‘And?’ Sarah prompted, Ginny forgotten as she focussed on the subject of the murdered young women.
‘Just how many long-haired young girls do you think dine in a restaurant every night? More than one, on the whole. And unless people are making an exhibition of themselves, the waiting staff don’t notice much. There’s the roast lamb at table four and the calamari at table six.’
‘A bit like patients in hospital beds,’ Sarah said. ‘The appendix in bed five.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘But you’d think someone would have noticed one of them.’
‘Perhaps this latest one dropped her fork and had to have it replaced,’ Max suggested, hearing the dejection in Sarah’s voice as another possible lead was cut short.
‘She’d have been better off sticking it in the face of the handsome stranger,’ she muttered at him, and resumed her journey across the room, dodging through the tables but heading for Ginny and Paul.
This time it was Max who stopped, pulling Sarah up with a hand on her shoulder.
‘Why handsome stranger?’ he asked.
‘The meal thing seems to me to indicate the women went willingly. You don’t go off under duress, physically lifted and carried away, and then sit down with your abductor to enjoy a two course meal. Even at gunpoint, with fear tightening every muscle in your body, the best you’d probably manage is a couple of mouthfuls. And no one would go off with an ugly stranger, or someone who looked threatening in any way. No, I’d say he’s not only good-looking but well presented as well. Women would be more likely to trust someone who’s well dressed. There’s an inbred assurance that a man in a suit would do you no harm.’
‘A good-looking man in a suit,’ Max repeated, his eyes focussing on Paul Markham.
‘Hardly!’ Sarah chuckled as she saw who held his attention. ‘He might kill his wife. I guess anyone, given sufficient motivation, could kill a spouse. But Paul Markham as a serial killer? I don’t think so!’
‘I must admit he doesn’t fit the profile at all,’ Max agreed. ‘From Ginny’s description, he’s a gregarious chap and serial killers are notorious for being misfits and loners, though generalisation of that kind is dangerous. In fact, organised killers can be gregarious—to all outward appearances, really nice men.’
He sighed deeply. ‘I’d just like to find some reason to have him removed from this hospital, and jail seemed a good option.’
‘A more practical one would be telling Ginny how you feel about her. Doing something positive, instead of growling and grumping.’
‘Oh, so I’m grumping now, am I?’ Max demanded, then heard a growl, or possibly a grump, begin as Paul courteously helped Ginny to her feet and the pair started towards them.
Fortunately Sarah took the lead, waylaying the pair as they headed for the door.
‘We were coming back to ask you, Ginny, about places to go to dinner. Max and I thought we might take you out—after all, you fed us last night. Paul, you’ll join us?’
Ginny looked so uncomfortable that Max knew Paul had already asked her to eat with him. But Sarah had worded things so cleverly it would have looked odd if they refused the invitation.
‘Ciao is good,’ Ginny said, shooting a look of apology at Paul as she spoke, confirming Max’s suspicion. ‘It’s on the river and within walking distance of the hospital so you’ll find a lot of staff eating there, but the food’s great and it’s not expensive.’
‘Sounds like the place!’ Sarah said cheerily. Ignoring the silence from the male members of their party, she linked her arm through Ginny’s and proceeded to walk her towards the door.
Ginny felt a wave of relief as Sarah took control. She felt sorry for Paul, and in a way was glad that what seemed like his increasing dependence on her company was diverting her mind from thoughts of Max, but…
‘It’s because he’s sad and lonely he keeps turning to me,’ she said, using the words out loud to convince herself there was nothing more in Paul’s recent attentions.
‘Of course,’ Sarah said soothingly. ‘But you’ve got to think about yourself as well. You know what hotbeds of gossip hospitals are. If he continues to hold tête-à-têtes with you in public places, before you know it you’ll be the scandal of the week.’
‘I know,’ Ginny assured her. They were speaking quietly, aware of the subject of their conversation not far behind them. Though, from the subdued rumble of conversation reaching her ears, the two men had found a topic of mutual interest.
