But he wasn't that young doctor any more. He was a grown man who'd suffered and had had to change his career plans, which must have hurt a lot. Because of that he knew what he wanted now, and he'd continued to insist that he loved her – her – Jane Cabot, not countless other women. She suddenly understood that David's announcement of their engagement at the airport stemmed from two reasons – one, that he genuinely loved her and, two, that he wanted, because of that love, to protect her as best he could from any uncomfortable comments in the press.
She grew warm with pleasure as she also understood something which should have been blindingly obvious. Although he hadn't been able to propose conventionally, she was pretty sure that he'd wanted to, and probably soon would if she gave him a chance to. She couldn't continue to be angry with him when his motivates had been so wonderful. Abruptly realising how the silence had stretched as David had waited for an answer, she said, ‘All right.’ Then she lifted out her own bags. Any serious talk could come later. Now they needed to recover from their stress and tiredness.
It was late afternoon, just getting dark. David had arranged to leave the heating on so the flat was warm. While Jane phoned her housemates to tell them not to expect her, he rattled round in the kitchen.
‘A scratch meal,’ he told her. ‘I could phone out for a take-away, but this will do us.’ There was cheese on crisp bread, tinned soup, and a couple of instant meals out of the freezer. It felt like a picnic. And there was the usual bottle of wine.
‘Not exactly the meal we had last night,’ he said, ‘but the company is just as good.’
‘You don't miss Jean-Claude, then?’
Afterwards, they dragged the couch to where they could look out over the river, and sat side by side. She yawned. They were both still short of sleep. ‘Bath and bed, I think,’ she said. ‘May I stay the night?’
‘Of course. You're always welcome,’ he said, equally urbanely. ‘D'you think I should have the first bath? Then you might have to decide whether to wake me.’
She pondered. ‘There's an answer to that problem. It's a big bath, we could get in together.’
He reached over and unbuttoned her shirt. ‘What a good idea. I'll help you get undressed.’
There wasn't all that much room in the bath, and he suggested that she get in with her back to him. That was nice. His legs wrapped themselves round her, squeezing her hips. His hands were … well, his hands were everywhere. He washed her back, ran rivulets of soapy water down her breasts, rinsed them off with his hands. He took her by the shoulders and made her lean back against his thighs, hard abdomen, and chest. ‘What's that?’ she asked, and turned even pinker when he didn't answer.
Eventually she climbed out and reached for a towel. ‘I haven't been so thoroughly washed since my mother did me,’ she told him. ‘Now, you stay in there a few minutes more and wash yourself. And this night I promise not to go to sleep.’
She padded through to the bedroom and took a thin white nightdress out of her bag. She hadn't worn it yet. It had been a new one, bought for him. She slid into the freshly made bed and waited.
How did she feel? Nervous? Yes. But there was a feeling of inevitability about this, and she knew she'd been waiting for it for a long time.
He walked into the bedroom. Once again there were only the bedside lights on and his body was silhouetted against the doorway. He was clothed solely in a towel. He let it drop. She had a quick sight of his aroused body, and then he was in bed with her.
She reached for him. This was something they would do together. First they kissed, a hard violent kiss, pressing their bodies together as if every possible inch of skin needed to be in contact with the other's. Her hands clutched at his back and neck as she opened her lips to him so his tongue could taste all of her. She was warm and she could feel his body heat matching hers. Their breathing was heavy, and she could feel his heart thumping against her. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her away. ‘No hurry,’ he said.
He made her lie on her back, told her to put her hands behind her head, to relax. Then he started to kiss her again. But this time each kiss was feather-light, over her forehead, down each cheek, the tip of her chin. Then he eased back the covers and his head roamed over the rest of her body. It was both calming and exciting. She giggled. She'd never felt like this before. Calming and exciting. That was impossible. But it was happening.
Then slowly, it wasn't calming any more. She reached down to clutch his shoulders, grasping the muscles there, her legs tensing and moving with desire. It was so good! Now she wanted him – she wanted to give as well as take. She took his arms and pulled him so that he was lying on top of her. ‘David,’ she gasped, ‘I want you, I want you.’
‘And I want you, darling.’ His voice was hoarse with desire. He kissed her, a deep, deep kiss, and then she held his hips and urged him into her. ‘Ah,’ she sighed, ‘that is so good.’
But that was merely the start. He moved in her, with her, her body knowing what his wanted. There would be no stopping now. ‘David,’ she screamed. ‘David, David, David.’ Her body arched as she heard his urgent cry and together they reached ecstasy.
