Читать книгу The Last Time I Saw Venice - Vivienne Wallington, Vivienne Wallington - Страница 9

Good grief, what have I done to her? Scowling at the fluttering pigeons, Simon trudged back across the crowded square, his heart twisting with guilt and self-loathing.

Oh, Annabel… Still as beautiful, as desirable as ever, but so thin and pale, the lovely green eyes smudged and clouded with pain, her cheekbones too stark, a shadow of her old vibrant self. Even at the time she’d walked out on him, she hadn’t looked as frail as this.

Of course, she’d been sick. She’d had pneumonia, her secretary had told him last week when he’d finally taken the bit between his teeth and called Annabel’s London office to inquire about her. But he’d started her on her downward slide, crushing her last desperate hope, breaking her heart and spirit. He’d wrecked her life, as he’d wrecked…their child’s. As well as his own, for what it was worth.

Damn damn damn. He’d thought that after this long healing break away from each other, and by taking the plunge finally and pursuing her to Venice, where they’d first fallen for each other, she might have been prepared to thaw a little and feel more forgiving, maybe even give him another chance. But he’d come back for her too late. She’d found someone else. She’d even had another man’s child!

He groaned aloud. How the hell had she been managing, working long demanding hours in a strange city, and having to care for a baby? The guy must still be with her. Some wealthy, high-powered legal hotshot, no doubt, who was supporting not only her and their baby, but her dream of a partnership in her prestigious law firm. A man who could give her everything she’d ever wanted.

Not a broken-down brain surgeon like himself.

He swore. What a humiliating comedown! From a stunningly successful neurosurgeon, brimming with self-confidence and his own lofty importance, treated almost like a god who could do no wrong, he’d sunk to this. A failure—despite what others might have tried to tell him. His pride and his confidence had taken a beating, but that was nothing compared to what else he’d lost. His child, his wife, his marriage.

He shouldered his way through a Japanese tour group clustered round a guide with a yellow umbrella, barely seeing them, only knowing they were in his way. He could only see Annabel. His wife. The thought of her making love to another man was like a knife twisting in his gut.

Who was he, this jerk who’d come between them? A close colleague at her London law firm, as likely as not, knowing how hard she worked and how determined she was to reach her longed-for goal. Maybe even a senior partner at Mallaby’s. What better, quicker way to achieve her coveted ambition?

Unless they’d made her a partner already. The legal secretary he’d spoken to had not been communicative. It had taken all his charm and persuasion just to find out that Annabel had been ill and was recuperating in Venice.

“Well! Simon Pacino! I don’t believe it!”

The tormenting images in his mind disintegrated as a vaguely familiar face materialized out of the crowd. The sandy hair…the cocky grin…the short, stout body…

“Remember me, mate? Tom Robson. We were at med school together in Melbourne. Many moons ago, before you moved to Sydney and we lost touch.”

The years rolled back. “Tom! Of course I remember. You planned to specialize in orthopedics.”

“And you in neurosurgery.”

They both gave a laugh, a chopped-off laugh, eyeing each other as if wary of asking if the other had achieved his goal.

“You didn’t change your mind?” Simon asked finally, getting in first as he prepared his own answer in his mind. The fewer details, the better. It was no one’s business but…Annabel’s. If she wanted to hear. And if he had the chance to open up to her…finally. And could open up, spill his guts, lay himself bare. Hell! Why was exposing his darkest feelings and private hells always so damned difficult for him?

“No way,” said Tom. “I’m considered a top orthopedic surgeon these days.” False modesty had never been Tom’s way. “I work in Chicago now, by the way. I’m here in Venice to give a presentation at an orthopedics convention.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, I have to rush off now, but how about joining us for dinner? My wife’s here with me and we’ve a free night. We could catch up on everything then.”

Everything? I don’t think so. Simon hesitated, searching for an excuse. He wanted—needed—to be at a particular hotel tonight…to look out for Annabel. Annabel and her…lover.

“We’re staying at the Gabrielli Sandwirth, on the Lagoon.” Tom was already backing away. “Say you’ll join us. Seven-thirty in the dining-room? Hope that’s not too early? We’ve a new baby and my wife prefers early nights.”

