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Tori quickly shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’ve got other arrangements in place.’ And I’d only need one ticket.
Luc was smiling happily and ignoring her reply. ‘No, you must go. It will be my pleasure.’
Tori managed a thank-you. Going to the city of love on her own was pathetic enough, but going to Moulin Rouge alone, with a spare ticket? Downright tragic.
Ben replied, ‘Thank you. We look forward to it.’
Disappointment and envy unfurled inside Tori. Of course there’d be a woman in his life. The man didn’t do solo. Was she here at the hotel? Out spending bags of money while Ben was at the conference?
Does it matter? You’re over him.
‘Madame Wells, Monsieur Wells, please be seated. I will talk to you some more tonight at the dinner.’
Ben nodded before turning back to Tori. ‘Why haven’t you changed your surname back to Carter?’
She didn’t want to talk about that. Not here. Not ever. She went for flip. ‘Think of the expense and all the messing around involved in changing practising licences, passport, the property title for the apartment. Far easier to leave things as they are.’
‘I’d have thought it would be the first thing you did on becoming single again.’ He looked bewildered, and a little pleased. ‘You’re still living in our apartment?’
Forget it, Benji. It’s my apartment nowadays. If she was being honest she hadn’t moved out or changed her name because—well, because that meant the final cut from him, and at the time of their divorce she hadn’t been ready for that. ‘If it’s bugging you I’ll get on to sorting it the moment I get home.’ But she wouldn’t move out of the apartment that she’d always adored and where she’d created a little sanctuary for herself by repainting in different colours and changing the furniture to remove memories.
Tori dropped onto the first vacant chair in the front row. Ben was here. In Nice. At the conference. Her stomach knotted.
He stood beside her. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. But she wanted to be alone. Okay, it was hard to be alone in the midst of hundreds of people, but if only Ben would go and sit somewhere else to give her time to get over their first meeting.
He looked along the row, shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Then he smiled. ‘I promise I won’t cause you any trouble.’
Translated, that meant he’d be charming and cordial so as to win her over, because he’d be hating it that she hadn’t fallen all over him. Charm was his modus operandi. It won him anything, anyone he aspired to. Well, it wouldn’t work with her. Not any more. ‘Fine.’ She crossed her legs and turned to face the stage directly in front.
Except he’d already caused her trouble just by being here. Her tumbling emotions had her in a pickle. Benji had been her first love, her only love. Did that mean this was a normal reaction, and that once she’d got over the shock of seeing him she’d be able to hold a conversation with him without wanting to touch his arms, his chest, face? The air huffed over her bottom lip. Touch Ben? That would go down like a ton of bricks. He’d back off fast—which might be the answer to the situation.
No, she’d try ignoring him, focus entirely on the speakers. Unfortunately it was too soon to put on the headphones supplied so attendees could hear translations in their own language when the talks started. Those would blank out Benji, but she’d have to wait. Sitting up straight, Tori breathed deeply. And smelt a scrummy combination of citrus and pine. ‘You still use the same aftershave.’
He leaned close. ‘It’s my favourite.’
Oh, blast. Had she really said that out loud? Now he’d definitely have the wrong idea. She tried shallow breathing to avoid smelling that scent. It didn’t work. Instead the air suddenly seemed full of the evocative, promise-laden smell, almost as though she was in a lemon grove surrounded by pine trees—with Benji. It overwhelmed her and brought back another memory. The aftershave had been an impulse buy after their first date. She’d wrapped it in white paper with red hearts printed on it. On their second date, when he’d taken her to bed for the first time, he’d stripped down to his undies—white ones with red hearts splashed across them.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll stand at the back of the room. She began to push up on her feet. Loud applause broke out and Tori sank back down. Too late. She wasn’t moving anywhere. The conference had begun. Putting her hands together, she joined in.
Monsieur Leclare stood in front of the microphone. ‘Mesdames et messieurs, welcome to the tenth European Cardiac Forum. We are lucky to have some wonderful speakers whom I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to listen to over the next three days.’
Settling farther back on her chair, Tori pinched herself. I’m in France. At a conference of peers from all over Europe and America. Another pinch. Sitting beside my ex-husband. Her teeth clamped together. She suddenly felt ill.
