‘Did you want some help there, Bonny?’ Hugh grinned. ‘With your eggs, I mean.’
‘Please!’ Bonita gave a tight smile back, sitting rigid as he came over. His long fingers held the knife and expertly beheaded her eggs. He even buttered her toast and cut it into soldiers.
‘Thank you!’ Hugh reminded her as he put down the knife.
‘Thank you.’
Carmel took about three minutes to get ready, her usual jodhpurs and T-shirt exchanged for a smart grey dress and sensible black shoes, her hair still pulled back into its usual low ponytail. Bonita buttoned her lip instead of suggesting her mother put a little make-up on—they’d had that argument too many times to repeat it. However, it irked Bonita. Her mother, if she made even a shred of effort, was a stunningly attractive woman. Still, maybe she didn’t need lipstick because her husband’s face lit up when she came down dressed for church. He could see how beautiful she was without it.
‘I’ll be back by ten-thirty, eleven at the latest.’
‘No rush,’ Hugh assured her.
‘Why don’t you stay for the coffee morning after the service?’ Bonita suggested, seeing the lines of tiredness around her mother’s eyes and knowing that she needed a break from the house. The social side of the church, Bonita was sure, was one of the main reasons her mother loved to go, but as usual she’d said the wrong thing.
‘Why would I want to hang around for coffee and cake?’ She kissed Luigi goodbye. ‘I’ll be back at ten-thirty.’
Which actually suited Bonita just fine!
It was annoying how easily Hugh just slotted back in. She knew he wasn’t there for her benefit, that since he’d returned to Australia he had visited regularly, but trying to concentrate on the Sunday papers, as he sat playing cards with her father, as they chatted away like the old friends they were, it hurt how wonderful they all thought he was. Hugh could do no wrong. If only they knew! And Hugh hanging around, when she was perfectly capable of watching her father, just irked. Still, by the time the hand edged past ten-thirty and she saw Hugh pull her father forward to arrange his cushions when Luigi had a coughing fit, and the calm way Hugh put on her father’s mask and gave him a nebuliser, Bonita conceded, it was good that he was there.
And, yes, she was glad he was around when she rang Emily and asked her to pack a case—anyone would surely be better than her mother dropping in on a Sunday.
‘Here.’ She handed him her key ring. ‘Emily says that she might be out, but she’ll leave a case in the hall. She knows what I need, so you don’t—’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hugh interrupted, ‘I have no desire to snoop around your things.’
Strange, Bonita thought later as she stomped around, helping her mother prepare dinner, that Hugh could both reassure and put her down at the same time.
It was almost like old times.
Ricky, there without his wife Harriet, who had forfeited the two-hour drive to get the kids to bed; Marco, who was Ricky’s veterinary partner, had arranged for a locum to cover them both; and Paul, who had for once asked a colleague to cover him for the evening, all arrived as if it had been the easiest thing in the world to get away and drop by for one of Carmel’s Sunday roasts.
Yes, almost like old times as the guys argued good-naturedly and Luigi told Bonita to go and give her mother a hand in the kitchen.
‘Literally!’ Hugh smirked as Bonita duly headed off.
Carmel had made it blazingly clear throughout the afternoon that Bonita was more of a hindrance than a help, but she did let Bonita stir the gravy as she set about serving up.
‘Make sure it doesn’t go lumpy, like the cheese sauce you made this afternoon.’
So she stood and stirred as Hugh, the golden one, came in and offered to carve, while Luigi enjoyed his sons’ company in the lounge.
‘Bonny!’ Carmel barked as for a second Bonita missed a beat.
‘It’s actually quite hard to stir and turn the gas down at the same time, with—’
‘Only one hand!’ Carmel snapped. ‘Save the sob stories Bonny!’
