Читать книгу The Marriage Experiment - Catherine Spencer - Страница 8

FOR the next two days, Olivia literally hid from the world. Turning off her phone, she buried herself in tasks about the gatehouse, spending Sunday morning painting the powder room at the back of the hall, and the afternoon weeding the flower garden bordering the patio.

On Monday, thanks to the miracle of modern computers, she was able to put in a full day’s work without once stepping outside her front door. But when she found herself actually planning to lie about not feeling well rather than attend a scheduled meeting at Springdale General on the Tuesday, she knew the self-indulgence had gone on long enough.

“Grow up, Olivia!” she muttered. “After Saturday’s wedding debacle, showing your face in public again won’t be easy, but you’ve survived worse.”

An hour later, she wasn’t sure that was true.

“Hear your husband’s back in town,” Ingrid from the deli greeted her, when she stopped by on her way to the hospital. “Hear your father’s fit to be tied about it, too.”

There wasn’t much Ingrid didn’t hear in the course of a week. The little tea shop at the back of her premises was well patronized by local matrons and a hive of gossip, even when there was nothing much to talk about. The return of the renegade Dr. Madison would have made front page news even if he’d come sneaking into town under a cover of darkness. Olivia wasn’t the only one who’d found his slow, sexy smile and hypnotically persuasive voice irresistible.

“I’ll take a jar of black olives, please, and a small carton of the bean salad,” she said stiffly, hoping to nip the conversation in the bud. “And, just for the record, he’s my ex-husband.”

But picking up subtle hints never had been one of Ingrid’s strong points. “Don’t think folks haven’t noticed, hon! There’s a whole flurry of social events suddenly being planned and, as usual, the first one out of the gate is Mrs. Bowles. Just yesterday, she booked me to cater a garden party and let slip that Dr. Madison’s name’s at the top of her list of invitees. And I guess we all know why.” She weighed the salad, slapped a lid on it, and hitched her bosom on the edge of the glass-fronted display case of imported cheeses, a sure sign she was settling in for the duration. “She didn’t shell out the better part of eight thousand dollars to make her daughter presentable just to have her sitting home and withering on the vine, as it were. Now that Joanne’s got the braces off her teeth and shed all that extra weight, Mrs. Bowles is looking to fix her up with a rich husband. And if the car your ex is driving is anything to go by, he’s not exactly on the bread line.”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, since I have absolutely no idea what sort of car he’s driving, nor any interest in finding out.”

“No,” Ingrid said slyly. “I guess you’ve been too busy checking out his other assets. Having second thoughts about the divorce, are you?”

“Certainly not!”

“Probably just as well. From all I’ve heard, he’s a bit more than a woman like you can handle.”

The way Ingrid looked at her, she might have been the offspring of a troll trying to pass for human.

“Thank you very much!” Olivia said, and made her escape. But, instead of heading directly to the hospital, she detoured by way of the park and found a bench in a quiet corner overlooking the river. She needed a few moments to collect herself before running the risk of facing anyone else because, in her present state, she could only be described as a mess.

Why had Ingrid’s last comment hurt so much when it coincided exactly with the conclusion she herself had arrived at years ago? Why did it matter that every eligible woman within hailing distance was setting her sights on Grant Madison, or that invitations were being issued and she probably wouldn’t be receiving any? And why couldn’t she forget how it had felt to be in his arms again, to feel his heart beating beneath her hand?

She knew the answer and it had nothing to do with falling in love again—at least, not with him. It had to do with his all-too-accurate assessment of her relationship with Henry.

She was a woman in her prime. She should be married and pregnant, with one or two children already hanging onto her skirts. She should have a warm, exciting body sleeping next to her in bed each night.

Instead, she had Henry, who’d implied more than once that he was in love with her. But the thought of actually making love with him left her cold, and he fortunately was too much the gentleman to press the point. Unlike Grant….

Unbidden, the memories of that long-ago summer came sweeping back. She’d been just two months shy of her twentieth birthday when they’d met, and to say that she’d fallen in love with the handsome new intern was an absurd understatement. She’d literally tumbled headlong into a passion so hot and intense it had nearly killed her.

On their third date, Grant had rented a boat and they’d spent the afternoon drifting down the river. Because of the heat, she’d worn a white sun dress with nothing underneath but a pair of cotton panties, and he’d worn denim cut-offs and a blue golf shirt. Spreading out her skirt, she’d reclined against the boat cushions, rested her head against one raised arm, and let the fingers of her other hand trail through the water, all the time watching him through half-closed eyes, admiring the play of muscles beneath the smooth tanned skin of his arms and legs, and very much aware that he was watching her.

