for . . . for what happened to me,” I stammer, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in my head. "You see, someone . . ." Now, it’s his turn, to cut me off.
"Please Miss Day. I'm not here to argue over semantics. I had the paramedics bring you to this hospital, to make sure you received the best care available,” he explains, pulling the armchair next to my bed, a little closer, and then sits in it.
"You did what?" Alarm bells rattle my bones. Who gave him the authority, to take charge of my medical care?"You had no right to do that, without my consent."
“That was hardly possible, with you lying on the road, unconscious at the time," he replies, without the slightest suggestion of remorse.
Reluctantly, I admit, his point may be valid. But, I can’t help that, his self-assured manner provokes my ire. To think that he could assume the right, to appoint himself as my guardian. My cousin Mary, is the only one, with power of attorney, and she's half a world away.
"Peter is the head of the intensive care unit here at the Chifley Private hospital. He’s one of the best neurosurgeon’s in the country. He’s also a good friend of mine. I realise you are facing a difficult time ahead, with the recovery process. But Peter assures me, that in time, you should make a complete recovery.”
“Yes. He told me,” I reply, suddenly distracted, by the throbbing in my head getting worse.
“You don't have to worry about the cost, Miss Day. I have arranged to cover for all of your hospital expenses, personally .”
That got my attention. "What?" Who does this guy think he is? My knight in shining armour! “That's very generous of you, but you don’t have to do that,” I reply, feeling all kinds of awkward. "I'm sure my travel insurance will cover . . .” Damn! He cuts me off, again.
Shaking his head at me, “I don't know which insurance company you are with, but to my knowledge, most of them do not cover the cost of a private hospital.”
“I . . . I can put in a claim, at least,” I shrug. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my tummy. There's only one little problem with that, I don't remember the name of the insurance company.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his eyes piercing through me with an irrefutable gaze. I'm quickly learning that he’s the type of man who is used to getting his own way.
“It's not that I don't appreciate your offer, but I can't accept." I try to explain, twisting the bed sheet tightly around my fingers."It's not right. I don’t expect you to pay for an accident, that legally, wasn't your fault." The idea of being indebted to someone, sends a cold shiver through me.
“Miss Day, you do not have any choice in the matter.” he announces, the stern look on his face, is more than a little intimidating. For a moment, I hesitate to argue my point. Then I remind myself: he doesn't have a right, to take control over my life this way.
“Excuse me, but I have every right to make my own choices. What I’d like to know is, why you are so insistent, on doing otherwise?” I ask, pressing two fingers firmly along the tight creases across my forehead.
“Listen Miss Day. You need to understand something. I always take responsibility for my actions, regardless of who is to blame." With that said, he promptly stands up, as if getting ready to leave.
He still hasn't answered my question, and I feel the need to keep talking, until I get the answer, before he leaves, and I never see him again. “But why . . .,” I start to say, but stop when he sits down on the side of my bed, distracting me.
I lower my gaze, feeling slightly nervous, having him in such close proximity. When he lifts his hand up, to brush the hair off my face, I can barely breathe. The warm sensuality of his touch, sends tiny shivers of pleasure right through my body. Without notice, the anger I held from our heated discussion, recedes to the back of my mind. When I glance up at him, he's looking directly through me.
“If I had not impressed upon my driver to hurry up, maybe we could have stopped in time,” he says, with a sharp edge to his voice. “Then, you would not be lying here now, covered in injuries.” The self-recrimination in his words, catches me completely off guard.
I have to look away, feeling uncomfortable by the vulnerability I can detect, in his rueful expression. It gives me the impression, that he’s not only referring to what happened to me. Something else, hides behind the pain in his eyes. The thought is pushed aside, when a question about what he just said, catches my attention.
“What do you mean, we?”
“Sorry, I didn't think to mention it before, but James, my personal assistant, was driving at the time.”
“So, he ran me over, not you?”
“Yes,” he admits, the serious expression on his face, unwavering.
I'm stunned into silence, as my brain does a backward somersault, trying to wrap my mind around what he just said. But, before I can ask him another question, a sharp stabbing pain shoots across my forehead, and I forget what we were just talking about.
Sebastian rubs the back of my hand gently, with the pad of his thumb, it's both calming and distracting
. "Peter told me, you are an Australian, here on vacation, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I answer, my suspicious nature prickling. Why is he asking?
“Then Miss Day, considering your handbag is missing, I would say, you are a long way from home, to be without a passport or any money to live on. So, under the circumstances, I don’t think you are in any position, to refuse my help?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. His bluntness, like a slap in the face, makes me all too aware, of the painful truth of my situation. He’s very perceptive. Without my handbag, I’m totally screwed. I have no forms of identification, no passport, no money, no credit card, and no phone. No backup support at all!
It goes without saying, I’d be silly not to accept his generous offer of help. But, for some reason, I’m still reluctant to accept it. No one gives you something for free, without expecting something in return?
He reaches out and takes my hand, and cradles it, within his large masculine hand. “Miss Day, the only thing you need to worry about, is making a complete recovery . . .”
Damn it! I can’t argue about this anymore. The throbbing pain in my head, is getting worse by the minute. Nausea washes over me, as the room starts spinning. My vision blurs, and it gets harder to stay focused, on what he’s saying.
My head drops back on the pillow, my eyelids flutter shut and then open, as I try to fight off the drowsiness, threatening to drag me under. When they shut again, I let go, giving myself over to the fog blanketing my consciousness. It blocks out everything around me, including Sebastian. Then everything grows darker.
