Fritha tapped on my window as soon as we cleared the garage so I lowered it and she hugged me through the window as Nicholas got out and introduced himself to our passenger then let him into the back seat.
“I’m staying in town for a few days,” Fritha told me through the window. “So let me know when you want me back here.” As Nicholas got back into the driver’s seat she shot him a cheeky glance and said, “Preferably when the Door Nazi isn’t around.”
Nicholas glanced across at her, “And I love you too, Fritha,” he said, completely straight faced.
That made her snort, and she gave him a wave before turning to saunter into the house. Nicholas was closing the garage door behind her as Douglas cleared his throat.
“Hello Louella.”
It must have seemed odd that I hadn’t let him into the house, but I simply turned in my seat and offered him a bland smile. “Hello Douglas. Thank you for coming to visit Marcus. You arrived just as we were leaving, so that was timely.” My inference was, don’t turn up without calling because I might not be home, but I wasn’t sure he’d understand that.
“Oh, right. Good. So he’s still in the hospital. I thought he might be home by now.”
I forced myself not to sigh. “He doesn’t live here anymore, Douglas,” I said patiently. “We’re almost divorced. He’s been living—” I had a flicker of reservation, then thought why not, “—with his gay lover until recently.”
“Oh. Okay.” He turned to look out the window, and I waited. At least ten seconds later he swiveled back to me with an expression of alarm, making his ears stick out even more than usual. “Gay? Do you mean, like a man? He was living with a man?”
As if it was the most shocking thing in the world.
I deliberately didn’t glance at Nicholas. I could smell his smug superiority from the driver’s seat, and while I was pleased that his jealousy had eased, I was embarrassed on Douglas’s behalf. So I tried to end the conversation as quickly as I could.
“Marcus took a gay lover after we separated, and because of that relationship, he tried to commit suicide—”
“I thought that was because he missed being married to you. He told me he did.”
I swallowed down a prickle of grief to say, “Perhaps he did. He never told me that.” Then I hurried to add, “And now the situation has escalated. He got into trouble and was shot by the police. As I told you over the phone, he’s had surgery and will hopefully recuperate quickly.”
“Shot by the police…” he said softly, as if he couldn’t comprehend the urbane banker he’d known getting himself into such a position. Without another word, he turned away to gaze blindly out the window at the yachts bobbing on the glistening blue perfection of Sydney Harbor. It was a lot for him to take in, and as he frowned at the view, I wondered whether he was regretting coming to Sydney.
I wasn’t regretting it. Marcus needed all the support he could get right now. So I turned back to the front and concentrated on watching Nicholas’s hands on the steering wheel. His long, blunt fingers were firm and capable, and although there was a traitorous part of me remembering those hands on my body, I was mostly calming myself with the sensation of security I felt around him.
He seemed to be good at everything: driving, cooking, certainly making love…
I was trying to drag myself back from that thought when my phone rang and I fished it out of my handbag with a sense of relief for the interruption.
“Louella Knight.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I realized that at some point I needed to stop using my married name. But I hadn’t been Louella Tyne for a decade. That name felt as if it was attached to another life.
Before I could follow that train of thought, however, a consultant from our medical service announced herself and updated me on the latest development. My pulse slowed as I listened to the detail. Internal bleeding. Rushed back into surgery. Critically low blood pressure. I felt my face go cold as each item in the list was presented. Then it was my turn to speak, and I relayed the fact that I was on the way to the hospital, but I could hear the flatness of my tone.
I’d barely hung up when Nicholas said softly, “Was that the hospital? What did they say?”
I stared out the windscreen. “Marcus is back in surgery. He might die.”
Chapter Twelve
Silence in the car for a long five seconds, then, “How far away is Adele?”
I glanced at the dashboard clock, making my brain function. “She lands in four hours.”
“So five before she gets to the hospital.”
I nodded, pressing my palms onto the soft grey flannel of my skirt as I matched his hushed tone so Douglas wouldn’t overhear. “When she arrives at the hospital, I’d like to brief her and leave.”
He took a moment to digest that, but he didn’t say So you don’t want to stay and see if your husband dies? He only said, “Understood.”
And I wondered if he did.
I glanced at his face, noticing—perhaps for the first time—how masculine his jawline appeared. He always had stubble, or a barely-there beard. I’d assumed that was part of his menacing persona. But it was soft to the touch, and it did nothing to disguise the strong bone structure of his face.
For some reason, he looked even more handsome than I remembered. And infinitely more attractive than any other man I’d ever met. I wanted to tell him that but Douglas was sitting in the back seat, and besides, there were ramifications. Nicholas might imagine I was angling for sex, perhaps to distract myself from grief.
I didn’t want that. So I kept my mouth shut.
It was he who broke the silence, again speaking softly. “I’d like your permission to talk to the detectives about what will happen if Marcus dies.” He let me sit with that for a second before he went on. “I don’t want to be disrespectful, but I’m concerned for your safety. I want to know whether they think the threat will end or whether these loan sharks will come after you for the money.”
I tried to be logical. “They’ve already threatened to harm me—”
“That might have been to frighten Marcus into paying. He was their client, not you, and if your finances are separate, does that mean Adele is his heir?”