Another baby? Simon groaned inwardly. Just what he needed. More reminders of…

“Congratulations, Tom.” He mouthed the platitude while his mind was racing off at a tangent, having seized on the name of the hotel. The Gabrielli Sandwirth…the very hotel where Annabel was staying! He’d spent all morning checking out the hotels until he found out. Annabel’s secretary wouldn’t divulge that information when he’d called London, only relenting enough to mention that she was in Venice. Learning she’d already left the hotel for the day, he’d hung around St. Mark’s Square in the hope of finding her. And by some miracle, she’d shown up there. With a baby. He grimaced.

“I’ll be there,” he promised, his mind on his wife, not on meeting up again with Tom. Dining at the Gabrielli with other people would give him some cover if Annabel walked in with…lover boy. If she walked in alone— he sent up a silent prayer—he’d excuse himself as soon as he could and join her…if she would let him. He wasn’t going to give her up without a fight, without thrashing things out…not this time. He’d already lost her once.

And he would lose her again if he couldn’t face up to his demons and deal with them.

“Great. See you tonight, mate.” Flashing a broad grin, Tom strode off.

Simon had a satisfied smile on his lips and almost a skip in his step as he walked on. Dinner at the Gabrielli? What a stroke of luck. He would have to see if the hotel had a spare room. If they did, he’d retrieve his bag from the railway station and move in there. Annabel was still married to him and, new lover or not, baby or not, he was damned well going to win her back and convince her they could make it work. Somehow. He had nothing to lose.

Hell, he’d lost enough already.

Annabel came down to the dining room early, not wanting to keep Tessa and Tom waiting. But only Tom was there, at a table set for four. Four? Oh well, she hoped that whoever else they’d invited would keep the conversation rolling, because she didn’t feel like being the life of the party herself. She was weary after sightseeing all day and emotionally drained after bumping into Simon.

“Annabel! Glad you could join us. Tessa’s just feeding the baby. She’ll be down in a minute.” Tom settled her into a chair. “We owe you for what you did for Tessa this afternoon. She’s bankrupted me, but hey, she tried on her new dress for me and she looked a dream. She’ll knock everyone’s eyes out tomorrow night.”

He chatted on easily until Tessa arrived, carrying a portable crib. “Gracie’s been well fed and is fast asleep already,” she said, slipping into the chair beside her husband and placing the baby capsule on the floor beside her. “Now we should be able to have dinner without being disturbed.”

“Ah, and here’s Simon,” said Tom, raising his arm.

Annabel glanced round, expecting to see a fellow delegate of Tom’s from his orthopedics conference. She froze, her eyes flaring in shocked dismay. The last person she’d expected to see was Simon Pacino! How did Tom know him?

As Simon’s gaze flicked to hers, she saw her own shock mirrored in the blue of his eyes—only maybe without the same dismay. More surprise, bemusement, than dismay.

“You already know each other?” Tom eyed them uncertainly—maybe because of their obvious shock and the fact that neither was smiling.

“We met earlier today, in St. Mark’s Square,” came Annabel’s quick reply. “By accident.”

“We knew each other back in Australia,” Simon said deliberately. “Only we lost touch. She’s living in London now.”

Annabel tensed, willing him not to say more. He didn’t…for the time being, at least.

“Well…old friends. That’s great.” Tom, sensing some tension, didn’t push it. “This is my wife Tessa,” he said, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Simon, summoning his familiar lopsided smile for the first time—a smile that twisted Annabel’s heart, making her wonder if he’d ever again smile like that for her—skirted the table to shake Tessa’s hand. “And this must be…your new baby,” he said when he saw the baby beside her.

Annabel held her breath. Had Simon recognized the baby from this afternoon? Fast asleep and bundled up in different blankets, with only her tiny face visible, would he be able to tell?

“Our baby daughter Gracie,” Tom said proudly from behind. “Take a seat, Simon. Here, between the two ladies.”

