- -
- 100%
- +
“Maybe your mother’s happy being a full-time wife and homemaker,” Simon murmured.
“Happy!” She stabbed her fish with her fork. “She’d never admit it if she wasn’t. She keeps up appearances, pretends her life and marriage are perfect, and turns a blind eye to my father’s furtive little flings. Dad’s careful never to go too far. He would never risk his marriage by flaunting his women. He has the life he wants and I guess he does care for my mother in his own selfish way. But she’s trapped.”
“Trapped? In this day and age?” “Dad controls the finances. He keeps her comfortable enough not to rebel and he treats her okay…as long as she toes the line and keeps up the standards. She’s little more than a pampered slave.”
“I’m sure she’d find a way to leave if she really wanted to,” Simon soothed, lifting his glass of wine and taking a long sip.
“She doesn’t want to, and that’s what I can’t understand. I think she enjoys being a martyr, the so-called ideal wife and mother. She’d never break up the family, never disgrace her sons or her husband. The men in my family have her just where they want her.”
“Not all men are like your father and brothers.”
“No,” she agreed, and flicked him a softer look. Simon was nothing like her father or brothers. She and Simon had been equals, neither wanting to outdo or make unreasonable demands on the other. And yet…
Her eyes wavered. He’d imposed his will on her in a different way, after Lily died. Closing up, shutting her out, hardly able even to look at her, except in the dark confines of their bed when he made love to her. Or rather, had sex with her. She stuffed a forkful of fish into her mouth.
“Did you see your parents before you left for London?” Simon asked, thinking she was brooding over them, not him.
“No, I just let them know I’d been transferred there from Sydney.” She hadn’t seen her family since they’d flown down from Brisbane for Lily’s funeral.
That traumatic day…
She shivered. Her mother had been no comfort to her, too devastated at losing the baby granddaughter she’d rarely seen to think of anyone but herself and her own tragic loss. And her father had been his usual insensitive, chauvinistic self, growling, “I told you it’s a mistake for a woman to have a full-time career and a family. Your mind must have been elsewhere when you crossed that road. Even on a pedestrian crossing, on a Sunday, you need to have your wits about you.”
Because of her own feelings of guilt and black despair at the time, she hadn’t flared back at him as she might have in the past. She’d even wondered if he could be right after all…that a woman couldn’t expect to have both a career and a family without suffering dire consequences. She hadn’t been able to face her parents since then, especially after she ran out on Simon and her marriage. She knew she couldn’t expect any sympathy from them. Her father would see it as another failure, blaming her career, as always. And her mother would take his side, as usual.
“Why are we talking about my parents?” she grumbled. “You know it always upsets me. I came to Venice to feel better, not worse.”
“And I’m going to make sure you do feel better,” Simon said without missing a beat. “Assuming you want me to stick around?”
I’ll always want you around, Simon…as long as you don’t shut me out again…as long as you can bring yourself to talk about what happened two years ago and stop silently blaming me, or, at least try to be more understanding and sympathetic.
She raised her glass in a brave salute, wondering if it was already too late to pick up the pieces. He still hadn’t opened up to her…about the things that really mattered. The loss of their daughter…the loss of his career, though that, she hoped, was only temporary…and the cold, hard fact that they both lived on opposite sides of the world now, she in London, he in Sydney. Now that he’d had his healing year off, his old hospital must be clamouring to have him back.
The hospital where Lily died…
Her hand trembled on her wine glass. Simon had tried so hard to save his daughter, but he must have known in his heart, as all the doctors around him had known, that she was beyond saving. He’d had to watch his baby girl slip away beneath his fingers, the expert fingers that were trying so desperately to save her life. With that heartrending memory to haunt him, how could he ever face going back there?
But there were plenty of other Australian hospitals that must be aware of Simon’s outstanding skills and reputation, many surely eager to grab him if they had the chance.
* * *
Simon lifted his own glass and clinked it against hers. She hadn’t answered his question, he noted, but she hadn’t given him the boot, either. Not yet.
“To recovery,” he said. She could take that whichever way she liked. The recovery of her health…the recovery of trust after their horrendous loss…the recovery of their shattered marriage…even, thinking positively, the recovery of romance in their lives.
What better place to rediscover romance than here in romantic Venice, where they’d first found it? Maybe he should think no further than that…romancing her, wooing her all over again, rediscovering the passion they’d lost. Maybe even embarking on a romantic second honeymoon, to revive the old magic, the old chemistry, before they had to leave Venice and face reality again.
He looked deep into the shadowed green of her eyes. Two people in love, damn it, could face anything, overcome any obstacle. They’d managed to do it once before, hadn’t they? As compulsive workaholics with a shared ambition to reach the top of their respective fields and with no thought of marriage or settling down, they’d had to face the fact that they were going to have a baby together.
Yeah…even though they’d allowed their work, rather than their relationship, to consume them, they’d made their marriage work once, for a while, at least. Until the loss of…he felt his throat catch. Until the worst tragedy of their lives had torn them apart.
It’ll be different this time, he vowed, burying the old pain and letting his eyes caress hers as his senses drank in the subtle, familiar fragrance of her. They just needed to change a few things, make more time for each other, avoid the same mistakes, and to talk more, open up more, face their ghosts, something he’d always found difficult.
Damn it, he still did.
Annabel felt a jolt, like an electric charge, zip through her. Something had just changed…something in him…in his eyes, in the way the veiled blue suddenly cleared…in the way he was looking at her.