A few miles past the town limits, he’d steered into a quiet backwater, tethered the boat, and led her up the bank toward a huge old weeping willow. She’d sensed the urgency in him, had seen the smoldering passion in his eyes. When he’d drawn her down beside him in the long, sweet grass, she’d known he wasn’t going to stop at a kiss or two, just as she’d known she wasn’t going to object at his wanting more from her.

Even all these years later, remembering made her blush. How willingly she’d sprawled beside him, with her skirt up around her waist and the straps of her dress pulled down to reveal her breasts, and her underwear hanging off one ankle! How brazenly she’d let him pleasure her, moaning low in her throat as he’d skimmed his lips over the slope of her shoulder and at excruciating leisure taken each pebbled nipple in his mouth! And how trustingly she’d opened to him, her flesh so slick and eager and his so hard and hot and big that the pain as he’d entered her had barely had time to register before it had been thrust aside by raging passion.

Today, the sun shot brilliant silver arrows through her closed eyelids, but that day the light had been the softly diffused green of a tranquil, underwater sort of world. After the loving, she’d lain there for the longest time, waiting for him to say the right words, the only words a woman wants to hear when she’s given herself unconditionally to a man.

Instead, the silence had lengthened and left her wondering if he’d found her a terrible disappointment. When she’d finally found the courage to look at him, he’d been stretched beside her with his head propped up on his hand and a lazy smile on his face. “Hey,” he’d murmured.

Hey, what? she’d almost cried. What does that mean? And what happens next?

What had happened next was that he’d climbed back into his cut-offs as casually as though he was quite used to baring his all in the great outdoors and, glancing at his watch, reached down and hauled her to her feet. “We’d better head back,” he’d 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 and I are already well acquainted.”

A titter rippled around the table at that, but soon died when he continued sharply, “And, since I’m sure your time is as valuable as mine, I suggest we forego the social niceties and cut to the chase.”

He scanned the table at large, and although his gaze this time settled on her only briefly, Olivia thought she detected a sympathetic gleam in his eyes. “At your last meeting, Dr. Harte made clear the dire need for new equipment in CCU. You waived making a decision on whether or not to support his request for help in raising the funds required until you’d had time to study the feasibility of such an undertaking. I’m here now as his representative to find out your answer.”

Such a direct approach allowed for little equivocation on the part of the committee, particularly not with his unblinking stare dissecting every face as decisively as a laser beam. Even Daphne squirmed a little, and couldn’t wait to pass the buck elsewhere.

“You’re the one who’s done the research on this, Olivia,” she said. “Are we going to be able to assist, and if so, how?”

“We’ve already pledged support to other departments,” she began, wondering how she’d managed to make her voice sound so calmly confident when her insides were in a total uproar. “And I recommend that we honor those first, but—”

“Which departments, Olivia?” Grant inquired.

“Maternity and the Outpatient Clinic, for a start, but—”

“Their situations aren’t as critical.”

“No, they aren’t. But under the circumstances, I feel that—”

“How you feel isn’t the issue,” he said tersely. “We’re talking about saving lives here. With all due respect, childbirth is a normal function which the female body is superbly designed to deal with, and most deliveries are free of complications—”

“But not all of them, Dr. Madison,” she cut in, any inclination she might have harbored to view him in a more kindly light fast disappearing. “Although you can be forgiven for having forgotten that, since it’s never been an area of particular interest to you.”

For a second or two they locked gazes, and she knew from the faint flush that ran under his skin that he recognized the private condemnation behind her remark. But he recovered quickly and overrode it so thoroughly she might as well have saved herself the bother of airing it. “I don’t wish to be offensive, but you’re scarcely qualified to determine priorities here. The Outpatient Clinic, by definition, is not an acute care facility. Anyone requiring round-the-clock supervision would be admitted to one of the wards.”

She laid down her pen and said very distinctly, “I know.”

“I don’t think you do, since you’re clearly unable to view the matter with any kind of objectivity. You need to consult an expert before you—”

“Dr. Madison,” she interrupted, taking great pleasure in cutting him off for a change, “I don’t presume to tell you how to do your job. I’d appreciate it if you’d afford me the same professional courtesy and not try telling me how to do mine. Now, if I may continue?”

He gave a condescending little smile, as though she were a child he had to humor. “Please do.”

She could have choked him! “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome.”

