Dr Graham's Marriage Read online

  Diane popped obligingly into Gabi's head.

  As if you care, she reminded herself, then realised Alex was talking again. Something about Rod Griffiths, a job at Royal Westside, accommodation, staying here.

  'Staying here? In this flat? With me?'

  Bloody hell, she sounded more hysterical than cool, and Alex was doing the shrugging thing again. Definitely something going on!

  'You just said I could,' Alex reminded her.

  'That was when I thought you'd be here a week or so,' she snapped. 'Anyway, why would you want to stay here if it's for longer?'

  'It's handy to the hospital. And I don't mean for ever, just until I find somewhere else.'

  It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her, again, that the flat was in his name, but caution prevailed. He sensed Gabi was already floundering and he didn't want to push her so far she ordered him out.

  He was floundering a bit himself. It had to be the black thing she was wearing, with a damn dragon, of all things, peering slyly at him over her shoulder. His gaze kept straying back to it, which made it impossible for him not to look at the pale skin revealed between the flower-encrusted lapels.

  Pale skin reflecting the colour of those flowers and hinting, with its light and shadows, at the fullness of the breasts imperfectly concealed.

  'If that's OK with you.'

  She looked as if it was anything but OK with her, but as he felt he didn't know this woman with hair that looked as if the sun was shining through it and a shimmery, sexy black gown replacing the old bathrobe he remembered, he really couldn't guess at her thoughts.

  'If it's convenience you want, you could just as easily stay at Alana's. In her spare bedroom.'

  He frowned at the suggestion. Why didn't she want him staying here?

  Were the friends who claimed she wasn't seeing anyone wrong?

  Not knowing made him more determined to dig in his heels.

  'I spent last night there—the bed's atrocious and there's some stupid bloody bird that starts talking as soon as dawn breaks.'

  'You spent last night at Alana's?'

  Hah! Got her there!

  'She offered me her key. I was bushed and not likely to get much sleep with the noise your guests were making.'

  'And where was I while you and Alana were making these arrangements?'

  He tried to analyse her tone, but she pushed her coffee-cup away as she spoke and the gown fell a little more open, distracting him with memories of the feel of those soft breasts.

  Determined not to be diverted—or attracted—he focussed on recalling the events of the previous evening, and remembered his doubts.

  'In the bathroom—or so Alana said.'

  Gold-flecked hazel eyes lifted to study him—stared into his.

  'So Alana said?' she repeated softly, and it wasn't hard to analyse her tone this time. Pure steel, that was what it was. 'If that's what she said, where else would I have been?'

  He shrugged, as if it wasn't important, but he was suddenly aware he was balancing on a knife-edge as far as Gabi was concerned. One false move and he'd be out of this flat so fast he'd leave skid marks on the carpet.

  'You could have been anywhere—it was none of my business.' He hurried the words, anxious for this not to escalate into an argument.

  'Good!' She nodded. 'Just as long as you remember that!'

  Gabi laying down the law?

  His Gabi telling him his place?

  Only she wasn't his Gabi any more.

  The reminder made him stand up, collecting both their cups and turning to rinse them at the sink. The follow-up thought—she'd damned well better not be anyone else's— had jolted him so much movement had been a necessity.

  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. She, too, had moved and was walking, the dragon swaying seductively across her back, towards the CD player. Would she change the music? He'd put on an old heavy metal CD he'd bought early in their marriage—one she'd never really liked.

  Had he chosen it deliberately?

  Now he was shrugging at his own questions. He didn't think so, though he hadn't given it much thought, had just sorted through the stack, noticed it and put it on.

  She didn't change it, just lowered the volume slightly, then turned to smile at him.

  'It was a trifle loud.' The words could have been an apology for her actions, but he was so stirred up—in many ways—he took them as criticism.

  'Planning on going back to bed, were you?' he said, the roughness in his voice startling him as well as making her hesitate as she crossed the living room.

