by Anne Mather
’I should kill you for what you’ve done to me,’ he muttered, when his lips sought the scented curve of her neck. His fingers stroked the vulnerable skin and tightened perceptibly. ‘Do you know you nearly killed me when you walked out like that?’
’I have some idea,’ she confessed unsteadily. ‘I haven’t exactly found it easy myself. I’m still not sure it’s the best thing for both of us. But when I heard about the accident I couldn’t keep away.’
He drew back briefly to look down at her. ‘You’d better be sure now,’ he said roughly, cupping her face in his hand. ‘Because, whatever it takes, I’m not going to let you go this time.’
’I—don’t want you to,’ she assured him huskily, turning her lips against his fingers. ‘That’s what I came to tell you. Only, as usual, I made a mess of it.’
Conor’s lips twisted. ‘Am I supposed to believe that?’
’Yes.’ Olivia’s response was defensive at first, but then, glimpsing the mockery in his eyes, she grabbed his arms and shook him. ‘It’s not funny,’ she said fiercely. ‘I love you, you big idiot!’
Conor’s response was to utter a muffled moan and slump heavily against her. His weight pinned her against the fridge-freezer behind her, and for a moment she thought he was still teasing. But his eyes were closed, and there was a thin film of sweat on his forehead, and when she tried to push him away from her he didn’t resist.
’Conor!’ she exclaimed, horror-stricken, convinced he had now passed out. But, as her brain struggled to cope with this disaster, he put a hand on the unit and pushed himself away from her: weaker, paler, but unmistakably alert.
’Sorry about that,’ he muttered ruefully, groping for the table behind him, and sinking down on to its rim. ‘I guess the relief was just too much for me. It won’t happen again.’
’No, it won’t,’ said Olivia, more forcefully than she felt. She wasn’t deceived by his attempt to dismiss what had happened as relief. Propelling herself towards him, she took advantage of his weakness to part the lapels of his dressing-gown, catching her breath, aghast, at the ugly gash that scarred his midriff.
’Hey, do you mind?’ he protested mildly, as the gown threatened to open completely. ‘I don’t mind you seeing me naked, but not in front of the neighbours, please!’
But Olivia wasn’t listening to this attempt to distract her. She was gazing at the wound, which her playfulness had caused to weep a little, and she felt like weeping herself for the pain she must have caused him.
’This is why they were so concerned about you at the clinic, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed, gazing at him with worried eyes. ‘Oh, Conor—love—why haven’t you had it properly attended to? You’re a doc—–’
’Say that again,’ broke in Conor irrepressibly, catching her wrists, and pulling her between his legs. ‘That bit where you called me “love”. I like it.’
But Olivia wouldn’t let him get away with it, even though she couldn’t prevent herself from responding to the tender kiss he bestowed at the corner of her mouth. ‘You know how easily infection can set in,’ she persisted, touching the bruised flesh around the gash with delicate fingers. ‘Have you had any antibiotics?’
’I’ll be OK,’ Conor told her gently. ‘Now that you’re here, I’ll do anything you want.’ His thumbs brushed the sensitive inner curve of her wrists, before he bent to kiss them. ‘I didn’t much care what happened to me before.’
’Oh, Conor,’ she exclaimed, smoothing back the hair from his damp forehead with a shaking hand. ‘If only I’d known.’
’I thought you did know,’ he replied gravely. ‘What do you think I meant when I told you I loved you?’
Olivia couldn’t allow herself to think of that now. ‘How—how did it happen?’ she asked instead, releasing herself from Conor’s grasp, and moving to the sink. ‘You said something about a visitor,’ she added, concentrating on turning on the taps. ‘Um—do you still keep the first-aid box in this top cupboard?’
Conor sighed, but he nodded, and, standing on tiptoe, Olivia brought down the small first-aid chest, which had been kept in that cupboard when Conor was a baby. ‘Always keep medicines out of the reach of children,’ Sally had used to say, and Olivia remembered feeling very grown-up because Sally had let her get the box down.
