by Sarah Morgan
Feeling a twinge of guilt that she was going to be leaving Marco to deal with still more gossip, Amy showed Rob out of the consulting room and then returned to her desk and sank onto her chair with her head in her hands, the lump building in her throat as memories swirled around her exhausted mind.
‘So—judging from the expression on your face, delivering patient care in Penhally isn’t any easier than it was in Africa.’ Marco’s smooth, accented tones cut through her misery and she jumped and let her hands fall into her lap.
Even though she’d been longing to have the conversation with him, now the moment had arrived she wasn’t entirely sure she could cope with it.
CHAPTER THREE
‘MARCO. I—I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Presumably because you were miles away.’ He pushed the door shut with the flat of his hand and strolled into the room, his cool control in direct contrast to her own nervous agitation. ‘You look pale. What’s the matter?’
That was twice in five minutes she’d been told that she looked pale. Making a mental note to dig out a pot of blusher and use it, Amy gave a humourless laugh. ‘I would have thought it was obvious.’
‘Not to me. Any woman who finds it that easy to walk away from a marriage can’t possibly be daunted by the prospect of spending a few hours wandering down memory lane.’
He had no idea.
And that was her fault, of course, because she hadn’t wanted him to know the truth. She’d wanted to spare him a difficult decision. Wanted to spare them both the slow, inevitable destruction of their marriage. So she’d made the decision for both of them and gone for a quick, sudden end. She’d thought it would make it less painful in the long term.
Now she wasn’t so sure. Could the pain have been worse?
‘It wasn’t easy for me, Marco.’ She didn’t want him thinking that and she looked at him, almost hating him for his insensitivity but at the same time relieved, because she knew that his anger made him blind. Anger would prevent him from delving deeper into her reasons for leaving. And she didn’t want him delving. ‘I did what was right for both of us.’
‘No, you did what was right for you. I wasn’t involved in the decision.’ He prowled across the consulting room to the desk where she was seated. ‘One minute we were planning a future, the next you decided that you were going to spend the future on your own. There was no discussion. You gave me no choice.’
In a way, that was true, and yet she knew that the decision she’d made had been the right one.
‘Do you want to talk about this now?’ Strangely enough, even though she was the one who’d pushed, she just didn’t feel prepared to say what had to be said. In Africa she’d thought she’d resigned herself to the reality of her life, but one look at Marco had unravelled her resolve.
‘That was the reason you came, wasn’t it?’
Feeling vulnerable next to his superior height, she rose to her feet and their eyes locked. ‘All right, let’s have this discussion and then we can both get on with our lives. I ended our marriage, yes, that’s true.’
‘You left without talking it through with me.’
‘I did talk to you!’
‘When?’
‘I told you I was unhappy. We should never have moved back to Penhally. It was a mistake.’ She sank back into her chair because her legs just wouldn’t hold her any longer. ‘I didn’t feel the way I thought I was going to feel.’
‘You under went a complete personality transformation!’ Anger shimmered in his eyes. ‘One moment you were lying in my bed, planning our future, and the next thing you were packing your bag so quickly you almost bruised yourself running through the front door. It didn’t make sense.’
It would have made perfect sense if he’d known what she’d discovered.
‘I didn’t have a personality transformation,’ she said stiffly. ‘I just changed my mind about what I wanted. People do it every day of their lives and it’s sad, but it’s just one of those things. The reason you’re angry is because you felt that you weren’t part of the decision and you always have to be in control.’
‘Control?’ He lifted an eyebrow in cool appraisal. ‘You saw our relationship as a power struggle, amore?’
Unsettled by the look in his eyes and the sheer impact of his physical presence, she left her chair and walked to the window, keeping her back to him. ‘It’s time to be honest about this. We made a mistake, Marco. We never should have married. I mean, it was all far, far too quick! Three months! Three months is nothing!’ She fixed her gaze on a point in the distance and recited the words she’d rehearsed so many times. ‘How can anyone know each other in three months? Yes, there was chemistry, I’m not denying that. But chemistry alone isn’t enough to bind a couple together for a lifetime.’
There was an ominous silence and when he finally spoke his voice was clipped. ‘You’re describing hormonal teenagers. We were both adults and we knew what we wanted.’
‘Adult or not, the chemistry was still there. The relationship was fine, but marriage—that was a stupid impulse.’ A fleeting dream that had been cruelly snatched away. She could feel his gaze burning a hole between her shoulder blades and this time it took him almost a full minute to reply.
‘At least have the courtesy to look at me when you reduce our relationship to nothing but a sordid affair.’ There was a dangerous note in his voice and she took a deep breath and turned slowly, struggling to display the calm and neutrality that she knew she needed in order to be convincing.
‘Not sordid, Marco,’ she said quietly, hoping that her voice was going to hold out. ‘It was amazing, we both know that. But it was never going to last. We shouldn’t have tried to hold onto it or make it into something that it wasn’t. We wanted different things.’