  'No, actually I'm not, but I know Kirsten—she's new since you left, she's in the flat across the hall—was up even later than I was, because she went out clubbing after she left here. So she might still be sleeping. I'm going out.'

  And, on what she felt was an excellent exit line, Gabi left the room. She hadn't really intended going out, and there was no way she should let Alex's presence dictate her comings and goings, but if she stayed in the flat for any longer than it would take her to shower and dress she'd go screaming mad.

  Once in her bedroom, she stared at the as yet unopened packages.

  She should hang up the clothes, put away the other things—but that meant staying in the flat. What she really should do was tell Alex to get lost—that this was her space now and she didn't want him in it. But apparently the self-focus thing didn't extend to ordering ex-husbands around. Well, not at this early stage of it, anyway.

  So she'd go out. In fact, she'd go up and visit his mother. While Fred was there, it was one place Alex wouldn't be.

  She rifled through the bags until she found the white Capri pants. Fortunately, like most of the things Kirsten had insisted she buy, they were a non-iron fabric so hadn't suffered from sitting in their bag on the floor all night.

  She'd team them with the red vest top and the white cardigan. According to Kirsten, a woman couldn't have too many cardigans, though, as Gabi remembered the number Kirsten had added to her pile of purchases, she did wonder.

  The fashion guru had decreed white Lycra undies for this particular outfit, the material splashed with red flowers. Determined not to be caught, again, in her underwear, Gabi took all the clothes with her to the bathroom. Took the make-up bag as well—the light was much better in there and, though she wouldn't need much, she needed the practice in getting it right.

  Alex's double-take as she waltzed into the living room a little later made it all worthwhile. The new bra gave her bustline a terrific boost and the figure-hugging material of the trousers emphasised the swell of her hips in a good way rather than a bad, while cheeky white sandals made her ankles look slimmer and, to her own critical eyes, her legs look longer.

  'I don't know when I'll be back,' she said. Actually, visiting Jane Kennedy would only take an hour at most, but there was something very liberating about saying 'I don't know when I'll be back' to Alex. She could understand what women meant when they talked about empowerment.

  He didn't reply, but the way his gaze travelled over her body warmed her skin and made the flesh beneath it tremble with remembered desire.

  Not exactly the moment for sex to be rearing its head— after more than twelve months of dormancy.

  'There's a bit of food in the fridge,' she said, to make walking out on him feel a bit easier. Then she remembered they hadn't resolved the issue of him staying in the flat.

  Not that she had any intention of mentioning it right now. She'd think about it later. Perhaps, during her hospital visit, she could find out if Diane was still living at her father's and stepmother's home.

  It wasn't that Gabi cared what went on between Alex and Diane, she assured herself as she began walking, again taking a different route—she just didn't see any reason to actually throw them together.

  But if Alex stayed on in the flat he'd realise that, for all her new clothes and streaky hair, she was still as unattached as she'd been when he'd departed.

  What she needed was a m
an. Not necessarily a great affair—or even a small affair—just a man who'd look as if he was interested in her, pop around now and then, give Alex the impression he was a fixture in her life.

  The intern was too young, and Ned Blacklock, who'd been pestering her to go out with him since Alex had taken off for Scotland, was too serious. He'd think his persistence had paid off if she suddenly began to accept his invitations. And, because he was a nice guy, she didn't want to do anything that might eventually hurt him.

  There was always Josh, Kirsten's ex-boyfriend. Scared-of-commitment Josh, they'd named him. He was just the man!

  Thinking of Josh, who was a paediatric specialist at the hospital, should have reminded her of her list but instead the name of Rod Griffiths, another specialist, bobbed into her head. What had Alex said about Rod? About a job?

  Rod Griffiths was in overall charge of the staffing of the coronary care unit, the burns unit and the general intensive care unit at the hospital, and thus decided who fitted the intensive specialty training programme and who didn't. But slotting someone into a training programme with only two months left of the year seemed unlikely. In fact, the only place always in need of doctors, and constantly taking on temporary staff from an agency, was A and E—which was also the natural stepping-stone for Intensive Care.

