A Woman Worth Waiting For

by Meredith Webber

  Slightly intimidated by the assurance of her mirror self, she turned away and dressed swiftly, afraid if she lingered she’d chicken out and end up in the daggy T-shirt she’d bought at the markets about four years ago.

  ‘Wow!’ Sarah gave her more reassurance, knocking at her door a little later then breathing out the word as she got the full effect of Ginny not in work attire.

  Ginny smiled at her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, then lack of confidence overcame her. ‘I haven’t overdone it?’

  ‘For a casual dinner up the road? No way! But you do look sensational. I wear a bit of black but if it’s not the right material it tends to make me look washed out. On you, it’s truly vibrant.’

  Heartened by the sincerity in Sarah’s comment, Ginny peered out the door.

  ‘Don’t tell me the two men are late?’

  Sarah chuckled.

  ‘Early rather than late, but I wanted something out of my car and then couldn’t lock the door. They’re both doing “man” things with it, although I’m sure neither of them knows anything more about car-door catches than you or I would.’

  ‘We’ve got it locked but you may never get into it again,’ Max called. ‘Are you two ready?’

  He was at the bottom of the steps looking up, but even from a distance Ginny could see a slight narrowing of his eyes as he took in her appearance.

  ‘And don’t you both look nice?’ he added, including Sarah in the compliment while his gaze lingered on Ginny.

  She found herself reacting as if the look had been a physical caress, so when Paul fell in beside her at the bottom of the steps, relief warmed the smile she gave him.

  Shop-talk occupied the walk to the restaurant, though a couple of Paul’s questions suggested he was interested in Max and his presence in the hospital.

  ‘He’s an old friend of yours?’ Paul asked.

  It was an innocent remark but it made Ginny feel uneasy.

  ‘He was one of my tutors way back at university,’ she said, speaking lightly to hide the tremors even mentioning those days still caused.

  ‘So, has he come to renew an old affair?’ Paul’s smile suggested the question was asked in a spirit of friendly joviality, but an undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite pin down added to Ginny’s unease.

  ‘We never had an affair,’ she said sharply. ‘I was a student, he a tutor—not the done thing at all.’

  She felt a flutter of guilt about using the student-tutor relationship as an excuse when, at the time, she’d so vehemently protested that ethics didn’t matter, but Paul’s questions were making her feel uncomfortable.

  To make matters worse, it was obvious, from the snippets of carefree conversation and occasional chuckles she could hear from the couple behind them, that Sarah and Max were getting along famously.

  ‘And was he studying stress back then? Funny, an American coming out here to study stress.’ The question and the remark that had followed it interrupted her own devious thoughts about how she could arrange to walk back with Max rather than Paul—and consideration of the dangers inherent in such a scheme.

  ‘It was his specialty, yes, but he didn’t come out here for that reason—not then. He was born here—American mother, Australian father. Not long after he started high school his father died and he and his mother went back to the US. But his father had done his medical degree in Brisbane, so Max returned to do his post-graduate studies at the same university.’

  ‘And the stress?’ Paul persisted.

  Ginny hid a sigh. She was confused enough over Max’s return without having to recall details of that earlier time.

  ‘I know one experiment was monitoring the levels of stress in different years—was it worse as students moved closer to finishing their course? Did hospital placements increase it—and by how much? He was well off for guinea pigs.’

  ‘I wonder if he knew Isobel. She’d have been what—two years behind you?’

  ‘Yes to the two years behind me, and no to Max knowing her. He left the university while I was still in third year. Family matters back in the States.’

  ‘You don’t know where he worked over there?’

  Again the feeling that the questions weren’t as idle as they seemed jarred Ginny but, try as she might, she could think of no reason for Paul’s interest to be anything other than that of a fellow colleague.

  He was simply making conversation.

  ‘No idea,’ she said, and was about to add ‘though he lived in Washington’ when laughter from the pair behind distracted her.