As the men settled into their places, Annabel gulped in some much needed breaths of air. Was Simon wondering where her baby was? And where her so-called lover was? Any minute now, she expected him to ask if her baby’s father would be joining them—or if he was remaining upstairs to babysit while she was down here socializing! Husbands and wives often did cooperate that way. Wistfully, she recalled the evenings when she’d had a legal function or dinner meeting to attend and Simon had babysat Lily. Or the evenings when she’d minded Lily while he was operating throughout the night. Busy as they’d both been, mutual give-and-take had made their marriage work.

A marriage without a lasting, solid base…as time had shown.

Oh, this was a nightmare! How was she going to survive dinner, making polite conversation with an estranged husband who thought she was tied up with another man and already had a new baby? An unplanned baby…

History repeating itself, he must be thinking, and hating her for it. But then, he hated her already. In their last painful weeks together, even on the few occasions they’d had sex, there’d been no comforting words of love, no whispers of forgiveness or understanding, none of the old intimacy they’d once shared. Not since he’d lost his precious Lily. Her precious Lily, too…

“Well, this is amazing,” Tom said, rather too jovially. “Fancy all of us meeting up here in Venice, after all this time! Simon 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 had so much she wanted to ask him! But she could sense him retreating again, could read the signs she’d come to know so well. And perhaps it was just as well. She didn’t want to ask him personal questions in front of Tom and Tessa, two people she barely knew. Yet she did want to ask him…sometime. Which meant she would have to see him again.

But would he want to see her?

“So…what have you all seen of Venice so far?” Leaning back in his chair, Simon deftly changed the subject, shifting the focus away from himself. As he’d been doing from the day she’d first met him, she thought wistfully, seldom opening up fully, never telling her more than he thought she needed to know. Or more than he wanted her to know.

She had a feeling there was something in his past— long before she’d met him—that was secretly tormenting him, and she suspected it might have something to do with his father, who’d walked out on his family when Simon was barely seven years old. She remembered asking him once if he’d ever tried to seek out his father, a man he hadn’t seen or heard of in all the years since, and his answer had been harsh and unequivocal. “No, and I never will. My father is dead as far as I’m concerned.”

Simon, when badly hurt by something, or somebody, could be a closed, hard, unforgiving man, she’d concluded sadly when he’d shut her out as well after Lily died.

Tom and Tessa, sensing Simon’s reluctance to talk about his changed circumstances and loath to probe any deeper, leapt at the chance to talk about Venice’s many attractions. Soon they were all talking at once, swapping notes and suggesting places the others simply must see.

The magic of Venice had come to the rescue. Just as Simon, diving into the Grand Canal like a wildly romantic, heroic Italian Romeo, had come to her rescue once, Annabel mused, a pensive smile curving her lips.

Simon saw Annabel’s smile and wondered if she was thinking back, too, remembering the day they’d first met, when she’d fallen overboard and he’d jumped into the Grand Canal to save her, sweeping her into his arms and pulling her out of the water…a flowing-haired, dripping water-nymph with the most wondrous green eyes he’d ever seen.

A touch of cynicism quirked his lip. It was more likely she was wondering why he was here now and how she could avoid seeing any more of him. She’d already tried her best to get rid of him by letting him believe she’d had another man’s child. Thank God, it hadn’t been true. If he hadn’t reacted so violently to seeing her with a strange baby, hadn’t hurled those bitter accusations at her, maybe she would have told him the truth from the start.

Now that they’d both had time to cool down a bit and at least had that complication out of the way, he’d be wise to curb his impatience and give her time to adjust to having him back in her life. Or if not in her life, at least to seeing more of him.

He had to stop her turning away from him again, running off again without even making an effort to resolve what had gone wrong between them. If it meant avoiding any rash confrontations or sore points for the time being and just enjoying each other again, the way they’d managed to do four years ago, he’d damned well do his best to curb his impatience. Gaining her trust again, her confidence, was top priority and he mustn’t rush things and risk wrecking everything.

And regaining her love? Would that be possible as well? Or was it too late for that?

He recalled the shocked concern in her eyes when he’d announced that he’d injured his hand and given up neurosurgery. It gave him a flare of hope. Maybe she still felt something for him. She’d always encouraged him in his career, as he’d supported hers. The thought that she could feel some concern for him now, after what his so-called surgical skills had done to their lives, to their precious daughter, was like a glimmer of sunlight through dark clouds.