She didn’t feel grown-up now. She felt ignorant and inexperienced, and totally incapable of dealing with such a dangerous-looking injury. She was sure he needed hospital treatment, but he was unlikely to agree to that. So she would have to think positively, and do the best she could.
Sorting through the plastic tapes and bandages, she soon realised that most, if not all of these things had been in the box since Sally’s day. A bottle of camomile lotion, which she had once used to cool Conor’s spots when he had chicken-pox, was crusted and sedimentary, and the tubes of antiseptic had all split with age. She wouldn’t have used the iodine she found to corrode metal, let alone to treat human tissue. Even the surgical scissors were rusting in their case.
’This is useless!’ she exclaimed, lifting her head and looking at him, and she realised he had only let her waste her time because it had given him room to recover.
’Stop fussing,’ he said, his eyes dark and disturbing. ‘I’ll survive. Now, why don’t we go upstairs and finish what we started?’
Olivia sighed. ‘Conor—–’
’All right, all right. I’ll put some alcohol on it,’ he exclaimed, pushing himself up from the table, and swaying on his feet. ‘If you look in that drawer, you’ll find some new plasters. That’s all I’ve been using, and it’s worked so far.’
’Has it?’ Olivia gave him a dubious glance, before crossing the room and opening the drawer he had indicated. She came back to where he was standing, and pushing him back on to the table. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what happened?’
Conor scowled. ‘If I must.’
’You must,’ she assured him unsteadily, drawing the sides of his robe apart again to reveal the purpling flesh. ‘Um …’ She swallowed. ‘Where—where do you keep the alcohol? Oh—I remember. In the drawing-room, isn’t it?’
’There’s a bottle of scotch in that cupboard behind you,’ Conor conceded, but as she would have turned to get it he grasped her hand. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know. I can do it myself.’
’I—I want to,’ she said, and Conor muttered an oath as he briefly pulled her into his arms.
’But afterwards,’ he told her hoarsely, and there was no question what he promised …
An hour later, Olivia was sitting, cross-legged, on the bed in the spare room, watching Conor as he slept. Asleep, he looked so young and vulnerable, and her heart ached at all the time she’d wasted. Life wasn’t about certainties, she thought, with the insight that being in love had brought her. At best, it could only be an imponderable. There was no way she could be sure that Conor wouldn’t hurt her, but because they loved each other they had a better chance than most.
And she could so easily have lost everything, she thought shakily, unable to prevent herself from stroking the silky hair that shadowed his rib-cage. The man Conor had surprised, selling cocaine to one of his patients in the men’s lavatories at the clinic, could so easily have destroyed their future. As it was, the knife had he drawn had gouged an ugly furrow in Conor’s midriff, before Conor had dashed it from his grasp. Even then, it was only the fact that one of the other doctors had come into the men’s room that had stopped him from finishing the job. Conor had been losing blood rapidly, and it was arguable how long he could have held out against such a desperate assailant.
Not that Conor had said as much. On the contrary, he had insisted on making light of it, even when the alcohol Olivia had used to cleanse the wound must have been tearing him apart. It had taken all her will and determination to dress the wound afterwards, but she had known she had to do it. And Conor had assured her it wasn’t life-threatening.
Nevertheless, she intended to make sure he looked after himself from now on. T
here was no way she was going to risk losing what she had found. The future, which had once seemed so bleak, was now full of promise. The day that had started so badly had ended so well.
’What are you thinking about?’
Conor’s drowsy voice interrupted her reverie, and, for the first time, she didn’t rush to cover herself when he looked at her. In the lamplight, her pale skin had a pearly lustre, and Conor was not immune to the nearness of her flesh.
Pushing himself up on his elbows, he regarded her with evident satisfaction, brushing the tumbling darkness of her hair aside, and trailing one finger from her throat to the rosy tip of her breast. Her breasts were still tingling from the eager attention of his mouth, and they responded to his caresses with a totally shameless ease.
’Mmm—come here,’ he said, and beneath the thin sheet that covered him from the waist she could see the unmistakable hardening of his arousal. It was still a source of amazement—and delight—to her that she could do this to him, and, although she was tempted to give in to him again, there were things she had to say.
