He stepped away and she frowned in confusion but then saw that the coffee had arrived. Gianni pulled out her chair and she sat, externally demure, as the cups were laid and the tall silver coffee pot set on the table with a small basket of chocolates.
‘Grazie,’ Gianni said.
‘Great spot for it,’ the waiter said, nodded at the water and left.
Great spot for what? Emma thought, and smiled to herself like the cat with the cream. She had no idea where her scruples had gone, departed without notice, and she didn’t want them back just yet. She slipped her shoes off, and they fell with tiny clunks to the floor, and when she put her bare foot down Gianni had placed his foot under hers so that her sole rested on his ankle.
Gianni could not take his eyes of this vision in the moonlight. The fine bones of her cheeks shadowed the flawless skin beneath and the tilt of her mouth curved up at him like the moon itself, promised such delights that made him want to take her face in his hands and worship her.
Then her bare toes touched his leg and the shaft of desire speared through him like an arrow straight to his heart.
‘Well, hello,’ he said. ‘It seems there is an intruder under the table.’ Her foot stilled and he leaned across and took her wrist again to draw it to his mouth. ‘Do not stop, for I have just discovered a fetish with feet I did not know I had.’ He smiled at her and slipped his shoe off and their feet writhed around each other in a heated duel that was ridiculously erotic.
‘I’m not a practised flirt,’ she said, and would have hung her head if he hadn’t slipped one finger under her chin to lift her face to the light.
‘I think you will manage. Practice is not something you need.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you have any idea how beautiful you look? How I am still unable to believe I have this moonlit angel in my lair?’
She shook her head and her silvered hair shimmered in the night. ‘Perhaps I’m no angel,’ she said, and he smiled.
‘I hope not.’
‘And this is just one night.’ There was resolution in her voice he couldn’t miss. ‘For mutual comfort in a cruel world.’ Did she need to clarify?
He understood. A night for a future they would not share. For the past she would like him to finally lay to rest. For all those he couldn’t save and never would. For something in her that needed comfort. He wanted to draw her down onto his chest and protest against fate. He wanted to tell her that this night was only a beginning but he could see she didn’t want to hear that.
He rose and drew her up into his arms. Carried her into the dimly lit chalet that waited for them where he offered her his heart to hide in.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN Emma woke in the morning, after many desultory and delicious awakenings in the night, she could see the pinking of the lake as the morning sun threatened to rise in the east and felt the glow in the heat of her ears.
How was she ever going to emotionally move on from last night? Her muscles ached. Then again, how was she going to physically move? She couldn’t help the tiny smile that curved her lips. That sinfully erotic tango they’d danced in the cabin had been the start but certainly not the end of her dance lessons.
Then reality crashed in. It was morning and today he left the country.
Her hand was captured in his and as she turned she found Gianni’s eyes on her. He lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed them one by one, and her eyes stung as she held back the tears of loss.
Why couldn’t he have been asleep? Made it easy. Or at least easier. She needed to get out of here before she threw herself on his chest and begged him not to go. Begged him to take her back to the place they’d discovered last night and this morning that excluded the world and all its tragedies, and left only them, fingers still entwined, joined against fate.
‘Good morning, my angel.’
She swallowed the prickles in her throat. ‘Good morning.’ She sat up and her hand fell from his as she clutched the sheet to her naked breast. Why hadn’t she slipped away in the night and avoided this awkwardness? Why didn’t he get up and leave her to slink away.
His black brows creased and he stroked her cheek with one finger. ‘I will not have you think the thoughts that chase across your beautiful face. What we have shared could never be wrong, or embarrassing, or regretted.’
Easy for him. She was a mother. ‘Maybe not on your side.’ But she was also a woman, a tiny voice inside cried out.
‘There is no shame in such a gift and I will not have you tarnish it with such thoughts.’ He tilted her chin. ‘Thank you, Emma. For sharing your soul with me in a night I will never forget.’
