and I studied medicine together, you know. We were at Melbourne Uni together, and haven’t seen each other since. We both have lots to catch up on. But first, tell us about yourself, Annabel. What brings you to Venice?”
The last thing she wanted was for the focus to be on her. Luckily, the arrival of a drink waiter gave her a moment’s reprieve, a chance to put her chaotic thoughts in some sort of order. As they ordered drinks, she could feel Simon’s eyes boring into her face, sense him waiting for her answer.
“Okay, Annabel,” said Tom, after they’d raised their glasses and sipped dutifully. “You have the floor.”
She managed a smile, urging herself to keep her answer light and brief. “I’ve had time off work with pneumonia,” she said. “I’m better now, but my law firm refused to let me come back until I took a short break away from London. The weather’s been really foul there lately.” She shrugged. “That’s about it. The minute I heard it was sunny and warm in Venice, I headed here.”
Maybe she’d been searching for something more than just sun and warmth. Redemption, maybe. Peace. Hoping that the memories of her first visit to Venice, when she and Simon had met and had such a blissful time together, might have given some balm to her soul, reminding her that they’d been happy together…once. She needed some happy memories…not only of their carefree romance in Venice, but happy memories of their daughter, too…memories of the short, beautiful time they’d had her. Memories to cherish.
So much for finding peace or salvation in sunny Venice! Simon’s unexpected arrival and the hostile confrontation that had followed had shattered any soothing calm she might have found here. Stung by his bitter attack on her, she’d let him believe his ready assumption that she’d found another man…that she’d had another man’s baby, for heaven’s sake. As if they didn’t have enough real issues to deal with!
“You didn’t bring your baby with you, Annabel?” Simon asked her, his gaze pinning hers so that she could catch the ominous glint in his eye.
Her heart dipped. He wanted to confront her now, in front of Tessa and Tom? He’d be asking her about her phantom lover next! If they’d been alone, she might have been tempted to string out the elaborate fiction a bit longer, as a self-protective mechanism, but with witnesses here, she knew she would have to come clean.
“Baby?” Tessa looked at her in confusion.
Annabel sighed, resigned to the inevitable, but needing to take another quick breath before answering. She didn’t want to talk about babies, fictitious or otherwise. It might lead to painful revelations about her own lost baby. Our baby, she corrected herself, sliding another veiled glance at Simon. He wouldn’t say anything about their daughter if she didn’t.
“The baby you saw me with this afternoon was Tessa’s.” Her voice caught a little, as it always did when she had to say the word baby. “I was minding Gracie while Tessa did some shopping.” She waved a hand in the direction of the sleeping baby in the capsule on the floor. “Didn’t you recognize her?” she asked, trying to make light of it, even managing a teasing note.
She was relieved when Simon’s gaze swiveled round, away from her. “Babies look different when they’re hidden in blankets, fast asleep,” was all he said. If he felt any anger at her subterfuge, or any triumph at her forced confession—or any relief—he wasn’t showing it, his tone coolly impassive.
She drew in another fractured breath. At least he hadn’t said, All babies look alike. But then Simon wouldn’t. Not after having a baby daughter of his own. Losing a much loved baby of his own. Emotion welled up inside her, and she grabbed at the menu like a life-line.
Even with her nose buried in the menu, she could feel Simon’s probing gaze on her. Finally, risking a glance up, ready to defy any condemnation she saw in his eyes, she was surprised to see a glimmer of concern in the piercing blue, when he had good reason to be gloating at catching her out. She felt a shivery tremor run through her.
“Well, what are we going to have to eat?” Tom asked cheerily, and the awkward moment passed.
Over their meal, Tom kept the conversational ball rolling with tales of knee operations and amputated legs, and how he’d met Tessa while she was working as a physiotherapist and how he’d proposed to her within weeks. By the time their dessert arrived, the wine had loosened Tom’s tongue enough for him to risk getting personal again and quizzing Simon about his life.
“Enough about us…tell us about your brilliant career, Simon. I don’t doubt it has been brilliant. You were always so determined to be the best in your field one day. You must be a top neurosurgeon by now.”
“Actually, I gave up neurosurgery eighteen months ago,” came the cool response. As Annabel’s head snapped back in shock, Simon, in the same impassive tone, explained. “I damaged my hand and couldn’t operate. I worked as a neurologist while I was having treatment, then took a year off to sail around the world.”
The room spun. Annabel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Simon, the dedicated, hardworking neurosurgeon, unable to operate? Being forced to give up neurosurgery? Her heart went out to him. It was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. He’d devoted his life to it.
She’d once asked him why he’d decided on neurosurgery, wondering what had motivated such a demanding choice of career. Knowing little about him at the time, she’d assumed it must have been the money, or the prestige, or even a secret passion for fancy cars and the good life. But his answer, when it eventually came, had shown he hadn’t done it for himself at all.
“My mother died of a brain tumor. The doctors couldn’t save her, even though it was operable.” He’d shown no emotion, no anger, no resentment, clearly well-practiced at hiding his feelings. “We couldn’t afford the best neurosurgeon…we had to make do with the specialist chosen for us. He was…inexperienced and inadequate. I swore the day my mother died that I was going to study medicine when I finished school, then specialize in neurosurgery and become the top brain surgeon in the country. It was too late for my mother,” he’d added heavily, “but hopefully I could help others with a similar need for the best skills and care.”
And he’d succeeded brilliantly, despite the fact that he’d had to do it entirely on his own. His father had walked out on his family when Simon was only seven, and he’d had no brothers or sisters or other family support. He’d never given her a reason for his father leaving home, always withdrawing and closing up when she asked about that obviously painful time in his life.
Simon had always found it hard to open up, even to her, she mused with a tug of regret. He’d kept his emotions and past hurts locked away somewhere deep inside him. Even when Lily died, at a time when she’d most needed his support, and he’d most needed hers, he’d shut himself off from her. She’d known he was silently condemning her for what had happened to Lily, for letting the accident happen—just as she’d blamed herself, and still did. He’d thrown himself even deeper into his demanding surgical work, the one thing left that meant something to him. That meant everything.
And now, apparently, he’d lost that, too
She ran sympathetic eyes over his right hand as it curled round his wine glass, then over his other hand resting on the table—the hands she’d once longed to feel on her body—noting the long, sensitive surgeon’s fingers that had healed so many. Both hands looked fine to her. As they must be by now if he’d been able to sail around the world for the past year.
Sail! She’d never known Simon to sail a boat before.
She