So she did, gritting her teeth and stirring on, knowing that a row was the last thing everyone needed right now, but the tension was unbearable, the heat in the kitchen rising with every dish Carmel brought out. Carmel hadn’t just adopted her husband’s religion on marriage, she’d adopted a few other Italian ways too—like making way too much food, a massive piece of beef, glazed carrots, roast potatoes, roast pumpkin, peas, cauliflower, cheese and, of course, just in case anyone might still need something to nibble on while they waited for the apricot crumble dessert, there was a vast lasagne as well!
‘Any one would think we had the Royal Family coming for dinner.’ Bonita attempted a joke to lighten the tense mood.
‘It’s my family!’ Carmel glared, taking over the gravy, leaving Bonita standing. Bonita glanced at Hugh, who gave her a thin, half-lipped smile. She didn’t know if it was in support or disappointment that again she had managed to say the wrong thing and upset her mum.
‘This looks great, Mum!’ Marco said the right thing.
‘If there’s any lasagne left over, Harriet asked if I could bring some home for her!’ From Carmel’s smile Ricky had said the right thing as well.
‘I want some to take back, too!’ Paul added.
Oh, they were all on form tonight, even Hugh!
‘What’s this rubbish!’ Luigi frowned at the bottle of expensive wine Hugh had bought.
‘What are you talking about—it’s a great drop!’ Hugh said in his pompous voice as Bonita’s hand clutched the knife and fork. Arrogant Hugh may be, but surely he knew better than to question her father on wine!
Except Luigi was laughing, getting the joke long before the rest of them did. It was, in fact, Luigi’s archrival’s wine that Hugh had brought. Hugh was doing what he so often naturally did, and just winding her father up.
‘We drink my wine at my table!’ Luigi said firmly, and of course Hugh did the honours, getting a bottle from the wine rack and filling up everyone’s glass. Worryingly for Bonita, given that her father was on a morphine infusion, Hugh filled his to the brim, too.
‘Perhaps Dad shouldn’t…’ Her voice trailed off as Hugh shot her a warning look.
‘Salute.’
And just as her glass would be filled and she would barely touch it so, too, Bonita realised, her dad would do the same. It was a desperate pretence at normality—everyone pretending it was just any other Sunday night, that this wasn’t one of the last Sunday nights that they would sit around the table like this.
But it was.
As everyone laughed and chatted, Bonita joined in, though she struggled with her meat as much as her father struggled with his gravy and mash. She struggled, too, with the knowledge that this was probably the last time they would all be like this. Even the barbeque in a few weeks seemed unattainable.
‘Bonny!’ Carmel said, for once not scolding her for not eating enough. ‘Make yourself useful and clear the table.’
So she did—cleared the plates with one hand—then took grateful refuge in the kitchen for a moment, blowing her nose loudly into the tea-towel.
‘Hope you’re not going to use that to wipe the dishes.’ Carrying plates, Hugh caught her. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Great!’ Bonny forced a bright smile.
‘You are!’ Hugh answered, which was just about the nicest thing he could have said, letting her know that he knew how hard tonight was. ‘Let’s get these puddings out.’
‘Just custard for your dad…’ Carmel marched into her kitchen. ‘Come on, Bonny, mash Dad up a bit of apricot from the crumble perhaps.’
Which she did with her good hand while her mum deftly served the crumble onto the other six plates and juggled three as Hugh did the same, leaving Bonita to bring her father’s.
It was just another Sunday night—almost. Flopping in front of the television after a huge dinner, for once Bonita didn’t have to do the dishes. Perfect Paul, the Surgeon
, for the first time where there wasn’t blood involved, actually pulled on the rubber gloves, as Ricky and Marco went through the inoculation schedules for the horses with Luigi. Hugh fell asleep in front of the television and, unlike most, managed to look fantastic as he did so—no open-mouthed snoring for Hugh! His long legs stretched out in front of him, his fingers laced behind his blond head. He looked just as he did on the couple of night shifts she’d worked with him and found him in the staffroom, half asleep, yet half ready to jump into action.
