The Perfect Husband (4 page)

* * *

Isobel did her best not to look at the
reflection she knew she’d see in the bathroom mirror. Even a
glimpse reminded her of the shell she’d become. The young,
optimistic, vibrant,
happy
woman she used to be had
disappeared and she was terrified she was never coming back.

Taking a soft cotton pad from the vanity
drawer, she carefully removed her makeup in preparation for bed.
Her eye was still tender to the touch. A glance in the mirror
showed her the bruise had morphed into a darker shade of purple,
making it very difficult to conceal. It was lucky she was on her
usual rostered days off.

She hadn’t seen Mason since she’d run into
him at the hospital a few days earlier and was relieved about that.
She’d seen the way his gaze had snagged on her face and the frown
that had marked his brow. She couldn’t help but wonder if any of
her nursing colleagues had noticed. The last thing she needed was
people wondering about whether her eye had taken a hit.

Not that anyone who knew Nigel would ever
suspect he was handy with his fists. He was the pin-up boy of the
Sydney Harbour Hospital; the talented surgeon who had a ready smile
and a charming word for everyone else. It was only his wife who saw
the aggressive, darker side. Now she couldn’t help but wonder what
life would have been like if she hadn’t turned down Mason’s offer
all those years ago…

She shook her head sadly at the memory.
Mason hadn’t stood a chance. She’d been under Nigel’s spell from
the very beginning; his pull stronger than anything she’d ever felt
before. If she’d only known back then how his grip would tighten to
the point where she was choking and that how every now and then—too
often—she actually wished she were dead.

As if sensing her thoughts were on another
man, Nigel came up behind her and threaded his arms around her
waist. When he pulled her backwards against him, she realized he
was naked. His erection pressed against her buttocks, with only her
thin cotton nightgown separating them. She tensed involuntarily and
did her best not to shudder. His hands reached up to cup her
breasts.

“Come to bed.”

His fingers found her nipples and pinched
them hard. She gasped from the pain. “Nigel, please, don’t be so
rough.”

He laughed and nuzzled her neck, biting her
soft skin. “You like it rough. You pretend you don’t, but I know
you do. It’s just another one of the games you like to play. Lucky
for you, I like to play this one, too.”

Bending her over the sink, he caught her
nightdress in his hand and dragged it upwards. Moments later, he
spread her legs wide and forced himself inside her. Pain and
humiliation brought tears to her eyes, but she knew better than to
resist. Any sign of defiance only served to arouse him further.
She’d learned that the hard way.

“You could appear a little more excited,” he
growled in her ear as he continued to thrust inside her. “How about
a moan or two?”

He took hold of her hips in both hands and
increased his frenzied attack. This time, she didn’t have to force
the sounds from her throat. She groaned in discomfort and bit her
lip until she tasted blood. She gripped the sides of the vanity and
prayed for the assault to end.

“Does David Hamilton fuck you like this? I
bet you groan for him.” Releasing her hips, he brought his hands
back around to knead her breasts. A moment later, his hands were
around her neck.

“Nigel!” she gasped. “Let go of me! I can’t
breathe!”

His laughter sent chills down her spine.
“Some people get off on this kind of thing, Isobel. It’s called
autoerotic asphyxiation. The trick is to let go before you
suffocate. I thought we might try it.”

Her vision narrowed and stars burst behind
her eyes. She reached up and tried to loosen his grip, but his
fingers were like iron.

“Nigel! I mean it! I can’t breathe!
Please…please…” Her heart thumped as hard and as fast as the
pounding of his hips. A moment later, he found his release and let
out a shout of triumph. His hands fell away and he collapsed
against her, bending her further over the vanity.

With her head mashed against the cold sink,
Isobel sucked in desperate mouthfuls of air, her lungs screaming
for oxygen. She wheezed and coughed and swiped at her tears, too
distraught to even speak. Nigel moved away from her and blew out
his breath on a satisfied sigh.

“Phew! That was something special, don’t you
think? We ought to try that one again.”