Aaagh! Fairly spitting out the words, she went on, “I have completed an exhaustive study of the various proposals put forward by the members of this committee, and it is my recommendation that we divert existing funds to those departments who’ve already appealed to us for help. That would leave us free to direct the proceeds of our next major fundraiser to the Cardiac Unit.”

“Would it, indeed?” he said, in a somewhat more deferential tone. “I see.”

But she was in no mood to be conciliatory when he’d done his best to belittle her in front of her colleagues. “You’d have seen a lot sooner if you’d had the good manners to let me finish a sentence without interruption.”

“I stand corrected,” he said, bathing her in his most charming smile. “Would it be out of line for me to ask how soon this major fundraising event will take place?”

“In August,” she snapped, aware that no one was missing a syllable of their exchange and that to continue the battle of one-upmanship was not only likely to end in defeat for her, but would also add to the gossip already circulating. “At the hospital’s annual carnival.”

“Carnival…? Oh, of course, that day-long shindig culminating in the Sunflower Ball! How could I have forgotten?”

How indeed, since the only one he’d attended had been during those hungry pre-wedding days when they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other, and, while everyone else had been sipping wine between waltzes, he’d whisked her out from under her father’s nose and spent most of the evening making love to her in the rose arbor at the Country Club!

“Very easily, I’m sure,” she said, stuffing her papers into her briefcase as everyone else began drifting toward the coffee urn set up on a trolley at the far end of the room. “But if you care to have your memory refreshed…” she indicated Daphne, hovering expectantly well within earshot “…speak to Mrs. Jerome, here. She chairs the social end of things and I don’t doubt she’d be delighted to fill you in on the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Dismissing him with a nod, she slid a sheet of paper across the table to Daphne. “Here’s a list of our latest sponsors, which I’ll leave for you to present to the others when the meeting reconvenes. If any other names come up, you can let me know later.”

“Aren’t you staying for coffee, dear?”

“Not today. I have another meeting to attend.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Grant said.

Plainly disappointed that the circus was over for the day, Daphne said, “What a pity you both have to leave, just when we’re about to take a social break. But I suppose you’d prefer to be alone to catch up on each other’s doings?”

“Not at all,” Olivia said stonily. “Dr. Madison and I no longer share anything in common, at least not on a personal level, so by all means feel free to enjoy his company.”

Deciding that was about as good an exit line as she could come up with, she made a beeline for the door.

He wasn’t about to be shaken off so easily, however. She’d barely left the room before he came striding out after her. “Just a minute, Olivia. You and I need to get a few things straight.”

But she’d had enough for one day, and when she saw the green arrow light up above the polished brass doors of the elevator at the end of the hall, she seized her chance to escape another lecture.

“Some other time, Doctor,” she said breezily, and, sprinting forward, managed to squeeze into the crowded car just before the doors slid shut in his face.

That afternoon, the temperature shot up into the low nineties. Not even the breeze off the river was enough to stir the air, and by the time Olivia got home, shortly after five, her smart linen suit was clinging to her like warm, limp lettuce.

Dropping her briefcase on the hall table, she propped open both front and back doors, flung wide all the windows, and hauled herself upstairs, intent on stripping down to the barest essentials and submersing herself in her swimming pool with all due speed. Add a little background music, a glass of cold white wine, and nothing but the fragrance of the heliotrope growing in pots around her patio to disturb the peace, and perhaps she’d begin to unwind from a day which had never quite recovered from the encounter with Grant.

Stupid, she knew, to let him get under her skin like that, but the way he’d behaved at the meeting had floored her. Though always something of a maverick, the young intern she’d once known and fallen in love with had been the least pretentious man she’d ever met, and had borne no resemblance at all to this morning’s arrogant nitpicker.

But the memory of his remarks, the scornful tone of his voice, his patronizing smile and confident assumption that she’d jump on command if he ordered her to, continued to mock her, even after she’d swum several lengths of the pool and collapsed on a chaise in the shade of a large sun umbrella.

You’re scarcely qualified to determine priorities…you’re clearly unable to view the matter with any kind of objectivity…you need to consult an expert….

“The nerve of him, condescending to me like that, as if I were still the wet-behind-the-ears girl he married!” she muttered indignantly, taking a swig of her wine.

A second later, the glass all but slipped from her fingers as a familiar voice inquired, “Do you often get plastered and start talking to yourself, sweet face? Because if you do, you should be aware that it’s a very dangerous habit to adopt which can and usually does lead to serious and long-lasting consequences.”