‘How well did you know Max—way back whenever?’
The question made Ginny smile, because it reminded her of so much fun—before she’d shifted the delicate balance between them with her protestations of undying love.
‘He worked closely with our group on various projects, teaching us by making us do experiments, so there was a lot of interaction between us. And outside lectures, he worked with a group of highly intelligent children from under-privileged backgrounds, providing mental challenges and stimulation for them on Saturdays.’
She shrugged away a tide of embarrassment as she explained, ‘Besotted as I was with him, I volunteered to work with the kids as well, so we saw also each other then.’
One glance at Sarah’s face was enough to tell Ginny the other woman wanted more. She searched for the words she needed to explain something almost inexplicable, something she’d never been able to explain, even to herself. ‘He and I—he didn’t single me out in any way, but it was as if there was a bond. We liked each other and knew it without saying it, as if our thoughts were linked in some way. All the students were friendly with him, yet I knew whatever lay between us was different.’
‘Did you spend time alone together—get to know each other away from either your tutorial group or the clever-kids thing?’
Ginny grinned at her.
‘In the beginning, it was only what time I could wangle with excuses for help with this project or information on that one. If the word “stalking” had been in common usage then, it would probably have described my actions. Being Max, he was always kind, considerate, willing to give me time, to listen to me and answer my never-ending questions about his training and his work.’
She paused, then added, ‘You asked how well I knew him—not well, if you think about the short time we spent together. I’d barely opened up a chink in his armour—he thought student-tutor relationships were unethical—when he had to go away. Yet I always felt I knew him in some deep instinctive way. Knew his inner goodness, his strength, his compassion and kindness. And with all the certainty of a self-absorbed twenty-year-old, I decided he was the man for me.’
‘I knew the same thing the day I met my first lover,’ Sarah admitted, ‘so you don’t have to explain to me. With Tony, love took a little longer, but I had a young daughter, Lucy, to consider when I first met him. Then it was a bit like you and Max. He had to wait a long time for me to learn about trust, and to admit just how much I needed him in my life.’
She touched Ginny lightly on the shoulder, as if to promise support, then deftly changed the subject.
‘What are you doing on your day off?’
Sarah’s question diverted Ginny.
‘Fancy asking that!’ Ginny laughed softly. ‘Sleeping in, then shopping, tidying the flat, doing my washing. And if I’ve time I’ll have a nice long soak in the bath, doing all those things I never seem to get done, like getting rid of leg hair and the rough skin around my heels.’
‘Typical female doctor’s day off,’ Sarah teased. ‘I wonder what male doctors do?’
‘About what?’ Max asked, looming up behind them before Ginny had time to register his presence with anything more than a rush of awareness.
He took her arm—was making a habit of it, in fact—and though she felt uncomfortably conscious of Paul’s interest in the gesture, she didn’t try to escape Max’s grasp.
‘On their days off,’ she explained, looking up into Max’s eyes and seeing messages of warmth, admiration, concern and—love? Yep! Same mix as b
efore, though now she was twenty-six surely he could stop being concerned for her.
‘Making plans, are you?’ The smile accompanying the question made her forget the original subject. Though Max had smiled at her more than once since his re-emergence in her life the previous day, the other smiles had been different, less…
Was ‘intimate’ the word she wanted?
Not really.
She was still puzzling over a precise description of it when they reached the flats. Sarah, who’d fallen in beside Paul, turned to ask something, and it was Max who answered her.
‘Useless asking Ginny,’ he said. ‘She went into a fugue like state about halfway across the road and is obviously communing with some higher life form. I say we decide a time and cart her along with us. After all, even mystics like to eat.’
‘Mystics?’ Ginny demanded, but Max just grinned at her, and this time she didn’t need to analyse the content of the smile. It was teasing mischief, with a bit of complicity thrown in, and it wormed its way beneath her already weakened defences and brushed desire along her nerves.
