A Perfect Hero (13 page)

He seemed quite happy to oblige. He was obviously hot and tired, and sank down on to the bench with a satisfied grunt.

‘Here.’ Clare handed him a tall glass of chilled white wine with a generous splash of soda, and he rolled the cold glass over his face. ‘Ahh!’ he sighed, and smiled contentedly. ‘That’s fantastic.’

‘You’re supposed to drink it!’ she said with a laugh.

‘All in good time,’ he told her, pressing the glass to his chest. ‘God, I’m hot—I must be so out of condition.’

She was mesmerised by the sight of his broad chest, the shirt hanging open to reveal the soft scatter of gold curls beaded with moisture. Her body yearned for the touch of his, the hard pressure of taut muscle against her softer flesh. Biting her lip, she dragged her eyes away and moved further along the bench.

‘Sorry, are the pheromones getting to you? I must reek,’ he apologised.

‘You hardly reek,’ she told him, suddenly conscious of the heady combination of aftershave and clean,
healthy sweat. ‘I was just giving you more room, as you’re too hot.’

She glanced up and met his eyes, and knew her lie was seen and understood.

He looked away, a muscle in his jaw working as he stared out across the fields. Draining his glass at a gulp, he stood up and headed for the door.

‘I’m going to have a shower, then I think I might lie down for a while,’ he said, his voice sounding curiously strained.

She watched him go, her body taut with need, and then buried her face in her hands.

It couldn’t go on, living here with him, loving him, wanting him, and being held at arm’s length all the time. And he didn’t really need her that much any more.

She sighed. Tomorrow they were at Ross and Lizzi’s house for the day, but the next day she would start looking for a flat.

Swallowing her tears, she went into the kitchen to prepare their meal.

Saturday dawned bright and clear. Already by nine o’clock it was getting hotter, and the forecast was hot, dry and sunny. Clare swung her slender legs out of bed and pulled on a long T-shirt, then made her way quietly down to the kitchen.

Michael was sitting at the table, his foot propped up on another chair, reading a BMJ.

‘Oh,’ she said, flustered, ‘I thought you were still asleep.’

He glanced up, flicked his eyes over her from head to toe and returned his attention to the magazine. ‘No, I’ve been up for some time. The kettle’s hot.’

‘So’s the weather,’ she commented. ‘It’s going to be a scorcher. Lovely for lounging by the pool.’

‘Hmm.’

She shot him a glance. ‘What’s the matter?’

He looked up. ‘Why should anything be the matter?’

‘You don’t sound very keen.’

He sighed and put down the magazine. ‘I’m not. I don’t know if anyone else will be there—Ross’s sons, or other friends …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for socialising yet.’

Clare lifted the receiver on the wall phone and punched in a number.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked sharply.

‘Finding out—hello, Lizzi, it’s Clare. I just wondered if there was anything you wanted us to bring with us—a salad, some wine, anything like that. I didn’t know how many you were going to be catering for.’

‘Just the four of us, the boys are with their mother, and no, don’t bring anything except Michael—how is he, by the way?’

‘Oh, getting to grips with his leg. The air was blue yesterday, but he’s trying to run before he can walk at the moment. He’ll be fine once he’s got it sussed. Are you sure you don’t want me to make a rice salad or anything?’

‘No, really—just come when you’re ready.’

‘Lovely. We’ll see you soon. Bye.’

She replaced the receiver and turned to Michael.

‘Just us. You can relax.’

He snorted, then sighed. ‘OK. I give in. I’ll go and shower and get ready—it takes bloody hours.’

They left shortly before eleven, and all the way Clare was conscious of the tension in him. Despite the heat of the day, he was wearing jeans to cover his leg,
although at home he had been happy in shorts. She wondered how difficult he would find taking off his leg and undressing to go in the pool with Lizzi around, but she knew there was nothing she could do to protect him from reality. He would have to find his own way of dealing with it.

Ross greeted them at the car and walked with them round the side of the house to the pool. Lizzi was lying in the shade of a tree, reading a book, and looked up as they approached.

‘Hi, there. Drag up a chair—sun or shade?’

They all opted for the shade, and Ross brought them tall, clinking glasses of fruit juice from the kitchen.

Even so, the heat got to them. Ross lit the barbeque with a bit of help and advice from Michael in the way of good-natured abuse, and then they returned to the shade to flop on the cool grass.

