Midwife in the Family Way

by Fiona McArthur

  ‘Are you cold?’

  He was genuinely attentive. She didn’t know how to deal with the unfamiliarity of his concern. ‘A little,’ she prevaricated, more to hide her embarrassment, and instantly he slipped his jacket off and the warmth of man-heated silk caressed her shoulders.

  Like an unexpected gift the subtle wash of his after-shave mixed with the scent of male bombarded already overloaded senses and her heel slipped on the cobbles under her feet as she actually felt faint for a second.

  His arm came around her. ‘Are you well?’ He frowned down at her. ‘It has been an emotional day. Perhaps I should take you home.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Really.’ She straightened out of his embrace and stepped back. ‘I just slipped in my heels.’ Her heart was thumping in her chest like a drum and she took a long cool breath of the night air into her lungs and stood tall. Or as tall as she could with her height. Despite the pinching in her toes she definitely needed high heels with this guy. ‘I’m fine,’ she said again. ‘Just a silly slip. Let’s go in.’

  His brows remained creased, but he nodded reluctantly. ‘As you wish.’ He glanced over her attire again with a tiny glint in his eyes. ‘It would be a shame not to share your beautiful preparations with the world.’

  Yes, she thought dryly. She could hardly wait for the gossip. It would fly.

  The restaurant was dimly lit with red lamps in brackets on the wall and candles on the tables. Maybe no one would see her. They were led to a white linen-covered table that faced out over the lake, a shiny-green-leafed ficus provided privacy from the next couple and the room buzzed with the hum of quiet conversations.

  ‘And a good table, as well,’ Emma said with a glance around, and strangely, for a town she’d grown up in, there wasn’t a familiar face to be seen. But other tables seemed as private or strategically placed as theirs so maybe there were. Either way, the town would hear tomorrow that Emma had been out with a man! And a stranger.

  She handed him back his jacket and Gianni lifted one imperious eyebrow as he waited for her to be seated but didn’t comment. She didn’t need it when she’d only been covering her nervousness anyway.

  She sat and he did too and suddenly her brain froze as she had a brief moment of panic about what conversation she could make with this Italian she barely knew in such an intimate setting. How would they fill the time between courses?

  It wasn’t like she did this every night. Or spoke to strange men. The only men she conversed with were her family and friends and husbands and partners of women she cared for in labour. Then again, Gianni looked to be socially practised enough for both of them. She hoped.

  His pale grey suit shone discreetly and she guessed some designer’s label would be sewn inside on silk, and his shirt and tie, though understated, shrieked unlimited funds.

  The maître d’ draped the starched napkin across her lap and reverently handed her the menu. The choices had no prices, not to trouble her pretty head over cost, she guessed, and she smiled. Well, well, Lyrebird Lake. You multi-layered lady. Her country town had city chic. She’d had no idea. Another first, and she was going to enjoy the experience. If it killed her.

  Her escort bent his head to discuss wine with the waiter and her eyes were drawn to the harsh lines of Gianni’s face. Such a strong and arrogant jaw, angular cheek bones and a Roman nose that proclaimed lineage and power. He could almost be classified as too grand to relax with yet she didn’t feel intimidated by him. Especially now she’d decided this was going to be fun.

  She wondered why she still felt secure. He was certainly imposing, and so different from any man she knew, but something in his eyes, and perhaps that obscure vulnerability only she seemed to see in the chiselled fullness of his mouth, drew her like a moth to a flame and dared her to touch the light. Thrilled her with danger that crackled along her nerves and dusted the smile on her lips that she couldn’t seem to lose.

  He took his eyes from the waiter as if he felt her appraisal. His eyebrows lifted and she was trapped. Trapped by his interest, his fascination for her. Trapped by heat. Trapped by the feeling she had to take this moment or regret it for ever. Her brain suggested she look away but there was no way she actually could and her smile dimmed.

  The hum from the other diners faded and slowly warmth infused into her skin.

