by Miranda Lee
‘If that’s what you really want me to do.’
‘It’s what I really want you to do,’ she repeated. ‘And make it sound like an emergency, otherwise they’ll take ages to come. You can do that for me, can’t you? ‘
‘Lie, you mean?’
‘Just exaggerate a bit.’
‘Sure.’ And he did, quite brilliantly.
‘They’ll be here shortly,’ he said after he’d completed the call.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then, after they’ve taken me to hospital, I want you to drive back to Sydney and never contact me again.’
She saw the flash of anger in his eyes. Or was it distress? No, no, it had to be anger.
‘I won’t be leaving you, Amber,’ he said. ‘Not till I know you’re going to be all right. Don’t ask that of me.’
She sighed her exasperation, not just at him but herself, for feeling some pleasure at his refusing to go.
‘What’s the point of your staying?’ she said frustratedly. ‘We’re finished. You know that as well as I do. It was cruel of you to come back today at all. Why did you, for pity’s sake? Why couldn’t you have let things be?’
He sighed. ‘I wish I had. Now.’
He did, indeed, look regretful.
‘It was a mistake,’ he added.
She could not trust herself to answer that, knowing that she was close to crying. And she didn’t want to cry. Not after he’d virtually called her a cry baby. No more tears, she lectured herself, no more weak, silly, soppy tears!
‘I’m really sorry, Amber,’ he said. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’
This time, it wasn’t tears that filled her eyes but fury.
‘No kidding!’ she snapped. ‘What did you mean to do today, then?’
He just stared at her for a long time with bleak eyes.
Suddenly, she realised she didn’t want their relationship to end without telling him the truth.
‘I was never going to say this to you, Warwick, but the time has come.’
‘Say what?’
‘That I love you.’
‘Amber … please don’t do this,’ he said with a grimace.
‘It’s all right. I’m not going to make a fuss. I just wanted to tell you the way it is. I admit I didn’t love you at first. How could I? I didn’t even know you. But somewhere along the line—quite soon, I think—I fell in love with you. I’m not sure why. Love, I’ve come to realise, doesn’t always make sense. But you know what? One day in the future, after I’ve managed to get you out of my system, I’ll fall in love with someone else, because that’s what I want to do with my life. Whereas you’ll just continue doing what you’ve always done: going from woman to woman, living for nothing but the pleasure of the moment. Till one day you’ll suddenly wake up and find that you’re a very bored, very lonely old man.’
Warwick’s heart squeezed tight in his chest at her declaration of love. He found it strange that hearing Amber say the actual words was much more affecting than he’d have thought. As far as the rest of what she said … He didn’t doubt she was quite right. Except in her prediction of his becoming a lonely old man. He would make sure the old part would never happen. As for his being lonely. The truth was he was already lonely. He’d always been lonely, for as long as he could remember.
Only with Amber had he felt less alone. And less … unloved.
That was what she’d given him that he couldn’t resist.
Love.
That was why he was having such difficulty in ending their relationship.
But it has to be done, doesn’t it, Warwick?
For her sake.
‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said. ‘I’m a cold, unfeeling bastard and I have no idea why you would love me. Still, I’m pleased to know that you do want to fall in love again at some stage. Just not with Jim Hansen, please,’ he added drily.
‘It won’t be Jim Hansen. If you must know I can’t stand the man.’
‘I am relieved.’
Amber rolled her eyes. ‘Might I remind you you were the one who contacted him?’
‘Yes, but that was when I thought I’d be with you. He wouldn’t have dared make a move on you if I’d been around.’
‘I can look after myself, Warwick.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Did you worry about your other dumped mistresses this much?’
‘No. But that’s because they were real mistresses. You, dearest Amber, were my live-in girlfriend, whom I will continue to worry about until I know you are fit and able to look after yourself properly. So I’m afraid you’ll have to tolerate my following the ambulance to the hospital and making sure you’re being well taken care of. After all, you can’t stop me, can you?’ he added, a touch smugly.