Conversation was minimal but comfortable, Clare and Lizzi talking about the book she was reading, and Ross and Michael—of course—talking shop. After half an hour Ross stood up and flapped his T-shirt. ‘Time for a swim,’ he said, and with swift economy of movement he stripped off his T-shirt and shorts to reveal sleek black trunks.

‘Michael, you coming in while the girls knock up some salad?’ he asked, and Lizzi and Clare took the hint and made their way to the kitchen.

‘I wondered how he would cope with that,’ Clare said. ‘I might have known Ross would work round it tactfully.’

‘Does it trouble him much?’ Lizzi asked.

‘I don’t know—he doesn’t really talk about it all that much. Lizzi, I’ve been meaning to tell you—we aren’t engaged any more.’

‘What?’ Lizzi put down the lettuce she was shredding and turned to Clare, her face touched with compassion. ‘Oh, Clare, I am sorry. What happened?’

Clare sighed. ‘I wish I knew. It was about a week after the accident, but he’d been getting more and more distant ever since the accident happened. I thought at first he was just depressed, but then I realised he just didn’t want me around so much. Then he overheard me talking to his brother, and——’ She lifted her shoulders in a defeated little shrug.

‘Explain,’ Lizzi said firmly, leading her to the table and sitting her down.

So she sat, and poured out all the happenings of the past three weeks, and Lizzi listened, her violet eyes troubled.

‘So that’s it,’ Clare concluded. ‘He doesn’t love me, and as soon as he doesn’t need me any more, I’ll be moving out.’

‘There’s a flat coming up in the hospital,’ Lizzi told her. ‘My staff nurse, Lucy Hallett, is moving in with Mitch Baker, Ross’s registrar, at the end of next week when Mitch gets his flat. They’re both in hospital accommodation at the moment, but I know Lucy’s got a nice little flat—would you like me to ask her what’s happening to it?’

‘Could you? I know the flat—it was near mine.’ She sighed. She had only been out of the flat a month. Why had they been so hasty? Perhaps Michael was right after all.

They heard footsteps, and Ross appeared, his body glistening with water.

‘Nice swim?’ Lizzi asked him, accepting his damp kiss with a grimace.

‘Fabulous,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve come for the chicken pieces and the kebabs.’

‘In the fridge—where’s Michael?’

‘Still in the pool—he’s trying to swim eight hundred metres.’

‘He’ll kill himself,’ Clare said with a sigh.

‘No, he won’t,’ Ross assured her. ‘He’s as fit as a flea—he’s just a little out of condition at the moment, and hell bent on proving things to himself. He’ll be fine. Is this all?’

He brandished the dish of kebabs and chicken pieces under Lizzi’s nose.

‘Oh, Ross, don’t,’ she said, turning away with her hand on her throat. ‘Yes, it is all. We’ll bring the salad down—is it OK for us to appear yet?’

‘Oh, I think so. He’s relaxed now, and having fun. If we ignore him he’ll be all right.’

She tutted. ‘I was hardly going to stare at him!’

‘Sorry, darling.’ Ross grinned, a lop-sided, little-boy grin, and hugged Lizzi with his free hand.

‘Yuck, you’re all wet. Go away!’ she told him laughingly, and, picking up the salad dish, she followed him out. ‘Clare, can you manage that tray?’ she called over her shoulder.

Clare could. She followed them out, envying their camaraderie and obvious affection. As she walked down the steps behind them, she could see Michael powering up and down the pool in a swift, no-nonsense crawl that ate up the water.

Lizzi watched him for a second, and smiled. ‘He’s getting plenty of practice at tumble-turns, anyway.’

Clare nodded, and allowed her eyes to feast on the sight of his smooth, well-muscled arms cleaving through the clear water. Ross and Lizzi were dealing
with the food, bantering good-naturedly about the readiness of the charcoal and the cooking time of the chicken pieces, and were quite oblivious to her presence.

Ross appeared at her elbow after a couple of minutes. ‘Do you want to go in?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not just yet. Perhaps later.’

‘I just wondered. You were staring at the water with such longing.’

Lizzi took his arm. ‘I don’t think it was the water she was staring at,’ she told him as she towed him away.

Clare closed her eyes. Was she so transparent? With a heavy sigh, she went into the shade and sat down, but it was still bakingly hot.

Lizzi came over and flopped on to the sun lounger. ‘Why don’t you take some of those things off?’ she asked. ‘You look steamed.’

