Daphne Clair - Wife To A Stranger

The nurse said encouragingly, ‘You recognise him. Well, that’s all right.’

He lifted his head. ‘Satisfied?’

The woman beamed at him. ‘You’ll be relieved. The doctor will check her over again, though, and tell you if we need to keep her for another day or two.’

‘Right. Thanks.’ He nodded dismissively, and after a moment’s hesitation the nurse left.

Rolfe seemed to be studying the pattern on the bedcover. When he raised his eyes again they appeared almost black. ‘I suppose it wasn’t for lack of trying,’ he said.

‘What?’ She stared at him. ‘I’m sorry?’

His gaze narrowed, and his head jerked sharply as if he’d sensed something unexpected in the air, but the movement was quickly checked. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘You’re not well enough for this discussion.’ There was a short pause, and then he said on an oddly intense note, ‘Shall I take you home, Capri? Is that what you’d like?’

Home. The word conjured up warmth, comfort—love. ‘Of course,’ she said, and saw a startling flare of some potent, primitive emotion in his eyes. ‘As soon as the doctor says it’s all right.’ She had the feeling that if she’d said, Yes — now, he’d have picked her up and bundled her off with him then and there.

As it was, he took a breath that lifted the fabric of his shirt for seconds before he audibly released it. ‘Of course,’ he echoed her. ‘I meant…when they’ve cleared you.’

Her eyelids drooped, and he said, ‘You look tired… darling. Why don’t you go to sleep?’

She should be asking questions, like what had happened to her, and what her last address had been, and why…why…

Thinking was too difficult. She drifted, thought she felt her hand taken in a large, warm one, and another kind of warmth, bristly and underlaid with hard bone, briefly rubbed against the back of it. Then she slept.

When she woke Rolfe was gone. A different nurse took her pulse, read her blood pressure, poked a thermometer into her mouth, and later other people bustled about her with charts and stethoscopes, asked how she felt, and gently prodded and kneaded her body, which was tender with bruises.

They told her that New South Wales had been lashed by spring storms, and a landslip caused by heavy rain had derailed a train, sending several carriages sliding into the Hunter River. She’d been lucky. Some of the other passengers were on the critical list in this hospital, the nearest to the crash site, while a few needing specialist care had been flown to Sydney. She’d had a brain X-ray on admission, and later a CT scan because she had been taking her time to come round, but they had shown no cause for concern.

‘Anything worrying you?’ someone asked at last.

She looked at him gratefully. ‘The nurse said…I might have memory gaps.’

The doctor nodded. ‘That’s right. You don’t remember the accident?’

‘It’s not only the accident I don’t remember.’

‘Oh?’ He sounded almost casual. ‘How much have you lost?’

It was a relief to confide in someone. ‘I think…an awful lot.’

Another doctor came, shone lights in her eyes, and asked more questions, some of them general, others personal. At the end of it all he assured her again that there was no sign of physical damage, suggested she rest and try not to worry, and departed looking thoughtful.

She begged to be allowed to shower, and a nurse was detailed to monitor her.

‘Not much of an end to your holiday,’ the woman commented, ‘getting involved in that crash.’

‘No.’ She took the soap the nurse handed her and stepped into the blessed warmth of the shower.

Afterwards, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bathroom basin and was reassured at the familiarity of jade-green eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes, and a slightly long but straight nose in an oval face. Her skin was too pale and her lips bloodless and cracked, but apart from that she looked herself.

Shivering despite the steamy fug of the bathroom, she wished she felt it.

Just showering had exhausted her, and she was too listless to read the magazines a nurse found for her, instead staring out the window at a view of low tawny hills and, nearer, the gum tree with its narrow leaves twisting in the yellow sunlight.

Rolfe returned bearing roses and carnations in sparkling florist’s wrap, and a parcel that he told her was toiletries he’d been advised by the nursing staff to buy for her. He had shaved and changed into jeans and a casual shirt.

The bouquet filled her arms, and perhaps that was why he didn’t kiss her. His glance was sharply enquiring. ‘How are you feeling?’

She inhaled the scent of the flowers. ‘The headache’s gone.’

‘Good.’ Walking round to take the tan chair between the bed and the window, he sat down and leaned forward, his clasped hands between spread knees, but then shifted back, coolly surveying her. ‘You still look… fragile.’

She gave him a cautious smile. ‘That’s how I feel. What about you?’

He arched a black brow at her. ‘Me?’

‘You weren’t with me in the train?’

‘No.’

His face looked hollowed about the freshly shaved cheeks, his eyes tired, and he had a taut air of strain, as if he couldn’t relax.

She said, ‘I suppose I gave you a fright, getting hurt, and then…you’ve been waiting for me to wake up. Since yesterday, they said.’

He shrugged absently. ‘I’m just glad you did wake. They told me you would, but…’

‘So am I,’ she said softly, ‘glad.’ She removed one hand from the flowers and stretched it towards him. ‘Thank you for being with me.’

Rolfe hesitated before placing his fingers over hers, holding them. His gaze stayed on their linked hands. ‘I couldn’t not come,’ he said.

‘Of course. You’re my husband.’

He looked up then, his eyes scanning her face. She moved to stretch her other hand to him, somehow needing that warm personal contact, and the flowers slipped, rolling down to the side of the bed.

Rolfe rescued them and stood up, releasing her. ‘I’ll see if I can rustle up a vase or something,’ he promised, and left the room.

He returned with a big glass vase that he filled with water from the room basin, plunging the bouquet straight into it.

‘They’re lovely,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

He looked down at her and his hand lifted almost as though he couldn’t help it, his knuckles lightly brushing her cheek as he fingered her hair that had dried to a thick honey-brown bob with lighter streaks, the ends just level with her earlobes. ‘Suits you,’ he murmured.

She reached up to clasp his hand, but already he had withdrawn it.

‘They said after you woke that if there are no obvious problems you may be discharged tomorrow,’ he said. ‘The accident has stretched the hospital’s resources. Do you want me to book us into a hotel for a day or two, or shall we fly straight back to New Zealand?’

‘New Zealand?’

‘You did say you wanted to come home.’ His voice had turned gravelly. ‘Or have you changed your mind?’

‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ The reply was automatic. Her heart thudded uncomfortably. She turned her head, staring out of the window, where darkness was creeping over the hills.

He said, ‘You do know you’re in Australia, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’ She looked back at him.

‘So where were you staying?’

She opened her mouth to reply, then paused. Finally she said, ‘You must know that.’

He was gazing at her curiously. ‘You don’t remember.’

‘No.’

‘Do you remember anything that’s happened to you in the past two months?’