Amber was torn between exasperation and resignation.
‘I suppose I can’t,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But don’t think I’m going back to Sydney with you at any stage, because I won’t.’
‘I wouldn’t ask that of you,’ came his honest reply.
She looked surprised by his answer. And just a tiny bit disappointed. She was still in love with him, Warwick realised.
It was a very corrupting thought.
So don’t think about it!
The sound of a vehicle pulling into the yard was a welcome distraction.
‘That’ll be the ambulance,’ he said. ‘I’ll go meet them, tell them you’ve regained consciousness.’
Amber shook her head at him. ‘You are a wicked man, Warwick Kincaid.’
CHAPTER NINE
I WISH I were, Warwick thought as he strode from the room. A wicked man would lie and tell Amber that he loved her too, then ask her to marry him. A truly wicked man might even tell her the truth about himself, taking advantage of her compassionate heart so that he’d have a loving carer when the inevitable finally happened.
‘Looks like you’re not as wicked as you’ve always thought you were,’ he muttered to himself under his breath as he exited the house.
In the end, Warwick didn’t follow the ambulance into Gosford, the paramedics informing him that the rest of the afternoon would be taken up with X-rays or scans and he would just be in the way. They suggested he went in during visiting hours that evening, by which time Amber would have a diagnosis. In the meantime, she did have her cell phone with her so she could ring him if she needed to.
Warwick had no doubt that if Amber’s ankle was broken, they would operate. They did that these days, the theory being that strengthening the ankle with steel pins would save the patient from arthritis later in life. A rather wasted prevention where he’d been concerned. But he’d still chosen the operation, because recovery was quicker and you could get around better by wearing a special boot and using a walking frame. Much more convenient that a cast and crutches.
Warwick’s only concern was who would perform Amber’s operation. He’d had one of the best bone men in the world do his, after which he’d convalesced in a private sanatorium in Switzerland, where he’d been waited on hand and foot. He didn’t like the idea of Amber being operated on by some second-rate surgeon, then being tossed out of hospital within a day or two without proper after-care. What he needed to do before visiting Amber tonight was to find out about the best private hospitals in the area, plus the qualifications of the specialists who operated there.
After the ambulance departed, Warwick remained out on the still sunny and almost warm porch whilst he thought about how best he could glean this information, and how quickly. If he’d had a lot of time he’d have contacted his office in London, where his top research assistant could find all the answers he wanted via the worldwide web. His staff there were highly efficient and quite ingenious. But searching the Internet would still take some time. A glance at his watch showed it was getting on for four o’clock. Why do that when there was a local and more immediate source of information?
Turning, Warwick hurried back inside and into the decidedly chilly kitchen where he spotted a phone on one of the
kitchen counters and a telephone and address book sitting beside it. He quickly turned to the R section and there it was: Max and Tara Richmond’s phone number. First he put the number into the menu of his BlackBerry, then he called.
‘Hello,’ a female voice answered quite quickly.
‘Mrs Richmond?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’ she asked a little irritably.
She probably thought he was a telemarketer. ‘You don’t know me personally, Mrs Richmond. My name is Warwick Kincaid. I’m a friend of Amber Roberts, Kate’s niece.’
‘Ah, yes! Mr Kincaid. I know who you are. Kate mentioned you to us once or twice.’
‘Not with any great approval, I would imagine,’ he said drily. ‘But that’s beside the point now. The thing is, Mrs Richmond—’
‘Oh, do call me Tara. I can’t stand being called Mrs Richmond.’
‘Very well, Tara.’
‘I suppose you’re ringing for the solicitor’s name and address.’
‘What? No. No, that’s not why I’m phoning.’
‘Didn’t Mrs Roberts pass on my message?’
‘What message?’
‘That Kate used our solicitor to make her will. He wants Amber to contact him.’