  No! Fate might have brought Alex back into her life— temporarily—but surely it wouldn't be so capricious as to set him down in her department.

  Though, if he did start there, he'd be on a different team.

  Need she see him?

  She reminded herself of the list and her new focus in life—and the sooner she could get a rotation to Paediatrics the better—but uncertainty was unravelling her determination, while memories of her body's reaction to Alex's presence were eroding her confidence in her ability to change her life.

  She'd reached the hospital and determinedly put all the uncertainty behind her as she took the lift up to the oncology unit, pausing to speak to the nurse on duty at the nurses' station.

  'Mrs Kennedy's like a new woman since her son came back,' the nurse said. 'And no wonder. He's so nice—and so good-looking, isn't he? And wouldn't it be romantic if he and Mr Kennedy's daughter were to get together?'

  Gabi clamped her lips tightly together, though as she made her way to Jane's room she muttered to herself about gushing, gossipy staff, and was still muttering as she pushed open the door.

  'Gabi! I was wondering if you'd come.'

  Jane's greeting was as warm as ever, and Gabi crossed to the bed to kiss the woman she thought of as a second mother.

  'Of course I'd come,' she protested.

  Probably overdoing it, because Jane chuckled then murmured, 'Just not when the grouch was here!'

  The words shocked Gabi—not the assumption that she and Alex couldn't be together, but 'the grouch' name Jane had used. She'd first used it when she'd started seeing Fred Kennedy, and Alex, still not properly over his father's death, had found his mother's new relationship hard to handle. And though both Jane and Gabi had tried to talk to him about it he'd retreated into grouch-like silence on the subject rather than discussing his feelings openly.

  Surely his mother didn't still see him that way?

  'I guess you know he's staying at the flat,' Gabi said.

  Jane nodded.

  'If you don't mind having him until he finds somewhere of his own, I'd be grateful. Poor Fred's not coping too well with my illness, and Diane's shifted in, supposedly to look after him, but she's about as much use as a head cold.'

  'But far more attractive,' Gabi reminded her, and they both laughed.

  The door behind her opened again and, expecting to see Fred, Gabi turned, a smile of welcome on her face.

  Alex knew, the moment he saw it fade, that the smile hadn't been meant for him, but seeing it, seeing Gabi's face light up in the special way it always had when she smiled, had wrenched at something inside his chest.

  Walking out again was his preferred option, but the smile on his mother's face was of genuine delight, and he didn't want to see it disappear as well. He crossed to the bed and kissed her on the cheek, then settled on the far side, across from Gabi in her tight white pants and cheeky red top and her shining, sunshiny hair.

  'So, both my children visiting me at once,' his mother said, and Alex winced at the reminder of how close his mother had been to Gabi. And how wonderful Gabi had been when his father had died.

  While he'd retreated into a haze of shock and misery, Gabi had helped his mother through those first few terrible months, always there for her. So much so he'd felt resentment, although he knew she'd have been his support as well—had he let her. But it had been Gabi siding with his mother later, actually telling him he should try to understand why she needed someone like Fred, that had accelerated the trouble between them. Then Gabi accusing him, by choosing Scotland to specialise, of running away from his problems with his mother, rather than sorting them out...

  'You're supposed to contribute to the conversation.'

  His mother's comment brought him back to the present.

  'I was saying how much I like Gabi's hair this way. I envy young people today. They've got so many choices, even in things like hair colour, and the confidence to get out there and try something different.'

  'The choices are there for everyone,' Gabi reminded her. 'Surely it's never too late to grasp at opportunities, or to choose to change. Let's take hair colour as an example. Did you ever want to be blonde, or maybe a redhead—any colour you'd fancy for a change?'

  Alex found the conversation hard to believe. His mother and Gabi discussing hair colours! In all the years he'd known Gabi—twelve?—he'd never known her take more than a passing interest in her personal appearance, while as for his mother...