‘I knew you hadn’t been listening,’ he said softly, a huskiness in his voice suggesting he knew exactly what she was feeling. Because his own responses mirrored hers?
‘Well, it’s after seven now, so shall we say eight?’ Paul broke the spell with practicality.
Sarah and Max both made noises of agreement then, while Sarah and Ginny both searched the bottoms of their handbags for keys, the men, less hampered by clutter, produced their sets from handy pockets and proceeded along the veranda to their respective flats.
‘Must be a change for you, going from being the only occupant of the building to one of four tenants,’ Sarah said, as she accompanied Ginny up the stairs.
‘A change, but a pleasant one,’ Ginny assured her. ‘Mind you, we’ll all have to settle down to routine domesticity eventually. I’ll end up the size of a house if I start going out to dinner every night.’
‘You can always diet when we’ve gone,’ Sarah assured her. ‘It’s so much easier for us temporary residents to eat out. That way we don’t have to do much shopping—a packet of breakfast cereal, bread for toast, some fruit and milk. Basics only!’
They’d paused outside Ginny’s door, and Ginny had the feeling that Sarah, although rattling on about food, had stopped because there was something else she wanted to say. But in the end, all she added was, ‘I’ll see you in a little while.’
Ginny unlocked the door and wandered into her flat. Max was right next door. If she put her hand against the wall, would she pick up vibrations of his presence?
‘Vibrations of his presence!’ she muttered to herself, then she tapped her fingers against her temple. ‘Hello? Anyone home in the brain-box?’
With a mammoth effort she turned her thoughts from Max to Paul. Did his moving away from his house indicate a more serious mental turmoil than his outward appearance suggested? And if there was an emotional wreck lurking beneath his smooth exterior, should she let someone at the hospital know?
A tap on her door interrupted her thoughts, and when she opened it to find Max there, she was concerned enough to subdue the silly twitterings of delight from her body with a practical question.
‘Would you be able to analyse a person’s mental state by simply being with them?’
If the puzzled frown was anything to go by, it was the last question he’d expected.
‘Are you asking if I can read what you’re thinking and feeling?’ The frown eased into a rueful smile. ‘No way! Though, believe me, I wish I could.’
‘Not me, silly!’ she said, waving away his wish as if it hadn’t sent more emotion spiralling through her. ‘I’m worried about Paul. He’s outwardly so calm—has been since it happened.’ It was her turn to frown. ‘I can’t believe it’s normal—if there is such a thing as “normal”. I can’t help wondering if there’s a volcano of emotion beneath the surface, just waiting to erupt.’
‘Erupt at work? Is that what’s worrying you?’
Ginny shrugged and moved away from the door where they’d propped themselves after Max had come in and she’d shot her question at him.
‘Is that where it would be likely to happen?’ she asked, answering his question with one of her own. ‘I’ve no idea. Maybe it won’t happen at all, but if patients are at risk…’
‘Ginny.’ Max took her hand and held it lightly. ‘Maybe you’re worrying about something that will never happen. It’s possible the man is as sane as you and I, but deals with his emotions differently. I don’t think you can go to the medical superintendent and tell him to keep an eye on Paul because he’s too normal.’
Ginny thought about this—thought about the hand holding hers as well. But most of all she thought about some subtle shift in Max’s demeanour, as if he was distancing himself from her again.
Or was upset with her.
Because she was talking about Paul?
‘I know all that,’ she said, shrugging off her strange fancies as well as her concerns. ‘I was just wondering, from a purely medical point of view, how good analysis was. What was possible. Where the limits are.’
He dropped her hand and nodded.
‘Analysis in the psychiatric sense involves a lot of input from the person being analysed. The patient offers up his thoughts and feelings, memories and reactions, and the analysis follows.’
‘So talking and listening to Paul won’t tell you much.’