Did he ever fully relax? Bonita thought as she curled up on the sofa, her own eyes almost closed, wishing it was just another Sunday, wishing nights like these could happen again. Hugh kept a formidable schedule, both professionally and socially. The professional she knew first hand, knew that he was also studying for his FRCS, which would enhance his emergency career. As for the social, well, the hospital grapevine kept her pretty up to date with his regular action there! Amber, the radiographer who he had gone out with towards the end of his time in Australia, was now a regular fixture. As Hugh shifted slightly in his seat, stretching just a touch, Bonita was treated to a glimpse of flat-toned stomach, and from this impressive view it was clear he still managed to find the time to eat well and exercise.
And from the lovely snaky line of hair that dipped below his belly button, she could see he was certainly a natural blond!
He could make her blush with his eyes closed!
Quickly Bonita snapped her eyes closed, absolutely determined not to be caught gazing at him from across the room. It took about ten seconds flat to fall asleep and, no doubt, Bonita thought when her mother awoke her later, far less elegantly than Hugh!
‘Go and get your bags from Hugh’s car!’ Carmel ordered. ‘He wants to get going.’
‘I can bring them in, Carmel!’
‘Bonny can help, even with one arm—you’re not the bell boy!’
He was just so nice to them, Bonita thought with a sudden twist in her stomach that was surely borne of envy. He thanked her parents and kissed them goodbye, and they were so nice to him, loading him with plates of lasagne and beef, thanking him back, adoring him…
Little did they know the bastard he could be when he chose.
‘You’re quiet tonight!’ Hugh observed as they crunched along the gravel driveway past several Azetti cars and utes till they came to his.
‘Better to be quiet than say the wrong thing!’ Bonita answered.
‘Meaning?’ He stopped walking, but Bonita didn’t. ‘What have I done to offend you now?’
‘It doesn’t have to always be about you, Hugh!’
‘Bonny!’ He grabbed her good arm and halted her. ‘I’m not good at cryptic crosswords!’
‘I’m just tired of watching everyone else say and do the right thing. Paul will go home and then rock over in a few more days for a ten-minute visit and my mum will fall on him, Ricky or Marco will promise to try and get down next weekend and Mum will be delighted to see them. You they can’t get enough of when you call by. Yet I just seem to get in the way!’
‘Your mum’s so happy you’re here, Bonny! She is,’ he insisted as she gave a disbelieving snort. ‘It’s just the way she is with you and that’s not going to change while…’
‘While what?’ Bonita pushed, but Hugh shook his head.
‘Just be patient.’
‘I am being patient.’
‘I know.’
‘She doesn’t tell me anything—she hasn’t even said that he’s dying.’
‘I know that too,’ he said gently.
‘I know he’s got bowel cancer, I know it’s spread, the rest is guesswork…She asks me to come to all the hospital appointments with them, then she tells me to wait outside.’
‘She’s just trying to shield you.’
‘I’m a nurse!’ Bonita growled. ‘I’m his daughter. I’ve tried to speak to Paul about it—he must know more, for goodness’ sake, but he just fobs me off! I’m trying to do what’s best for Mum and Dad, but without any information.’
And if that day hadn’t happened all those years ago, if he really was a friend, it would have been entirely appropriate for him to pull her in his arms now and offer a hug of support. But it had happened and they weren’t friends, so all he did was stand there and watch as she wiped a couple of tears away with her good hand.
Only she wanted him to take her in his arms so badly, to just…be held, for some physical acknowledgement as to just how hard this was.
To just rest a while in his embrace.
And it was that that confused Bonita as she stood there in the silence of night with him—that she should want comfort from the man who had hurt her most in the world. That and the fact he was so generous with his affection to everyone but her. It left her feeling isolated and confused.
‘Let’s get your bags.’ His voice was harsh as it broke the silence, reminding her just how far apart they were.
There was no relief on offer or in sight as they walked the few more steps to his car.
‘Bags!’ Bonita gave a small yelp as he opened the boot. ‘Did she completely empty my room?’
