Читать книгу Reunited...in Paris! - Sue MacKay, Sue MacKay - Страница 9

TORI WELLS STOOD just inside the entrance to the massive conference room in Hôtel de Nice and swallowed hard, digging deep for composure as she scanned the sea of faces and listened to the many languages swirling back and forth. It wouldn’t do her reputation any good to go around grinning like a clown.

The excitement that had been gripping her since her plane had taken off from Auckland International two days ago threatened to spill over and have her dancing on the spot in her new and very gorgeous avocado-green high heels. French, of course. As for the price tag, she could’ve fed a very small nation but for once didn’t feel guilty at all about indulging her passion. Not even the littlest bit.

Accepting the invitation to speak in front of all these people had been a no-brainer. Even though she doubted that world-famous experts would be interested in what a cardiologist from New Zealand had to say about heart problems in children who’d suffered from rheumatic fever, she hadn’t been able to say no to the director of the Cardiac Forum. She’d have come if Monsieur Leclare had asked her to talk about racing snails in the sand, the opportunity to visit France being too awesome to miss. He could’ve saved many euros if only he’d known she’d have slept in a tent on the beach if necessary, but he’d promised, and delivered, a suite in a beautiful hotel overlooking the stunning Mediterranean Sea. The Mediterranean Sea. Her excitement intensified, gripping her.

And then … She grinned. And then he wanted her to go to Paris after this convention to talk to medical students about her work. Oh—my—goodness. Paris. How cool was that? Her hands squeezed tight and she squashed her lips together to hold back the joy from spilling out loud.

‘Hello, Tori. I’ve been looking out for you.’

The excitement vanished in a flash. Gone. The air chilled. She shivered. Benji? Here? She’d checked. His name hadn’t been on the programme. But that was definitely his voice. Turn around and acknowledge him. Can’t. Her lungs had stopped working. Her composure had gone to hell in a barrow. Do it. Face him.

Slowly gathering a steadying breath, she turned to lock gazes with her ex-husband. ‘Hello, Ben.’

Her tongue felt huge in her dry mouth. He looked … stunning. As usual. But different. Older, of course. World-weary, like he’d taken a hit somewhere over the years. Hardly surprising given the circumstances surrounding them seven years ago when he’d walked out on her. Finally she managed, ‘What are you doing here?’

Lady Luck had thrown a wild card. No, make that a grenade. Fragments of pain, anger, bewilderment, even need, cut into her, making a mockery of what had become her well-put-back-together life.

‘I’m a last-minute fill-in for one of the partners I work for. He’s handling a family crisis back in London.’

The voice she’d have to be dead not to recognise whispered across her skin, reminding her body of things she didn’t want to recall. Hot nights on the beach in Fiji, where they’d gone for their honeymoon. The first time he’d taken her on a date—at the hospital cafeteria because they’d had less than an hour between shifts in the cardiology surgical department. I don’t want to remember those times. She used to call him Benji. Too intimate. Too loaded with memories.

Tori reached for normality, came up with, ‘How are you finding living in London?’

His smile appeared genuine, but appearances could be deceptive, had become so with Ben in those last bewildering months before he’d left. To be fair, which she mostly was, she had no idea what he was like these days. And didn’t want to know. Oh, really?

Ben replied, ‘I’m working towards a partnership in the cardiology clinic I’ve joined, so I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do I indulge my passion for English history by visiting more castles and historic homes than even I could’ve imagined back in NZ.’ He wasn’t having trouble talking, made it seem perfectly normal to be chatting with her for the first time since he’d said goodbye on the doorstep of their apartment. Tears had been streaming down his cheeks then. Tears he’d tried hard to hide from her.

Concentrate on what Ben had just said, act like this was nothing to be in such a turmoil over. He’d mentioned castles. She used to buy him books filled with photos of the most stunning homes set in the English countryside. ‘The château at Mount Ruapehu doesn’t quite compare, then?’ Thinking of the tourist hotel back home where they’d stayed for their first wedding anniversary made her smile tightly despite the way her heart was pitter-pattering in her chest.

Stop smiling. He’ll think you’re happy to see him.

‘No comparison at all.’ Ben was no longer smiling.

She could see in his eyes the memory of those wonderful couple of days spent in the snow and back in their hotel room afterwards. She also saw regret. For stopping to talk to her? Why had she mentioned the château? It was loaded with their history.

Then Ben straightened even taller and stole her breath with, ‘You’re looking fabulous.’ The words were glib and exactly what she’d expect. He’d always been an expert in saying the right thing. Not always the whole truth and nothing but the truth at the end, but definitely always the right thing.