It was the way he’d looked at her four years ago, when they first met…as if he were seeing her for the first time, and was excited by what he saw. She remembered the way she’d responded back then…and could feel herself responding in a similar way now. It felt…it felt as if they’d gone back in time and were starting all over again.
Was it possible, after the harsh words they’d flung at each other yesterday, and the bitter, painful memories of their last months together?
But that’s just it, you fool. He wants you to forget all that for now, to forget all the bad things, the pain, the hurt, and grab this chance to start again…from scratch.
She felt her heart lift, and looked up, flashing a sudden dazzling smile. “We’re wasting time just sitting here. There’s a lot we’ve yet to explore in Venice. Ready to go?”
“Let me just pay the bill.”
“No, let me pay for you. Please.”
He didn’t argue. They’d always shared costs in the past. Something her father would never have abided in a woman, she mused as she pulled out her purse.
They walked back across the Accademia Bridge and decided, since it was open, to visit the Accademia Gallery. As expected, they found it an absolute treasure-house of magnificent Venetian paintings.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering down narrow alleys with flower boxes overflowing with orange and pink geraniums and washing drying overhead, following small winding canals and crossing narrow bridges, discovering other treasures they’d missed four years ago, like the great Franciscan church known as the Frari, where they gazed in awe at the famous Titian and Bellini masterpieces.
Returning to the nearest vaporetto station, Annabel bought a few postcards to send back to her colleagues at work, and one to send back home to Brisbane, just to let her parents know she was still alive. Having a short holiday in Venice, you should both come here sometime. No need to mention Simon, or that she’d been ill. Let them think her new life as an unattached career woman was perfect.
Back at St. Mark’s Square, after a return vaporetto ride down the Grand Canal, they joined a short queue outside the towering Campanile and caught the lift up to the top of the bell tower for spectacular views of sun-drenched Venice and the Lagoon.
“What a sight,” she breathed, darting from one side to the other. “Now I know what they mean by a bird’s eye-view. You can see everything!”
“Not quite everything. Haven’t you noticed something is missing from up here?” Simon was standing so close behind her she could feel his breath spreading the fine hairs on her head.
“What?” she asked, her voice husky. Right now all she could think of was him and how tempted she felt to turn around and…
Cool it, you idiot. A crowded bell tower’s hardly the place for romantic canoodling.
Simon’s voice rumbled back. “You can see the whole of Venice lying below, but you can’t see any canals. Not even the Grand Canal, except where it runs into the Lagoon.”
She stared downward. “Good heavens, you’re right, you can’t. Not a single one. How amazing.” Almost as amazing as it was to be back here in Venice, alone with her estranged husband. If you could call being among crowds of tourists alone.
“Time we were going down,” Simon said, glancing at his watch. “Let’s go.”
“What’s the hurry?” she asked as he ushered her back to the lift. Did he have to meet someone? Tom, maybe?
He grinned. “The bells strike on the hour, and we don’t want to be deafened.”
“Oh.” She glanced up at the five huge bells and felt a twinge of relief that he wasn’t leaving her for someone else.
“Want to head back to the hotel now for a rest?” he asked when they and a dozen or so others spilled out of the crowded lift.
The prospect of putting her feet up for a while made her realize how footsore and weary she was after all the walking they’d done. Her bout of pneumonia had hit her hard and she still tired easily.
“Okay,” she said, glancing up at Simon, wondering if she looked as worn out as she felt.
“You must be tired…not that you look it,” he was quick to assure her, as if he’d read her thoughts. It was something he hadn’t done for a long time, it struck her—bothered to read her mind, or care what she was thinking. “The sunshine and exercise are obviously doing you the world of good,” he said. “You’ve a healthy glow in your cheeks that wasn’t there yesterday.”
She flushed, suspecting it wasn’t just the sunshine and exercise that were making her glow. “My legs are tired,” she admitted, just as bells started chiming in the tower, “and my feet are a bit sore. I can’t remember when I’ve done so much walking. But it’s been fun,” she said, and meant it.
“It’s probably just what you’ve been needing.”
Or maybe I’ve just been needing you, Simon.
Simon squared his shoulders as the dusky rose-colored walls of their hotel appeared. Much as he was determined to be patient and not rush her, he couldn’t resist leading her a little further.
“Want to meet me in the dining room for a spot of dinner later?” he asked. “Or we could find a restaurant nearby if you’d prefer. Your friends have their conference dinner tonight, so we’re not likely to run into them.” He wondered if she was as relieved as he was at the thought. His hands clenched as he saw her hesitate.
“I…actually, I’ve offered to mind their baby daughter Gracie tonight, while they’re at their dinner. I left a note for Tessa this morning. If she leaves a bottle for the baby, she can enjoy herself without worrying about feeds.”
Her tone was faintly defensive and he shot her a speculative look. Was it because she was talking about a baby? Because she was still sore at him for lashing out at her yesterday after seeing her with Tessa’s baby and assuming it was hers?
Or was she challenging him to think of their own baby, he wondered heavily, and to face up to the fact that he hadn’t been able to save her? Hell, as if he hadn’t faced up to it! He’d been living with the guilt and despair for the past two years! Damn it, he’d been living with guilt and regret all his life. His father had made sure of that.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. If his wife still hadn’t forgiven him, if being with him again hadn’t softened her at all, what hope did he have?
A distant, unbearable memory—one he’d long suppressed, unable to face the shameful, gut-wrenching reality—stirred in the depths of his psyche. An image of a small white face with snowy-blond hair appeared. He snapped it from his mind, a silent groan rolling through him. If she knew about that, knew how he’d failed someone else close to him, what hope would he ever have of winning her back?
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.