  ‘Champagne?’ There was a low caressing nuance in his voice that raised the gooseflesh in a response she couldn’t hide.

  Emma swallowed, had to to make her voice work. ‘Thank you.’ What havoc would alcohol wreak on her already shaky control? she mocked herself. Then again, maybe she’d be less agitated.

  He indicated with his eyes to the menu, frozen in her hands.

  ‘Have you chosen?’

  Food. She’d forgotten food. She flicked a glance at the blur of words on the page. ‘It all looks wonderful.’

  He smiled. ‘Perhaps the seafood platter? For two?’

  His knee grazed hers under the table and her heart skidded like a stone across the water outside. It was ridiculous, the impact of a slide of material on material, but there was no doubt she was as receptive to him as a ripple on the lake.

  ‘Fine,’ she managed, and recited Fun over and over to herself in her mind as she took a sip of mineral water the waiter had poured. The liquid was cold and delicious and much better for her state of mind than the flute of sparkling wine that arrived magically, complete with moisture-blushed strawberries on a tiny silver salver.

  He removed his attention for a moment while he discussed the menu with the waiter and her shoulders sagged a little in relief. When had it stopped being fun and become a battle to prevent her body from leaning to wards him so she could sit and stare at him like a gawky teen? She focussed on the reflection of the candlelight on her cutlery.

  Cool down. He’s just a guy. And you’re a professional woman with an eight-year-old daughter.

  ‘So tell me.’ His voice made her jump and her gaze flew to his. ‘Do you ever leave this town?’

  ‘Every week.’ She looked away from him, actually thankful he’d picked a topic that grounded her like no other. ‘I visit my mother in Brisbane.’ And attend the monthly Huntington’s disease meetings and any speaking engagements they’d booked for her to help the cause raise money for research. But she didn’t want to go into her personal nightmare.

  ‘So your Grace is used to car travel?’

  Where was this leading? ‘Grace? Sometimes. Tomorrow she will. She stays with her paternal grandmother every second weekend. They’re very close.’

  He frowned and she guessed it was confusing. ‘And are you close to your daughter’s father?’

  What had Tommy got to do with it? He was quite happy playing in a band in Holland. ‘I’d prefer not to talk about my daughter or her father.’

  He didn’t answer and she watched his impassive face for a clue. When he spoke it was on a different subject, which was good. He wasn’t slow at picking up taboos. ‘It has been an interesting visit to your town. The funeral less tragic than I expected. It is a shame I did not plan to stay longer.’

  Emma was thinking it was lucky. ‘So tell me more about your work,’ Emma said.

  ‘I’d prefer not to talk about my work,’ he said, and smiled at his mimicry of her. ‘But I will tell you that I have been given leave after my last assignment.’ He raised his eyebrows at taboo subjects. ‘Perhaps it is different for you. Do you wish to talk about your job?’

  ‘I’m always happy to talk about midwifery.’ And she did, with flashing eyes, warm reminiscent smiles and anecdotes, the passion and the wonder she saw in a woman giving birth in her voice.

  Gianni watched her like a hawk. He’d thought it would be pleasant to bring this woman to dine with him.

  Pleasant hadn’t happened. Nothing so mediocre.

  Her company intrigued him, fascinated him and irritated him with all he didn’t understand, and the desire to reach across and bring her wrist to his mouth made his hands clench on the table clot
h.

  But this wasn’t the time or the place for slaking hungers that had suddenly caught up with him. He’d be well to eat quickly and return this woman to her home before it became dangerous for them both. Unfortunately, her enthusiasm had passed from discussing her work, which he regretted, because with the passion she displayed she became even more captivating.

  ‘What of you?’ she said. ‘Who’s at home for you?’

  Nobody. ‘I have not thought of home for a long time.’ He shrugged. ‘Haven’t for many years. But that may change when I see Leon and settle what is between us. My life will have more direction again perhaps.’

  ‘Nieces and nephews?’