  She swung around, waiting for the other pair to catch up then indicating a pedestrian crossing.

  ‘The restaurant’s across the road and down that lane towards the river,’ she explained.

  In a tighter group, they crossed the road and headed down the lane, bright lights and the soft strains of music beckoning them on.

  ‘Ginny was saying you live on the river. Is your place further along in this direction or back towards town?’ Sarah annexed Paul quite neatly, leaving Ginny to walk along the narrower path into the restaurant with Max.

  She glanced at him, then regretted the impulse as the warm admiration she’d seen earlier still lingered in his eyes.

  ‘That chap been telling you how gorgeous you look tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Actually, he was more interested in you,’ Ginny told him, trying not to be too pleased by the backhanded compliment.

  ‘Was he now?’

  Another glance showed a gleam of something that looked like satisfaction, as though Paul’s interest brought him pleasure. But the Max she’d known before hadn’t much cared what anyone had thought of him. Doing his job, and doing it well, that’s what had pleased Max back then.

  ‘We’d like a table by the window so the visitors can see the river.’ Paul’s authoritative voice suggested he must eat here often, though on her own occasional visits with friends on the staff she’d never seen him and Isobel.

  If she’d thought—

  ‘It’s not far from our place, so we often ate here on our way home.’

  Paul was explaining to Sarah but Ginny’s conscience pricked.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, resting her hand gently on Paul’s arm. ‘If I’d known, I’d have suggested somewhere else. It was thoughtless of me.’

  He covered her fingers with his, and shook his head.

  ‘Don’t apologise. I have to go back to so many places that hold memories—it had to happen some time. And they’re happy memories, not sad ones.’

  The deep sincerity in his voice brought a huge lump into Ginny’s throat, so she was pleased when the waiter finished his perusal of the booking list and proceeded to show them to a table.

  Sarah took up the conversation.

  ‘Did you have much time to eat together—to do anything together? I can remember—dimly—my early hospital years, and they seemed a constant battle to stay upright. If I wasn’t working, all I wanted to do was sleep. Any time, any place.’

  Paul smiled at her.

  ‘Isobel managed her time better than anyone I know. You’d know that, Ginny. She was the kind of person to whom efficiency was natural. She got through her work swiftly and, more often than not, managed to get away on time.’

  His smile turned rueful.

  ‘If anything, I was the one who erred in lateness. I get caught up in my work and all idea of time simply flies out the door. Whenever it looked as if we might be able to go home together, Isobel would phone me ten minutes before she was due to leave to remind me of the arrangement, especially if we were walking. I wouldn’t ever let her walk alone.’

  The words raised the ghost of Isobel, bringing her presence into their company, but once again Sarah came to the rescue.

  ‘The river’s lovely,’ she said, using the advantage of her chair by the window to look down at the water below then back to Paul, who was sitting opposite her. ‘You’re fortunate, living close to it.’

  ‘I don’t know that I wil
l be much longer,’ he said. ‘It was Isobel’s grandmother’s house and never truly felt like mine. Besides, it’s huge. More a house for a large family than a man living alone.’

  The waiter returned to leave menus and take their orders for drinks, so the conversation turned to what they intended eating and what wine they’d like to accompany it.

  ‘I’ll have a mineral water to begin and one glass of whatever you choose will be enough for me,’ Ginny said. ‘I’ve no head for alcohol.’

  Max stole a look at her. From memory, the group she’d belonged to had been, if anything, over-fond of imbibing. In fact, it had been at the local pub one day, where Ginny had been enjoying herself with her friends, that she’d met up with him by accident and had admitted how attracted she was to him.

  At the time he’d put her words down to the influence of alcohol, and if she hadn’t repeated them, stone cold sober, a couple of days later, that would have been the end of it.

  But the kiss with which she’d sealed the words—the second time—had been too hard to resist…

  ‘Let’s have the red you suggested,’ he heard Sarah say, and glanced up from a blank-eyed contemplation of the wine list to find all three of his colleagues looking at him.