As if only just noticing her distress, his
gaze narrowed on her face. “Why the fuck are you crying? Plenty of
women would be glad their husbands still want to fuck them after
nine years of marriage. You ought to be grateful. There is an ample
number of other willing takers, let me assure you.” He smirked.

“That young blond theater nurse with the
perky tits can’t wait to suck my cock. I can see it in her eyes.
Today she was all over me, laughing at everything I said, brushing
her tits against my arm. I should have just taken her into the
changing rooms and fucked her.”

Isobel wanted to press her hands against her
ears and block out his filthy words, but instead, she stood in
silence with her hands fisted by her sides and waited for it to
end. Nigel just looked at her. A moment later, he shook his head
and stalked out of the room. She collapsed onto the toilet seat and
held back a fresh rush of tears.

Where had she gone wrong? Why was she being
punished? How had her life gone so far off the track?

It was a long while later when she finally
found the strength to stand and finish her preparations for bed.
She longed for another shower to scrub away the feel of Nigel, but
didn’t want to risk waking him. Already, his snores filled the
silence.

Instead, she stumbled to the sink and
splashed some cool water on her cheeks. She opened up the cabinet
above the sink and checked for a bottle of Tylenol. She usually
kept one in there. Her hand closed around an unfamiliar bottle and
she pulled it out into the light. She looked down at the label and
frowned.

Diazepam.
Otherwise known as Valium.
Why would there be sleeping tablets in her bathroom cabinet? She
certainly hadn’t requested them and Nigel had no trouble sleeping.
She turned the bottle over in her hands, but there was no name
attached to the prescription. The bottle hadn’t been issued by a
pharmacist. Which meant Nigel had brought them home. He’d stolen
them from the hospital. There wasn’t any other explanation. The
question she asked herself was, why?

All of a sudden, she recalled the pile of
books she’d found on the desk inside his office.
How to Get Away
with Murder, Secrets of a Serial Killer
, and others similarly
themed. Her mind returned to their violent sex—when she’d thought
she was going to die. A coldness settled deep in her belly. Her
legs went weak, no longer able to support her. As the terrifying
realization hit her, she gasped and slid slowly to the floor.

The truth was there for all to see, but she
was the only one who could. The tablets were meant for her, she was
sure of it. Nigel was planning to kill her…

Dear Diary,

Work has been my salvation and I thank God
for this escape. When I’m at the hospital, I can forget about the
horror of living at home. Apart from my children, taking care of
sick kids makes me feel human and gives me a purpose. It’s the only
time a little of my constant fear and paranoia leave me.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of my former
self in my patients’ laughter or see it in their eyes. I used to
laugh and smile like that and I used to hope I could make the world
a better place. Seeing Mason has been like having a life line
thrown at me. I can look at him and remember the girl I used to be,
so long ago. I miss her so much and I’ve lost hope that she’ll ever
come back.

I feel something today, something more than
the usual numbness. I feel sadness and heartache and…yearning.
Maybe that’s a good thing? Because finally, I’m starting to feel
again.

* * *

Mason glanced through one of the windows in
the children’s ward and sighed inwardly. Mid-afternoon sunlight
streamed through the opening and landed on the linoleum floor in a
maze of colorful geometric patterns. He’d spent another busy day
tending to sick children and to their parents, who were almost as
needy. He understood their concern, of course, and how the worry
and uncertainty about the health of their children could eat away
at their souls. He didn’t have to be a father to empathize.

He looked out the window again and realized
that since his arrival in Sydney a week earlier, he hadn’t had an
opportunity to explore. Today, the beautiful city, with all its
early December splendor, beckoned to him from outside the window,
but his chances of finding time to enjoy the warm summer afternoon
were next to none. His patient list was full.

Rounding the corner at the far end of the
ward, he walked into the room that contained his latest patient.
Charlie Alsop had been admitted via the Emergency Department, or ED
as it was known among staff. The boy’s mother had brought him in
complaining of acute stomach pain. Appendicitis was the preliminary
diagnosis, but a CT scan had ruled that out. Charlie had been
admitted and brought up to the ward for further investigation.

