His Pretend Wife

CHAPTER EIGHT

ANDREW didn’t answer and for a moment an awkward silence fell between them. It was broken by a squeak of delight from the hall and Elinor looked up to see Hetta bounding in.

‘I knew you’d come to see me,’ she said, jumping on Andrew.

‘But of course I did,’ he said, giving her a hug, and finding himself embracing Samson as well. ‘Good grief, have you still got that revolting bear?’

‘He’s not a revolting bear,’ she reproved. ‘He’s a nice bear. He stayed with me all the time, except when you were horrible and made him have a bath.’

‘Yes, I remember now,’ he said hastily. ‘Beg pardon, ma’am.’

‘Samson’s my best friend.’

‘Better than me?’ He sounded piqued.

‘Well-p’raps just a bit. But not much.’

Andrew grinned, and again Elinor marvelled at the change in him.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ Elinor demanded, trying to sound severe.

‘I had to come down and see Andrew ’cos he came to visit me.’

‘Of course,’ Andrew agreed.

‘Can I have some milk?’ Hetta begged, sounding like a starving orphan.

‘Will you go straight back to bed afterwards?’ Elinor countered.

‘She’s only just arrived,’ Andrew protested.

‘Andrew hasn’t seen my scar yet.’

‘And I haven’t seen her scar yet.’

It dawned on Elinor that behind the humour he had a serious purpose. He wanted Hetta to stay for his own reasons: perhaps because he felt more at ease with another person there.

She went into the kitchen for milk, and returned to find the other two deep in discussion of medical matters. Hetta was displaying her scar with immense pride, while Andrew studied it and observed how well it had healed.

‘How do you enjoy living here?’ he asked.

‘Heaps,’ Hetta said at once. ‘There’s a huge garden and a swing, and-’ her voice became blissful ‘-Mummy’s here all the time.’

‘I haven’t been with her enough in the past,’ Elinor said quickly. ‘I had to work and it took me away a lot. But now we’re together all day, just the two of us. As Hetta says, it’s lovely.’

‘I’m glad,’ Andrew said. He looked back to Hetta. ‘Do you still have those nightmares?’

‘Not really,’ she said in a considering tone. ‘I have funny dreams with lots of things happening, but I’m not scared any more. Not since you told me about them.’ She suddenly looked into his face. ‘Do you have bad dreams?’

He flinched. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘You look as if you do.’

‘Hetta,’ Elinor protested. ‘Manners.’

Andrew was looking uncomfortable and it dawned on her that Hetta had touched a nerve. ‘Well, everyone does sometimes,’ he said. ‘Now it’s time you went back to bed. It’s very late.’

‘Will you tuck me up, and I can show you my room?’

‘Darling-’ Elinor said in quick dismay, but Andrew had already risen and taken the child’s hand.

Elinor guessed that the bedroom had been his son’s, but he might have been seeing it for the first time as he let Hetta show it to him. It was strange to watch them. Anyone seeing the three of them, not knowing the truth, would have thought them a perfect family. Hetta herself was overjoyed to have her friend back, blissfully ignorant of the undercurrents and tensions between the adults. And maybe her perspective was the right one.

At last she was asleep and they crept out and down the stairs.

‘I must be going now,’ Andrew said. ‘Please don’t think of leaving this house. I won’t trouble you.’

‘Is that what you think you are? A trouble to me? After what I owe you?’

‘I wish you wouldn’t talk about owing me. That isn’t how I think of it. And I only meant that I’m not going to use your circumstances to force my presence on you. You can’t go. She’s happy. Don’t take that away from her just because we once-because of things that don’t matter any more.’ He looked at her wryly. ‘If they ever really mattered.’

‘Didn’t they?’ she couldn’t resist asking.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think I can remember by now. Other things become important, other griefs can be greater, and suddenly you wonder what it was all about. But I know this. There’s nothing in our past that should drive you away from here.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to be as relieved as he plainly meant her to, but feeling only an ache. ‘It’s kind of you-’ She stopped, her gaze fixed on his face. ‘Andrew, you’re dead on your feet. You can’t keep your eyes open, can you?’

