by Lucy Clark
‘Impressive. How did you meet?’
‘I was being sued.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘A wrongful action against the hospital I was working at.’
‘In Melbourne?’
‘Sydney,’ he offered.
‘You moved to Sydney.’ She smiled with surprise and shook her head. ‘It’s a wonder we didn’t run into each other sooner. I spent several years at Sydney General Hospital and several in the outer suburbs.’
‘Wasn’t meant to be.’
‘And you were married to Yvette the attorney. I’m guessing it was good in the beginning?’
‘As all marriages are.’ He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. Maybelle shifted up the bed and rested her head on a few pillows, watching him, listening to him, her heart aching for the pain he’d endured. ‘Yvette was dynamic and funny.’
‘And beautiful.’
Arthur smiled at that. ‘Naturally. She wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted—and at the time she wanted me. I was a doctor. For her, whenever she had to network with clients and other firms, having a doctor for a husband, being the epitome of a professional couple, was important to her.’
‘But not for you.’
‘No. I was more interested in spending time with her, getting to know her, wanting to be with her.’
‘And she…’
‘Wanted to spend time with her senior partner, in his bed. And with her colleagues, in their beds, and with other attorneys from other law firms, in their beds.’
‘Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry.’
He scoffed. ‘She wasn’t. She couldn’t understand why I thought that marriage meant we couldn’t see other people. She thought we had a great professional relationship. She never complained about how often I was at the hospital, about my dedication to my work, about my career plans. In fact, she told me she applauded them and that if we stayed married, she’d be able to assist me with the rise in my career, with networking, with playing the dutiful wife and hostess at business functions and conferences.’
‘She sounds like an attorney.’
‘She’s a good lawyer. We had a house in the suburbs. She didn’t want to buy it. I did and she ended up getting it in the divorce. We had two cars, mine was a normal sedan and hers was a sports car, and yet she ended up with both in the divorce.’
‘But she was the one who’d committed adultery.’ Maybelle lifted one hand as though completely confused by what he was saying.
‘I just wanted it to be over. I agreed to most things just so I could end it as painlessly as possible.’
‘And yet it’s left a lasting scar on your heart.’
‘It has.’
‘We all have our pain.’
‘But mine is nothing compared to yours.’ He sat up and shifted towards the bed, still remaining on the floor as though it was safer. It felt incredible to be talking to her again, to be sharing with her, to know that she was actually interested in what he had to say, even if she didn’t always agree with it.
‘Your pain is your pain. Don’t compare it to mine.’ She yawned as she spoke and closed her eyes.
‘I want to stroke your hair,’ he murmured, and she opened one eye to look at him. ‘I’m only saying this out loud because I don’t want to touch you when your eyes are closed and have you freak out on me again, breaking my hand because I’ve frightened you.’
Maybelle started to laugh as she recalled how she’d thumped him with that dictionary. ‘I’m so sorry, Arthur, about hitting you with the book, I mean.’
‘Where did you think you were?’ He asked the question softly as he gently reached out to touch her blonde curls. He sifted his hands through the silken strands, knowing it was a mistake, that doing such a thing was not putting distance between them, but right now he didn’t know how to stop himself.
‘Locked in a room.’
‘Why were you locked in?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Because I’d been kidnapped.’
‘You were kidnapped?’
Maybelle bit her tongue to try and get control over her rising emotions. Talking about the experience had never been easy and she usually avoided it as much as possible, but Arthur was asking and if she was going to tell anyone about the ordeal it was him. Her Arthur. Her protector. Her knight in shining armour.
‘Uh… Mum and I had decided to go to a conference in Sydney. We were living in Broken Hill at the time, all three of us working at the base hospital there. I was just finishing up my internship and my parents were secluded in one of the research labs.’
‘Still working for the government?’
‘Yes, but in secret. They would work on their pet projects, my father still researching the human genome and my mother doing her work with synthetic compounds. That was the reason she’d wanted to go to the conference in Sydney. Part of her research had been handed on to a different scientist, who had taken it to the next level.’
‘I take it your parents were never credited for their work?’
‘No. That had been one of the conditions of witness protection. There were to be no unauthorised trips, no unauthorised research and no ownership of the research. At times it was difficult, more for my mother than my father, as she’d worked so hard, made so much progress and then, when the research was at a certain level, it was taken from her and handed on to another researcher, one who could work on it and publish the findings.’
‘That would have been difficult.’
‘And that was why she and I went on an unauthorised trip to Sydney. We thought we’d taken precautions, that we’d registered under pseudonyms, changed our hair and eye colour, everything we usually did, but this time we had no bodyguards, no one looking over our shoulders, no one telling us what to do.’
‘And your dad?’
‘He was against it at first but my mum was always able to talk him around and in the end he covered for us with the government.’ Maybelle sighed, a small smile on her lips. ‘We had a great time. Driving over to Sydney was fantastic. It was as though the veil of secrecy that had shrouded our lives for almost ten years was lifted and we could be ourselves. Samantha and her daughter May, taking a road trip together. Mother and daughter time.’ She opened her eyes for a moment and looked at Arthur. ‘That road trip to Sydney contains some of my favourite memories and I felt as though I was really getting to know my mum. Not as my mother—’
‘But as a person in her own right,’ he finished for her.