She could see he meant it and gradually the awkwardness fell away, to be replaced by a tiny flicker of pride at the awe in his face—awe that she’d put there. Maybe it had been what she’d intended. And if she could just get home before the world awoke, she could hug the night to herself and allow the memories the place they deserved and dream that she had touched him and maybe healed him a little.
‘Thank you, Gianni. You’re right.’ She leaned across and kissed him, once on the lips and then on the cheek. ‘I’ll shower and then I’d like to go before the sun comes up.’
‘Si.’
Gianni watched her rise and the gentle light stroked her pale thighs like his hand ached to do as she walked away. But distance was between them now, she’d put it there, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been so generous, too generous, and he didn’t know how he would be able to go on without having her in his arms, wrapping her close to his body until they were one because what he’d found there had touched the core of him… But he’d promised. No future, no past, no hope for anything more than the memories of a night he would never forget. The sooner he left this place the better.
Fifteen minutes later, as they slipped around the sleeping buildings to his car, the sweet carol of the chimes drifted towards them and they looked at each other and smiled. Yet as they passed the gumtree stand no hint of breeze stirred in the air and the metal tubes hung frozen in the early morning light. Emma’s forehead puckered.
Strange, she thought, until from a darker patch of greenery a rustle and a crackle in the undergrowth her-alded the arrival of a small brown bird, his lyre tail spread and stately as he poked his beak at them.
They stopped, arrested by the sight of nature so fearlessly regarding them, then enthralled as suddenly the male lyrebird shared his song again—the perfect mimic of the cathedral chimes—pure and true as if a magical wind danced the noise from the pipes that hung soundlessly from the branch above him.
Emma’s hand tightened in Gianni’s as they stood, and the pressure was returned as spellbound below the silent hanging chimes they waited for the song to finish. A tranquil peace stole over her and dissipated any remains of awkwardness that had hung between them. Their eyes met.
Emma felt gooseflesh cover her arms. ‘It’s a lyrebird,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve seen one sing only once before and that was on the day my Grace was born,’ Emma said. And suddenly she knew that what she and Gianni had shared could never be wrong. As if satisfied, the bird turned and disappeared into the bush. Quietly they walked on.
The lyrebird’s song kept Emma calm all through the morning as she prepared to travel to Brisbane to see her mother. She filled her time until Grace returned and desperately tried to block out the need to know if Gianni had left while she searched for tasks to divert herself.
Once, a sudden thought drove all hard-won peace from her mind, and asked pedantically if she was perfectly sure she wouldn’t suffer any other complications from the night.
Her hand stilled as she considered again the possibility she’d dismissed. No. They’d been careful. He’d been assiduous even, and she couldn’t be that fertile twice. The night was gone, her choice had been made, and now she needed to concentrate on the real world.
In the following weeks, in snippets, she learnt that Gianni had been in contact with Angus, and that Gianni and his brother had reconciled. At a netball
game she overheard that Gianni had again contacted Angus, and Emma tried not to listen.
For Gianni it was as if his life had restarted with Lyrebird Lake. It hadn’t just been the delectable Emma, it had been the friendship of Angus and his friends and the warmth of the whole town. His visit had coloured his grey world and now he and Leon had recaptured a little of the rapport of their youth. It seemed his brother’s marriage had been less than perfect, too.
When Angus had rung to ask a favour, Gianni had agreed without hesitation before being tied to the opening of the new Bonmarito Private Hospital in Venice at the end of the year. Gianni had realised it was time to change not just his job but his life. A life that could be become more rounded to include others.
A month later Gianni parked his rented Maserati outside the old doctor’s residence and switched off the engine.
He hoped this temporary move to Lyrebird Lake was the right thing to do. On the surface it had been Angus’s idea, to cover while the more senior man had been roped into a diplomatic mission in Vienna for a month, leaving a temporary vacancy at the hospital.
Gianni had planned to stay at the Lakeside, memories of his night with Emma a powerful inducement, but Angus had pushed for him to stay at the old doctor’s residence as company for Louisa. So here he was.