He watched her for a moment, his eyes intent on her face as if her mind were a book and he were leafing through every single page, searching for clues. ‘Until we returned to Penhally, I wasn’t aware that we wanted different things. We’d made plans for the future. I was going to work with Nick in the practice and you were going to stay at home and have our babies until you decided to return to work. It was the reason we chose the house.’
She inhaled sharply, unable to stifle the reaction. She couldn’t even bear to think about the house. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t keep my end of the bargain. I’m sorry I decided that I wanted a career instead of a family.’
He looked at her as if she were a complete stranger and then he muttered something in Italian that she didn’t understand and Amy looked at him helplessly.
‘If this conversation is going to have any hope of working then you at least have to speak English so that I can understand you.’
‘You are speaking English and I don’t understand you at all! The complexities of this situation appear to transcend the language barrier.’ He raked long bronzed fingers through his glossy dark hair. ‘You talk about wanting a career, and yet when we first met you talked about nothing but family and children. You were soft, gentle, giving. Then we moved to Penhally and suddenly, whoosh…’ He waved a hand expressively. ‘You under went this transformation. Soft, affectionate Amy became hard, distant Amy. And distant Amy suddenly became career Amy. It was as if the woman I was with suddenly reinvented herself. What happened? What happened to change everything?’
She stared at him blankly, teetering on the edge of confession. It would have been so easy. So easy to tell him exactly what had happened.
But that would have made things so much more complicated and they were already more complicated than she could comfortably handle.
The truth created a bad taste in her mouth and for a moment she just stood there, trapped by the secrets and lies that she’d used to protect him. ‘I suppose it was several things.’ With an effort, she kept her tone careless. ‘Penhally isn’t exactly the centre of the universe. There wasn’t enough to keep me occupied. I was bored. I missed medicine. I missed the patients.’ It was true, she consoled herself, she had
missed the patients.
‘If that was the case, you should have said so and we could have found you work, if not in Penhally then at another surgery.’ Marco turned and paced across the surgery, as if he found the confined space intolerable.
‘It’s all history now,’ Amy murmured. ‘Going over it again is going to achieve nothing. It’s time to move on, Marco. Let’s just have the discussion that we need to have and then I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Peace?’ He turned, his eyes glinting dangerously, his lean, handsome face taut. ‘Is that what you think leaving will give me when you walk out again? Peace? I haven’t known a moment’s peace since you left.’
He hadn’t?
Her heart gave a little lift and then crashed down again as she realised that his feelings made absolutely no difference to what she had to do. And anyway his feelings had more to do with injured pride and in convenience than anything deeper. Marco Avanti was a man who knew what he wanted out of life and she’d temporarily derailed his plans—that was all.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, telling the truth for the first time since she’d walked into Penhally. ‘Truly I’m sorry for any hurt I’ve caused.’
He watched her, his eyes sharp on her face. ‘But you’re still asking me for a divorce?’
For the space of a heartbeat she paused. ‘Yes,’ she croaked. ‘I am. It’s the only course of action.’
‘Not the only course.’ He strolled towards her and then stopped. ‘I never thought of you as a quitter, Amy, and yet you haven’t once mentioned trying again. Instead of abandoning our marriage, you could try and fix it.’
She froze as he dangled temptation in front of her and her heart stumbled in her chest. Like an addict she gazed at him and then she remembered how far she’d come, how much she’d already suffered to get to this point, and shook her head. ‘It isn’t fixable.’
‘You don’t know that because you haven’t tried. And this time we’d be trying together. Talk to me, Amy, and we can fix it.’
‘You can’t fix something when the two halves don’t match. We want different things. You want a family, Marco. You made that clear on many occasions. Women have been chasing you for years, but you never settled down with any of them because you weren’t ready to have children. But then suddenly that changed.’
‘It changed when I met you. The first thing I thought when I laid eyes on you was that you were the sexiest woman I’d ever seen.’ His voice was a soft, seductive purr. ‘You were wearing that little navy suit with a pair of high heels and your legs came close to being the eighth wonder of the world. You were serious and studious and didn’t stop asking me questions.’
She felt the colour rush into her cheeks. ‘You just happened to be lecturing on an aspect of paediatrics that interested me.’
‘Then, when I stopped looking at your legs and your beautiful brown eyes, I realised how intelligent you were and how warm and kind. I knew absolutely that you were the woman I wanted to be the mother of my children. I knew it in a moment.’
The mother of his children.
There was a long, tortured silence. Knowing that some response was required, Amy tried to speak but her voice just refused to work. Instead, she stooped, picked up her bag and yanked her coat from the back of the chair. Only once she’d slipped her arms into the sleeves and belted the waist did she find her voice.
‘I’m sorry I ruined your plans, but I can’t be the mother of your children, so it’s time you started searching for another candidate. And now I have to go.’ Before she collapsed in front of him.
‘I thought you wanted to talk to me?’
‘It’s not— I can’t…’ Needing fresh air and space, she stumbled over the words. ‘You’re just too busy. I shouldn’t have come, I see that now. I’ll leave you to see your patients and I’ll write to you again and perhaps this time you’ll reply. It’s the best thing for both of us.’ She moved towards the door but he caught her arm, his strong fingers biting through the wool of her coat as he pulled her inexorably towards him.