Then Benji moved, and his elbow touched her arm. She hated the warmth filtering through her, ramping up the tension that had been gripping her since she’d first heard him say hello.
‘Stand up,’ he whispered warmly. ‘They’re applauding you.’
Leaping up, Tori turned to face the auditorium, blinked like a rabbit in headlights and dredged up a smile. What are they all doing, clapping me? She nodded left and right. Now I’m behaving like royalty. Should’ve stayed back in Kiwi land where I’m just an ordinary girl.
‘Now I’d like to introduce the members of the panel for Friday. Benjamin Wells, cardiac surgeon from London.’ Luc Leclare introduced the other three specialists Ben would be talking with about a new technique they’d developed for post heart-transplant recovery.
As the men stood the applause increased tenfold. Tori sank back onto her chair, automatically clapping along with everyone else, feeling something very like pride for Ben leaking into her psyche. He was clever, had always been totally focused on cardiology and his patients.
While he was distracted by the applause she took the opportunity to study him once more. Can’t you get enough of him? Her lungs faltered. He’d been handsome, but add seven years and the drama of dealing with the unnecessary and controversial death of his patient, their break-up and those youthful good looks had toughened, tightened, making him even more good-looking. He suited who he’d become.
Ben finally sat down, and leaned close. ‘You’re staring.’
‘Just making sure I know who I’m sharing the front row with.’
‘And do you? Know me?’ A sad glint appeared in his eyes and his mouth flattened.
‘Do you still talk in funny voices and sing off-key while shaving?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t have the time any more.’
He used to make time. ‘Sleep on your stomach?’
‘No.’
Another change. ‘Want six kids?’
‘I’d settle for one.’
He’d nearly got one. Her stomach hit the floor. The baby. Their baby, the one she’d lost and that he knew nothing about.
‘How am I doing?’ Ben asked.
Somehow she managed to croak out, ‘No, I don’t know you.’ She tried to find him a smile but was all out of them. Instead she muttered, ‘If you don’t mind, I would like to listen to the director.’
She had to look away from those eyes that saw too much, knew too much and had always got him what he wanted. Shame he hadn’t felt the same about her. They might’ve resolved some of their problems before they’d got out of hand. Not getting caught up in the web of fun and charm that was Benjamin Wells over the next few days would be the toughest challenge since their break-up. He came with too many memories, good and bad, for them to be able to step around the minefield and get along as though the past hadn’t happened.
Ben didn’t blame Tori for the cold shoulder she was working so hard to give him. If, back in London, he’d had more than twelve hours’ notice and hadn’t been frantically handing over patients to his colleagues he’d have tried to let her know that he’d be here, just to save any embarrassment. Except neither of them had been embarrassed—more shaken than anything.
How could he have forgotten how beautiful Tori was? He’d fallen in love with those classic features, perfect skin and twinkling emerald eyes. Fallen in a flash. One look across a frantically busy department had been all it had taken. Then he’d spoken to her and she’d laughed and that had been the ribbon on the box that was his heart. If he closed his eyes he could bring up the images of that morning right now. It had been her first day at Auckland’s specialist cardiac hospital, and she’d been sent to the department where he’d worked as a surgeon, trying to get up the hours and experience to go into private practice.
I’ve missed you, Tori.
His heart stalled. Got away, he had not. He’d refused to.
Yes, I have missed you. I’m only just beginning to admit it, but I have. I haven’t looked seriously at another woman since you. Haven’t wanted to.
As he watched Tori chatting to two conference attendees he felt a deep hunger opening up inside.
For Tori.
But they were finished. As in never-to-repeat-that-experience-again finished. Tori wouldn’t let him within a bull’s roar of her except in a crowded space like this. He’d hurt her beyond belief—for all the right reasons, or so he’d believed at the time. But later, when the flak died away and he’d had more than enough hours to reflect, he’d accepted he’d been lashing out at her for not believing in him, for not trusting him to be the consummate professional when operating on a patient—because she’d been right. His shame had been consuming him even before she’d questioned his integrity. Afterwards it had known no boundaries. If his wife couldn’t believe in him, who could? Not even his father had questioned his guilt, instead focusing on trying to hide it by laying the blame elsewhere, which had made the situation far worse.