Gianni knew all about crushing grief when one lost their partner in life. He’d seen it so many times in his work.
Then, very quickly after his arrival, early tomorrow he would start at the hospital.
It was impossible for him to stop the irresistible pull of his thoughts to Emma Rose and the magic they’d shared. What would she say when she saw him? Would this be an agreeable surprise or an awkward occasion? No matter, he would prevail.
If he was honest, a thing he had used to pride himself on, she was one of the reasons he was here. To see the woman who had tilted his grey world into colour again, though she’d only intended it to be for one night. He knew he’d promised just that night but perhaps for a month they might change the rules.
Emma knew Gianni started today.
How could she not? Ten people had told her, as if she were the most fortunate person in Lyrebird Lake. That wasn’t what she was calling herself.
He was supposed to be gone for ever. Though, to be honest, had this possibility been at the back of her mind when she’d begun the first of the pre-screening counselling sessions for her mother’s genetic heritage? In case Gianni might come back someday? As protection from risking her heart? That wasn’t the reason she’d told the counsellor.
Gianni was supposed to disappear into the sunset and never remind her of the incredible world out there for her if she threw the bleakness of her future to the winds.
To top it off, this morning she’d been seconded to Emergency. As a midwife most of her workload took place in the birthing centre, but today none of her own women were due to give birth, and she was directed to the little emergency ward where a cluster of mini-catastrophes meant the cubicles were full to overflowing.
The worst day in the world to be in Emergency for Emma—Gianni’s first day.
She’d barely slept last night, tossed in her bed with a million memories she’d tried to hide from and cross beyond words that he had returned to ruin her good intentions.
Finally, around daybreak, she’d shed her anger at Gianni for his return, anger at herself for being glad, and decided regrets were useless because she could never regret what they had shared. She had stopped tossing and she’d straightened in the bed. Then she’d sat up and squared her shoulders to face the day.
Hopefully their first meeting would be over swiftly amidst chaos and she wouldn’t have the time then to dwell on the embarrassment and disaster of his return.
When Emma arrived on the ward, Christine, the much-loved mainstay of Emergency, greeted her like the long-lost second cousin she was. ‘Help. Thank goodness. Lovely to see you.’ She hugged her. ‘Now, your mission today is to get us off on time because this afternoon I have a hair appointment. My man’s been home from Africa three weeks and we still haven’t celebrated our anniversary.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Off in time for hair appointment. And you always look beautiful.’ She surreptitiously peeked around for Gianni. Her heart thudded uncomfortably in her throat but she had to believe Christine couldn’t notice any difference in the way she was acting. She forced the words out. ‘So where’s our new doc?’
‘Behind that curtain.’ Christine glanced around and all seemed momentarily under control. ‘Even as a happily married woman I can see that man is a bit of a hunk,’ she whispered. ‘You could help him finish off and then I’ll have him.’
The first Emma saw of Gianni was his bent head, the thick dark hair she’d run her fingers through falling across his forehead, and his dark, bedroom eyes hidden as he bent to suture the torn earlobe of an older lady.
Doris’s tranquil face turned sideways towards Emma from under the green sheet and her eyes twinkled. ‘Hello, Emma, dear. I’m being a nuisance as always.’
She felt his swift look but Emma avoided Gianni’s eyes. ‘Always a delight, you mean.’ She smiled and looked at Doris’s husband, who sat with arms folded with steadfast concentration as he ensured Gianni did a good job on his wife.
Emma winked at the older gentleman. ‘Not the dangerous garden again, Clive?’
‘’Ear, ’ear,’ Clive muttered facetiously. ‘She slipped in the mulch and caught her earring on a branch. I think we need to live in a little unit with pot plants. Be nice and safe.’
Emma decided she’d greet Gianni without blushing if it killed her. ‘Morning, Dr Bonmarito.’