‘Good idea. I’ve got my costume on underneath. Perhaps when Michael’s finished his marathon I’ll go in and cool off.’

She peeled off her T-shirt and shorts, and kicked off her canvas shoes, wriggling her toes in the cool grass.

‘That’s better,’ Ross said with obvious admiration.

‘Hey, that’s enough of that, you’re spoken for!’ Lizzi said laughingly.

He grinned. ‘I can look, can’t I? Artistic appreciation.’

She snorted. Clare bit her lip, and Lizzi tutted. ‘Now you’ve embarrassed her. Go and cool off in the water.’

He laughed. ‘It was only appreciation, not outright lust! She’s a little too lush for me, I prefer my women rather more on the skinny side,’ he said, leeering at his slender wife.

Lizzi hit him. ‘I’ll give you skinny, and less of the
plural, please! Women, indeed—you are too old for that sort of thing!’

He smiled tenderly and patted her tummy. ‘I’m evidently not,’ he said with undisguised pride.

Lizzi flushed and shooed him off. ‘Go and turn the kebabs.’

‘Nag, nag, nag,’ he grumbled, but went anyway.

Clare looked across at her friend. ‘Lizzi?’

She smiled with deep contentment. ‘I’m pregnant—the baby’s due in February.’

Emotion welled in her chest, and Clare reached out a hand blindly and grasped Lizzi’s. ‘Oh, Lizzi, that’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you …’

She shut her eyes and tears welled over, splashing on to her bare legs.

‘Oh, Clare, don’t cry—I’m sorry, that was supremely tactless of us when you and Michael’

‘Clare and Michael what?’ said Ross, coming back.

‘Nothing, Ross. This is private.’

‘No, tell him.’ Clare struggled to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go for a stroll and have a look round your garden for a minute.’

She walked away, her head bowed, giving up the effort of keeping her tears under control. Maybe it would be easier to leave the hospital altogether, get right away from him once he didn’t need her any more.

She found a bench tucked in under a tree at the far end of the garden, and sat down, indifferent to the beauty of her surroundings, all her attention focused on the yawning void of the rest of her life, a life that would be empty and meaningless without Michael.

A shadow fell on the grass in front of her, and she looked up to find him standing there, leaning on his
crutches. He was still wet from the pool, the water making little rivers over his sleek skin.

‘Lunch is ready,’ he told her. He sounded concerned.

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘Neither am I,’ he confessed, ‘but they’ve gone to a lot of trouble, and I think we should eat it. Come on, love. We don’t have to stay too long.’

But it’s not them I don’t want to be with, she longed to tell him, it’s you, because every time I look at you my heart breaks a little more——

‘I’m coming.’ She stood up and waited while he turned round, and walked slowly back with him across the gently sloping grass to the pool.

Despite her reservations she ate well, and so did Michael, and then after lunch they lay around for a while in the shade. Michael dozed, his arm flung up over his eyes, and then when he woke up they all went in the pool and played a rather wild game of individual water polo, with broken rules abounding.

Once the ball came towards Clare and she seized it, only to find herself being tackled enthusiastically by Michael, his body hard and sinuous against hers as he laughingly reached round her and grabbed the ball. After that she lost her concentration and ended up with the lowest score.

They left late in the day, after what had turned into a very enjoyable and relaxing afternoon.

‘They’re lovely people,’ Michael said on the way home. ‘They said if I could get over there, I could use the pool any time I wanted.’

‘I can bring you over,’ Clare found herself offering. He didn’t comment, but she noticed his hands clenched on the grip of his crutches. Was it her, or just that he hated to be dependent? She didn’t know.

They had tuna and salad sandwiches for supper, and Michael went up to bed early, tired after his exertion in the pool. Clare tidied up the kitchen and was putting her uniform in the washing-machine when there was an almighty crash above her head.

Dropping everything, she ran up the stairs and into Michael’s room. He was just picking himself up off the floor, and she caught the tail-end of a string of profanities. He straightened up, naked, and glared at her.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course I’m bloody well all right! Damn it, woman, stop hovering!’

‘Don’t shout at me!’ she yelled. ‘I can’t help caring about you!’

Suddenly it was all too much. Dropping her face into her hands, she burst into tears.

‘Oh, God, Clare, don’t cry,’ he pleaded gruffly. ‘I’m sorry. Ah, love, come here——’