‘Exactly.’ The smile slowly slid from Maybelle’s lips. ‘The trip back, however, contains the worst memories of my life. You see, somehow Mum had been recognised at the conference. Even though we’d sat in the middle of the crowd, even though we didn’t speak to anyone, even though we’d gone through all checks and precautions as we’d been taught. I don’t know how they figured out who she was but it wasn’t until we were between Cobar and Wilcannia—’
‘Which means you were in the middle of nowhere,’ he added.
‘They…they started shooting at our car.’ She paused, her heart starting to pound wildly against her chest, the images of what had happened flashing through her mind like snapshots. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, wanting to shut them out but unable to. ‘We hadn’t even realised we were being tailed. We were…we were having fun, laughing together, and then there was a loud bang and Mum found it difficult to control the car as it started swerving all over the place. Then the next thing I knew the car was rolling. Over and over.’ She remembered screaming, of putting out her hands in order to try and brace herself, but the screams were muted, as though she was watching the picture unfold without sound. She’d caught a glimpse of her mother’s face and noticed the terror.
‘We…we came to a stop. The car was on its side and I managed to undo my seatbelt and climb out. I was about to go around to Mum’s side of the car—she was lying with her head against the steering wheel, at such an odd angle—and then I felt arms clamp around me. I hadn’t even realised there was anyone
else there. They held me. Really tight. I tried to struggle against them, to remember everything I’d been taught by my case worker, but that all stopped as I saw them drag my mother’s body from the car. She was still breathing. She was alive but unconscious.’ Maybelle shook her head and sniffed. ‘Then they put a cloth over my mouth and nose and…as things started to go black…as I began to slip into unconsciousness, I heard a gunshot.’ Her words were broken and she sniffed again, trying to draw breath into her aching lungs.
She flinched back as Arthur’s hand touched her face. Maybelle opened her eyes and glared at him.
‘You’re crying,’ he murmured softly, and it was then she realised he was wiping away her tears with his thumb.
‘I am?’ She sniffed once more and immediately sat up. Arthur shifted back to give her some space, offering her a tissue. ‘I’d better go.’
‘No. Stay. I don’t want you to be alone after reliving such a memory. Stay with me. I’ll hold you. I’ll make you feel safe. Nothing else will happen, I promise. Just…rest in my arms, Maybelle.’
She stood and took two steps towards the door. ‘I would like nothing more than to do that, but…I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do this.’
And for the second time in a week Maybelle rushed from his apartment…and he simply let her go.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE PICTURE OF him holding out his hand to her, offering support, to make her feel safe, especially with those hypnotic eyes of his, was difficult to get out of her head. Ever since she’d left his place in a rush, that picture had refused to disappear.
There was no doubt that a huge part of her had wanted to stay. Maybelle shifted on the lounge, resting her head back and closing her eyes tight. How was she supposed to get that image out of her mind? Arthur looking at her with devotion. Arthur looking at her as though he wanted nothing more than to really try and protect her for the rest of her life.
Was it possible? Would she be able to really put the past behind her and move forward? She shifted again, lying down on the lounge and wishing for a cushion to bury her face in as she remembered what she’d done to him. Shaking her head in embarrassment, she recalled attacking poor Arthur with a very heavy book. The terror, the panic, the fear—all had been present the instant she’d opened her eyes and gazed at the unfamiliar surroundings. And what had increased her agitation had been that she’d had no memory of getting to her present location.
Then the pounding in her eyes had taken over as she’d realised she’d fallen asleep with her contacts in. Trying to get out of the bed, her feet had become tangled in the blanket, which had been placed over her by…well, she presumed by Arthur, and she’d fallen from the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. The sound had only increased her own anxiety and she’d quickly removed the disposable lenses and looked around for a weapon. Her vision may have been fuzzy but the large book had felt solid in her hands.
At no point had she recollected coming to Arthur’s apartment to feed Juzzy. At no point had she remembered closing her eyes as she’d sat on the floor with Juzzy on her lap, the two of them snoozing together. At no point had she even contemplated she hadn’t been somewhere safe because she’d been acting on instinct, on pure adrenaline. That had dissipated after she’d whacked Arthur with the book and he’d called her name.
Hearing him say her name—her real name—had been the only thing to break through her crazed thoughts. She’d instantly felt remorse for hurting him and embarrassment for having him see the side of her life she wanted to keep hidden. To his credit, he’d behaved in exactly the way she’d hoped he would, by listening to her talk and offering his support. He was quite a man.
Yes, she could have stayed tonight, she could have felt secure and comfortable in his arms, just as she had many times before, but what if she’d fallen asleep and woken up thrashing about? What if she’d hurt him again, hit him with an even harder object? And if she’d given in and stayed with him tonight, then she’d want to stay with him the next night and the next night and the one after that. If she was able to sleep soundly with him holding her, she’d never want to let him go.
