With a heavy heart, she climbed into bed. But sleep wouldn't come. Somewhere in the distance she heard a rumble of thunder and the approaching storm brought back bittersweet memories of another place. A place where she had learned what it was to love and be loved. A love so all consuming and glorious that she doubted she would ever find it again.
Walker! Did she think of him? Yes, often. Did she dream of him? All the time. Did she miss him? Yes, dreadfully. Did her body ache for his touch? Yes, every minute of every day and every night. Did she love him? Yes, with all her heart. If only he'd trusted her enough to believe in her.
The storm raged and then passed on before she finally fell into a restless sleep, but the confusion in her mind remained.
The following morning Skye went to the office as usual. Despite the lack of sleep, she was no nearer to coming to a decision than she had been the night before and dreaded John asking her again. But to her surprise, when he put his head round her door to say ‘good morning,’ he was his usual cheerful self and never mentioned his proposal.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Seattle, the same time.
"How long before I can go back to work, doctor?" Walker asked as the medic shone a light into his eyes.
"After a serious head injury we suggest patients take it easy. How are the headaches?"
"No way near as bad as they were. I get a couple of humdingers once or twice a month but the medication you gave me usually takes care of them."
The doctor consulted his notes. "You're a very lucky man, Mr. Walker. Not many people go through what you did and survive. I understand you have your own business which necessitates a great deal of travel and that you fly your own plane."
"That's correct."
"As to whether you meet the criteria for your pilots' license, that's something you’ll have to take up with the Board of Aviation. You're making an excellent recovery. How about I see you again in a month and we’ll make a final decision then?"
Walker couldn't hide his disappointment. "I guess you know best. Can I go home to Friday Harbor? I could do with a change of scene."
"I don't see why not. But take it easy, you still need to build your stamina."
Walker slipped off the examination couch and dressed quickly. He took his cane off the back of the chair, and let himself out of the small cubicle. He collected his prescription for painkillers and went out to the waiting car.
"How'd you get on?" McCabe asked.
"The good news is that I can drive again. I can also return to the lodge, so long as I take the ferry. But the doc says I can't return to work for another month, and I can't fly."
"That's great news! You'll be back at work before you know it." McCabe glanced at his friend. Walker’s tight-lipped expression that said it was anything but. "I know you're feeling down, but be thankful you're still here to have this conversation. I can't tell you how much hair I lost worrying about you lying in that hospital bed." McCabe rubbed his bald head to emphasize his point.
Walker laughed. "Give me a break, you dick— you've been bald for years."
"Yeah, I know. But it made you smile, which is better than looking at you when you're scowling. That's enough to make a whale turn tail and head south."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yep, and your temper… Jeez, most of us have been on the receiving end of that over the last few months."
"I'm a miserable patient; you're supposed to humor me."
"You can say that again. But we're all happy to have you in the land of the living, so we let it go when you started jumping all over everyone."
"I guess I owe people a few apologies, including you." And Skye, if I can find her and she'll listen to me, Walker added silently.
"Nah, we forgave you a long time ago. When are you planning on heading over to Friday Harbor?"
"As soon as I've packed my bag. I'm aiming to catch the next available ferry. No offence but I'm tired of this town, and the endless round of doctors' appointments. Do you know I've seen more doctors in the last five months than I have in thirty-seven years? I know how a lab-rat feels. I want some peace and quiet, and a chance to get some gentle exercise without being jostled by pedestrians every time I walk out the door."
"Sure you don't need some company?" McCabe pulled out to overtake a taxi. "What I'm trying to say is you're not fully recovered yet. Is it wise for you to be at the lodge on your own?"
"If you're referring to the seizures, I haven't had one in three months and it's likely I won't have another. But I know the signs, so quit worrying."
"You know where I am if there's anything you want to talk about."
"Such as?"
McCabe hesitated; he knew he was about to tread on dangerous ground. "There's the court case for one thing. It's been on hold until now and all the evidence needs to be prepared in readiness for the hearing. Then there's that lady computer geek—the one who gave you so much grief at the cabin. I just wondered if you'd been in touch with her."
Walker almost growled at the mention of Skye's name. "Are you asking from a professional or personal point of view?"
"Either. I kinda got the impression you two had got things together."
"That's none of your damned business," Walker replied and stared out of the window at the passing stores, a brooding expression settling on his features.
McCabe said nothing and concentrated on his driving. The silence between them grew tight with tension.