‘I’ll be all right. The night air will wake me up.’

‘You won’t be in the air, you’ll be in the car, and you’ll probably crash it.’ As if to confirm her words he closed his eyes again. She took his arm and led him firmly back to the living room, and almost pushed him down onto the sofa.

‘You were crazy coming out here so late after the day you’ve had. It could have waited until tomorrow.’

‘No, it couldn’t, not after I didn’t turn up last night. I needed to talk to you, make you understand.’

‘I understand that you’re not fit to drive.’

‘Perhaps if you made me a coffee-’

‘The only thing I’m making for you is a bed. You’re sleeping here.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes. How much sleep did you get last night?’

‘Three or four hours. I honestly don’t remember.’

‘Tell me which room.’

‘The one with the pine door,’ he said vaguely.

‘Key.’

‘It’s on my keyring.’

‘Which is?’

‘In the drawer of my desk-in the study.’ He seemed to be having trouble thinking of the words.

‘And the key to that?’ she persisted.

‘Oh-yes.’

He felt in an inner pocket and produced some keys. Elinor located the one that opened the study, then the top drawer of the desk, and finally the complete set of house keys.

She found the pine door two along from Hetta’s room and opened it quietly. It didn’t entirely surprise her to find that it was as plain as her own was ornate. The bed was narrow and looked hard. The furniture was neat and functional. Whatever Andrew had been like once, this was how he was now.

She remembered how he’d shrugged aside the child’s death, with a brusque remark about ‘going on’. He was right, but it had given her a chill to hear it put that way. Would he have taken Hetta’s death so coolly? It was hard to believe, when he was so easy and friendly with her, but what did she know of him?

By the time she’d finished he’d appeared in the doorway. ‘Thank you,’ he said briefly.

‘When do you want to be called?’

‘I normally set my alarm for six, but I guess I can allow myself a little longer tomorrow. I’m not operating.’

‘Goodnight, then.’

She finished clearing away downstairs and went up quietly. As always Hetta’s door stood open, and she looked in, listening to the soft, even breathing, before going to her own room.

She lay down but sleep wouldn’t come. Andrew’s words, ‘suddenly you wonder what it was all about,’ haunted her. In her mind she had invested their meeting with so much significance, and now he’d told her, very kindly, that it meant nothing to him. He’d said, too, that she’d done him a favour by deserting him, freeing him to fulfil himself.

But that’s not true, she thought, sitting up suddenly. He was the one who was desperate to get married. I didn’t look further than being in love. That’s why I hurt him so much.

‘I couldn’t help it,’ she whispered now into the darkness. ‘You wanted me too much. I couldn’t cope. Now you’re coping by changing the past so that it didn’t mean anything.’

She would try to believe that that was best for both of them, but the pain was still there. It was as though she’d possessed one glorious treasure in all her life. And he’d shown her that it was only made of lead.

It had been foolish of her to feel a brief stab of pleasure at the discovery that he was unmarried. What possible difference could that make to her?

But she couldn’t hide from her own heart. Since they’d met she’d seen the man nature had meant him to be, not only brilliant but generous in a way that had gone far beyond the call of duty.

He’d loved her and she’d thrown it away. She’d refused to face her regret but it had always been there, and now there was no hiding from it.

Suddenly she sat up, alerted by an unfamiliar sound, as though someone were crying out. In an instant she was out of bed, hurrying across the corridor to Hetta. But her daughter’s room was quiet, her sleep undisturbed. The sounds were coming from further down the hall.

Elinor crept out, closing Hetta’s door so that she should hear nothing, and made her way along to the pine door. There was no doubt now that the cries were coming from the man who slept behind it, and she knew he wouldn’t be pleased if she disturbed him. But she couldn’t leave him like this. Pushing open the door, she slipped in and closed it behind her.

A soft light from the window limned his body. He wore no pyjama top, and the sheet had slipped down far enough for her to suspect that he probably wore nothing else either. Not wanting to embarrass him, she swiftly drew it higher, then dropped down by the bed and put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him hard.