Was that what he wanted? For her to become dependent on him? Was that what she wanted? Not only that, Arthur had come straight out and told her that he wasn’t looking to do the marriage thing again. He’d been hurt once—and badly from the sound of it—and he wasn’t about to embark on another adventure that might turn out to be just as disastrous. It was true that should she and Arthur start dating, there was no way in the world she would ever cheat on him. She most definitely believed in monogamy.
But Arthur had also told her that he wanted to focus on his career, on his research, and especially as he’d already obtained funding, which, in a highly competitive field, was a triumph in itself. The problem was that she had already lived a life where she’d often been considered second to a Petri dish. If Arthur really wanted to pursue that level of research, it would require all his attention and she didn’t want to be in a relationship where once again she was playing second fiddle.
‘Good things don’t happen to you,’ she told herself. ‘Accept it as fact.’ So it was a good thing she had left his apartment, that she’d hightailed it upstairs into her new sanctuary. Perhaps friendship was their only answer. There was too much water under the bridge for the two of them. They’d missed their opportunity and now the only avenue left open to them was that of very good friends.
Could she do that? Surely the weakness she felt in her knees every time he looked at her, or the way her heart raced whenever he smiled, or the tingles that enveloped her entire body when he spoke, would one day become a thing of the past? Right?
Maybelle sighed in exasperation and shifted on the lounge yet again, grudgingly agreeing Arthur had been right about the lounge needing some cushions. She needed pictures on the walls, too. She needed to put her own identity into this apartment. After all, she didn’t have to move if she didn’t want to.
She didn’t have to move! The realisation was like being hit by a truck. The government had decreed the threat null and void. She was free and it wasn’t until that moment that the truth of her situation started to sink in.
She’d told Arthur she wanted to find normalcy, to have a life like everyone else. She’d striven for years to find a level of normal but getting comfortable had often meant complacency and letting down her guard. Whenever she’d done that, bad things had happened. Being vigilant for so long had taken its toll on her but surely it wasn’t going to stop her from really trying to make a go of a normal life.
Arthur had previously suggested taking her shopping for cushions and pictures and normal things, and as she glanced around the apartment she compared it to Arthur’s. He had shelves filled with books, photographs on the mantelpiece and pictures on the walls. Yes, she had the necessities in life but it was sparse and bland. Would letting some colour into her life bring her happiness?
Was that really what her life was like? Sparse and bland? Would spending time with Arthur help her to get some colour into her world? She wanted to spend time with him, to be friends. Could they be just friends and avoid the frighteningly natural chemistry that existed between them from taking centre stage?
Rising from the lounge, she headed into the back bedroom, which still had several boxes waiting for her to unpack. She reached into one of them, pulling out various items until she found what she was looking for. Her old jewellery box. It was the one item she’d been adamant about holding onto, no matter how many times they moved. Carefully she opened it up, the tinny music starting to play.
She carried the box out to the lounge room and sat down, winding the box up when the music stopped. Inside the box, mixed in amongst her mother’s jewellery, was something she had treasured ever since that night. She picked the item up and rubbed a finger over the face of the watch. Arthur’s watch. The one she’d been timing him with when he’d been studying that night, the watch she’d put onto her wrist and then, when his father had come into the r
oom and she had fled, it hadn’t been until much later that she’d remembered she was still wearing it. As they’d been forced to leave their home that night, she’d kept the watch, secretly delighted she had something of his, something that could bind her to him.
If only things had turned out differently. If only…
*
When Arthur knocked on her door the next day, Maybelle was ready. They hadn’t confirmed whether or not he was still taking her shopping but she was delighted he’d turned up. Earlier that morning she’d ignored the sensual dreams she’d had of him—the one where she’d woken with the memory of his kisses on her lips—and donned her armour of friendship. She was wearing denim jeans, running shoes, a T-shirt and an old baggy sweatshirt. If her hair had been long enough to pull back into pigtails she would have done that, but instead she fluffed the unruly curls and added a baseball cap. She was the exact opposite of sexy and the epitome of friendship.
‘Wow. Don’t you look like fun?’
Maybelle stared at Arthur with stunned surprise when those words came out of his mouth. What did she have to do to get him not to notice her? Wear a garbage bag?
‘Fun?’ She adjusted the hot pink baseball cap on her head and ran her finger around the rim of the brim. ‘I’ll have you know I take my shopping trips very seriously.’
‘I stand corrected,’ he remarked. He didn’t venture into her apartment and instead waited on the threshold as though kept there by an invisible force field. Could he feel that tug? She could. Could he feel that spark that seemed to sizzle beneath the surface? She could. Could he stop glancing at her lips as though he wanted nothing more than to kiss her hello?
Maybelle jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I’ll just grab my bag.’ She walked off but called back to him, ‘Are we taking your car?’
‘Seems reasonable, given I know the way to the store.’
‘Right. Right.’ She returned with her bag and made sure she had her keys before closing the apartment door behind her. Arthur stepped back to allow her room but didn’t venture towards the stairs. ‘Something wrong?’
