she so inexperienced—at thirty-five?—that she didn’t know the rules, couldn’t read the signs? Or did she have some agenda of her own?
Well, yes to the latter, she’d told him as much, but she wasn’t giving off ‘I’d like to get to know you better’ vibes, so what other agenda could it be?
‘Of course now, if that suits you,’ he said, wondering what he was getting into, suspecting his assumption of her inexperience might be true and intrigued in spite of himself. ‘I was always curious.’
She gave him a sharp, assessing look—no fool, this woman—then shrugged.
‘I don’t mind that,’ she assured him. ‘In fact, it might be a point in my favour.’
Not smiling so it wasn’t a joke—but a point in her favour? In favour of what?
‘Shall we continue this mysterious conversation all evening, or should we discuss something else—there’s always work—until we’ve eaten?’
Now she did smile, and although the expression held a degree of uncertainty it confirmed his initial reaction to her—she was beautiful.
But beautiful women usually radiated confidence, and although Grace gave the impression of being in control, and certainly seemed confident in her work, he kept getting the feeling that her personal confidence was something she’d manufactured, like a cloak, that she wrapped around herself to protect the person she really was.
Or was he being fanciful? Seeing something of his own self-protective instincts and habits in her?
They left the hospital and walked down the road, bypassing Scoozi by unspoken but mutual consent and wandering towards a little brasserie, far enough from the hospital to be less populated by medical people.
‘Is there pizza on the menu here?’ Grace asked, hesitating on the footpath beside the trellised outdoor garden.
‘I don’t only eat pizza and, in fact, this place does the best moussaka outside my aunt’s house in Melbourne.’
Grace glanced at him and he waited, expecting more questions, but none came and he realised that although she was looking at him, her mind was elsewhere.
On the question she wanted to ask?
It was looming larger and larger in his mind, so surely it was swooping around inside her head.
‘We’re going in?’ he asked, and she nodded, though she indicated the outdoor area with a wave of her slim, thin-fingered hand.
‘Could we sit outside?’
He was still thinking about her hands—he’d noticed them in Theatre, where, even gloved, they’d looked… aristocratic somehow.
‘Of course.’
The waitress seated them at a corner table, close by a rambling vine that drooped tiny purple flowers, dropping them when the wind rustled through the leaves so a vagrant few rested in Grace’s golden hair like tiny amethyst gemstones.
Theo opted not to tell her, sure she’d be annoyed by such frivolous beauty and brush them out.
‘I’ll have the lamb,’ Grace announced, one minute’s perusal of the menu enough for her to make up her mind. The decisiveness fitted what he knew of her. He ordered moussaka—wondering if she could tell as much about him from his order. A man of habit—that’s about all she’d gather.
‘So, the question?’ he prompted when the waitress had disappeared to the kitchen with their orders.
She seemed startled, then, to his surprise, she blushed.
‘It should be easy for a person as blunt and plainspoken as I am,’ she muttered, looking more embarrassed by the second, ‘but it’s not that kind of question.’
‘Oh?’
He wasn’t going to help her. He was already regretting agreeing to this dinner. Getting even mildly entangled with a particular member of the team wasn’t on his agenda. His private life was just that, private, and he wanted to keep it that way.
‘It’s personal—very personal—and you’ll think I’ve got a cheek, a terrible cheek. And presumptuous—very presumptuous.’
She stopped and tried a smile that failed dismally, although something about the pathetic attempt struck Theo as brave—valiant.
‘Perhaps if I explained, just a little about myself—no, that won’t work, it’s better just to ask. The thing is, you see, I badly want a child. I’m thirty-five and running out of time, and while I’m here in Sydney is the ideal time to get pregnant and I wondered, if you’d mind—if you had no objections and I know it’s a totally outrageous thing to ask, but you’re everything that would be fantastic—I wondered if I could use…’
The floundering stopped as suddenly as it had started and, scarlet-faced, she stared at the far corner of the courtyard, swallowing convulsively.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she managed a little later. ‘I’m an idiot! Let’s just forget all about it and eat.’
‘Except our meal hasn’t arrived,’ he told her, speaking quietly and gently for he could see she was genuinely upset. Somehow she’d convinced herself that whatever it was she wanted to ask was OK, yet when it came to saying it, she’d baulked.
What could have been so outrageous?
He tried to remember what she’d said, but the words, spoken so quickly in her crisp South African voice, had all run together and he’d been more interested in watching her face and seeing her mounting embarrassment to really listen.
‘Moussaka?’
‘Mine,’ he told the waitress, then watched as she placed the lamb dish in front of Grace.
‘Perhaps a bottle of wine, the Newnhams Shiraz,’ he suggested, more to the waitress than Grace. Neither of them would be involved in Theatre the following day, and the alcohol might help Grace relax.
Though why he was worrying about her, he didn’t know. She was a self-confident, thoroughly together woman—and very capable of getting her own way. His presence in this restaurant right now was evidence of that.
Had he ordered the wine to dull the impact of dinner with her? Grace wondered, thinking how idiotic she must have sounded, words somersaulting out of her mouth, tumbling over each other and making no sense at all. She couldn’t even remember how far she’d got, her embarrassment so acute her cheeks had been burning!
She tried to concentrate on her meal, which looked and smelled delicious, but she was afraid her hands would shake when she picked up her knife and fork.
‘Ah, wine. Try this. It’s not well known—in fact, the restaurant gets it from a small producer so you won’t find it in bottle shops. You do drink wine?’
Even if she’d been a lifelong and committed teetotaller she’d have agreed to try it. Anything to stop this man thinking she was a complete klutz!
She nodded and watched as he poured the ruby-coloured wine into her