Seeing Tori after all this time, touching her elbow, breathing the same air, had stirred up this intense hunger within him. Seriously? It couldn’t be hunger for Tori. They had far too many unresolved issues that they hadn’t been able to fix back when they’d been married. Even if he explained why he’d called it quits on their marriage there wasn’t a chance in Hades of Tori ever trusting him completely and thereby loving him again.
Even at the worst moments of their failing marriage he’d wished her the absolute best in her career, her private life, in everything she desired. Always. Then after their divorce he’d wanted it even more. He’d owed her for pushing her away at a time he’d desperately needed her. She’d known his need and he could still see the hurt in her eyes every time he’d denied her. He owed her for so many things, and at the same time he’d been slayed by her accusation. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit the truth to her.
‘Ben, there you are. I’ve been searching this crowd from the moment we were released for coffee. How the blazes are you? It’s been a while.’
Ben turned to find John standing beside him and clasped his hand. ‘Released? You make it sound like a sentence being here. How’re things with you? It’s been a long time.’ Hell, John had gained a lot of weight since they’d last caught up.
‘Too long, but I guess it’s too far for you to hop a ride down to Sydney to play catch-up.’ John sounded like he wished for exactly that.
‘It’s not next door, that’s for sure.’ But it was his turn to visit and he should’ve made the effort. John had been a good friend to him while he’d lived in Sydney, trying to get back on his feet. ‘I’ll head your way next time I pull holidays. How’s that?’ Talk about an instant decision. There’d be no backing out once John’s wife, Rita, heard.
‘Deal.’ John’s gaze drifted sideways to where Tori stood. ‘So that’s your ex-wife.’
‘Tori.’ John would’ve heard her name when she’d been introduced at the conference. Because they shared the same surname, would everyone here think he and Tori were married? He didn’t know what to make of that. Her explanation for not changing back to her maiden name didn’t ring true of her. Not the Tori he’d known, who’d always done what had needed doing without delay. Whenever he’d read ‘Tori Wells’ in an article or, recently, on the forum programme, he’d know a moment of pleasure—before reality had set in. They were divorced. Sharing a name meant nothing, held no connection.
John was still yabbering in his ear. ‘Got a surprise when “Madame Wells” stood up. I knew she was coming, but you never said she was a looker.’
A change of subject was needed urgently. ‘Is Rita here, too?’
‘You don’t think I’d be allowed to come to France without her, do you?’ John grinned. ‘I hate to think what’s happening to the credit card right now.’
‘Go, Rita. I hope she blows the budget big time.’ Ben knew the diminutive woman who was the light of his friend’s life would be very circumspect. She came from a poor background and having money on tap hadn’t made her a spendthrift, though being in France might tempt her to have some fun. He’d always liked Rita, and had felt envious of the relationship she and John shared. The kind of relationship he and Tori had had in the beginning—before his monumental error of judgement. Stop thinking about Tori. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. Focus on John. ‘How’s life at Sydney Hospital?’
‘Muddling along. Never enough time to see all the patients I’d like to, but otherwise no complaints. What about you? You’re still happy on Harley Street?’
‘Absolutely. It takes up most of my time.’ And filled in the end of the day when everyone else was at home with family while he only had a solitary meal prepared by his housekeeper to look forward to. ‘It’s turned into a twenty-four-seven career.’
Except for the next few days. Hopefully he’d get to relax a bit. He was exhausted and needed a break before he made a mistake. Another mistake. A shudder rolled through him. He had learned the hard way to routinely take leave to recharge his batteries. An overtired surgeon made mistakes. Shifting his balance from one foot to the other, he noticed John grinning at him. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘I don’t believe it. You’re working all hours. No play time? What about the ladies? Surely you’re keeping up with them?’
Ben’s eyes were drawn to that perfectly coiffed red hair a few metres away. Now, there was a lady, a real lady. One whose agenda had never been to want to hang off his arm because he’d been endowed with good looks, or to make use of his wealth, or to be ‘seen’ with Mr Benjamin Wells, surgeon. No, she’d loved him for himself, including all his faults. Or so he’d thought until those last months. Seemed he might’ve got that wrong, given she was obviously over him.
