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‘Garbage!’ Dylan put in helpfully.
‘Then, please, let’s just…get on with it,’ Annabelle begged, ignoring him. ‘The way you’re reacting is only making things worse. People are whispering, and—’
‘Oh, it’s my fault?’ Alex’s nostrils flared again.
‘No, I’m not saying that, but—’
‘It’s my fault,’ Dylan interposed. ‘That’s clear. Annabelle’s right. Please, just get on with it.’
But Alex had a look on his face now. It happened in surgery very occasionally if he was tired and absently asked for the wrong size of clamp or something. Most surgeons would simply correct themselves and go on, but Alex could never do that. He would doggedly proceed with a piece of equipment that was less than ideal, rather than lose face by admitting to a mistake. Fortunately, he was a good enough surgeon to carry it off, but this wasn’t surgery, this was his wedding.
For heaven’s sake, get over it, Dylan wanted to tell him. Don’t lose your sense of proportion. But he knew it was already too late.
‘No, I won’t get on with it,’ Alex said coldly. ‘Are you coming, Peter?’
‘Yes,’ said the best man, who had to be Alex’s younger brother. He blinked, like an animal caught in a bright light. ‘Yes. Right. Of course.’
Without another word, Alex spun neatly around, strode down the centre aisle and out the glass door through which Dylan had entered just a few minutes earlier. Peter hurried after him. In the dead silence that had now fallen over the assembled guests, just two sounds could be heard—the squeak of the door as it swung closed again, and the lusty sound of one little boy slurping on a red lollipop.
The silence didn’t last for long.
In seconds, the sound of voices had swelled from a buzz to a roar. Annabelle’s silk skirt swished against Dylan’s legs again as she whirled to face him. She was furious.
‘Why did you do it? A joke? You can’t think I’ll swallow that! It was malicious! You know Alex as well as I do, Dylan Calford. You must have known he’d take it as a personal insult or worse. Why did you do it!’
In hundreds of hours of working together during surgery, Dylan had never seen her brown eyes blaze that way before. Her chest was heaving. The dress had slipped a little, and one creamy shoulder was bared. Her cheeks were still fiery red. She looked electric and wild and more stunningly attractive than he’d ever have thought she could…but, then, he’d never seen her dressed for her own wedding before. A dangerous new awareness stirred inside him.
‘Why?’ he echoed. ‘Why?’
As fast as a computer scanning its hard drive, he ran through all the possible placatory falsehoods at his disposal and rejected every one of them. He was left, therefore, with the bald truth, so he said that, aware even as he spoke the words of how inadequate they sounded.
‘Because I knew you wouldn’t be happy.’
Annabelle was not grateful for the insight.
In a low voice, she said, ‘I wanted this marriage. I needed it. I was going to give up work and take Duncan out of child-care. He hates it, and it’s not good for him. I was going to spend more time with my mother, who isn’t well, who isn’t going to get better, and who needs me, too.’
‘Is that what marriage is—?’
She rode right over the top of him. ‘I was going to relax, for once, with a man I respected and cared for—care for—at my side, a man who’s made it clear that I’m important to him, and that we can create a good partnership together. I had faith in that partnership! How dare you impose your own shallow definition of marital happiness? And how dare you presume to make that sort of judgement about us?’
‘Not Alex,’ Dylan corrected. ‘Just you.’
‘How dare you imagine you know me that well? No wonder Alex thought we were having an affair!’
The bridesmaid squeaked and covered her mouth with her hands.
‘Darling…’ came a shaky, smoke-damaged voice.
Annabelle turned. ‘Yes, Mum?’
‘Can you take Duncan now? He won’t go to anyone else, and I just…can’t. I need my oxygen from the car, and my inhaler. I shouldn’t have thought I could get by for so long without them.’