These days she’d learned to do glib, too, and so could ignore the compliment. ‘Why, Ben, thank you.’ If she said ‘Ben’ often enough then surely her brain would get the idea and forget Benji had ever existed.

‘I mean it,’ he said softly, sincerely.

Talk about knocking her in the back of her knees. Any second now her legs were going to dump her in a heap in the midst of this crowd. At Ben’s feet. ‘Thank you,’ she squeaked.

She was stunned. It had been seven years since she’d seen Benji—Ben, damn it—and the circumstances back then had been too awful to ever want to revisit. Long, lonely years in which she’d struggled to get over him, to put their failed marriage behind her and make life work in a way she could be proud of. She’d thought she’d succeeded, right up until this moment when her heart was beating like a drum. Like they had unfinished business, or something equally ridiculous. Crazy, because she’d loved him with her whole being, and then he’d gone and left her and she’d had to face life without him at her side. Then there’d been the tragedy that had occurred weeks later that she’d had to deal with on her own.

A few minutes in his company and her brain was stalling, unable to bring up anything coherent and sensible to say. She was well-known for her good sense back home at her clinic. But this was a rerun of those months towards the end when she hadn’t known how to talk to Ben without feeling like she’d been underwater, slowly drowning.

A woman jostled her as she squeezed past and Ben stepped closer, using his body to shield her from the stream of people now pouring into the enormous room. He touched his hand to her elbow. Contrition darkened those eyes that she’d always called pools of caramel. ‘Tori, I’ve upset you by appearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry.’

Hello? This definitely wasn’t Benji. An apology? To her? He’d said more words in the last couple of minutes than he had in the final months of their marriage. She studied him quickly, thoroughly. The intervening years had added a depth to his gaze, deeper lines at the corners of his mouth, and a few grey hairs in his dark curls, but it was definitely the Benji she’d once loved with all her heart. A long time ago. Except the man of her past hadn’t done apologies. No, he’d packed his bags, said bye, and gone out the front door, out of her life. So this had to be Ben, not Benji. See, she was getting better at this already. Ben.

Tori gave a nonchalant shrug that hopefully hid the storm of emotions battering at her, and at the same time removed his hand. She didn’t need reminding of the heat that used to consume them at every touch. Lovemaking had never been an issue between them. ‘I’m not upset. Just surprised to see you. That’s all.’ If she said it often enough she might start believing herself. Glancing around, she was amazed at how quickly the chairs were filling. ‘I need to find a seat.’

‘Come on.’ Those fingers were back at her elbow, turning her toward the front. ‘Monsieur Leclare sent me to escort you to where you’re sitting with the other speakers.’

‘But I’m not on until tomorrow.’

Ben led her along the side of the auditorium, again protecting her from the crowd. ‘All the speakers are requested to sit in the front row for the duration of the conference.’

She hadn’t got that memo. So there’d be no getting away from Ben while she absorbed the shock of seeing him. Seeing him and hearing again that deep, gravelly voice she’d fallen in love with the first time he’d spoken to her would take some getting used to. Right now she didn’t have time to think about her reaction to him. You’re not angry with him any more. After all those years she shouldn’t be. That’d suggest she was still keeping him alive in her heart. And she definitely wasn’t doing that. Ben was history, no more, no less.

‘Madame Wells—the Heart Lady.’ Monsieur Leclare stood in front of her, greeting her with the traditional kisses to both cheeks. So typically European that her excitement began returning. ‘I’m thrilled to meet you in person, and thank you for coming so far to talk to us.’

Tori listened carefully to his heavily accented English, and found him a smile. A Frenchman speaking her language was intriguing, and a little bit romantic—even if this cardiologist was in his sixties and looking decidedly the worse for wear. She’d done basic French at school in Auckland but the few times she’d tried to make herself understood since arriving in Nice yesterday hadn’t been very successful, her accent apparently a disaster. ‘Monsieur le docteur, I’m honoured and thrilled to be here.’

‘Please, I’m Luc. Is this is your first visit to France?’

‘Yes. Coming here has been on my bucket list since I was a teenager.’

‘Bucket list?’ he asked. ‘What is this?’

‘It’s a list of things I want to achieve in my lifetime. People make them all the time. Visiting Paris will be ticked off by the time I return home.’

Ben wasn’t to be left out. ‘I imagine Tori’s got going to see the Moulin Rouge somewhere on that list. She loves shows.’