The only sound I can hear, is his voice. But why does he sound so far away? I feel sooo . . . sleeepy . . .
Sebastian
“MISS DAY. . . RACHEL . . . Shit!” I grab hold of her hand, giving it a shake, but she doesn't respond. I have no idea, if she has lapsed back into a coma, or simply fallen asleep.
In a moment of panic, I suddenly remember the nurse mentioning the call button. I reach up and start pressing it like mad, hoping that someone will respond, sooner rather than later. When I release the button, I go back to holding her hand. I reach out and touch her cheek and forehead to see if she feels hot, not knowing what else to do, but needing to do something . . . anything.
A minute later, the same nurse I met before, comes rushing in. She takes one look at me and then, without saying a word, walks calmly over to the other side of the bed. I wait impatiently, while she checks Rachel’s vital signs. When she is done, she raises her head, staring at me, with a reproachful look on her face.
“It’s all right Mr Knight. No need to be alarmed. Rachel has just fallen asleep,” she says, with a nod. “I think it’s best if we let her sleep for now. Why don’t you come back later?”
“Yes, I think I will. Thank you nurse . . . Louise.” I straighten up, and readjust my jacket, reluctant to leave just yet. When I look up, Louise hasn’t moved away from the bed. Her eyes are regarding me with impatience. I take the hint, that she is waiting for me to leave.
Ignoring her icy stare, I take one last look at Rachel, before I go. A pang of regret hits me, noticing that her skin is still pale, but the fact that she looks peaceful laying there asleep, eases my concern about leaving her. Without saying a word, I turn and head for the door.
On the drive home, I curse myself for having pushed her too far. Anger brewing like a reprimand, tearing at my gut, realising with hindsight, I should have put off visiting her, for at least another day or two.
It took every ounce of my self-control, not to lose my temper, when she stubbornly refused my offer to pay for her medical expenses. I had no idea she had such a feisty nature. And I certainly didn’t expect her to be capable of arguing with me with such enthusiasm, considering her injuries and how frail she looked. She totally blew me away.
I have to admit though, there was a part of me that enjoyed the heated exchange. I liked watching the way she reacted. That fire in her eyes and the pink blush on her cheeks, when she was arguing her point. It was very alluring and infuriating at the same time.
The one thing that puzzles me, though, is why didn’t she seem to recognise me? I know our encounter at the art gallery was brief, but I would like to think I am not so easy to forget. Maybe Peter was right, when he warned me that she could suffer some form of temporary memory loss. Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to ask her, before she fell asleep. I had not intentions of making a second visit. But, it seems like I might have to now. There are still a few questions, I need to ask her.
Chapter Seven
MONDAY, 11th August
Rachel
“RACHEL, RACHEL . . . WAKE up honey!” I’m half asleep, when I feel the nurse prodding my arm, to persuade me, to open my eyes. When I do, I'm greeted by a friendly smile, from an attractive-looking nurse, with her blonde hair, tied back in a loose bun.
I don’t remember seeing her before, but I can already tell, by her cheerful bedside manner, that I’m going to like her. She has an clear olive complexion, with a small brown mole, near her nose, that instantly reminds me of what you’d see, an actress wear, in a classic black and white movie.
“Hi, I’m Louise. I’ll be taking care of you, while you're staying with us. I'm just going to check over your vitals. Then I'll give you a bath and change your dressings. Okay?”
“Yes, alright.”
“I hear, you’re from Australia, is that right?” she asks, wrapping the blood pressure cuff, she brought with her, around my upper arm.
I watch, as the cuff fills with air, as it squeezes tightly around my arm, until it’s almost painful. “Yes, it is.”
“I read about your accident in the local paper.”The sudden release of pressure on my arm, when she removes the cuff, is a welcome relief.
“Oh, I didn’t know I was in the paper. What did it say?"
“It was only a small article, it didn’t mention your name. It just said that you were an Australian tourist and you had been hit by a car belonging to multi-millionaire Sebastian Knight.”
I guess, that explains why, he’s willing to pay my hospital bills. “I didn’t realise he is wealthy.” As soon as I stop talking, she stick the thermometer in my mouth, and presses her fingers against my wrist, to check my pulse.
“Anyway, since I heard you were from Australia, I've been hoping to get a chance to talk to you.” Louise explains, as she records the readings she just took, on the medical chart, hanging from the end of my bed. “I’ve always wanted to visit Sydney. I hear you have some great beaches.” Hearing her mention home, gives me a touch of homesickness, I didn’t know I had, until now. I really miss Morgan and Abby, my best friends, and our weekly get togethers. It seems like forever since I last talked to them, when they dropped me off at the airport, nearly two weeks ago.
“I was thinking of going there this year, but my boyfriend wasn’t so keen. He doesn’t like long flights. So now, we’re doing a Greek cruise for two weeks, instead.”
"Wow! That sounds very romantic." She grabs the basin and ducks into the bathroom, emerging a moment later, carrying the basin now filled with warm soapy water. After she helps me out of the hospital gown, she gives me a wet cloth to wash my front, while she does the back.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" She asks, drying my back with a towel.
"No. I was married, but I’m divorced now.” I don't know why I'm telling her this, because I never talk about my failed two year marriage, to Drew. Maybe, it’s because I feel vulnerable, being naked in front of her while I take my bath.
She pauses, to look at me. "Oh, I'm sorry." A serious expression crosses her face, when she adds, "he wasn't one of those cheating types was he?"
It's a predictable question, and I'd laugh, if it didn't just happen to shave close to the truth. "In a way. But, I didn't find that out, until after I left him."