  ‘I have one nephew. He must be eight. My late sister-in-law said I was pompous with children. I’ve met him once.’

  Well, that stopped the conversation. Or did it? She had the feeling he used shock to silence questions. There would be no more chances after tonight to discover what made this man different. What drew her to him? How did she find such a thing out? Questions? She had nothing to lose. ‘How long ago did your wife die, Gianni?’

  ‘Ten years.’ Bluntly.

  She’d been expecting a much more recent loss. There had to be other reasons as well that he hadn’t looked for a stable relationship. ‘And you’ve loved her that whole time.’

  He raised his eyebrows. The tiger’s glint was back and the impact of that flash purred along her arms and she had to stop her hands rubbing the flicker.

  ‘Do you really want to know that?’ His voice was deep and low and the awareness of the game she was playing grew with his words. Did she dare to go on?

  She did feel reckless. Emboldened by the fact that tonight she could risk learning things other women seemed to know about being a woman. Things she’d never had time for. Or the opportunity. He would leave tomorrow. She’d take him on. ‘I’d like to know why I can feel your pain as more recent. Especially if you’d only met your wife just prior to your wedding.’

  He inclined his head at her perception. ‘You do not hold back, Emma.’

  Not tonight. ‘Should I?’

  He shrugged. ‘You are different from the women I’ve known. They are my own demons. My wife may have died years ago, and it is true we barely knew each other in the month that we had, but it was enough.’

  Her voice softened and there was no chance of the question carrying to other tables. ‘How did she die, Gianni?’

  ‘Maria wished to see Africa. I thought it a good way to overcome the awkwardness of barely knowing each other.’ He grimaced with distaste. ‘Since I had been told she loved another on the morning of our wedding.’

  Nice well-wisher. Emma felt indignant on his and his poor wife’s behalf. ‘By…?’

  He smiled at her. Aware of her attempt to free him from the ghosts of his past. ‘I will humour you for so long…’ He left the end of the sentence dangling, like she had. Showing her it was his choice to continue but he would also stop when he decided. She had to be content with that. In truth, he’d offered more than she thought he would. She waited patiently.

  ‘My brother’s wife. Whom I suspect enjoyed her moment of triumph, but I must not speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘Why not?’ Emma raised her brows and he smiled again and then sobered.

  Gianni drew a breath and it was as if he could feel the heat and lush scents of the red earth in Africa all those years ago. He could feel the warm weight of Maria in his arms as he’d sunk to the ground. ‘You asked how she died?’ He looked at the woman opposite him but she was barely an outline as he remembered.

  ‘On the last day of a safari, a snake, a black mamba, fell from a tree and attacked many times as they both panicked. I had stopped to take a photo and Maria had gone on ahead with one guide.’ He remembered her whispers as she clutched at him. And the moment she’d rasped, ‘The child I carry isn’t yours.’ Just when he’d fallen in love.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ Emma’s voice was gentle and recalled him to the present. He could hear in her voice the things unsaid that others had repeated over the years. It wasn’t his fault. There was nothing he could do. But it had been his duty to protect her.

  Just as they’d said when he had survived and his parents had died. But it didn’t take away the guilt. These were his crosses to bear. And he made up for it as he could.

  ‘Other women just as precious die every day and so for me my wound can never heal.’

  Emma thought about that and risked a guess at what he meant. ‘Those you’ve lost in your work?’

  ‘There are many I cannot save. I do not expect to love again and accept my heart is dry and barren with each new loss.’

  His word choice had formalised and she realised that his honesty had affected him more than he showed. The answer to the price he paid seemed obvious to her. ‘Don’t you think you’ve given enough? Perhaps change your area of medicine?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m good at it. Will I sit at home and wonder who will save those in need, then?’

  One day the price would prove too high. Maybe that time was here. ‘Perhaps you should leave the next generation to save the world. Move on, like Angus did.’

  He smiled at her, like she was a child, and it annoyed her. Inflamed her actually that he could be so cavalier with the man inside him she wanted to help. ‘So easy,’ he said.

