Читать книгу Where You Belong - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 16

I took off my dressing gown and the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower, let the hot water sluice down over my body, and then I dumped loads of shampoo on top of my head and thoroughly washed my hair.

After stepping out of the shower and towelling myself dry, I wrapped a smaller towel in a turban around my head. And then I examined my wound. I did this every day. There was a funny puckering around it, but that would go away eventually; that’s what my doctor here in Paris had told me.

I’d been very fortunate, he’d explained when I’d first gone to see him, in that the bullet had missed muscle and bone, and gone right through flesh. Where it had exited, it had left a gaping hole originally, and the main problem for the doctors in Belgrade had been picking out the bits of cloth from my clothes which had been blown into the open wound. They had apparently done an excellent job, according to Dr Bitoun, and I had healed well.

There was no question about it in my mind, luck had been running with me that day. Just as it had with Jake. The two of us had somehow been protected.