Читать книгу The Wife He Couldn't Forget - Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 8

Two

Olivia let herself in the house and closed the door, leaning back against it with a sigh as she tried to release the tension that now gripped her body. It didn’t make a difference. Her shoulders were still tight and felt as if they were sitting up around her ears, and the nagging headache that had begun on the drive home from the hospital grew even more persistent.

What on earth had she done?

Was it lying to allow Xander to continue to believe they were still happily married? How could it be a lie when it was what he believed and when it was what she’d never stopped wanting?

You couldn’t turn back the clock. You couldn’t undo what was done five minutes ago any more than you could undo what happened in the past two years. But you could make a fresh start, and that’s what they were going to do, she argued with herself.

It might not be completely ethical to take advantage of his amnesia this way, and she knew that she was running a risk—a huge risk—by doing so. At any moment his memory could return and, with it, Xander’s refusal to talk through their problems or lean on her for help of any kind. Yet if there was a chance, any chance that they could be happy again, she had to take it.

She pushed off the door and walked down the hall toward the large entertainer’s kitchen they’d had so much fun renovating after they’d moved into the two-story late nineteenth-century home a week after their marriage. She automatically went through the motions, putting the kettle on and boiling water for a pot of chamomile tea. Hopefully that would soothe the headache.

But what would soothe the niggling guilt that plucked at her heart over her decision?

Was she just doing this to resolve her own regrets? Wrapped in her grief over Parker’s death and filled with recriminations and remorse, hadn’t she found it easier to let Xander go rather than fight for their marriage—hell, fight for him? She’d accused him of locking her out of his feelings, but hadn’t she done exactly the same thing? And when he’d left, hadn’t she let him go? Then, when she’d opened her eyes to what she was letting slip from her life, it was too late. He hadn’t wanted to even discuss reconciliation or counseling. It was as if he’d wiped his slate clean—and wiped his life with her right along with it.

It had hurt then and it hurt now, but time and distance had given her some perspective. Had opened her eyes to her own contribution to the demise of their marriage. Mistakes she wouldn’t make again.

The kettle began to whistle, momentarily distracting her from her thoughts. Olivia poured the boiling water into the teapot and took her favorite china cup and saucer from the glass-fronted cupboard where she displayed her antique china collection. After putting the tea things on a tray, she carried everything outside. She set the tray down on a table on her paved patio and sank into one of the wood-and-canvas deck chairs. The fabric creaked a little as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

Bathed in the evening summer sun, Olivia closed her eyes and took a moment to relax and listen and let the sounds of her surroundings soak in. Behind the background hum of traffic she could hear the noises of children playing in their backyards. The sound, always bittersweet, was a strong reminder that even after tragedy, other people’s lives still carried on. She opened her eyes, surprised to feel the sting of tears once more, and shifted her focus to pouring her tea into her cup. The delicate aroma of the chamomile wafted up toward her. There was something incredibly calming about the ritual of making tea. It was one of the habits she’d developed to ground herself when she’d felt as though she was losing everything—including her mind.

She lifted her cup, taking a long sip of the hot brew and savoring the flavor on her tongue as she thought again about her decision back at the hospital. The risk she was taking loomed large in her mind. So many things could go wrong. But it was still early days. Xander had a long road to recovery ahead, and it would be many days yet, if not weeks, before he was released from hospital. He had yet to walk unaided, and a physical therapy program would need to be undertaken before he could come home again.

Home.

A shiver ran through her. It wasn’t the home he’d lived in for the past two years, but it was the home they’d bought together and spent the first year of their marriage enthusiastically renovating. Thank goodness she’d chosen to live with her memories here rather than sell the property and move on. In fact, the decision to stay had very definitely formed a part of her recovery from her grief at Parker’s death followed so swiftly by Xander’s desertion of her, as well.

She’d found acceptance, of a sort, in her heart and in her mind that her marriage was over, but her love for Xander remained unresolved. A spark of excitement lit within her. This would be their new beginning. After his release from hospital, they’d cocoon themselves back into their life together, the way they had when they’d first married. And if he regained his memory, it would be with new happier memories to overlay the bitterness that had transpired between them before their separation.

Of course, if he regained his memory before coming home with her, it was likely they’d never get the chance to rebuild their marriage on stronger ground. She had to take the risk. She just had to. And she’d cope with Xander’s real world later. The world in which he worked and socialized was not hers anymore. Keeping his distance from his friends and colleagues would be easy enough, initially—after all, it’s not as if his bedside cabinet had been inundated with cards or flowers. Just a card signed by his team at the investment bank where he worked. Until he was strong enough to return to his office anyway. By then... Well, she’d cross that bridge when they got there.