Max smiled at her, but only to hide the acid bite of uncertainty her questions were causing.
‘You’re a persistent little piece, aren’t you? I’d be far happier about your interest in him if he wasn’t such a handsome man. And I’d probably like him a lot better and care more about his mental state if he didn’t seem so inordinately attracted to you.’
There, it was said.
‘He’s lost and lonely—it’s a need for sympathy and understanding making him turn to me, not attraction.’
Ginny seemed genuinely convinced of this but, looking at it from a male viewpoint, Max felt the man couldn’t not be attracted to her.
‘But I thought the basis for your concern was that he wasn’t lost and lonely,’ Max argued. ‘That he was behaving so normally you felt trouble might be brewing underneath. You can’t have it both ways, Ginny.’
She lifted one shoulder, as if to shrug off his words, and muttered, ‘Oh, don’t be so practical!’
But the movement shifted the dynamics of the shirt she was wearing, revealing the gentle swell of well-rounded breasts. A thousand volcanoes—or a dozen nuclear medicine specialists—could have erupted around him and gone unnoticed, diminished to nothingness by the intensity of his body’s reaction to that unexpected glimpse of soft flesh.
Max stepped closer to her.
‘If I kiss you, will you kiss me back this time?’
The question should have startled her, but it was her response doing the startling. Startling him!
She glanced at her watch and said, as cool as you please, ‘Not today, thank you all the same, Max. We’re leaving at eight and it’s after seven-thirty now.’
She then blinked as if only just registering his presence, though they’d been talking for many minutes.
‘I’m sorry. Did you want something?’ She waved her hand dismissively as she added, ‘Not the kiss thing, but when you came to the door? Were you wanting to ask me something? Or borrow some sugar? Milk? Tea-bags?’
He refrained from telling her she was wasting as much time with her stupid questions as she would have been kissing him, but as his reason for knocking on her door had completely escaped him, he didn’t think he could criticise her.
‘I’ll talk to you about it later,’ he said, surprising himself with his own duplicity.
Ginny cocked an eyebrow at him, as if she didn’t quite believe him.
‘Just as well,’ she said, ruthlessly dismissing him from further consideration. ‘I’m desperately in need of a shower.’
; Fortunately he took the hint and Ginny escaped thankfully to the bathroom. For a long time now she’d managed to avoid any contact beyond friendship with members of the opposite sex, had even diverted an interested enquiry from a member of her own sex. Now here she was, with two men dancing attendance on her.
Though, she told herself firmly as she stepped under the flowing water, one is in need of comfort and the other simply exploring the shadows of the past.
Neither could exactly be called suitors, could they?
But did even considering them in that light mean she was ready for a man in her life?
She thought how close she’d come to responding to Max’s request with a kiss—how hard she’d had to rein back on her impulses and coolly deflect him!
Damn! Just when she thought she had everything under control—a job she loved, the challenge of buying a house ahead of her, a certain satisfaction in her single life—the return of one man and the interest of another had thrown her off track.
What had happened to the independent woman she prided herself on being? The one who didn’t need a man to make her life complete?
Forget complete—what had happened to tranquillity?
Reminding herself she was already late, she soaped a sponge and rubbed it vigorously across her body then washed off the suds and stepped out. To be immediately confronted by another problem—one she hadn’t had to consider for some time.
What to wear to dinner!
They’re colleagues, nothing more, so you can wear anything you like, she told herself, but, judging from the fervency with which she longed for something new and exciting to suddenly materialise in her wardrobe, she didn’t believe the admonition.
‘Black’s always good,’ she said, nodding to herself as she towelled moisture from the ends of her hair. ‘Black jeans, on account of leg-shaving day’s tomorrow.
‘And?’ she asked her image in the mirror.
‘The black and silver T-shirt that’s really a bit too tight for someone with your bra size but it’s that stretch material so you’ll get away with it.’
A Woman Worth Waiting For Page 8