’Not yet,’ she murmured, slipping off the bed and wrapping his discarded dressing-gown about her. ‘We—we have to talk.’
’Why?’ Conor’s eyes were wary now, and, had she been more sure of herself, she’d have recognised his anxiety. As it was, she was still troubled by her own sense of inadequacy, and she had no idea how he would react to the things she had to tell him.
’Because we do,’ she replied now, lifting her hands to free her hair from the collar of the dressing-gown. As she did so, the robe parted again, and she hurriedly gathered it together, over the swelling mound of her stomach.
Conor didn’t notice. He was too intent on her words, and, pushing himself up against the pillows, he linked his hands behind his head. ‘All right,’ he said, completely unaware of the provocation of the growth of golden hair in his armpits. It was ridiculous, she thought, but there was something so sensual about Conor’s body hair. It made her want to go to him, and bury her face in the musky smell of him, and, in spite of her determined practicality, it showed.
And Conor recognised it at once. His own anxiety melted beneath the yearning look in her eyes, and, throwing back the covers, he went after her.
She turned away from his too-appealing beauty, but all he did was slide his arms around her waist from behind, drawing her back against him. ‘Be careful,’ she said, ever conscious of the dressing on his midriff, but he only made a dismissing sound and buried his face in the hollow of her neck.
’Come back to bed,’ he said. ‘We can talk there.’ His hands parted the robe and slid inside, over the throbbing fullness of her breasts. ‘You know you want to. And we can talk in the morning.’
Olivia drew a trembling breath, and for a moment she gave in and yielded against him. But then the importance of what she had to tell him forced her to stiffen, and Conor said an oath, and turned her round to face him.
’OK,’ he said. ‘What is it? You’re not going to tell me this isn’t real, I hope?’ His face was strained, and she suddenly realised what he was afraid of. In spite of all she had said, he still had doubts about her motives for being here.
Shaking her head, she lifted her hands to his face. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I guess I’ve always loved you. But I was afraid to tell you. I was afraid of being hurt.’
Conor’s smile was rueful. ‘So you hurt me instead.’
’I hurt us both,’ she admitted huskily. ‘You see, I was sure that what you felt for me was just infatuation. That if I went away you’d realise that truth.’
’Oh, Liv!’ He grasped one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. ‘You should have known it wasn’t infatuation. God,’ he groaned, ‘I’d been crazy about you since I was a teenager. Only you always seemed so— remote, after you went to live in London. Then, when Mum and Dad died, it was like a living hell for a while. I’d lost everything I loved—everyone I loved, including you. No.’ His smile was gentle. ‘Most especially you. No wonder I went to pieces. That’s why I owe Aunt Elizabeth so much. She and Uncle Philip stuck with me, even when I let them down.’
Olivia frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
’I mean, I got involved in the drug scene myself,’ said Conor heavily. ‘Oh, not cocaine or heroin. But I smoked pot, and that day I got up the courage to come see you in London I was really high. The first and last time I used drugs to give me confidence,’ he added grimly. ‘I knew I’d blown any chance of making it with you after that, and, believe me, that was a powerful deterrent.’
’Oh, love!’
She reached up to kiss him, and for a few moments there was silence in the room. But then, reluctantly, he lifted his head.
’Anyway,’ he went on slowly, ‘I kicked the habit after that. I worked hard, and I graduated from med. school, and then I told Aunt Elizabeth that I wanted to come and work in London. I knew I wanted to see you again, and I guess I was hoping it still might work out. But,’ he shrugged, ‘when I checked out your old address, the landlady there told me you’d left to get married.’ He shook his head. ‘That was a pretty bad day.’
Olivia was amazed. ‘I never knew.’
’No. How could you? I didn’t have the guts to come and say hi. Not when I knew how much I was hurting. I didn’t want to hear how happy you were with somebody else.’
Olivia sighed. ‘So—you came back here?’
’Eventually.’ He grimaced. ‘It dawned on me that you might have children by now, and I didn’t want to know about them either. Then when you turned up, practically on my doorstep, I couldn’t believe it. God, it was like a sign. I thought, somebody up there likes me after all.’