‘I see. Well, I’m not sure about that. Amber didn’t mention it to me. But that’s not important at the moment. The thing is, Tara, there’s been an accident at the house. Kate’s B & B, that is. When we heard about Amber’s inheritance, we came up from Sydney for the day to look at the place. Unfortunately, Amber tripped and fell down the stairs and I’m pretty sure she’s broken her ankle.’
‘Oh, dear heaven, how dreadful. Have you called an ambulance?’
‘Yes. It’s just left here to take her to Gosford hospital.’
‘I see. So how can I help? ‘
‘Amber explained to me about the shortage of doctors and I am quite concerned about who is going to treat her. As you can understand, I want the very best for her, so I was wondering if you or your husband could advise me as to which private hospital I could have her transferred to?’
‘Mmm. Well, there are a few private hospitals on the coast. But I couldn’t personally recommend any particular one, because I’ve never been to any of them, and neither has Max. I actually had my two babies in Gosford hospital, where I was treated wonderfully well. You shouldn’t believe everything you read, you know. There are good and bad everywhere. And you’ll find that the specialists at Gosford hospital also practise locally in the private sector.’
‘Really? The system appears to be just the same here as it is at home in the UK.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about her standard of care, if I were you. She’ll be just fine. Poor thing, though. It’s nasty, breaking an ankle. It’s going to take weeks before she can walk properly again. I hope your place in Sydney doesn’t have stairs.’
‘It doesn’t.’ Not that Amber would be there. But it did beg the question of where she would convalesce. She couldn’t stay by herself at her aunt’s place. Well, she could, if she allowed him to pay for a private nurse to come in every day. But Warwick couldn’t see her letting him pay for anything. He supposed she’d have to go home to her family. She wasn’t going to like that!
‘It just occurred to me,’ Tara said. ‘If you are only up here for the day, then Amber won’t have anything with her for a stay in hospital. No toilet bag or nighties.’
‘Well … no. She didn’t have anything like that with her.’
‘I’d send you out to shop for her, but if you’re anything like Max you won’t know what to buy. I’d go myself but Jasmine’s having her afternoon nap. Why don’t I put some things together for you to take in to her? I have nighties I haven’t even worn and we have loads of sample toiletries which people try to sell to Max for his hotel chain.’
‘That’s extremely kind of you,’ he said, and meant.
‘No trouble. When do you think you’ll be going in to the hospital?’
‘The paramedics said not to bother until tonight. By then, Amber should have been X-rayed and we’ll know what the situation is.’
‘Right. I presume you’re ringing from Kate’s place?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Look, Max goes for a jog along the beach every afternoon around five. Our house is only a couple of minutes from you, so I’ll send him along with a bag of things.’
‘Are you sure? I could always drive to your place and collect it. It’s obviously not far.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s not out of Max’s way. He won’t mind.’
‘I do thank you. And I’m sure Amber will be most grateful.’
‘Only too glad to help. She’s a lovely girl.’
‘Yes. Yes, she is.’
‘Give her my best wishes and do let me know what happens. With a bit of luck her ankle might not be broken, only sprained.’
‘Let’s hope so. Anyway, I’ll ring you when I know the diagnosis.’
‘Great. Bye,’ she said, then hung up.
Warwick glanced at his watch again. Ten past four.
Suddenly, he felt hungry. And damned cold. This kitchen was rapidly becoming an ice-box. He was used to places that were fully temperature-controlled all the time. He hadn’t even brought a jacket with him. He spotted Amber’s leather jacket draped over the back of a chair but he could hardly wear that. He found a small fan heater in one corner and turned it on, then set about getting himself something to eat.
There were quite a lot of tins in the cupboards and various loaves of bread in the freezer. He made himself some raisin toast and coffee, which he consumed in record time, after which he decided to have a quick look around the house. When he’d been up here for that barbecue at Easter, he’d only come inside once to go to the small washroom under the stairs. Today was the first time he’d been in the kitchen. Certainly the first time he’d been in the old lady’s bedroom.