‘Oh, Lord, Mum, I’m sorry!’ Annabelle muttered. She blinked several times, and Dylan realised it was because she was fighting tears. She reached out for the little boy, but he’d had enough, lollipop notwithstanding, and wriggled immediately to the ground.
‘Splore!’ he said.
‘No, we can’t explore now, love.’ She bent to him, and Dylan got a serious and spectacular view of her breasts, as smooth as ivory and as plump as fresh-baked rolls. His groin tightened unexpectedly, and he felt as if someone had barged into him and knocked him sideways. Now was not the moment to have this happen.
‘Want to explore with me, Dunc?’ the bridesmaid offered tentatively, just behind Annabelle.
Too late. Duncan was already off and away, through the crowds of guests, who were milling uneasily in aisles and between rows of seats. The bridesmaid followed him, way too slowly. Dylan was still rooted to the spot. For several reasons. Annabelle straightened, and a sigh escaped between her teeth.
‘He’ll come back, won’t he?’ Annabelle’s mother said.
‘If he doesn’t head straight for the street and get mown down by a car, the little monkey-love.’
‘I meant Alex.’
‘Oh.’ Annabelle sighed again. ‘No, Mum, I don’t think he will. Alex is…not the type who cools off quickly.’
‘But surely he’ll realise—’
‘I’d better go after Duncan, Mum. Linda’s had no experience with kids. I’ll bring your oxygen and your inhaler, and I’ll tell everyone that they’re welcome to stay. You can pass the word around, too. Get the music playing, perhaps? There’s no sense all this food and planning going to waste. And then I’d better phone and cancel our hotel…’
Gathering up the folds of her dress, she smiled distractedly at several guests and began to make her way down the aisle. Following her, Dylan spotted Duncan at the back of the string quartet’s dais, and pointed him out to Annabelle.
Again, she wasn’t grateful.
‘You won’t be staying to eat, I don’t suppose,’ she said. It was an order rather than a question, and her chin was raised. ‘But perhaps you’d care to mention, on your way out, that cocktails and dinner are still on for those who want them?’
‘Sure. Of course,’ he agreed, knowing how completely inadequate it was.
He did as she’d asked, heading gradually towards the beckoning glass doors. After fielding several questions along the lines of ‘What on earth did you say?’ and ‘Oh, was it you, then?’ he was finally able to make his escape. He’d never been so relieved in his life.
At home, once he’d peeled off his limp clothing and had a cold shower, a message on his answering-machine awaited him.
It was from Sarah.
‘I’ve heard your offer, and it’s insulting. We’re preparing a counter-offer over the weekend, and your lawyer will hear from mine on Monday.’
Am I that out of touch with reality? Dylan wondered, after he’d erased the message. We were only married for two years. I was working. She was working. We employed a cleaner. We ate take-away meals, or I cooked. We kept separate bank accounts, and split the mortgage payments. For six months of that time, I was on rotation in Townsville and we only saw each other every second weekend.
In fact, they’d been far too scrupulous about maintaining a degree of separation in their lives, he now considered. Sarah hadn’t wanted to come to Townsville. Perhaps their marriage would have lasted longer, and been happier, if they’d joined themselves to each other more completely. And perhaps he would then have felt that Sarah was entitled to the top-heavy percentage of their assets that she was obviously planning to claim.
Still stewing over it, and over the wedding fiasco, he made himself some salad and one of those nutritionally challenged instant dried pasta meals that people took on camping trips. Then he bored himself with television for several hours and dropped into bed at eleven, seeking oblivion.
It didn’t come. He felt like a heel and resolved to himself, I’ll make it up to Annabelle. That’s the least I can do.
Go and see Alex, try and explain. Cover the cost of the reception. Ring each and every guest personally. Anything. Whatever Annabelle wanted.
Had this whole mess happened because of the divorce, or because he was a really terrible person? Until things had gone pear-shaped with Sarah, he’d have said his life was in an impeccable state. Priorities in order. Heart in the right place. Career on track. Judgement damn near flawless.