‘Ah … la liste de choses à faire. Now I understand.’ Luc smiled. ‘It is good you are going to Paris. It is the city of romance.’ He gave Ben a knowing nod. ‘My assistant will arrange a table at the show for you.’

Tori quickly shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’ve got other arrangements in place.’ And I’d only need one ticket.

Luc was smiling happily and ignoring her reply. ‘No, you must go. It will be my pleasure.’

Tori managed a thank-you. Going to the city of love on her own was pathetic enough, but going to Moulin Rouge alone, with a spare ticket? Downright tragic.

Ben replied, ‘Thank you. We look forward to it.’

Disappointment and envy unfurled inside Tori. Of course there’d be a woman in his life. The man didn’t do solo. Was she here at the hotel? Out spending bags of money while Ben was at the conference?

Does it matter? You’re over him.

‘Madame Wells, Monsieur Wells, please be seated. I will talk to you some more tonight at the dinner.’

Ben nodded before turning back to Tori. ‘Why haven’t you changed your surname back to Carter?’

She didn’t want to talk about that. Not here. Not ever. She went for flip. ‘Think of the expense and all the messing around involved in changing practising licences, passport, the property title for the apartment. Far easier to leave things as they are.’

‘I’d have thought it would be the first thing you did on becoming single again.’ He looked bewildered, and a little pleased. ‘You’re still living in our apartment?’

Forget it, Benji. It’s my apartment nowadays. If she was being honest she hadn’t moved out or changed her name because—well, because that meant the final cut from him, and at the time of their divorce she hadn’t been ready for that. ‘If it’s bugging you I’ll get on to sorting it the moment I get home.’ But she wouldn’t move out of the apartment that she’d always adored and where she’d created a little sanctuary for herself by repainting in different colours and changing the furniture to remove memories.

Tori dropped onto the first vacant chair in the front row. Ben was here. In Nice. At the conference. Her stomach knotted.

He stood beside her. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. But she wanted to be alone. Okay, it was hard to be alone in the midst of hundreds of people, but if only Ben would go and sit somewhere else to give her time to get over their first meeting.

He looked along the row, shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Then he smiled. ‘I promise I won’t cause you any trouble.’

Translated, that meant he’d be charming and cordial so as to win her over, because he’d be hating it that she hadn’t fallen all over him. Charm was his modus operandi. It won him anything, anyone he aspired to. Well, it wouldn’t work with her. Not any more. ‘Fine.’ She crossed her legs and turned to face the stage directly in front.

Except he’d already caused her trouble just by being here. Her tumbling emotions had her in a pickle. Benji had been her first love, her only love. Did that mean this was a normal reaction, and that once she’d got over the shock of seeing him she’d be able to hold a conversation with him without wanting to touch his arms, his chest, face? The air huffed over her bottom lip. Touch Ben? That would go down like a ton of bricks. He’d back off fast—which might be the answer to the situation.

No, she’d try ignoring him, focus entirely on the speakers. Unfortunately it was too soon to put on the headphones supplied so attendees could hear translations in their own language when the talks started. Those would blank out Benji, but she’d have to wait. Sitting up straight, Tori breathed deeply. And smelt a scrummy combination of citrus and pine. ‘You still use the same aftershave.’

He leaned close. ‘It’s my favourite.’

Oh, blast. Had she really said that out loud? Now he’d definitely have the wrong idea. She tried shallow breathing to avoid smelling that scent. It didn’t work. Instead the air suddenly seemed full of the evocative, promise-laden smell, almost as though she was in a lemon grove surrounded by pine trees—with Benji. It overwhelmed her and brought back another memory. The aftershave had been an impulse buy after their first date. She’d wrapped it in white paper with red hearts printed on it. On their second date, when he’d taken her to bed for the first time, he’d stripped down to his undies—white ones with red hearts splashed across them.

I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll stand at the back of the room. She began to push up on her feet. Loud applause broke out and Tori sank back down. Too late. She wasn’t moving anywhere. The conference had begun. Putting her hands together, she joined in.

Monsieur Leclare stood in front of the microphone. ‘Mesdames et messieurs, welcome to the tenth European Cardiac Forum. We are lucky to have some wonderful speakers whom I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to listen to over the next three days.’

Settling farther back on her chair, Tori pinched herself. I’m in France. At a conference of peers from all over Europe and America. Another pinch. Sitting beside my ex-husband. Her teeth clamped together. She suddenly felt ill.

Then Benji moved, and his elbow touched her arm. She hated the warmth filtering through her, ramping up the tension that had been gripping her since she’d first heard him say hello.

