sipped her drink, knocked flat by the deep pain behind Will’s simple tale. To her, in that first year at the Armitages’, Will had always seemed like part of the family. And, perhaps because of the family link, he’d been totally unthreatening, unlike the youths and young men she’d see on the street or in the park—males who’d make some casual remark, not really even aimed at her, but enough to make her cringe and scurry back home with the twins.
Will had just been Will, studying medicine because, she suspected, he’d idolised Dave and Isobel.
Now the pain he’d had in his life made her heart ache for him.
No wonder he’d grown up …
‘So, your daughter?’
His smile lit up his face.
It did weird things to her insides too, but she could ignore them.
‘Charlotte,’ he said simply. ‘She’s the greatest—a precious gift—she’s why we came back here to Port. Look, here’s a photo.’
Alex waited while he pulled out his wallet and dug in the folds, and she wondered if he was giving himself time to get over the memories of his wife’s death.
The small, wallet-sized photo, showed a little girl with a mop of brown curls and a smile that could melt stone. Alex’s breathing faltered as she looked at the beautiful child. Mr Spencer had stolen more than her innocence, he’d stolen her ability to get close enough to a man to want a sexual relationship, let alone a child.
But Will was speaking again and she switched off the futile regrets to listen.
‘Mum minds her when I’m at work, although I’ve built a separate flat in Mum’s house so we’re independent a lot of the time.’
The happiness faded from his face.
‘It worries me, though, that I rely so much on Mum. Now she’s retired she should be out doing things, not minding a nearly four-year-old.’
‘I bet she’s fine with that,’ Alex told him, and touched the hand that still held the photo, just gently …
‘She says so and it will be easier when Charlotte goes to kindy next year, then school—’
‘And then, whoosh—they’re gone from your life.’
His smile wasn’t the worst one she’d ever seen, but it was close, yet even the weak effort affected Alex.
Jet-lag—it had to be!
Jet-lag and seeing a familiar face, that’s all that was going on.
She let go of his hand and concentrated on her drink.
‘So, tell me about you,’ he said, and she knew her own smile would be even weaker than his had been.
In so many ways it was a success story, yet—
‘Perhaps we should eat,’ she suggested, hoping a move from this table—any kind of movement—might …
What? Make him forget he’d asked?
Or break the sense of intimacy—it had to be a false intimacy because of the past—that seemed to be enclosing them.
‘We can talk over food,’ she added, because she knew she’d been far too abrupt.
Will stood up with such alacrity she had to believe he’d felt it too. He led her into another part of the room where most of the diners already finishing their meals, lingering over dessert or last drinks.
‘Tell me about Charlotte—favourite games, toys, books,’ she said, when a waiter had ushered them to a table and slid serviettes onto their laps.
Will grinned at her, which kind of undid a lot of what the move had accomplished, in that a different kind of tension had appeared, tightening her skin and skidding along her nerves.
‘You’re supposed to be telling me about you,’ he reminded her.
Alex waved away his objection but he ignored the gesture.
‘No way, you tell first,’ he ordered, waggling his finger at her, like a teacher with a reluctant pupil.
‘Here’s the short version,’ Alex said. ‘You’d gone south to finish your degree before I left the Armitages’, but I got that scholarship Isobel made me work so hard for, went to Brisbane, got my degree, got engaged—church upbringing still strong, so marriage seemed a logical step. I’d wanted to specialise in cardiology, Dave’s influence, I suppose, although I couldn’t handle the surgery. I was offered a terrific training job in London, qualified, got unengaged, moved from London to Glasgow, and now I’m home.’
Given that Will was still smiling at her, she thought she’d done rather well.
‘That’s it?’ he asked. ‘What happened to the fiancé? And you’re a beautiful woman, why only one?’
She’d been pretending to study the menu while she’d talked but now she looked directly at Will.
‘I was so sure I’d recovered from the rape—been to counsellors, talked and talked,’ she said, pleased to hear how calmly she could say the word, even back here where it had happened.
She paused then admitted something she’d never before put into words.
‘But relationships—they just don’t seem to work. Not that I’ve had that many, but I’ve tried, Will, I really have, but when it comes to taking the next step—the intimacy thing—I pull back. It’s unfair to the men, apart from anything else, so in the end I stopped dating and, really, my life is simpler and I’m happy with it. There’s something missing in me, Will, and that’s all I can put it down to.’
Had she sounded depressed that Will reached out and covered her hand with his?
Nothing more than a sympathetic touch, but it fired Alex’s slowly settling nerves again. She removed her hand to close her menu.
‘I think I’ll have the rack of lamb,’ she said, far too brightly.
Will waved the waiter over, gave their order, talked to him about a good red wine to have with the lamb. They would sell it by the glass, which was all he wanted.
The waiter returned with a bottle of red, showed it to Will, offered him a taste, then poured them both a glass.
Will lifted his to toast Alex, who clinked her glass with his and kind of smiled. Maybe it would have worked if sadness hadn’t still been lingering in her eyes …
Not that he’d meant to notice her eyes—
‘So, Glasgow? What on earth were you doing there?’
This time Alex’s smile was better, and he heard an echo of laughter in her voice.
‘It’s actually a very lively city, and I had a dream job. Then Dad got in touch and—well, here I am. As I said, I’m a cardiologist and although I hope I won’t get a lot of intensive-care patients,