Hang on, though! Had he lost that much faith in himself? Rebellion began to stir inside him.
Annabelle Drew, I saved your backside this afternoon, no matter how you twist your definition of marital happiness.
Poking at his feelings a little more, he discovered, to his surprise, that he was angry with her. Disappointed, too. Somehow, she was a woman of whom he would have expected better. Better priorities. Better principles. Better sense.
I will make it up to her, if she’ll let me. But she’s wrong to blame me for this!
Rolling onto his stomach in a twisted sheet, Dylan slept at last.
‘Thank heavens that’s over!’ Helen Drew said to her daughter, as the final straggle of wedding guests headed for their cars, later than both of them had hoped. She had her portable oxygen close beside her, and really should have been using it more tonight. Her breathing sounded terrible, despite the use of her inhaler, and she looked even worse. ‘You did a fabulous job, darling. I was proud of you.’
Annabelle felt her mother’s arms wrap around her like a comfortable quilt. On the dais vacated by the departing string quartet, Duncan had fallen asleep at last, about fifteen minutes ago. And Linda had gone, too, thank goodness. She was a good and loyal friend, great at helping Annabelle with tax and finance questions, but was useless, and knew it, with kids, the elderly and sick people. Her ineffectual offers of help had, in the end, been something of a strain.
‘You mean the fact that my face felt as if it was about to drop off didn’t show from the outside?’ Annabelle said to her mother.
‘Well, of course it did, but people expected that. They knew you were upset.’ Annabelle’s mother hesitated for a moment. ‘Life will go on, you know.’
‘Oh, I know that, Mum.’ Although she couldn’t quite imagine it at the moment.
She felt like one of those cartoon characters who stepped off a cliff, but didn’t start falling until the gravity of their situation hit home. Her mind ticked and rattled like an engine out of tune.
Cancel the hotel for this weekend. Cancel the two-week honeymoon, planned for just over a month from now, at a time when Alex had been able to make some space in his schedule. Thank goodness she hadn’t handed in her notice at the hospital yet! Where was Alex right now? At home?
‘And anyway, you and Alex, I’m sure, will patch things up,’ Helen said. ‘It would seem silly not to get married just because some idiot of a man decided to get clever during the ceremony.’
Which of those misconceptions, if any, to tackle first? Annabelle wondered.
First misconception—she and Alex weren’t going to patch things up. She knew that. Their relationship was over.
He had put so much thought and time and money into making theirs a perfect, elegant wedding, befitting the strong and sensible partnership they had hoped to create together. He’d wanted a ceremony and reception that would set a benchmark for friends and colleagues to aspire to, the sort of occasion that people would talk about for years. Well, they’d achieved the latter goal! Unfortunately, not in the way he’d wanted.
And he was a very stubborn man. Slinking off next week to a sparse little ceremony in a bureaucrat’s office wouldn’t make the grade, even leaving out the question of Alex’s loss of face.
Which Alex would never leave out. And he was probably right—people would gossip.
Second misconception—Dylan Calford wasn’t an idiot.
She’d known him, on and off, for three and a half years now. In some ways, she knew him better than she knew Alex, since there wasn’t such a gap in status between them. She knew what he looked like first thing in the morning, fresh from a snatched sleep in the doctors’ on-call room. She knew what he ate for lunch, and the places he’d been to for holidays since his marriage. They called each other by their first names.
He was proving himself as a fine surgeon, he was good to work with, and by all scales of character measurement, he was a pretty decent man. What Annabelle knew of him, she liked—had liked until today—and along with the rest of the hospital staff who worked with him, she felt for him over the issue of his divorce. He wasn’t quite the same person he’d been a couple of years ago. Harder. More cynical, and less patient.
And, finally, he hadn’t ‘decided to get clever’. He hadn’t intended his words to be overheard. Possibly, he hadn’t intended to speak them out loud at all.
