Lucy Gordon - And the Bride Wore Red

In the dim light she could see Lang shake his head, smiling ruefully.

‘Perhaps you belong together after all,’ he said. Suddenly he reached into his pocket, took out his mobile phone and pushed it towards her, then he leaned close to murmur into her ear without disturbing the singer.

‘Call him. Say that your quarrel was a mistake, and you love him still. Go on. Do it now.’

The dramatic gesture astonished and intrigued her. With a gasp of edgy laughter, she pushed the phone back to him.

‘Why are you laughing?’ he demanded.

‘I was just picturing his face if he answered the phone and found himself talking to me. There was no quarrel. He left me for someone else. She had a lot of money, so he obviously did the right thing. I believe they’re very happy. She bought him a posh car for a wedding present.’

‘And that makes it the right thing?’ he enquired.

‘Of course.’

‘So if a millionaire proposed you’d accept at once?’

‘No way! He’d have to be a billionaire at least.’

‘I see.’ The words were grave but his lips were slightly quirked, as if he were asking who she thought she was fooling.

But he said nothing more. The music had ended. The singer bowed to the heartfelt applause and embarked on another song, slightly more cheerful. Lang turned his head towards the little stage, but reached back across the table to take hold of Olivia’s hand, and kept it.

She found that her nostalgic sadness had vanished, overtaken by a subtle pleasure that seemed to infuse the whole evening. Everything was a part of it, including the man sitting opposite her, looking away, giving Olivia the chance to study him unobserved.

She could appreciate him like this. His regular features were enough to make him good-looking, but they also had a mobility that was constantly intriguing. His eyes could be bland and conventional, or wickedly knowing in a way that gave him a disconcerting charm. She wondered if there was anyone he regretted from his own past. A warm-natured man in his thirties, with a deep belief in the value of romantic love, had surely not reached this point without some sadness along the road.

She began to muse on the subject, wondering if there was a way to question him without revealing too much interest. There wasn’t, of course, and an alarm bell sounded in her head. This was just the kind of atmosphere she’d learned to fear-seductive, romantic, lulling her senses and her mind in dangerous harmony.

It was time for common sense to take over. In a few minutes she would suggest that the evening should end soon, phrasing it carefully. She began to plan the words, even deciding what she would say when he protested.

Lang was beckoning to Wei, paying the bill, and ordering him to stop giggling and make himself scarce. Wei departed jauntily. Olivia took a deep breath to make her speech.

‘We’d better go,’ Lang said.

‘Pardon?’

‘We both have to work tomorrow, so I’ll get you home quickly. I’m sorry to have kept you out so late.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ she said faintly.

On the journey she wondered what was going to happen now. Lang had recognised that she wasn’t ready for a decision, while subtly implying that he was attracted to her. He was charming and funny, with a quiet, gentle strength that appealed to her, perhaps because she could sense something quirky and irreverent beneath it.

A light-hearted flirtation could be agreeable, but if he wanted more, if he planned to end the evening in her arms-or even in her apartment-what then? A gentle letdown? How did you half-reject someone you more than half-liked? Again she began to think about what she would say to him.

When they arrived, he came with her to the apartment block.

‘How far up are you?’ he asked.

‘Second floor.’

He rode up with her and came to her door.

‘Lang?’ she began uneasily.

‘Yes?’

She lost her nerve. ‘Would you care to come in for a drink?’

‘I certainly want to come in, but not for a drink. Let’s get inside and I’ll explain, although I’m sure you know what the problem is.’

Once inside he took off his jacket and helped her off with hers.

‘You’ll need to remove your blouse as well,’ he said, beginning to work on her buttons.

‘Lang…’

He took no notice, opening the buttons one by one until he could remove the blouse, revealing her as he had the day before. She was astonished at his effrontery. Did he think he could simply undress her, seduce her, do as he liked with her?

‘Now let me look at that arm,’ he said.

‘My arm?’ she echoed, thunderstruck.

‘That’s why I came to find you tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes-I remember.’

She had a horrible feeling that she sounded idiotic, but that was how she felt. He hadn’t come here to seduce her, but to tend her. Her wild thoughts had been nonsense. She felt herself blushing from head to toe.

Then she thought she caught a gleam of mischief in his eyes, although it was gone before she could be certain.

With her blouse removed, he held her arm up, moving his head this way and that without appearing to notice anything but her injury. He had no eyes for the peachy, youthful glow of her skin, the way her waist narrowed and the lamp threw shadows between her breasts. It was almost insulting.

‘This is the last time it will need covering,’ he said. ‘It’s healing nicely.’

He’d brought a small bag in with him, and from it he took replacement dressings. He covered the grazes lightly, and fixed everything in place.

‘Now get a good night’s sleep,’ he instructed.

Then he was heading out of the apartment, without having touched her, except as a doctor.

‘Wait,’ she said desperately. ‘What did you mean about “the problem”?’

He paused in the doorway.

‘The problem,’ he said, ‘is that you’re still my patient. Later…’

‘Later?’

His gaze moved over her slowly, lingering just a little on the beauty he had so dutifully ignored.

‘Later you won’t be. Goodnight.’

The school term was nearly over. Olivia was busy writing reports, talking to parents and consulting with the headmistress, who looked in on her on the penultimate day.

‘I’m just making plans for next year,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m so glad you’re staying.’

‘Staying?’ Olivia echoed vaguely.

‘You originally came for six months, but when I asked if you were going to stay on you said you would. Don’t you remember?’

‘Oh, yes-yes.’

‘You really sound in need of a holiday,’ Mrs Wu said kindly.

‘It’s just that I’ve been wondering if I should go home.’

‘But you can do that and still come back next term. From all you’ve told me about Norah, she wants you to stay here and spread your wings. I hope you come back. You’re doing such a good job. But you’ve got my number if you have a last-minute change of mind.’

Olivia went home, thoughtful. Everything that had seemed simple only a short while ago had suddenly become complicated.

It was true that Norah showed no sign of wanting her early return. Only last night she’d been at her most lively, talking furiously about Melisande’s latest lover.

‘You mean, Freddy?’ Olivia had queried.

‘No. Freddy’s finished since she caught him sleeping with a pole dancer. It’s your father.’

‘Mum and Dad? What are they playing at?’

‘I gather he went to see her, seeking solace from a broken heart.’

‘I thought you said he’d made some girl pregnant.’

‘He thought he had, but apparently it’s not his, so he went to cry on your mother’s shoulder because, and I quote, “she’s the only one who understands”.’