Mason looked up from the clinical notes in
his hand and smiled at his patient. He opened his mouth to greet
the child and his mother, but the greeting got caught in his
throat. A pretty nurse was bent over the boy, a blood pressure cuff
in her hand. It took his brain less than a second to recognize
Isobel and her trademark red hair.

As if alerted to his presence, she turned to
look at him and then quickly averted her gaze. He was relieved to
find no lingering sign of the trauma to her eye, even though her
face was drawn with fatigue. He couldn’t help but wonder about her
reluctance to meet his gaze.

“Mrs Alsop, I’m Doctor Mason Alexander. I’m
going to look after Charlie while he’s in hospital.” The boy’s
mother nodded in acknowledgement and Mason perched himself on the
side of Charlie’s bed, a mere two or three feet from Isobel. She
tensed and then visibly relaxed, as if she’d willed it. Another
wave of curiosity surged through him at her odd behavior, but now
wasn’t the time to give voice to his concerns.

“Now, Charlie, your mom told the doctors
downstairs that you had a terrible pain in your tummy. Is that
right?”

The seven-year-old nodded solemnly.

“How does it feel now?” Mason asked, his
tone gentle.

Charlie shrugged. “It’s still sore, but not
quite as bad as it was before.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mason replied. “Do
you mind if I have a feel of your tummy?”

Charlie shook his head and wiggled further
down in his bed. Isobel packed up her equipment and moved out of
the way. When she inadvertently brushed against Mason’s sleeve, his
heart skipped a beat. Her perfume teased his nose—familiar, warm,
sweet, feminine. She continued past him without pause, perhaps
oblivious to her effect on him. She’d never given him any
indication in high school that she regarded him as anything more
than her boyfriend’s teammate, even after Mason had risked all and
declared his undying love.

The decade-old memory burned him with as
much humiliation now as it had then and his fists tightened in
response. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, he made a
deliberate effort to wipe the memory from his mind. After all, he
was at work, in the middle of an examination though the object of
his pain stood less than ten feet away. He had to get a grip.

“I’m just going to lift your T-shirt so I
can have a look at your tummy. Is that okay?” He included Charlie’s
mom in his gaze. Both of them nodded. Mason pressed gently on the
boy’s abdomen and palpated it beneath his fingers.

“Does that hurt, Charlie?” he asked.

“No.”

“How about here?”

“No, not really.”

“What about here?”

“Ouch,” Charlie complained and a wave of
concern washed over his mother’s face.

Mason continued his examination. When he was
finished, he pulled down the boy’s shirt.

“How long has it been since you went to the
toilet, Charlie?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. I did a pee
while I was still downstairs.”

“No, I mean a poo. Do you remember when you
last went to the toilet for a poo?”

Charlie frowned in thought. His mother sat
forward in her chair.

“Have you been today, Charlie?” she
asked.

“No.”

“What about yesterday?” Mason asked.

“No. I remember because I had to go, but it
was in the middle of class and I didn’t want to ask the teacher if
I could leave, so I just held on. Later, in the break, I didn’t
feel like going.”

“Do you normally do a poo most days?” Mason
asked.

Charlie’s mom nodded. “As far as I know. He
seems to spend an awful lot of time in there.”

The young boy’s cheeks turned red and he
stared down at the sheet. “It’s only because I take a book in
there, Mom. I like to read. It helps pass the time.” His blush
deepened and Mason couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“I like to read in the toilet, too,
Charlie,” he said and the boy shot him a grateful look. “Sometimes
it’s the only quiet time I get.”

“Yeah,” Charlie replied with feeling,
shooting Mason a grin. “It’s the only place I can get away from my
pesky little sisters.”

“Charlie, that’s not very nice,” his mom
admonished.

“It’s true, Mom,” Charlie insisted,
unabashed.

Mason cleared his throat and brought the
conversation back to point. He stood and folded his arms across his
chest.

“I’m pretty sure I know what the problem
is,” he said and both Charlie and his mom turned to him, expectant
looks upon their faces.