“She is.” Sudden fear squirmed in my belly as I imagined Marcus’s willowy, butterfly of a sister being tormented by these horrible men.
Marcus frowned. “There’s a chance they might switch their attention to Adele if he dies, and leave you out of it altogether.”
“She’s twenty-five.” It was far too young to deal with what I already had to tell her, let alone a threat to her own life.
He ignored that to say, “Do I have your permission to speak to the detectives?”
“Of course.”
He said nothing more and I had too much to think about already, so I brooded on what I should do. There was no-one else in Marcus’s family to notify.
Nicholas delivered us to the valet parking station at the hospital and paused only to grab something out of the trunk before coming around to my side. I waited for him to open the door, and through the tinted glass I saw him donning a beautiful casual jacket in steel grey that made him look impossibly more handsome.
When the door was open, he offered his hand to help me out and I took it, loving the warmth of his strong fingers in mine. Douglas was clambering out of the opposite side of the car in what Nicholas had rightly described as a bad suit. Jill had dressed him while they’d been together, and clearly his purchases since had been regrettable.
Which was judgmental of me, but I loved the fact that Nicholas knew how to dress. His tailored jacket fitted his broad shoulders perfectly, making him look effortlessly stylish. But before I could get too excited about his stellar taste in clothes, he let my hand go and said softly, “I want to be prepared.”
In case Marcus dies.
Douglas bumbled up beside us then and at Nicholas’s gesture, I led the way into the hospital, updating Douglas as we walked. But we were only into the f
oyer when he stopped me with a clammy hand on my wrist.
“I don’t want this,” he said baldly, although his expression was more of confusion than upset.
A second later Nicholas stepped in beside us and gazed pointedly at the hand until Douglas realized what he was doing and let me go.
“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I thought I would be cheering him up, like last time. But if he might die…”
He clearly wanted to be let off the hook, and in that moment, I realized how selfish I’d been, asking him to visit. He’d known Marcus for ten years, but they lived a thousand miles apart and had only seen each other once or twice a year when Douglas and Jill had come to visit us. It was more of an acquaintance than a friendship, and I’d obviously stretched it too far.
“I’m sorry, Douglas,” I said sincerely. “I didn’t realize when I phoned you that Marcus’s condition would deteriorate.” He hovered indecisively, so I said, “I have to go up there.”
“I’m not going,” he declared.
I nodded.
“Can your driver take me to the airport? Or to your place until I get a flight?”
“No,” I said instantly, before Nicholas could speak, although I could feel him vibrating with outrage beside me. “Nicholas will be coming upstairs with me. And I’m afraid I can’t have anyone at my home at the moment. Not until Marcus’s condition has stabilized.”
Douglas looked stunned by that, as if he didn’t know what else to do.
I swallowed down impatience and said, “Can I offer you taxi money?”
Nicholas made a boiling noise beside me then, and finally Douglas realized he was being unhelpful.
He shook his head and took a step backward. “Oh. Not at all.” His hands came up to ward away the idea. “I can pay that. Of course.”
“Then I’d best hurry upstairs.” Before my husband dies.
I didn’t wait for an answer. My desire to be at my destination was suddenly more important than my graciousness program. So I left, with Nicholas at my side.
If he wanted to say Good job, he kept it to himself and I appreciated that. We walked in silence down corridors and up lifts until we reached the nurse’s station. There, we were directed to a waiting room by a kindly nurse who updated us on Marcus’s condition. He was out of surgery and being monitored closely in post-op
He’d lost a lot of blood, but he was fit and strong. They expected him to pull through. The word expected caught me low in the belly, reminding me that nothing was certain. Nicholas must have sensed my mood, because he simply sat silently beside me while I brooded.
Time passed.
I wasn’t sure how long. I tried to sip my horrible instant coffee in the plush waiting room with its vases of orchids and oriental lilies, and eventually gave that up to sit thinking about Marcus and how I would feel if he died.
My crying jag over him yesterday had purged a lot of my grief. I could feel that. Now I was more incredulous that someone so vital could simply disappear from life, like a light blinking out. It seemed…unfair, although that was too weak a word for the outrage that wanted to rise inside me.
And yet blame couldn’t be laid at anyone else’s door. Marcus had entered into a destructive relationship with a criminal, and if he died protecting that man, it was no one’s fault but his own.
Selfishly, however, I didn’t want him to die. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much I could do. I’d never prayed in my life. We hadn’t been raised with religion, and now it felt like a hole in my life.
So I texted Angela, who did pray, to update her on Marcus—knowing she would pass on the information to the other two. She promised to pray, reminding me that all three of them were only a phone call away. But I didn’t want to speak. I was moving into a still place where sounds were deadened and the past was intruding with terrible clarity.
Memories came to me, and I let them.
My brother Zachary—twelve years old—bleeding on the ground after falling off his Polo pony during a match. I’d run though the crowds to reach him first, and he was so still I’d thought he was dead. Later my parents had ‘disciplined’ me with verbal abuse and withdrawal of my own pony for risking my life stupidly by rushing onto the field. I could have been hurt. I could possibly have been killed. But none of that mattered after I’d realized he would live, albeit with a broken ankle. My big brother—my only ally in the household—would survive. That had brought the color back into my world.