‘Well, you are going to be away a while…’
‘How was Emily?’ Bonita asked.
‘I didn’t see her,’ Hugh clipped, handing Bonita a vanity case and taking the other case and a couple of bags for himself. ‘These were just in the hall.’
‘She must have been out.’
Up to that point Bonita had been trying to make idle conversation, but when Hugh gave a shrug, and suddenly busied himself with the complex task of closing the boot, Bonita found herself frowning.
‘Hugh?’
‘What?’
‘Did you see Emily?’
‘I told you, no. These were just in the hall.’
He was lying.
As Hugh deposited her bags, said another prolonged goodbye to her family then waved himself off, Paul lugged her cases into the bedroom and she set about unpacking, all Bonita knew was that Hugh had just lied to her.
Only why she couldn’t begin to fathom.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE novelty of living at home had soon worn off.
The questions that had incensed her as a teenager were, it seemed, still completely appropriate now she was twenty-four.
‘Who was that on the phone?’
‘How much did that cost?’
‘Who are you going out with?’
‘When will you be home?’
Not that she’d exactly been hitting the nightclubs. Last night, in celebration of her immobiliser coming off, a few of the girls from netball had picked Bonita up and taken her to the local pub to celebrate.
It had hardly been a wild night.
A local band, a steak, which Bonita, terrified without the security of the immobiliser, had had to have help cutting, washed down with several fruit juices. But from the curtains twitching when she’d been dropped off and the stony glare and heated words from her mother when she’d stepped inside the house, she might just as well have arrived home drunk after a rave.
Her mother was still sulking the following afternoon when a car pulled up and there was a knock at the door.
‘You’ve got a visitor.’
Over the past couple of weeks Bonita had had several visitors, mainly friends from the netball team and the hospital, but they hadn’t caused Carmel’s mouth to purse in distaste. And given her mother hadn’t invited the visitor in, Bonita could guess who had been left standing at the door.
‘Hi, Bill!’
‘Hi, there.’ He gave her a very nice but apprehensive smile, no doubt worried about the reception he’d receive from her family. ‘I heard what happened. I’ve tried ringing your mobile a few times…’
‘Emily didn’t pack my charger so I’m a bit marooned.’
‘I didn’t want to ring the house and I didn’t know whether or not I should come over, but it’s been weeks and I haven’t heard. I just wanted to make sure that you were OK.’
They walked up through the vines towards the stables, a familiar route that they’d taken many, many times, only today they weren’t holding hands.
‘I didn’t know whether to stay away,’ Bill admitted. ‘I know I’m not exactly popular at the moment. Your mum just about closed the door on me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Bonita gulped. ‘How are things at work?’
‘Not great,’ Bill admitted. ‘So it’s been hard to find out how you’re doing. Everyone still thinks I’m an utter bastard for ending it with you. Saying that there must have been someone else involved…’
‘Bill.’ Bonita halted him. ‘You were right to end things. And…I guess there was someone else involved. They just don’t know that it was on my side.’
‘Should I have waited? I mean, with your dad so ill….’
She thought about it, really tried to picture these past few weeks with Bill in her life, and she couldn’t. Hugh, even though there was nothing between them, was a factor in her life. His return had her reeling….
She tried to fathom dealing with her father’s impending death and Hugh’s return, while all the time lying to Bill—and she had been lying, Bonita acknowledged. While not technically unfaithful, her mind hadn’t been on the man she’d been with. Though there was nothing between herself and Hugh, it was he who consumed her thoughts.
Standing there, facing Bill, there was her answer. His arms weren’t the ones she wanted around her. Oh, she wanted his friendship, missed him at times, but his embrace wasn’t the one that could soothe.
And if there was any relief to be had at the moment, it was in being alone.
To close the door at night and be honest—at least with herself.
‘You were right to end it when you did.’ Bonita gave him a sad smile. ‘I don’t have anything left to give at the moment, Bill.’
English Doctor, Italian Bride Page 5