  'A really dark purple,' his maternal relative was now saying as he tuned back in. 'Like black, but with purple lights rather than red or blue ones.'

  'You want purple hair? Mum, you're nearly sixty!' The protest was out before he could stop it.

  'I'm fifty-six,' she said with dignity. 'And if that's not reason enough to have purple hair, I don't know what is.'

  'Way to go, Jane!' Gabi said, clapping as if his mother had done something clever. 'And if you find you don't like purple, you can always go blonde. I think you'd make a sensational blonde, with your dark eyes and olive skin. You know, like those northern Italian blondes. Beautiful!'

  Alex found himself wishing Fred would walk in—maybe then the conversation would swing back to the realms of the believable. What had happened to discussions of books, or television documentaries, or the state of the world?

  Maybe he could start one.

  It would certainly be better than listening to prattle about purple hair.

  'Are you reading anything interesting at the moment, Mum?'

  'Well, I've just finished the Harry Potter series—'

  'Harry Potter? They're kids' books, aren't they?'

  'Yes, but adults enjoy them,' his mother replied with the kind of mild reproof in her voice that set his teeth on edge. 'Actually, Gabi lent them to me, and I enjoyed them so much I asked Fred to bring in a pile of my old books. Things I read in my childhood. I wanted to compare them. He brought some of your old Dungeons and Dragons books as well—they're not so different.'

  He should have stuck with the hair conversation, as the idea of both his mother, who usually read biographies and autobiographies, and his ex-wife, whose tastes ran to crime and mysteries, reading children's books was so bizarre he felt set adrift from reality.

  'We actually went to a medieval fair not so long ago,' his mother continued. 'Gabi and I—Fred didn't come, witches and wizards aren't really his thing—but Gabi had heard they usually have booths and discussion groups at medieval celebrations.'

  Understanding dawned. His mother, shocked by the diagnosis of her condition, had turned to so-called miracle-workers.

  'Mum,' he said, speaking gently, 'although your kind of leukaemia can't be cure
d, regular medical treatment will keep you alive for a long time. You don't need potions or witches' brews.'

  Gabi's laughter filled the room.

  'Oh, dear,' his mother said, though she, too, was chuckling. 'I'm sorry. You must have thought I was mad. Of course I didn't go for witches' brews or magic potions. We went to look and to meet and talk to people who believe they have special powers, and to listen to what they had to say; We went because we thought it would be fun, and it jolly well was, wasn't it, Gabi?'

  Gabi nodded her agreement and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

  'Maybe we should have taken some of the lessons they were offering,' she said to Jane. 'Then we could have zapped this disbeliever into the next century.'

  Jane eyed her son.

  'I don't know,' she said to Gabi, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. 'I think he might have been happier in the last one.-'

  'Or even further back,' Gabi suggested. 'Perhaps a troglodyte.'

  'I hope that's not me you're discussing,' a voice said, and she turned to see Fred come through the door, with Diane close behind him.

  'What's a troglodyte?' Diane asked.

  And before Gabi could reply, or even decide if she wanted to, Jane slipped in a teasing, 'Alex.'

  But to Gabi it seemed the light-hearted atmosphere had changed into something more sober and she could feel tension again stiffening the air.

  'I think you've got more than enough visitors,' she said to Jane, and she stood up, leaned over to kiss the older woman goodbye then, with a general farewell to the others, left the room.

  Alex caught up with her as she waited for the lift.

  'So I'm a troglodyte, am I?' he growled.

  'I didn't say that—your mother did,' Gabi reminded him.

  'You started it,' Alex argued as the lift doors swung open. He stood back while she entered, then followed close behind her.

  Too close.

  'Do you know what the word means? Do you actually know what a troglodyte is?' he asked, his voice still deep and gruff.

  Gabi hesitated a moment too long, giving him the chance to answer his own question.