Olivia grimaced. ‘I was so embarrassed that morning.’
’I wasn’t. I was on cloud nine.’ He grinned. ‘Until I met Stephen, that is. Then, all I wanted to do was break his neck.’
’Poor Stephen.’
’Yes, poor Stephen.’ Conor acknowledged the truth of her words. ‘This must have been quite a day for you. And then driving down here tonight.’
Olivia’s lips twitched. ‘I wanted to.’
’Yes.’ Conor bent to kiss her. ‘I’m so glad you did.’ He frowned. ‘But that reminds me, how did you get in?’
’Through the cellar,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I broke the padlock. Will you forgive me?’
’I’ll forgive you anything,’ he told her huskily. ‘After these weeks of going around like a zombie, all I want to do is show you how much I love you, and marry you as soon as possible. Now, is that clear enough for you, or would you like it in writing?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘And if I were to tell you …’
She broke off, her courage giving out on her at the last minute, and Conor scowled. ‘If you were to tell me what?’ he demanded. ‘Liv, for pity’s sake. What is it now?’
For an answer, she took his hand and brought it to the slight mound of her stomach. ‘I’m—pregnant,’ she said, watching anxiously for his reaction, and Conor’s jaw sagged as he felt the unmistakable swelling.
’Pregnant?’ he said, in a shaken voice. ‘But you said—you and Stephen—–’
Olivia gasped. ‘Conor!’ she exclaimed. ‘This has nothing to do with Stephen! I—it’s yours! I mean—ours! Yours and mine.’
Conor blinked. ‘But I thought—–’
’I know what you thought. I’d said that Stephen and I had never had a child. And we haven’t. But it just obviously wasn’t meant to be. Whereas this—–’
Conor swallowed. ‘So when you said you’d been thinking of coming to see me, this—this was why?’
Olivia felt a momentary chill, but she nodded.
Conor absorbed this for a moment, and then he said flatly, ‘How long have you know about it?’
Olivia lifted her shoulders. ‘A month, six weeks.’ She gazed helplessly at him. ‘Why? Aren’t you—aren’t you pleased?’
Conor turned away from her. ‘Whether I’m pleased or not doesn�
��t have a lot to do with it, does it?’ he muttered, raking back his hair in that gesture she was coming to know so well. ‘My God! So that’s why you’re prepared to marry me now. To get a name for your baby.’
’Conor!’ Olivia stared at his back disbelievingly, and for a sickening moment she felt as if everything she had had had been torn away from her. She had been afraid it might happen, of course. That was one of the reasons why she had been so nervous about telling him in the first place.
But he was like her, she realised suddenly, as the force of her convictions gave her back her strength. He was so afraid now of being hurt, and it was up to her to prove to him that those desperate days were over.
’I—could get an abortion, if that’s what you want,’ she offered softly, as he riffled in his wardrobe and pulled on a pair of drawstring trousers, and he turned to her incredulously.
’What did you say?’
’I said—it’s not too late for me to have an abortion,’ she replied evenly, playing with the cord of his robe. ‘Well,’ she added, as his face contorted with emotion, ‘if that’s what it takes to make you believe I love you, and not what you can give me, so be it.’ She took a step towards him, and then finished breathlessly, ‘I don’t care any more if we never have a baby. It’s you I want, Conor. Do I have to put it in writing, too?’
He didn’t hesitate then. His need for her was too great, and with a groan of anguish he pulled her into his arms. ’Do you mean it?’ he choked, cupping her face in his hands and staring down at her as if he’d read the answer in her soul. ‘You want me with or without this baby?’
’How can you doubt it?’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I never want us to be parted again.’
Conor stared at her. ‘You mean it.’
’You’d better believe it,’ she assured him unsteadily, hardly able to believe herself that everything was going to be all right. ‘Darling, you have a very poor opinion of me if you think I’d risk another disastrous marriage, just to give your child a name. That’s why I was afraid to come and tell you. I didn’t want you to marry me just because you felt responsible.’