Which means he genuinely thinks our marriage would have been a mistake.
How could something be a mistake when you needed it so badly? Annabelle knew that she and Alex weren’t in love the way most couples believed themselves to be when they married. They’d talked about that, seriously and at length.
Alex had exhibited his worst qualities today—as he sometimes did in surgery—but in their private time, he was thoughtful and interesting. They respected each other. He approved of her. They could talk about plans without friction. He was a tender, undemanding lover, and he worked hard at his relationship with Duncan.
And, oh, dear Lord, she’d needed their marriage! She needed to be able to give up work for a few years in order to focus her attention on caring for her mother and Duncan. She needed Alex’s financial support, not for herself but for the people she loved.
When they’d started going out together four months ago, it had been like being rescued from a dragon’s lair by a white knight. She’d started sleeping again. She’d seen light at the end of the tunnel.
Whereas now…
Suddenly, she felt sick. Anger towards Dylan Calford rose in her throat like bile. The concern he evidently had about the dire possibility of her making a mistake in marriage, of her ‘being unhappy’, was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
‘I wouldn’t have let it be a mistake!’ she muttered to herself. ‘I would have made it work, no matter what it took. I would have been happy! Imposing his cynical stance on other people just because he’s having a bad divorce is unforgivably arrogant!’
‘Are you angry with him?’ her mother asked.
‘Yes. Absolutely and utterly furious!’ Annabelle said aloud.
‘Don’t let it get in the way when you talk.’ Mum put out her hand and rested it heavily on Annabelle’s arm. ‘And try to talk to him soon. He acted out of pride. He’ll make it up to you. I’m sure you can work it out.’
‘Oh, Mum, no, I’m not angry with Alex. I understand why he walked out. It’s Dylan Calford I’ll never forgive for all this!’ Annabelle said.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_b2a75a15-d7af-50a6-867b-3f30aae9f99e)
DYLAN appeared at Annabelle’s house at nine-thirty the next morning.
Duncan had awoken, as usual, at six. No matter how late he stayed up, he never slept in. Right now, he was running wildly around the back garden, pushing a big toy truck, and he would barely slacken his pace all day. Annabelle often wondered what sort of a child his father had been. This active? This unstoppable? There was no one to ask about him.
‘Hello,’ she said coolly to Alex’s registrar at the front door of her little weatherboard Queenslander.
‘Uh, yeah, hi…’ he answered.
‘I suppose you want to come in,’ Annabelle prompted him, not sure why she was taking the trouble to help him out, even to this limited extent.
She had never seen him so at a loss for words. Had never seen him dressed so casually either. His body was one hundred per cent male. Broad shoulders, strong legs, dark hair and darker eyes, football player’s waist and hips. Orthopaedic surgeons had to be strong.
Since this was Brisbane in January, he wore shorts—navy blue and topped with a polo shirt subtly patterned in a beige and khaki print. He was freshly showered and shaven, and radiated an energy that was only partly physical.
He looked good, and he’d recovered his equilibrium already. He was intimidating, if she’d been in the mood to feel intimidated by anyone. Right now, she wasn’t.
‘Look, I won’t apologise again,’ he said, his tone that of a man who was sure of his ground.
‘No, don’t,’ she agreed. ‘But, please, don’t stay here on the veranda. It’s cooler out the back, and I need to keep an eye on Duncan.’
‘Sure.’ The word sharpened his slight American accent. Annabelle knew he had been here since his early teens, had been a star rugby player at Brisbane’s most illustrious boys’ school and held Australian citizenship, but sometimes his Chicago origins still showed.
She led the way through the house and he spoke behind her. ‘But I do want to do what I can to make this whole thing less difficult for you.’
‘Sure.’ She turned her head and smiled as she echoed the word he’d used, but the smile didn’t do much to soak up the pool of dripping sarcasm in her tone. There was nothing he could do to make this ‘less difficult’!