"I'm sorry I bit your head off," Walker said finally. "It's been a long day, with all the tests and, yeah, I'm a little disappointed that they won't let me go back to work."
"Apology accepted. I should have known better. Has the District Attorney’s office been in touch with you yet?"
"I gave my initial deposition yesterday and handed over all my files. He's going to contact me when the case comes to trial. I don't see any need for Dr. Dunbar to appear as a witness unless there's something I haven't been told."
"As far as I'm aware, you're up to speed on the case." The only thing you don't know is that you called out her name every night when you were in a coma, McCabe added silently. He turned into a vacant parking space outside of one Seattle's more exclusive apartment buildings.
Walker eased his bad leg out of the car, and stood with the aid of his cane. Closing the door he turned, rested a hand on the roof of the vehicle and leaned in through the open window.
"Thanks for driving me today."
"No problem. You take care out at the lodge. I don't want to hear of you falling over any tree roots. You've only got two legs so don't go damaging the other one. And remember, your friends are here if you need them for anything, day or night."
"Yeah, I know. And, McCabe—"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for saving my life." Walker turned, and walked towards his building, his movements stiff and awkward.
Six days later, hot, sweating and more than a little breathless from the exertion, Walker came out of the woods and limped along the beach towards the cabin. On reaching the dock, he stopped and leaned heavily on the handrail long enough for his breathing to return to normal and for him to rub the ache in his right thigh muscle. It was barely a mile from the lodge to the cabin, yet he felt as if he had climbed Mt. Rainer. Until that moment he hadn't appreciated just how unfit he'd become in the months following his ordeal.
Without warning, memories of Skye came tumbling back, for it was here, that he'd first seen her—a slim figure in a bright red oversized sweater. It was one of those early spring days, when the air was cool, and the sun strong, the first hint that winter was finally over. He remembered how the sun had glinted on her hair, highlighting the red and gold strands. He was so surprised to see her, that he'd bitten her head off, but she had stood up to him, her auburn hair swinging about her proud shoulders, anger flashing in her eyes.
Walker rubbed the pulsing knot in his temple in a futile attempt to stave off the threatening headache.
"Damn it Skye, why did you walk out o
n me?" Overwhelmed by feelings of nostalgia, he let out a long exhausted sigh, and shook his head to wipe out the memory. His mind refused to co-operate. He limped up the beach towards the cabin, his right leg muscles screaming from the stain of walking over the uneven ground.
He knew from the realtor that the cabin was empty. He inserted the key into the double lock, and pushed the door open. Inside felt cold, damp and empty, just like him. He crossed to the window, and drew back the drapes, allowing the sunlight in.
The room was just as it had been on the night he, Skye, and Ridge had left for Seattle. A layer of dust covered every surface. Under a lamp, on the table next to the sofa, he found Skye’s book, the corner of a page turned down to mark her place. By the music centre a selection of her CDs was piled haphazardly. In the kitchen sink, a cup waited to be washed, a faint hint of lipstick on the rim.
In the bedroom they'd briefly shared, Walker felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Here, for three brief days, he had loved her, but hadn't told her so. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe. He took the jade dress off the hanger, and buried his face in its soft folds.
Her clothes. That was why he was here. In her eagerness to get away from him she had left them behind, instructing the realtor to pack and ship them back to London. But following the investigation, not knowing whether he would survive or not, the lodge and the cabin had been locked up. Unable to gain access, the realtor had inundated Walker's answering machine with demands to forward ‘Dr. Dunbar's belongings to London’ as soon as possible.’ Now back on the island for the first time in months, he had little option but to comply with the request.
Walker slumped down on the bed; his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, a man on the edge of despair. He felt ashamed at the way he had treated her during those last few days. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it, choking back his groans of anguish.
During his recovery, his misery was such that for weeks he wished he had died that night. But he hadn't and somehow he had come to terms with the fact that no matter how much he loved Skye, he'd lost her. The knowledge that she hadn't contacted him, twisted inside like a knife. If she had known what it had cost him to bring the perpetrators to justice, would it have made any difference to her? Would she have jumped on the next plane and sat by his bedside until he came out of the coma?
Throughout the long days lying in the hospital bed, wondering if he would regain the use of his right leg again, he’d thought of her. And when the pain of the headaches was unrelenting he called out her name.
But she never came.
As he sat wallowing in his wretchedness, a plan slowly began to form in his mind. He stood without the aid of his cane, and hobbled crossed the room. In the corner under the dresser was her suitcase. He pulled it out, and placed it on the bed. Carefully, he removed her clothes from the hangers, folded them, and placed them inside with her other belongings.
