at the worst moments of their failing marriage he’d wished her the absolute best in her career, her private life, in everything she desired. Always. Then after their divorce he’d wanted it even more. He’d owed her for pushing her away at a time he’d desperately needed her. She’d known his need and he could still see the hurt in her eyes every time he’d denied her. He owed her for so many things, and at the same time he’d been slayed by her accusation. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit the truth to her.
‘Ben, there you are. I’ve been searching this crowd from the moment we were released for coffee. How the blazes are you? It’s been a while.’
Ben turned to find John standing beside him and clasped his hand. ‘Released? You make it sound like a sentence being here. How’re things with you? It’s been a long time.’ Hell, John had gained a lot of weight since they’d last caught up.
‘Too long, but I guess it’s too far for you to hop a ride down to Sydney to play catch-up.’ John sounded like he wished for exactly that.
‘It’s not next door, that’s for sure.’ But it was his turn to visit and he should’ve made the effort. John had been a good friend to him while he’d lived in Sydney, trying to get back on his feet. ‘I’ll head your way next time I pull holidays. How’s that?’ Talk about an instant decision. There’d be no backing out once John’s wife, Rita, heard.
‘Deal.’ John’s gaze drifted sideways to where Tori stood. ‘So that’s your ex-wife.’
‘Tori.’ John would’ve heard her name when she’d been introduced at the conference. Because they shared the same surname, would everyone here think he and Tori were married? He didn’t know what to make of that. Her explanation for not changing back to her maiden name didn’t ring true of her. Not the Tori he’d known, who’d always done what had needed doing without delay. Whenever he’d read ‘Tori Wells’ in an article or, recently, on the forum programme, he’d know a moment of pleasure—before reality had set in. They were divorced. Sharing a name meant nothing, held no connection.
John was still yabbering in his ear. ‘Got a surprise when “Madame Wells” stood up. I knew she was coming, but you never said she was a looker.’
A change of subject was needed urgently. ‘Is Rita here, too?’
‘You don’t think I’d be allowed to come to France without her, do you?’ John grinned. ‘I hate to think what’s happening to the credit card right now.’
‘Go, Rita. I hope she blows the budget big time.’ Ben knew the diminutive woman who was the light of his friend’s life would be very circumspect. She came from a poor background and having money on tap hadn’t made her a spendthrift, though being in France might tempt her to have some fun. He’d always liked Rita, and had felt envious of the relationship she and John shared. The kind of relationship he and Tori had had in the beginning—before his monumental error of judgement. Stop thinking about Tori. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. Focus on John. ‘How’s life at Sydney Hospital?’
‘Muddling along. Never enough time to see all the patients I’d like to, but otherwise no complaints. What about you? You’re still happy on Harley Street?’
‘Absolutely. It takes up most of my time.’ And filled in the end of the day when everyone else was at home with family while he only had a solitary meal prepared by his housekeeper to look forward to. ‘It’s turned into a twenty-four-seven career.’
Except for the next few days. Hopefully he’d get to relax a bit. He was exhausted and needed a break before he made a mistake. Another mistake. A shudder rolled through him. He had learned the hard way to routinely take leave to recharge his batteries. An overtired surgeon made mistakes. Shifting his balance from one foot to the other, he noticed John grinning at him. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘I don’t believe it. You’re working all hours. No play time? What about the ladies? Surely you’re keeping up with them?’
Ben’s eyes were drawn to that perfectly coiffed red hair a few metres away. Now, there was a lady, a real lady. One whose agenda had never been to want to hang off his arm because he’d been endowed with good looks, or to make use of his wealth, or to be ‘seen’ with Mr Benjamin Wells, surgeon. No, she’d loved him for himself, including all his faults. Or so he’d thought until those last months. Seemed he might’ve got that wrong, given she was obviously over him.
He turned back to John. ‘I haven’t joined the monastery, if that’s what you’re inferring.’ But he kept every encounter light and friendly. No one ever had to teach him the same lesson twice.
‘You ever think of heading back down our way permanently? Or are you firmly ensconced in England?’
Ben contemplated the question. He’d enjoyed his time in Sydney where the culture was so similar to home that he’d fitted in easily. London was different. He loved the city with its shows and nightlife, the history and art. His apartment overlooking the Thames was a dream come true. But he never felt he belonged. ‘When the rain doesn’t stop bucketing down for days on end, or there’s a polar blast happening, then, yes, I give the idea a glance. But, no, I’m a Londoner now.’ Or so he tried to convince himself. Especially on the days when homesickness for Auckland turned him sour.
Before he could stop himself, his gaze cruised over Tori again, and his mouth dried as he glimpsed her creamy throat as she tipped her head back to laugh. He couldn’t see it under that ivory blouse and green jacket but there was a small mole centimetres below her right clavicle. Anyone watching her wouldn’t know how wild that abundant red hair was when let loose from the restraints she currently had it held in, how it spilled across the pillow and felt like satin in his hands.
‘Time we returned to our seats,’ John said. ‘Want to meet Rita and me in the bar before the dinner tonight?’
‘Six-thirty suit?’ A couple of drinks and some relaxed conversation with good friends were just the ticket to put Tori out of his head for a while.
Not that he expected to be totally free of her for the duration of the conference, but right now any time without her within sight, disturbing his carefully put-together equilibrium, had to be good. Didn’t it?
IN ANOTHER NEW pair of gorgeous shoes, red this time, Tori followed the waiter to her table for the formal dinner. Across the crowd already seated she saw Benji standing in the distance, a distance that inexorably became smaller and smaller until she was led right up to him. ‘There has to be some mistake.’
But there on the table, in black on a gilt-edged card, was written ‘Madame Wells’ in calligraphy, marking her place. Right next to the card naming the one person out of more than twelve hundred she did not want to sit with.
Apparently totally unperturbed, Ben gave his gut-twisting smile as he pulled out her chair. ‘Would’ve been more interesting if the same mistake had been made over our hotel rooms.’
‘In your dreams, Benji.’ Gulp. ‘Ben.’ Too late.
That smile went virile, wide and open and full of laughter. Then he leaned closer to whisper, ‘I can’t believe you just said Benji.’ Then his smile dipped and that sadness she’d witnessed in the morning was back, his cheeky