  ‘Sounds great,’ he said, then winced at the false heartiness in his voice.

  The conversation continued, Sarah asking Paul about the old house, Ginny listening, far too avidly to Max’s mind, to every word the man uttered.

  ‘What about upkeep? Surely, with both of you working, you’d need a fair amount of help.’

  ‘That’s another reason for not keeping it,’ Paul replied. ‘The grounds are fully landscaped, with terraces running down to the river, but it needs a gardener coming in once a week to keep it in anything like decent order. As for the house itself, Isobel closed off a lot of the rooms, and had a woman come in two days a week to clean the rest, do the washing and ironing, stuff like that. Coming from a family used to household help, she wasn’t interested in house-work—apart from not having the time for it.’

  ‘Fancy being used to household help!’ Sarah marvelled. ‘Not that I couldn’t get used to it if I came into a fortune.’

  Max felt the air stiffen, then Ginny rushed into the awkward vacuum.

  ‘A cook, that’s what I’d have,’ she declared. ‘Oh, I can do it well enough—feed myself and anyone else who happens to be around—but I love to sit down to meals someone else has prepared.’

  She turned to Paul with a smile that Max wished had been aimed at him.

  ‘Did her family have a cook as well as other help?’

  ‘Definitely a cook,’ Paul replied, returning Ginny’s smile. ‘In fact, she warned me before we were married that she couldn’t boil water. Although, at the time, I thought it was an exaggeration, it wasn’t far out. As I was saying to Sarah earlier, we often ate out or had pre-prepared meals—ah, here’s the wine.’

  The waiter proffered the bottle he carried towards Paul, awaiting his approval before withdrawing the cork.

  Once the little ceremony of tasting had been completed, it was time for serious contemplation of the menu.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I HEARD you were seconded to do the post-mortem on the latest victim, Sarah. Have the police identified her?’

  Paul brought up the subject as soon as the waiter had taken their orders. He was looking at Sarah, but Max sensed he was watching and waiting for all of their reactions.

  Did he have some idea of Max’s involvement in the case, or was he concerned they might think his interest in bad taste, given his wife was one of the victims?

  ‘I haven’t heard,’ Sarah said, and for a heartbeat Max thought she’d turn to him to ask if he’d heard more, but she continued to look at Paul. ‘It must be doubly hard for you, being at the hospital, so peripherally involved whether you want to be or not.’

  Paul shook his head.

  ‘No, it’s not that way at all. For some reason, I find myself wanting to know more and more. As if details will make the acceptance of it easier. The police have been very good. Naturally, when Isobel was killed, they had to view me as a suspect. Isn’t it always the husband or the butler?’

  Mindful of Ginny’s concerns, Max listened for strain in the man’s voice, but could detect only the slight self-mockery called for by the joking remark.

  ‘And, of course, I didn’t have an alibi, although fortunately one of the security men did see me leaving the hospital quite late. Monday nights were Isobel’s yoga nights so she went to a class whenever she was off duty, then usually had a healthy juice and vegan-style dinner with members of the class afterwards. Because of her timetable, I’d got into the habit of grabbing a bite at the canteen and staying at work those nights—catching up on paperwork.’

  ‘I keep telling myself I should take up yoga,’ Ginny said. She turned to Max. ‘It’s supposed to be wonderful for stress. Maybe we could both go and you could include it in your studies—see if it really does work.’

  It was a nothing sort of remark but it must have caught Paul’s attention.

  ‘Are you here permanently, then?’ he asked.

  Max shook his head.

  ‘Very temporarily—a couple of weeks. I have a six-month contract and I’ve a lot of hospitals to cover, but I might come back later when I’ve studied the large facilities in more detail.’

  ‘I’d have thought it more beneficial to start with the large hospitals,’ Paul persisted.