I still remembered vividly the feeling of disbelief that had gripped me when I’d skidded to a stop beside his still body. I’d been terrified of losing him, but in the end he hadn’t died. His pristine polo outfit had been muddied and bloodied, but he’d come out of hospital on crutches with his trademark dimples very much in evidence.
That memory comforted me as I waited for news of Marcus who, at forty, was far too young to die. I tried to imagine myself at forty—only five years away—facing death, and it seemed such a ridiculous thought I could barely contemplate it.
Did Marcus have regrets? Unexplored passions? Bucket List options he hadn’t fulfilled? Or had his recklessness of the past few months satisfied him completely?
And what about me? Was I going to live for another fifty years doing charity work, redecorating my home and buying shoes and frocks and handbags? What about my deathbed? Would I rail against the waste of a life—particularly when I had the money to fulfil almost any fantasy I could imagine.
Nicholas stirred and that distracted me as he stood and walked to the other side of the room, speaking quietly into his phone, which must have vibrated to alert him to the call. As he listened, he transferred his gaze between me and the opened doorway of the waiting room, ever on watch.
Finally, he ended the call and returned to his seat beside me.
When he didn’t mention it, I assumed it was personal, so on impulse I asked, “Do you ever think about dying?”
He gazed at me steadily. “I’ve had moments.”
“Of thinking about it?”
“Of nearly dying,” he clarified. “Two on the job, and one was a skiing accident.”
I felt my perception shift. “You nearly died? Three times?” My stomach lurched sickening.
Why had I never imagined that? He was a bodyguard. No wonder he was completely at ease with the police and the hospital staff.
“I’d rather not go into the details,” he said. “But it does sharpen your mind, and it also slows everything down. You work out what’s important.” He nodded to himself. “And you shape your life around that.”
I’d never met anyone before who’d almost died once, let alone three times. So I had to ask, “What is important? To you.”
Maybe in his revelations, I could uncover what would be important for me.
“Protecting women.” He nodded again. “I’m good at it. It satisfies me on some level.”
“Why?”
His expression shifted and I thought his jaw looked tighter. “It’s the decent thing to do.”
“I’m sure it is, but not every decent man turns into a bodyguard.”
“Well, some do.” He obviously didn’t want to talk about it and I could have been annoyed at that, but I had my own secrets so I said nothing.
Eventually he went on with, “That was the detective confirming that Marcus’s money lenders have no criminal record and they haven’t hurt Marcus. He’s done it all to himself, and he also can’t prove any of the threats he accused them of. That means the police have nothing to convict them on—no case whatsoever, in fact—unless they hurt one of us.”
Nicholas stared at me, as if he’d known this for some time, and was finally at the point where he had to tell me
“So the police can’t help us?”
He shook his head. “I’ve contacted my company. They’re sending a pair of guards for Marcus’s room. They’ll be here within the hour.”
I felt my tensed shoulders slump and I turned to face the ocean landscape painting on the opposite wa
ll. Marcus would be in post-op until then, so he was safe. But for how long? The debt had to be sorted. The longer it went on, the more the amount would be.
My hands were spread out on the skirt of my suit and I couldn’t stop my fingers moving when they should have been resting gently in my lap. My legs weren’t crossed at the ankles either. Instead, my feet were side by side. It wasn’t a posture that came naturally to me, but my body didn’t feel habitual today. It felt odd. Dislocated. As if I didn’t know myself anymore.
Nicholas reached across and took one of my hands in his. “You’re fidgeting.”
I instantly felt calmer, and not only that, the warmth of his large hand enclosing mine felt like comfort. Then his thumb started stroking the sensitive skin of my palm and I felt something more. We were both gazing at the opposite wall, so he wouldn’t see my cheeks flushing, but responses were skittering all around my body, as if his fingers were there, gliding over my skin.
I swallowed and said, “I thought you weren’t going to touch me because I’m still married.” And I could have added, or kiss me, because he had no justification for that either.
But he only said, “Friends hold hands,” still gazing at the painting. “It’s a form of support.”
“I like your jacket.” That stopped me saying I need more than your hand. I need to feel your skin pressed down the length of my body. “It suits you.”
“Lots of things suit me, Louella,” he said softly. “Tee-shirts, shorts, suits, you…”
I swallowed again.
“And,” he went on, “the last twenty-four hours has been hard, because for most of it you’ve been within twenty paces of my bed.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him nod to himself. “And you seem…willing—”
“Yes.” I wanted there to be no misunderstanding that the reluctance was all on his side.
He nodded again. “So now I need to say something tactless.” I waited, and at last he went on with, “If your husband dies, you won’t be married anymore, and that’s when I stop fighting this thing between us. That’s when I’m…ready.”
I turned in my seat to stare at him, not out of shock, but surprise at his emotional bravery. I knew he wasn’t an insensitive man. Quite the opposite. But he’d clearly weathered his own discomfort about the topic to clarify our relationship—whatever it was—and I appreciated that.
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