‘Andrew-Andrew-wake up.’

His eyes opened fast and immediately flew to the little clock beside him with its luminous figures.

‘What is it?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Who needs me? Tell them I’m coming at once.’

‘No.’ She shook him again. ‘There’s no need for that.’ She put the bedside lamp on. ‘It’s me, you’re not in the hospital.’

His eyes seemed to take a moment to focus. Then she felt the tension drain out of him.

‘Thank you,’ he said wearily. ‘Was I shouting?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s abominable of me to disturb you. Hetta-?’

‘She’s still asleep.’

‘Thank God! It’s just something that happens now and then when I’ve been overworking.’

‘I think you overwork all the time.’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Yes, par for the course. Sometimes it’s worse than others, but it doesn’t mean anything.’

‘That’s not true,’ she said quietly. ‘You know it isn’t.’

She became aware that she was still holding him, and took her hands away. He hauled himself up in bed, grasping the sheet firmly, in a way that suggested her suspicions had been correct. Then he sat leaning against the bedhead with an expression that seemed strangely defeated. His hair was tousled and fell over his broad forehead.

‘Some things are hard to cope with,’ he said at last. ‘That child who died tonight-we all fought so hard, but it was no use-’ Suddenly he closed his eyes. ‘He was six years old,’ he said huskily.

She drew a swift breath. Who could empathise with that pain better than herself? But she could see the answer on Andrew’s face. He was ravaged by his failure, and it was more than the damaged pride of a man who hated to fail. She was witnessing real misery.

‘The worst thing is telling the parents,’ he went on. ‘They were so happy. They’d thought it was going to be all right, and then-their faces.’

‘Must it be you who tells them?’

‘Yes. I’m the one who’s failed them, you see.’

‘But that’s not fair. People die. It’s not your fault. You can’t be held responsible if the odds are too great.’

‘But I’m the one they trusted.’ He gave her a swift, intent look. ‘If Hetta had died, wouldn’t you have felt that I’d let you down?’

‘I know heart transplants are risky,’ she said carefully, ‘and it’s not fair to blame the surgeon because luck was against him. I wanted a miracle and you gave it to me. But if not-I hope I’d have understood.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ he said, smiling at her sadly. ‘You mightn’t have said anything, but you’d have looked at me-and I’d have seen you-’

‘She’s everything to me. You were our only hope and if things had gone wrong-yes, you’re right. I wouldn’t have been just or fair about it. What did the parents say to you?’

‘Nothing. They just looked betrayed. And I can’t wipe that look out of my mind. I wanted to be able to tell them that it was all a dreadful mistake, that their son was alive and would wake up soon. I wanted to promise them a miracle, but the miracles aren’t in my hands-’ He closed his eyes.

‘Andrew-’ She reached out and touched him again, gently. He opened his eyes and looked at her with weary despair. ‘I’m becoming afraid,’ he whispered. ‘And how can I work if I’m afraid?’

Never before had she known him admit to fear or doubt. It broke down her defences, and without thinking whether she was being wise she gathered him into her arms. Miracles weren’t in her power either, or she would have performed a dozen for him. She would gladly have lifted the weights that were crushing him, given him everything, even herself if that was what he wanted.

She caressed him with passionate tenderness, murmuring anything she could think of to comfort him. ‘You’re not really afraid, my dear. It’s only tiredness.’

‘But it goes on and on,’ he whispered. ‘And there’s no rest. It’s not the work, it’s the responsibility-people’s lives in your hands. That’s the one thing I never thought of in those days.’

‘Those days,’ she said longingly.

‘Do you remember how it was then?’ he murmured against her hair. ‘How confident I was-no, not just confident, arrogant, cocky!’

‘I thought it was wonderful,’ she said with a remembering smile. ‘You were like a king, so sure of yourself.’

‘But I shouldn’t have been. I never saw the traps I was laying for myself.’

‘Nor did I,’ she said gently. ‘I don’t suppose we ever do.’

‘Not until it’s too late.’ He rested his head against her.

‘Do you have nights like this very often?’ she asked, stroking his hair.