  Ginny and Sarah were discussing the supposed benefits of yoga, so Max knew there was no hope of rescue from them.

  ‘I’ve been out of Australian hospitals for a while, particularly A and E departments,’ he said, hoping he sounded truthful and sincere. ‘I decided the smaller size might ease me back into things more gently. Watching ER on TV and being there are two different things, you know.’

  The yoga conversation must have ended because he sensed that both Sarah and Ginny were eyeing him with reservation written clearly in their expressions.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ Ginny demanded. They were in her flat, much later. She’d refused Paul’s offer of a nightcap with the excuse that there was something she needed to discuss with Max.

  The four of them had talked of other things, mainly medical, while they’d eaten—chatted about their likes and dislikes in wine—but had generally avoided murder as a subject. But after they’d strolled home through the cool evening air and Paul had invited all of them to his flat, Ginny had startled Max with her pronouncement then had all but dragged him into her place.

  But if he’d imagined for one moment she’d had more on her mind than ‘discussion’, she soon put him right.

  ‘You heard what he said earlier—that it made it easier for him to know what was happening. So why hide the fact that you’re involved with the investigation?’

  Her indignation on Paul’s behalf made Max feel uneasy, though his baser self admired the spark it brought to her eyes and the way the deep breaths of disapproval made the silver pattern on her T-shirt dance.

  Stamping down firmly on the beast within him, he did a mental-caution thing so when he answered it wouldn’t sound biased in any way. Though personal bias, brought on by the man’s closeness to Ginny, made total objectivity difficult.

  ‘I also heard him say the police viewed him as a suspect, and even though that’s simply because relatives are usually the first suspects in murder cases, it would be wrong of me to discuss with him, things I’ve learned through my association with the case.’

  So much for objectivity—he’d just sounded pompous, and the look in Ginny’s eyes told him she thought the same.

  ‘You’re talking like a textbook,’ she muttered. ‘What do you think? Someone started killing young women who providentially looked just like his wife, so he killed her and made it look like the work of the same person? It’s insane. He was in love with Isobel, a blind man would have seen it, but even if he hadn’t been, isn’t divorce easier than murder?’
<
br />   Ginny had propped herself against the back of one of the armchairs. Now she folded her arms across her chest as she waited for his reply.

  ‘You said yourself she was a very wealthy woman,’ Max murmured, trying to concentrate on the conversation, not the way the flush of anger on Ginny’s cheeks darkened the colour of her freckles. ‘The police would have discovered that almost immediately, and where money’s concerned, they look at who benefits.’

  ‘You’re not serious!’ Ginny knew her voice was rising as her inability to believe the conversation made her feel she’d passed into another dimension.

  She studied Max’s face, which looked serious enough.

  ‘I’m not saying Paul is, or ever was, a serious suspect, simply telling you how things happen in a murder investigation. The conversations I’ve had with you and Sarah are general things—theories and suppositions any colleagues might explore when discussing matters of common knowledge.’

  ‘You’re getting close to pedantic again,’ she warned him, if only to keep her mind on the subject—and off how those lips forming his careful words had felt on hers the previous evening. ‘And he’s a colleague, so wouldn’t the same discussions be pertinent with him?’

  She watched his chest fill with air as he drew in a deep breath then release it in a sigh.

  ‘Yes, they would, but would they be tactful? He might think he wants to know everything—think it helps him handle Isobel’s death—but is knowing someone might have watched her for some time before taking her and killing her going to make him feel better or worse?’

  He paused and stepped towards her, holding out his hands, reaching towards her but not touching.

  ‘Could we put murder behind us for a while? Talk about something else to wind up what’s been a very pleasant evening?’

  Ginny knew what he was asking but uncertainty was eating away at her confidence.

  ‘Not talk at all?’ he murmured, coming closer but still giving her room to avoid or evade him.

  She clasped her hands together so they didn’t reach out for his, and told her feet not to take the step that would land her in his arms.