Xander’s doctors had categorically stated he was in no condition to return to work for at least another four weeks, possibly even longer depending on how his therapy progressed. It should be easy enough to fend Xander’s colleagues off at the border, so to speak, Olivia thought as she sipped her tea and gazed out at the harbor in the distance. After all, with Xander in the high-dependency unit at the hospital, and with family-only visitation—which she understood equated to the occasional rare visit from his mother who lived several hours north of the city—it wasn’t as if they’d be up-to-date beyond the minimal status provided by the hospital. She’d call one of his partners in the next few days and continue to discourage visitors at the same time.

She felt a pang of guilt. His friends had a right to know how he was, and no doubt they’d want to visit him. But a careless word could raise more questions than she was comfortable answering. She daren’t take the risk.

It was at least two years late, but Xander’s amnesia was offering her another chance, and she was going to fight for him now. She just had to hope that she could successfully rebuild the love they’d shared. The fact that he woke today, obviously still in love with her, was heartening. Hopefully, they would have the rest of their lives to get it right this time.

* * *

Xander looked at the door to the hospital room for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. Olivia should be here by now. After a heated debate with Dr. Thomas about whether or not he’d go to a rehab center—a debate Xander had won with his emphatic refusal to go—the doctor had finally relented and said he could go home tomorrow, or maybe even later today. He’d used the mobile phone Olivia had left with him—his had apparently been pulverized in the accident and his laptop, as well, had been smashed beyond repair—to call the house and get her to bring him some clothes. He’d missed her, and she wasn’t answering her mobile phone, either.

He’d go home in his pajamas if he had to. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to their house. He liked to kid himself he could even see its green corrugated iron roof from the hospital window. It gave him a connection to Olivia in the times she wasn’t here.

It had been three weeks, but, God, he still remembered that first sight of her when he’d fully woken. The worry on her exquisitely beautiful face, the urge to tell her that everything would be all right. Sleep had claimed him before he could do anything more than smile at her. This damn head injury had a lot to answer for, he cursed inwardly. Not only had it stolen the past six years from his memory but it had left him as weak as a kitten. Not even capable of forming proper sentences on occasion. Each of the therapists he’d seen had told him he was doing great, that his recovery was progressing well, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he could remember again and be the man he was before his crash.

He couldn’t wait to be home. Maybe being around his own familiar things in his own environment would hasten the healing process. He looked out the window and cracked a wry smile at his reflection in the glass. At least one thing hadn’t changed. His levels of impatience were right up there where he always remembered them being.

Xander caught a sense of someone in the doorway to his shared room. He turned and felt the smile on his face widen as he saw Olivia standing there. Warmth spread through his body. A sense of rightness that was missing when she wasn’t with him.

“You’re looking happy,” Olivia remarked as she came over and kissed him on the cheek.

Her touch was as light as a butterfly. Even so, it awakened a hunger for more from her. He might not be at his physical peak, but the demands of his body still simmered beneath the surface. They’d always had a very intense and physically satisfying relationship, one he couldn’t wait to resume. He laughed inwardly at himself. There was that impatience again. One thing at a time, he told himself.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I might be able to come home today. I tried to call you—”

“Today? Really?”

Was he imagining things or did the smile on her face look a little forced? Xander rejected the thought immediately. Of course she was as genuinely excited as he was. Why wouldn’t she be?

“Dr. Thomas just wants to run some final tests this morning. Provided he’s happy I should be able to leave here later this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s great news,” Olivia said. “I’ll shoot back home and get some things for you.”

Xander reached out and caught her hand in his. “In such a hurry to leave me? You just got here. Don’t go yet.”

Her fingers curled around his, and he turned her hand over before lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles. He felt the light tremor go through her as his lips lingered on her skin and her fingers tightened, saw the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

“I miss you when you’re not here,” he said simply, then examined the hand he held more closely. Her nails were short and practical, and even though she’d scrubbed at them, he could still see traces of paint embedded in her skin. It made him smile. “I see you’re still painting. Good to know some things haven’t changed.”

She bit her lower lip and turned her head, but not before he saw the emotion reflected in her eyes.

“Livvy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just worried I’m going to have to cart you home in those,” she said lightly as she tugged her hand free and pointed at his striped pajamas with a disparaging look on her face. “And yes, I’m still painting. It’s in my blood. Always has been, always will be.”

He laughed, like she wanted him to, at the line he’d heard her say so many times. He saw the strain around her eyes lift a little.

“Fine, you better go then, but come straight back, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.

