and she’d realised she’d just given out information to a hard-core gossip.
‘Yes, and I had to dash back here. I was just wondering if he’d chosen the restaurant because it was close to his place. If I was blind, I think I’d stick to known places.’
Theo had nodded and said, ‘His apartment’s on the top floor of the Bridgeview Building. I can’t believe that all this time he’s been blind and living in Perth, and none of us knew. Did he say what happened?’
Hayley didn’t like to gossip but as she’d been the one to bring the topic up she took the middle road. ‘I only met the man this morning and he said he was knocked off his bike. I’m sure now that he’s back in Sydney he’d appreciate a call from friends and he’ll probably tell you a lot more that he did me.’
Theo had almost dropped the Yankauer sucker. ‘Tom Jordan was incredibly well respected amongst the staff but he wasn’t someone you made friends with or saw much outside the hospital. Believe me, many of the nurses tried but he pretty much held himself apart. Tom could talk surgery for hours, but put him in a staffroom with a group discussing last night’s favourite TV show and it was like sticking him in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language. Put it this way, the man doesn’t do small talk.’
How long have you been scared of the dark?
Hayley smiled at the recollection as she bit into the toast. Theo was right. Tom still didn’t do small talk but, then again, neither did she—or when she tried she didn’t do it very well. She totally understood what it was like to feel completely at sea when surrounded by an animated discussion about who would be eliminated next from the phenomenally popular cooking show on television. She hardly watched any TV and if she did have some downtime she tended to re-watch her favourite movies on DVD.
She gave herself a shake. Enough of straying thoughts and Tom Jordan. It was time to knuckle down to her day. But as she rinsed her plate and mug, the need to move, to do something different, intensified. It was as if her entire body was fidgeting. With a sigh she tossed the tea towel over the dish drainer.
Go for a run. She smiled at the thought. Exercise was the perfect solution to working off this unusual lack of focus and after a long run she’d be able to settle down to study.
Five minutes later and with her MP3 player strapped to her arm, she slipped a key into her pocket and headed out the door. She usually ran down towards Luna Park, but today she just started running, letting her feet take her wherever, and it didn’t take long before she realised she was almost at the hospital. When she reached it, she ran along the back boundary, past Pete’s and the crashing sound of bottles being thrown in the dumpster for recycling, and then across into the strip shopping centre. Dodging through the building lunchtime crowd, she automatically slowed as she passed Wayan’s.
What are you doing? Tom won’t be there.
She looked anyway.
Told you he wouldn’t be there.
Shut up.
She continued the run, silencing the chatter in her head by pushing her body hard and turning her mind over to the demands of keeping one foot in front of the other until she reached a small park close to the sparkling waters of Sydney harbour. As always, the harbour was busy with yachts, motor launches and the ever-present green and yellow ferries that carried commuters all over Sydney. Panting, she stopped at a water fountain and quenched her thirst before leaning over a park bench and doing some necessary stretching. She’d taken a zigzag route from home but now she was at the lowest point. It was going to be a long, uphill climb all the way back.
Giving her body some recovery time, she walked slowly through the small park and came out on the high side, away from the water. It took her a moment to work out exactly where she was and then she saw the gold letters on the building in front of her. Bridgeview.
Tom’s building?
She crossed the street and peered at the list of names next to the pad of doorbells. His name was at the top of the list. A zip of heat shot through her and without stopping to think she pressed her finger to the button.
Her brain instantly engaged. What are you doing? She pulled her finger off the button as if it was on fire, but it was too late. The peal of the electronic bell sounded back at her from the intercom.
‘Did you forget your key, Jared?’
Horrified, she stared at the intercom.
‘Jared?’
Say something or walk away. ‘I’m not Jared.’
‘Who is it?’
Tom’s voice sounded deeper than ever through the intercom and her heart skipped a beat.
‘It’s, um …’ Oh, for heaven’s sake, you know your own name. She gave herself a shake and tried to settle the cotillion of butterflies that had taken over her stomach. ‘Hayley.’ She quickly added, ‘Grey’ for clarification, and then gave a silent groan of humiliation.
She stood there in her running gear, dripping in sweat and feeling incredibly foolish. What on earth had possessed her to ring his doorbell? Worse still, what was she going to say if he actually asked her why she was there? “Just passing. Thought I’d drop in …”
With a groan she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes, lamenting the fact she hadn’t thought this through at all and hating that she’d allowed her wayward body to make decisions for her. Meanwhile, the silence extended beyond the time it would take to reply and had moved from a polite pause into seriously uncomfortable nothingness.
Just go home.
She pushed off the wall and then jumped as the buzzing sound of amplified silence blared out of the speaker.
‘Are you still there?’ Tom demanded.
Say nothing. Pretend you’ve left. ‘I am.’
‘I suppose you’d better come up, then.’
Her lips twitched into a half-smile. As invitations went, it summed up Tom perfectly—direct and straight to the point.
The door buzz sounded for a long moment. You’re committed now so open the door. After a short hesitation she bit her lip, pushed against the heavy glass and stepped into the foyer. A whisper-quiet lift whizzed her to the top floor and then she was standing in front of an ivory-coloured door. Tom’s front door. As she knocked, another zip of panic ricocheted through her. Oh, God, what was she doing? She was hot, sweaty and probably bright red. She wiped her hands down her running shorts and for one purely selfish moment she was glad he was blind.
The door opened and Tom stood in front of her, his chocolate-noir hair spiked as if his hands had ploughed through it a thousand times and strands of silver caressed his temples. Deep lines pulled around his bright green eyes and bracketed his generous mouth, and the familiar aura of strain circled him. Today, instead of being dressed head to toe in what she’d assumed was his signature black, he wore dark brown cord, slim-fit pants, a white shirt with a button-down collar and a chocolate-brown moleskin jacket. His clothes were all perfectly colour-coordinated and although there was no sign of any tweed, he looked every inch a university professor. Not that he technically was one, but she wondered if one day in the future