In the following days and weeks Walker pushed himself hard, harder than he'd ever done before. He walked, worked out and swam, and did everything he could to improve his fitness until finally the day dawned when he threw away the damned cane.
Exactly five weeks later he sat in the doctor's office and waited for the verdict.
"You're fit enough to return to work. It's on the understanding that you seek medical advice if you develop any headaches that last more than twenty-four hours, or if you start having seizures again. You've a metal plate in your head and I don't want you taking any risks. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly."
Walker walked out of the surgery and stabbed the air with his fist, basking in the knowledge that he could finally put his plan into action.
Chapter Thirty
Exactly seven months after his accident, Walker stepped off the plane into the early morning sunshine of a London autumn. The air was chilly, but no colder than it had been when he had left Seattle the evening before. A frustrating delay with immigration and then he was walking though the terminal towards his rental car. He eased the sleek Jaguar out of the parking lot, filtered into the rush hour traffic, and headed towards London.
He checked into his hotel. The bellhop opened the door of the suite and handed Walker the key. Tipping him Walker carried his case over to the bed, took out his shaving gear, and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, feeling refreshed, he sat down on the bed and ordered breakfast—none of that continental rubbish that the airlines were so fond of serving. While he waited for room service he took the newspaper cutting from his wallet and read it again, even though he knew the words by heart.
‘A new charitable foundation is to be launched tomorrow evening with a gala dinner and ball. Set up by Dr. Skye Dunbar, it aims to help young people, who due to unforeseen circumstances are unable to complete their university degree course.’
Although he'd dozed on the plane, jet lag hit him hard. His neck and shoulder muscles were tense and he could feel the beginning of a headache throbbing at his temple. Walker stifled a yawn, as he skimmed the pages of the phone directory until he found listing for Dunbar and Ridge Computer Consultants. He picked up the phone and punched in the number. An unfamiliar female voice answered. A few seconds later, he put the phone down and looked at the address he had scribbled on the note pad. A phone call to the front desk, secured him a street map and directions. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so tired.
Two hours later, he entered the offices of Dunbar and Ridge. He smiled at the young woman on the reception desk.
"I'm here to see Dr. Skye Dunbar."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I don't. But it is rather important that I see her."
"I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Dunbar has left for the day. She's not back in the office until Tuesday."
"I've come a long way. Perhaps you could call her on her cell phone and ask if she would agree to see me?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that. However, I can ask Dr. Ridge if he would see you. Or I can make you an appointment to see Dr. Dunbar for next week."
"I haven't come to see Dr. Ridge. And I don't want to wait until next week. Could you give me her home address?"
"We don't give out personal information."
"Look, you don't understand—"
"Is there a problem, Maureen?" A male voiced shouted through an open office door.
"It's this gentleman, Dr. Ridge. He wants to see Dr. Dunbar, but she's left for the day."
John put down the paper he was reading and walked to the door of his office, almost yanking it off its hinges.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I'd have thought that was obvious, even to you. I've come to see Skye. As she's not here, I'd like her address."
"Would you, now? You'd better come into my office. Maureen? You can go for the day and lock up on your way out."
John took a seat behind his desk and eyed Walker suspiciously. "I've one question," he said, getting straight to the point. "Why? Why now after all this time have you come to see her?"
"That's none of your business."
"You're wrong, it is my business. You're a bit late if you came to find out if she's pregnant."
Pregnant? God! In seven months Walker hadn't even considered the possibility. "And is she?"
"No, she's not."
"It's not an issue then, is it? Besides, my reasons for seeing Skye are none of your concern. If you'll give me her address, I won't trouble you any further."
"Do you think I'm that stupid? I think you've got a bloody nerve coming here. After what you did to her, I should have you arrested."
Walker grabbed Ridge's hand as it reached for the phone. "That's a real dumb idea. Skye might get a little upset if she has to bail you out for false arrest. I'm not interested in what you think of me. I came for Skye. Are you going to behave like the gentleman you're obviously not, and give me her address?"
"There's something you should know."
Walker's head jerked up.
"You're not the first American to break her h
eart."
"Really?"
"There was someone else before you. He was a sailor in the navy and a bastard like you."
Walker let that one pass, and hung on to his temper with grim determination.
"He said he loved her, but in the end treated her like dirt. Even blackmailed her and gave her a few bruises. I see from your expression that has a familiar ring."
Three Weeks Last Spring Page 27