‘You came all this way to talk.’ He held her firmly. ‘And we haven’t finished. Last time you just walked out and you wouldn’t listen to me. You’re not doing that again, Amy.’
Why had she ever thought that seeing him face to face was a good idea?
‘You still have patients waiting.’
‘I’ll see my patients. Then I’ll buy you lunch at the Smugglers’ Inn. We can talk then.’
He couldn’t have picked a place more public. ‘You want to be the subject of gossip?’
‘Gossip doesn’t worry me and never will. Kate will make you a cup of coffee and find you somewhere to sit. Then I’ll give you a lift.’
She gave a faint smile. ‘The Maserati has learned to cope with snow?’
‘She is moody and unpredictable, that’s true, but it is just a question of handling her correctly.’ His eyes held hers and she wondered briefly whether he was talking about the car or her.
‘You don’t need to give me a lift. I’ll wander around the village for an hour or so and then meet you up there. The walk up the coast road will do me good. But I’m going back to London tonight.’
His eyes narrowed slightly and his expression was unreadable. ‘So that means that you have plenty of time for lunch. Twelve-thirty. Be there or this time I’ll come looking for you.’
The Smugglers’ Inn was perched near the edge of the cliff on the coast road, a short drive out of Penhally.
The Maserati gave a throaty growl as Marco turned into the car park. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment, breathing in the scent of leather. Usually the car calmed him but today he felt nothing, his body too tense after his encounter with Amy.
With a soft curse he locked the car and walked towards the pub, distracted for a moment by the wild crash of the waves on the rocks below. The temperature had dropped and Marco stood for a moment, trying to formulate a plan, but his normally sharp brain refused to co-operate and he suddenly realised that he had no idea what he was going to do or say.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. Of all the women who’d wanted to settle down with him over the years, he’d finally picked one who was wedded to her career and wasn’t interested in having children.
He frowned. Except that she had been interested in having children. More than interested. At the time, he’d assumed that her longing for a family stemmed from the disappointing relationship that she’d apparently had with her own mother. Perhaps he’d been wrong about that. Perhaps he’d been wrong about all of it.
It was true that people changed their minds, but still…
He should give her a divorce, he told himself grimly, because that was clearly what she wanted and, anyway, she’d been gone for two years. What was there to salvage?
Anger exploded inside him once again and he took a deep breath of cold, calming air before turning towards the pub. With only a slight hesitation he pushed open the heavy door and walked inside.
Warmth, laughter and the steady buzz of conversation wrapped itself around him and drew him in. Immediately his eyes scanned the bar, searching for Amy.
Would she be there or had she run? Was she now shivering on the station platform, waiting for the train that would take her away from him?
How badly did she want the divorce?
And then he saw her, a slight figure, huddled on her own by the blazing fire, still wearing her coat and scarf as if all the heat in the world wouldn’t warm her. She looked out of place and vulnerable. Her dark hair had been smoothed behind one ear and Marco felt something stir inside him as he remembered all the times he’d kissed her slender neck, the tempting hollow of her throat…
He dragged his eyes from her neckline, frustrated by the unexpectedly powerful surge of lust that gripped him.
So, people were wrong about some things, he thought bitterly. Time didn’t always heal. In his case, time hadn’t healed at all. Despite everything, Amy still affected him more than any w
oman he’d ever met.
His jaw clenched and he stood for a moment, feeling the now familiar tension knot inside him. Why? Was it because she was the only woman who had walked away from him? Was this all about his ego?
Was he really that shallow?
And then the lust was replaced by anger and he didn’t even try and subdue it because over the past two years he’d learned that anger was the easiest emotion to deal with. Anger was so much better than pain and disillusionment.
Back in control, he strolled across the room and nodded to the man behind the bar. ‘Tony. Give me something long and cold that isn’t going to dull my senses.’
The landlord’s gaze flickered towards Amy, who was still staring blankly into the fire. ‘Looks to me as though you might need something stronger.’
‘Don’t tempt me. I’ve always found that my diagnostic abilities are better when I’m sober, and I’m on call. Has she ordered?’ No point in pretending that his ex-wife hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere with no warning. The locals had eyes and he had no doubt that they’d be using them.
Tony reached for a glass and snapped the cap off a couple of bottles. ‘Arrived ten minutes ago. Paid for a grape fruit juice, made polite conversation for about three seconds and then slunk into the corner like a wounded animal. Hasn’t touched her drink. If you want my opinion, she’s not a happy woman. You might want to use your famous doctoring skills to find out what’s bothering her.’
Marco’s long fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the bar. He knew exactly what was bothering her. She wanted a quick and easy divorce and he wasn’t playing ball.
The landlord poured the contents of the bottles into the glass. ‘Here you go. One doctor-on-duty fruit cocktail. Full of vitamins, totally devoid of alcohol. No charge. If you want to eat, let me know. Cornish pasties came out of the oven five minutes ago and the fish and chips are good, but I’m guessing you don’t want to feast on cholesterol in front of your patients.’