Xander leaned back against his pillows and watched her departing back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’d talked about him going home for days. Now that the time was finally here, was she afraid? He mulled the idea over in his head. It was possible. He’d been through a lot, and maybe she was worried about how he would cope on his reentry into the real world. She was such a worrier, always had been. He guessed that came with the territory of being the eldest out of four kids growing up on a farm without their mother. His Livvy was used to micromanaging everything around her so that nothing would go wrong.

When he’d married her, he’d silently promised himself that he would never be a burden to her—that he would never make himself one more responsibility she had to shoulder. Even now, he was determined to make certain that his recovery didn’t weigh her down. He’d do whatever it took to ensure that the rest of his recuperation went smoothly so that the worry would disappear from her eyes once and for all.

“Nothing will go wrong,” he said aloud, earning a look from the guy in the bed opposite his.

* * *

Olivia hastened to the car parking building and got into her car. Her hand shook slightly as she pressed the ignition, and she took a moment before putting on her seat belt and putting the car in gear.

He was coming home. It was what she wanted, so why on earth had she run like a startled rabbit the minute he’d told her? She knew why. It meant she would have to stop putting her head in the sand about the life he’d created when he’d left her. It meant taking the set of keys that she’d been given, among the personal effects the hospital had held since his accident—ruined bloodstained clothing included—and going to his apartment to get his things.

She knew she should have done it before now. Should have gathered together what he would expect to find at their home. His wardrobe, his toiletries. Those were pretty much all he’d taken with him when he’d left. There was nothing for it but to steel herself to invade the new home he’d created. At least she knew where he lived. That was about the only thing the legal separation documents had been any good for, she thought grimly as she drove the short distance from Auckland City Hospital to the apartment block in Parnell where Xander had taken a lease.

She parked in one of the two spaces allocated to his apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor. Letting herself in through the door at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself for what she would find on the other side. As she stepped through the entrance hall she found herself strangely disappointed.

It was as if she’d stepped into a decorator’s catalogue shoot. Everything perfectly matched and aligned—and totally lacking any character. It certainly didn’t look as though anyone actually lived here. There was none of his personality or his love of old things, no warmth or welcome. She walked through the living room and toward a hallway she hoped would lead to his bedroom. It did, and she was surprised to discover the bedroom was in the same pristine, sterile condition. Not so much as a stray sock poking out from the simple valance that skirted the king-size bed. It wasn’t like the Xander she’d known at all—a man who was meticulous in all things except what she teasingly referred to as his floor-drobe. Maybe he had a cleaning service come through. Or maybe, the thought chilled her, he really had changed this much.

Anyway, she was wasting time. She needed to get his things and take them back to her house on the other side of the harbor bridge and then get back to the hospital again before he began to think she wasn’t coming to take him home after all.

In the spare room closet Olivia found a large suitcase, and she quickly grabbed underwear, socks and clothing from the walk-in wardrobe in Xander’s bedroom. From the bathroom she grabbed shower gel, cologne and his shaving kit. She wondered briefly if he remembered how to use it. It had been a while since he’d shaved properly. Only last week she’d teased him about the furry growth that ringed his jaw. Privately, she found she quite liked it. It made him seem a bit softer, more approachable than the cold stranger who’d stalked so emphatically out of her life.

She shook her head as if she could rid herself of the memory just as easily and wheeled the case to the front door. Should she check the refrigerator? She cringed a little at the idea of finding nine-week-old leavings rotting inside, but she figured she would have to do it sometime. She poked around in the drawers until she found a plastic garbage bag and then, holding her breath, opened the shiny stainless-steel door of the fridge.

Empty. How odd, she thought as she let the door close again. Not even a half bottle of wine stood in the door. If she hadn’t taken Xander’s things from his bedroom and en suite herself, she would hardly have believed he even lived here. She pulled open a pantry door and was relieved to see neatly labeled containers and a box of his favorite cereal stacked on the shelves. Okay, so maybe whoever had made the apartment look so spick-and-span had cleaned out the fridge, as well. She made a mental note to try and find out from somewhere, perhaps among his personal papers, if he had a cleaning service. If so, she’d need to put their visits on hold indefinitely.

She looked around the open-plan living room and dining area to see where he might keep his personal files and records. There was nothing to suggest a desk or office space in here. Maybe there was another bedroom? Olivia went back down the hall that led to Xander’s bedroom, and spied another door. She opened it, stepped inside and immediately came to a halt.

Her heart thumped erratically in her chest as her eyes fixed on the photo on the desk in what was obviously Xander’s home office. She recognized the frame as one she’d bought for him for his first Father’s Day and in it was the last photo they’d taken of Parker before he died.