‘Stand up,’ he whispered warmly. ‘They’re applauding you.’

Leaping up, Tori turned to face the auditorium, blinked like a rabbit in headlights and dredged up a smile. What are they all doing, clapping me? She nodded left and right. Now I’m behaving like royalty. Should’ve stayed back in Kiwi land where I’m just an ordinary girl.

‘Now I’d like to introduce the members of the panel for Friday. Benjamin Wells, cardiac surgeon from London.’ Luc Leclare introduced the other three specialists Ben would be talking with about a new technique they’d developed for post heart-transplant recovery.

As the men stood the applause increased tenfold. Tori sank back onto her chair, automatically clapping along with everyone else, feeling something very like pride for Ben leaking into her psyche. He was clever, had always been totally focused on cardiology and his patients.

While he was distracted by the applause she took the opportunity to study him once more. Can’t you get enough of him? Her lungs faltered. He’d been handsome, but add seven years and the drama of dealing with the unnecessary and controversial death of his patient, their break-up and those youthful good looks had toughened, tightened, making him even more good-looking. He suited who he’d become.

Ben finally sat down, and leaned close. ‘You’re staring.’

‘Just making sure I know who I’m sharing the front row with.’

‘And do you? Know me?’ A sad glint appeared in his eyes and his mouth flattened.

‘Do you still talk in funny voices and sing off-key while shaving?’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t have the time any more.’

He used to make time. ‘Sleep on your stomach?’

‘No.’

Another change. ‘Want six kids?’

‘I’d settle for one.’

He’d nearly got one. Her stomach hit the floor. The baby. Their baby, the one she’d lost and that he knew nothing about.

‘How am I doing?’ Ben asked.

Somehow she managed to croak out, ‘No, I don’t know you.’ She tried to find him a smile but was all out of them. Instead she muttered, ‘If you don’t mind, I would like to listen to the director.’

She had to look away from those eyes that saw too much, knew too much and had always got him what he wanted. Shame he hadn’t felt the same about her. They might’ve resolved some of their problems before they’d got out of hand. Not getting caught up in the web of fun and charm that was Benjamin Wells over the next few days would be the toughest challenge since their break-up. He came with too many memories, good and bad, for them to be able to step around the minefield and get along as though the past hadn’t happened.

Ben didn’t blame Tori for the cold shoulder she was working so hard to give him. If, back in London, he’d had more than twelve hours’ notice and hadn’t been frantically handing over patients to his colleagues he’d have tried to let her know that he’d be here, just to save any embarrassment. Except neither of them had been embarrassed—more shaken than anything.

How could he have forgotten how beautiful Tori was? He’d fallen in love with those classic features, perfect skin and twinkling emerald eyes. Fallen in a flash. One look across a frantically busy department had been all it had taken. Then he’d spoken to her and she’d laughed and that had been the ribbon on the box that was his heart. If he closed his eyes he could bring up the images of that morning right now. It had been her first day at Auckland’s specialist cardiac hospital, and she’d been sent to the department where he’d worked as a surgeon, trying to get up the hours and experience to go into private practice.

I’ve missed you, Tori.

His heart stalled. Got away, he had not. He’d refused to.

Yes, I have missed you. I’m only just beginning to admit it, but I have. I haven’t looked seriously at another woman since you. Haven’t wanted to.

As he watched Tori chatting to two conference attendees he felt a deep hunger opening up inside.

For Tori.

But they were finished. As in never-to-repeat-that-experience-again finished. Tori wouldn’t let him within a bull’s roar of her except in a crowded space like this. He’d hurt her beyond belief—for all the right reasons, or so he’d believed at the time. But later, when the flak died away and he’d had more than enough hours to reflect, he’d accepted he’d been lashing out at her for not believing in him, for not trusting him to be the consummate professional when operating on a patient—because she’d been right. His shame had been consuming him even before she’d questioned his integrity. Afterwards it had known no boundaries. If his wife couldn’t believe in him, who could? Not even his father had questioned his guilt, instead focusing on trying to hide it by laying the blame elsewhere, which had made the situation far worse.

Seeing Tori after all this time, touching her elbow, breathing the same air, had stirred up this intense hunger within him. Seriously? It couldn’t be hunger for Tori. They had far too many unresolved issues that they hadn’t been able to fix back when they’d been married. Even if he explained why he’d called it quits on their marriage there wasn’t a chance in Hades of Tori ever trusting him completely and thereby loving him again.

Even 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?