And what about her brilliant legal career? He hoped her recent illness hadn’t jeopardized her chances of a partnership, after she’d worked so hard to reach her cherished goal, assuming she hadn’t achieved it already. She’d given away nothing about her current status at work over dinner, and he hadn’t wanted to ask in front of Tom and Tessa. He needed to be alone with her, to find out everything she’d been doing in the past two years.

When she was ready… He’d be mad to put any pressure on her. She’d already run away from him once…he didn’t want to lose her again.

At a thin cry from the baby in the capsule, Tessa pushed back her chair. “I think Gracie’s ready for a change of nappy…and maybe another feed. Would you mind if I called it a night? Tom, you stay and have coffee…”

But Tom was already on his feet. “I’ll come with you. I’ve some notes to look at before tomorrow…”

“Time I went, too,” Annabel said at once, rising swiftly to her feet as a rush of nervous tension gripped her. Despite all the questions she longed to ask Simon, particularly about his injured hand and his disrupted career, she wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with him just yet. Especially not late in the evening, in romantic, moonlit Venice…

Tomorrow, perhaps…in more calming daylight…if he wanted to see more of her.

She saw a dark eyebrow rise ever so slightly as Simon stood up, too, but other than that he showed no reaction, no trace of the disappointment she’d expected—or perhaps had hoped—to see. It threw her a bit, making her conscious of a contrary sense of pique. If he pressed her to stay, or even invited her to join him for an evening stroll along the Riva, she wasn’t sure she would have the willpower to resist.

“Have you been back to the Basilica yet?” he asked her, and she paused, her heart picking up a beat. Was he remembering the vow they’d made four years ago?

“I’ve only seen it from the outside. I was thinking of going there in the morning before the queue grows too long.” She spoke carelessly, glancing away to hide any hint of an invitation in her eyes. He’d hurt her badly in the last weeks of their marriage and she wasn’t going to easily fall back into his arms, if that was what he was hoping. Her heart couldn’t bear any more hurt.

“I had the same idea,” he said in a similar offhand tone, with no sign of a suggestive glint in his eye as she flicked her gaze back to his. At one time, there would have been a distinct roguish twinkle evident. She wondered pensively if he’d lost it forever.

“If you’ve no objection to some company,” he was quick to add. “I’ll get there well before the doors open at nine-thirty and hold a spot for you at the front of the queue. That’ll give you a chance to sleep in a bit and not rush your breakfast.”

He’d always been considerate that way, she remembered with a bittersweet pang. At least, until the tragedy of Lily’s death had changed him, turning him into a closed, distant stranger.

“Let’s just play it by ear,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Is your hotel far from here?” she asked, expecting him to head for the lobby, while she took the lift up to her room.

The firm, well-shaped lips she’d always found so irresistible—and still did, she realized with a tremor— eased into the familiar curved smile she’d thought lost forever, at least to her. Seeing it again gave her spirits a lift. “Actually, I’m staying here,” he said. “Fourth floor. We can ride up in the lift together.”

She almost missed her step. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Staying here? On the floor above hers? Maybe his room, his bed, were directly over hers. How would she ever be able to sleep, knowing he was so close to her, just a few floorboards separating them?

“After you,” he said, his voice sounding dangerously seductive all of a sudden.

As she stepped into the empty lift ahead of him, she realized that his room on the fourth floor was the least of her worries. The walls of the tiny lift seemed to close in on her as he followed her in, standing far too close, filling the small space with his tall, potent presence, surrounding her with his familiar male scent, the heady warmth of his breath.

Inwardly, she felt herself gasping for air, clutching for normality and reason. They were only sharing a lift, for heaven’s sake.

Maybe it was her heightened imagination, but it seemed to take an age to reach the first floor, another age to reach the second, and finally, with her heart thumping so loudly by then she was sure he must hear it, the lift doors swung open.

“Good night, Simon!” Her voice was a ragged gasp as she lurched out without looking back.

So much for acting cool! She’d failed dismally, and now he’d know she wasn’t indifferent to him. He’d been indifferent to her for so long, withholding the love and warmth he’d once shown for her, that she should be guarding her heart a whole lot better than this.