said, planting a swift kiss on her mouth. “I’m due at the hospital in another hour.”
There’d been grass stains on her dress, and she’d cried all the way home as aftermath had set in. “Everyone will know what we’ve done,” she’d wailed.
“How?” he’d said. “I’m not planning on spreading the news.”
“They’ll be able to tell, just by looking at me!”
He’d bent over the oars and grinned in that carefree way of his. “You don’t look any different to me, sweet face,” he’d said.
She’d been devastated. How could he appear so untouched by what they’d shared, when she would never again be the same?
Her father had sensed the change in her immediately, and when Grant hadn’t phoned the next day, as promised, had said cryptically, “That’s what you get for giving in to a man like Madison. He’s using you, Olivia, and you’ll live to regret the day you met him.”
True enough, she thought now, dashing impatiently at the tears suddenly stabbing at her eyes. And if she was so determined to revive the past, she’d do well to dig up some less romantic memories, such as the day she’d told him she was pregnant, in the February following their September wedding.
“Oh, damn!” he’d sighed, sinking to the edge of their bed and lowering his head into his hands. “How the hell did that happen?”
As if he hadn’t known!
Better yet, what about the day he learned she’d miscarried? “A blessing in disguise,” he’d said, using his most professional bedside manner. “I know you’re hurting now, but you’re young and healthy and there’s no reason you can’t carry a baby to term when the time’s right. But that time, Olivia, is not now.”
Of course it hadn’t been—at least, not for someone who’d secretly applied to work on a medevac team in the Northwest Territories once his year of internship was up, and who, if he was accepted, would spend at least half his time away from home. But that was the kind of man she’d married—too focused on his own wants and needs to give a hoot about anyone else’s, least of all a wife who’d become a millstone around his neck.
The bitter after-taste of that long-ago time acted like a tonic on her wilting spirits. No longer just Sam Whitfield’s daughter or Dr. Grant Madison’s wife, she was a woman of consequence in her own right and deserving of the respect she’d earned. No one had the power to reduce her life to a shambles, and she would not give credence to the gossip currently circulating by hiding herself away.
Brushing a speck of dirt from the sleeve of her jacket, she rose from the bench and walked purposefully through the park gates and across the road to the main entrance of the hospital.
At that hour of the morning, the main lobby was crowded with visitors, clerks, technicians and other medical personnel, all busily going about their business. Yet more than a few curious gazes followed her as she made her way to the bank of elevators, and Olivia knew that the gossip hadn’t stopped at Ingrid’s Deli. The hospital was buzzing, too, and if she’d had the slightest doubt of that, it was laid to rest the minute she stepped into the boardroom where her meeting was to take place.
“So you haven’t holed up in your little house for the duration,” Daphne Jerome, head of the social committee, greeted her. “My dear, how I do admire your fortitude!”
Since Daphne didn’t admire anyone but herself, her remark could be construed as nothing more than a blatant attempt to get an account, from the source, of what had actually happened on the Saturday. Feigning surprise, Olivia said blandly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daphne.”
“Why, the reappearance of your unlamented ex-husband, of course! From all accounts, he quite stole the limelight at Justin Greer’s wedding—and you didn’t do so badly, yourself. How did it feel to come face to face with him after all this time?”
“Not particularly exciting. We’ve been divorced for so long, it was almost like meeting a stranger.”
“Really? In that case, I shudder to think how you’d greet a friend.”
Realizing too late the mistake of trying to play Daphne at her own game, Olivia said shortly, “A woman your age ought to know better than to set much store by hearsay, and I frankly don’t have the time to waste setting you straight. Where’s Dr. Harte? I thought that, as head of Cardiology, he wanted to sit in on today’s meeting.”
“Haven’t you heard? He’s been called out of town. And since his next-in-command is Dr. Greer, who happens to be off on his honeymoon, that leaves only his stand-in, and…” Daphne smiled archly. “Well, dear, I see from the look on your face that you’re beginning to get the picture—and just in time, because here he is, in the flesh.”
The small silence which punctuated her announcement probably lasted no longer than a heartbeat, yet it seemed to Olivia that it stretched interminably, during which time everything happened in slow motion.
Grant closed the door and confronted the faces turned expectantly to his. Sparing the room at large a brief, professional smile, he nodded a reply to the murmured greetings and favored her with a pleasant, “Morning, Olivia,” as he took the chair Daphne indicated was his.
Olivia wasn’t quite sure how she found her place, but the relief at being able to sit down before her knees gave way was overwhelming. How had Saturday’s outrageous and irreverent dancing partner metamorphosed into this white-coated stranger with the cool blue eyes and air of distinguished respectability? What had happened to the rebel in blue jeans who’d once stalked the halls of Springdale General and thumbed his nose at those in authority whom he perceived to be fools—most notably her father?
Blindly, she reached into her briefcase for her folder of notes, and wondered what other surprises Grant had hidden up his immaculately starched sleeve. Under cover of uncapping her pen, she sneaked another look at him, half expecting to find him laughing at her for being taken in by so ludicrous a performance. Because surely that was all it was?
But, if so, he wasn’t ready to put an end to it. Instead, he sat listening attentively to the man on his right, nodding occasionally in a serious sort of way and absently polishing a pair of rimless glasses. Add a false beard, Olivia thought, more confounded by the minute, and he’d pass for a college professor!
Someone called the meeting to order and droned on about various administrative concerns. The minutes from the last meeting were read, during which Grant seemed to find staring out of the window vastly more interesting than paying attention to the proceedings.
The social committee’s fundraising efforts came fifth on the agenda, and when, finally, they were opened for discussion, Daphne took the floor. “I’d like to begin by introducing Dr. Grant Madison, who’s here specifically to enlist our support for the Cardiac Unit. Before we get down to specifics, I’ll ask those of you involved in this particular undertaking to identify yourselves, just so that he knows who you are. We’ll start with you, Ms. Whitfield.”
And say what? Hello, I’m your ex-wife, who hasn’t been able to get you off her mind since you marched back into her life three days ago and practically seduced her in front of half the town? Though truthful, such an admission was hardly appropriate.
Olivia’s dismay must have been painted on her face, because Grant cut in before she could open her mouth. “No introduction’s needed. Olivia