Gianni glanced up properly and flashed a knee-wobbling grin at her. ‘Ah.’ As if he’d been waiting for her to look at him. ‘Good morning, Emma. Please call me Gianni. I have given you permission to use it.’ His voice. That accent. The memories. She fought the warmth that threatened to douse her and at least the blush stopped at her neck.
Thankfully he looked away to his handiwork, cut the last suture and sat back. ‘There you go, Doris. As good as new. But you have the bruise behind your ear that will throb when the local anaesthetic wears off.’
Emma winced at the thought, glad to be diverted. ‘I’ll pop a couple of ice cubes in a disposable glove. Hold it on the swelling on the way home, Doris.’ Emma flicked a glanced at Gianni. ‘Tetanus shot?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I think not. The last tango…’ He paused as if remembering something pleasant. ‘With the garden was only three months ago. Her booster is up to date.’
Then he sat back and looked at her, with a slow, leisurely scan from head to toe, and Emma quickly turned away to concentrate on the pile of discarded swabs. The last tango they’d danced in his chalet made a vivid picture that had nothing to do with ears. Except hers were burning. Not fair.
‘I’ll clean up here, then.’ She glanced towards the other end of the ward and Christine waved and pointed at Gianni. ‘I think Christine wants you for her little asthmatic.’
Gianni stripped off his gloves. ‘I will move on, then.’ He pumped some antiseptic on his hands as he smiled at Doris and Clive. ‘Do not battle with branches, Doris.’ He rubbed the evaporating gel away before he shook Clive’s hand. ‘My pleasure meeting you both.’
‘Thanks, Doc.’
Doris glanced from the departing Gianni to Emma, and her mischievous eyes gave her away. Emma braced herself. ‘Now, there’s a handsome young man, Emma. You should entice him to stay and help at the lake.’
Could she entice Gianni? Again? ‘He lives in Italy. And lost his wife in a tragic accident, Doris.’
‘Perfect.’
Emma had to laugh at Doris’s simplicity. ‘He doesn’t need more heartache.’ She handed the ice fingers to Clive. ‘To hold against her ear, Clive.’ She helped the older lady up. ‘Give me a break, Doris. I travel once a month for the cause and once a week to see Mum. Grace barely sees me and I work the rest of the time.’
Doris o
pened her mouth for the clincher but Clive forestalled her gently with his hand. ‘Here. Put this against the dressing, there, Doris. We should be leaving poor Emma to her work.’
Emma caught Clive’s eye and thanked him without words. Doris hadn’t needed to say it anyway. It was what she said every time she saw Emma. Young Grace needs a father.
Perhaps Gianni would make a good one, if a little strict on propriety. Except where she herself was concerned. How had she been so shameless?
She sighed. What she needed was a relationship with a man that dissolved before she was forty. Then again, she’d tried a twenty-four-hour one and been broken-hearted from that.
Just the thought of Gianni or any man in the same position as her own dear dad made her want to cry. This was why she didn’t want love. She’d given up wallowing in self-pity years ago.
She needed to concentrate on her daughter. Grace was her most important concern. To create a world of wonderful memories for her daughter. She needed to stay focussed and plan for the day she might not be capable of being there. Like her own mother couldn’t be for her.
Emma glanced at the mess in front of her and cleared her mind of fruitless yearnings. He’d removed his own sharps—good—and hadn’t spread himself around as much as most people did when they were suturing. She swept the neat pile of paper litter into the bag hanging off the trolley and sprayed the area with detergent before she wiped it over and put a clean sheet on the bed ready for the next patient.
She glanced back towards the overflowing waiting room. Calling the next person in sounded like a good idea. For her own peace of mind as well as the patients’. But before she could call a name, the automatic doors opened to admit Emma’s brothers, both local ambulance officers, and a stretchered patient.
‘This way, boys.’ Emma beckoned them through to her. Her brothers would ground her, too. Both of them were positive for the gene. Now, that was reality right in the face.
Midwife in the Family Way Page 5