‘Yes. That’s one reason I started to stay at the flat. It’s better to be alone when this happens.’

‘No,’ she said swiftly. ‘It’s never better to be alone. Haven’t you learned that? I have.’

‘How?’

‘Through being alone,’ she said simply.

‘Funny. In all those years I never pictured you alone.’

His voice was so quiet that she had to strain to hear it. ‘What-did you say?’ she asked after a moment.

‘You were so lovely and full of life-it was what drew me to you-I couldn’t stay away-’

‘Did you want to?’

‘Yes. I kept trying to be strong, but it was no use.’

‘I wish I’d known. I always thought of you as so aloof. Andrew?’

Silence. He had fallen asleep against her shoulder.

Moving very carefully, she swung her legs up onto the bed and lay down, drawing him beside her. He made a sound between a grunt and a sigh, turning slightly so that his weight was half across her, his head between her breasts. The bed was so narrow that she was forced to lie pressed up to him, intensely aware of his hard body, now relaxed against hers.

She held him lightly until he began to mutter again, and then she tightened her arms, whispering wordless comfort until the tension went out of him and he fell silent once more.

She stared into the darkness, thinking how achingly ironic it was that he should lie with her now, and not twelve years ago. Then her young body had clamoured for him. Now the ache of desire was there again, but tempered with understanding, and even compassion. She was no longer a girl thinking of her own wishes, but a woman who’d been through the mill and wanted to give him anything that would make his life sweeter.

When he moved again she kissed him, very softly and tenderly, and was pleased when he immediately calmed again. She kissed him again and felt his arms tighten.

‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’

She didn’t know if he could hear her but she murmured to him again, not words but wordless sounds of comfort, stroking her fingers gently against his hair, his face.

‘This is how it should have been,’ she told him softly. ‘We should always have been like this-if only I’d understood-’

In her mind she saw again the time they’d landed on the little island and lain blissfully under the trees, until she’d broken their bliss by trying to claim him as a lover, and blaming him when he’d refused. Two selfish husbands had taught her the value of a man who’d loved her more than his own pleasure, a man she’d thrown away.

‘You were thinking of me, but I didn’t know it,’ she murmured. ‘And when I understood it was all too late. We had something so wonderful and special. I know it now. I used to tell you that I loved you but I didn’t know what the words meant. But I could tell you now, if only I could be sure that you wanted to hear. Oh, darling, such things I could say to you now!’

He stirred again and she held her breath, wondering if he’d heard her. He seemed to be still asleep but his hands moved across her body. She should wake him now, and stop him doing this, but the excitement he was setting off confused her.

She wished that she were wearing something beautiful, a glamorous, flimsy concoction such as a woman chose for her lover. The nightgown she had on was made of cotton, and buttoned up to the neck. Its matronly style fitted the way she saw herself these days, but it was out of keeping with the fierce sensations that were coursing through her.

His fingers had found her buttons, were undoing the top one, then the next and the next. She did the rest herself, wrenching at them so fast that the last one flew off. It was she too who pulled the sheet back so that her nakedness lay next to his.

‘Ellie…’ The word was a whisper.

‘Yes, darling, I’m here. Hold onto me.’

She clung to him too, kissing him without restraint, loving him with the pent-up love of years. ‘Hold me,’ she repeated.

His mouth covered hers eagerly. She welcomed him in, offering her whole self, keeping nothing back. Whatever he needed now, that was what she wanted to give.

He moved like a man urgently pursuing something he had long desired. His hands seemed to know instinctively how to find her, roving lovingly over the hills and valleys of her shape. Now she too was free to explore him and sense what she’d only suspected before, the power of him, the taut hardness of his muscles. He had been designed to please a woman, and everything in her responded.

He kissed her breasts, first one then the other, his tongue caressing her gently, teasing the nipples to peaks of desire. She’d never known that anything could feel this good. She was coming into her own, claiming what had always truly been hers. She reached for him.

And then Andrew raised his head. His eyes opened.

And with brutal suddenness the dream was over. She saw the shock in his face as he realised what was happening, heard his horrified cry of, ‘My God, no!’