  Her anger dissipated. He was right. Who was she to imagine she understood his dilemma or his pain? But the depth of her need to help him came from a source she had no control over.

  Their meal arrived but the topic had sobered them both.

  She had no reason to believe she could help this man, didn’t know why she wanted to so badly, but when her hand lifted to lie over his she felt his tremor of awareness, felt his heat seep into her, and then his palm turned and she in turn was captured by him.

  He leaned forward and drew her fingers towards his mouth and kissed not her hand but the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. A salute that sent tiny erotic messages that fluttered her belly before she’d even tasted a mouthful.

  ‘Let us eat,’ he said quietly, ‘and the night will take care of itself.’

  Time and the food blurred, his eyes on her eyes, or on her mouth or on her fingertips, and instead of feeling awkward she felt caressed and savoured and sultry in ways she’d never imagined she could feel, and the conversation between them was more subliminal than spoken. Two people who should never have met, drawn by fate and tossed by emotions they recognised in each other.

  Time slowed. A sip of wine became an invitation for him to watch the curve of her throat, a bite of fish meant a thought of other nips not related to food as they created an aura of sensuality around them like a bubble only they were privy to.

  He ordered dessert, a blush-coloured gelato that matched her cheeks and cooled her mouth with a tang that cleaned her palate and made her lips tingle.

  ‘Would you mind if we had our coffee delivered to my chalet? The view over the lake will be worth the walk.’

  It wasn’t the view she was thinking of when he stood behind her chair and waited. When she rose, his hand rested possessively in the small of her back, barely there yet burning like a brand as he ushered her out of the restaurant to the raised wooden path that ran along the water. Never had she felt so cherished, so feminine, so receptive to another person. Or so at risk of making a mistake.

  Just this night, she whispered to herself, two people with tragedy, he in the past and she in the future. Why should she not go with this feeling that swept her into uncharted waters with a man she barely knew but felt she knew more than anyone? For something, a secret part of her pleaded, just for her, Emma. In case she never felt how she felt now ever again. And perhaps she would be able to erase the pain from him, for a while at least, and he from her.

  Beside the path they drifted hand in hand. Under a stand of ghostly gums a huge set of silver wind chimes reflected the moonlight and a sultry breeze brushed against them so they spoke to her. They were t
wo people colliding in a world like the pipes of the chimes, his thumb caressing her palm, promising a song that could soar as high as she wished.

  As they passed the chimes rattled, first in a whisper as they were puffed by a tendril of wind and then in a cathedral refrain as the increasing breeze stirred them to greater excitement—like the way her heart beat gathered speed and intensity within her chest as she walked the path with Gianni.

  They came to a chalet that stood a little distance away, larger than the others, right down on the edge so that the actual supports for the building stood over the water and the steps ran up the side and around the building like a decoration on a cake.

  His hand lifted from her back, still touching but with no pressure, to guide her up the stairs in case she suffered second thoughts. She missed the heat and the connection and arched back so that he leant on her again.

  ‘Just checking,’ he whispered into her neck as he followed her up the stairs, and the warmth of his breath blushed her skin with a need she could barely contain. Where had these feelings come from and how could something so dangerous dwell inside sensible her? She had no idea but she didn’t wish them away.

  ‘You promised coffee,’ she murmured, ‘and a moonlight view I’d be impressed with.’

  ‘I will offer you that and any more you wish, my little temptress, and the view I too am waiting to see.’

  She stepped onto the little deck and leant her hands on the rail to gaze out over the moonlit lake, with him directly behind her. His chest against her shoulders, hot and heavy, his hips pressed against her back and with an unmistakable bulge of hardness against her spine. His thighs against her buttocks.

  Solid masculine heat against her, and she pushed herself back into his body because she could not stop the urge to do so. They fused from shoulder to thigh and she’d never felt anything so glorious as they both stood under the starlit sky. In the distance she could still hear the chimes as the breeze rose and fell.