A brief glance into the formal lounge and dining room showed more dark wooden furniture, which some people might think elegant and timeless, but it wasn’t to Warwick’s taste. Warwick preferred modern and minimalist furniture, hating anything fussy.
Finally he went back upstairs, this time more slowly, and was surprised when he discovered some temperature controls built into the wall at the top of the staircase, indicating that the upstairs was air conditioned. He didn’t turn it on, however, fully intending to drive back to Sydney after visiting Amber. No way was he going to stay here tonight. Not if all the bedrooms looked and smelled like the one downstairs; lavender and lace were not to his liking!
The bedrooms upstairs, however, came as a pleasant surprise. They weren’t at all bad. There wasn’t quite so much lace as downstairs, as it was hung only at the windows. And there was no overpowering smell of lavender. He particularly liked the largest bedroom, which had a queen-sized bed, an en suite bathroom, and French doors opening out onto an ocean-facing balcony. Admittedly the décor was still a bit too old-fashioned for his taste—he hated floral quilts and rugs—but he could ignore those.
Maybe he wouldn’t drive back to Sydney tonight after all.
Unlocking the French doors, he pushed them open and walked out onto the balcony where a crisp evening breeze sent the scent of the ocean into his nostrils.
Warwick had always liked the sea. He liked the sound of the waves washing up onto the beach, savoured the sharp, salty smell.
That was one memory from his childhood that he still found pleasure in: his summers by the sea.
When he’d been around eight years old, his father had bought a holiday house right on the coast in Cornwall, in a village that boasted one of the best beaches in England. Not that his father had spent much time there. It had mostly just been Warwick and the housekeeper who’d acted as his minder during the holidays. She’d been a very large lady named Phyllis, who’d drunk like a fish and let Warwick pretty well do whatever he liked. He’d spent each summer playing and swimming with the local children, who’d also taught him how to fish and even to ride
a surfboard. He’d absolutely loved it, hating it when the holidays were over and he’d had to return to boarding school.
Unfortunately, when Warwick had turned twelve, his father had sold the Cornish house. After that, his summer holidays had been spent in various camps that specialised in teaching adolescent boys how to survive in the wild. He’d hated them, perhaps because his heart had stayed on the beach in Cornwall. He still hated any form of camping, which was perverse given he liked the great outdoors—just not in a tent, thank you very much, or a dank forest.
Nothing beat holidays by the ocean.
In the summer, that is, Warwick amended as a shiver went through him. Not quite so great in the winter time. Especially when one didn’t have a warm jacket to wear. Warwick was about to go back inside when he spotted a tall, well-built man jogging along the beach, carrying a sports bag with him. It had to be Richmond, despite it not being five o’clock just yet. Warwick watched as the man made his way across the sand to the street that ran along the lakefront, where he briefly disappeared from view behind neighbouring houses.
Knowing it wouldn’t take him long to arrive, Warwick hurried downstairs and along the hallway to the back door, opening it just as the hotel magnate ran into the back yard.
Not that he looked like a hotel magnate. He was dressed in navy track pants and a grey windcheater, and Richmond’s close-cut hairstyle and unshaven face projected a tougher, more physical image than Warwick might have expected. As he drew closer, however, he could see the intelligence in Richmond’s eyes. And something else.
Disapproval.
‘Tara sent these over for Amber,’ he said rather abruptly as he handed over the bag.
Clearly, Max Richmond had preconceived ideas about Warwick’s character, none of which was good.
Warwick did not blame the man for thinking he was a cad. Because he was. But he was also a gentlemanly cad. If there was one good thing his father had taught him, it was manners.
‘It was very kind of her to do that,’ Warwick said politely. ‘And very good of you to bring them by. Thank you. I’m Warwick Kincaid, by the way.’ And he held out his right hand.