He lay across her, damp body on damp body. She could feel his heart beating, though not so fast as before. ‘I love you, Jane,’ he murmured. Then he fell asleep.
Jane woke early, clear-headed and happy. David was still asleep so she tiptoed out of the bedroom, picking up her discarded nightdress as she did so. She would go back to bed and take him some tea. In the kitchen she looked through the largely empty drawers until she found what she wanted – a kitchen knife, razor sharp. Then she made the tea.
He was awake when she returned to the bedroom, and he first saw the two mugs. ‘I should have done that,’ he complained mildly. ‘What are you doing with my best kitchen knife?’ His voice was curious, not alarmed.
She put the mugs by the bed, and turned to the chair where he'd left his trousers the night before. ‘I'm feeling symbolic,’ she said.
He watched in amazement as she pulled the thick leather belt free from the trouser loops. Then she took the knife and carefully cut a notch in the belt. ‘You've slept with me at last,’ she said. ‘I'm one of your conquests. Isn't that what men do — cut notches in their belts?’
His grim expression made her a little apprehensive. Stark naked, he climbed out of bed, came over and took the knife from her. ‘All right, it's what men do,’ he said. He walked to the other chair, where she had unceremoniously dumped her own clothes. There were her blue jeans, held up by a similar belt. Carefully, he cut through the belt.
‘What are you doing?’ She supposed it was fair. She'd cut his belt so he'd cut hers.
‘I'm being symbolic, too. You're not one of my conquests, I'm one of yours. I told you but you never listened. I love you. I've loved you for weeks. I've tried to show it, but all you've done is shout "casual" at me. Jane, there's nothing casual about my feelings for you. I love you. Will you marry me?’
She could make a joke of it all. It would serve him right – perhaps. But she wasn't going to. ‘Of course I'll marry you,’ she said. ‘David, there's no one in the whole wide world who could make me as happy as you do.’
He strode to her, pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘We're going to stay together — for ever?’ he asked.
‘Forever, my darling.’
Epilogue
‘We had hoped to keep our engagement a secret for a while,’ Jane told Sue and Megan.
‘Announcing it on television and in all the papers is a funny way of keeping it a secret,’ Sue said. ‘But congratulations anyway.’
‘Where's the ring?’ Megan asked.
‘We're going shopping on Saturday. And we've already decided on a honeymoon. We're going back skiing,’
‘Some people are gluttons for punishment.’
She moved in with David – it seemed pointless not to do so. He bought her a glorious jade ring, jade because it sounded similar to Jane. And they planned t
heir wedding for the following winter so that they could go back to the same hotel, meet Jean-Claude again, and she could wear her scarlet skiing outfit. And each night they sat together, looking over the river.
It was three months later, and the end of the day's work. Jane had come home early. She heard David come in, and hid a letter under the cushion. ‘Tea's here,’ she called. ‘Come and sit with me.’
He sat with her, kissed her, and reached for his tea.
She hoped this would go well. ‘I'm remembering,’ she said. ‘On the plane, when you told me how you hadn't won the skiing holiday at all. I said you'd gone behind my back. And one day I'd do the same to you.’
‘You're very welcome to,’ he said amiably. ‘Anything you want to do, I want to do, too.’
‘Well, I have done. Sort of. You know I told you I was engaged for a while? You don't mind I lived with another man?’
‘I’ve lived with women,’ he pointed out. ‘I'm not going to object. I just think this John … Gilmore was a fool to give someone like you up.’
‘There was a big future for him in Boston. He's working with a top man there.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I wrote to him, David.’
That did surprise him. But he wasn't upset. ‘I'm sure you had a good reason,’ he said calmly. ‘D'you want him to come to our wedding?’
‘No. Or perhaps yes. But mostly I think I want you to go to see him. I copied your case notes, David, and sent them out to him. His boss is doing wonderful work on restoring nerves — he's the man who sews hands back on. They've looked at your case notes. They think there's a chance they could restore the full feeling and articulation in your hand, David. You could still be a surgeon.’
The silence stretched on immeasurably. ‘You … did … that for me?’
‘I thought it would it make you happier. Yes, I did it for you.’
He kissed her, then grinned. ‘We'll invite them both to our wedding,’ he said.
THE END
Other Titles by Gill Sanderson
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Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2014
ISBN: 9781783751815
Copyright © Gill Sanderson 2014
The right of Gill Sanderson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon,, CF45 4SN
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