He turned back to John. ‘I haven’t joined the monastery, if that’s what you’re inferring.’ But he kept every encounter light and friendly. No one ever had to teach him the same lesson twice.
‘You ever think of heading back down our way permanently? Or are you firmly ensconced in England?’
Ben contemplated the question. He’d enjoyed his time in Sydney where the culture was so similar to home that he’d fitted in easily. London was different. He loved the city with its shows and nightlife, the history and art. His apartment overlooking the Thames was a dream come true. But he never felt he belonged. ‘When the rain doesn’t stop bucketing down for days on end, or there’s a polar blast happening, then, yes, I give the idea a glance. But, no, I’m a Londoner now.’ Or so he tried to convince himself. Especially on the days when homesickness for Auckland turned him sour.
Before he could stop himself, his gaze cruised over Tori again, and his mouth dried as he glimpsed her creamy throat as she tipped her head back to laugh. He couldn’t see it under that ivory blouse and green jacket but there was a small mole centimetres below her right clavicle. Anyone watching her wouldn’t know how wild that abundant red hair was when let loose from the restraints she currently had it held in, how it spilled across the pillow and felt like satin in his hands.
‘Time we returned to our seats,’ John said. ‘Want to meet Rita and me in the bar before the dinner tonight?’
‘Six-thirty suit?’ A couple of drinks and some relaxed conversation with good friends were just the ticket to put Tori out of his head for a while.
Not that he expected to be totally free of her for the duration of the conference, but right now any time without her within sight, disturbing his carefully put-together equilibrium, had to be good. Didn’t it?
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5e0051ca-5d73-5ccd-a57a-c34c206fca8a)
IN ANOTHER NEW pair of gorgeous shoes, red this time, Tori followed the waiter to her table for the formal dinner. Across the crowd already seated she saw Benji standing in the distance, a distance that inexorably became smaller and smaller until she was led right up to him. ‘There has to be some mistake.’
But there on the table, in black on a gilt-edged card, was written ‘Madame Wells’ in calligraphy, marking her place. Right next to the card naming the one person out of more than twelve hundred she did not want to sit with.
Apparently totally unperturbed, Ben gave his gut-twisting smile as he pulled out her chair. ‘Would’ve been more interesting if the same mistake had been made over our hotel rooms.’
‘In your dreams, Benji.’ Gulp. ‘Ben.’ Too late.
That smile went virile, wide and open and full of laughter. Then he leaned closer to whisper, ‘I can’t believe you just said Benji.’ Then his smile dipped and that sadness she’d witnessed in the morning was back, his cheeky streak taking a hike.
She turned her back on him. What else could she do? He’d totally unnerved her with that flip comment about their rooms, and yet it shouldn’t have. Being stuck at the same table didn’t mean she had to spend all night concentrating on Ben—even when a part of her wanted to do exactly that. Glancing around the table to see if she knew anyone else, she found a woman of similar age to her watching the whole incident with amusement. Tori felt her blood begin to boil. Why did strangers enjoy other people’s discomfort? The dinner hadn’t begun and already she wanted to leave.
Then the woman stuck her hand across the table. ‘Hi, I’m Rita McIntyre. That’s my husband, John, next to Ben.’
Tori drew on her reserves to push away her negativity and took the hand being offered. It was as warm as the friendly expression on Rita’s face. ‘I’m Tori Wells.’
Rita nodded. ‘I thought so. It’s really good to meet you. We’ve known Ben since he moved to Sydney from New Zealand. He and John worked together at Sydney Hospital and we all became firm friends, though we haven’t seen enough of him since he shifted to London. We’re trying to entice him back Down Under so we’re able to catch up more often. Our kids miss him a lot.’
Too much information. Instantly a picture of Ben kicking a ball around a yard with children filled her head. Ben cuddling an unhappy child. Ben buying the biggest ice creams available for kids. He’d have been a wonderful dad, given the chance. Tori gulped, nodded and looked around for a waiter. A glass of water wouldn’t go amiss. I don’t need to know any of this. It’s his life, nothing to do with me. But I wanted that with him, too. Nearly had it, in fact.
Ben grumped at Rita, ‘I’m not sure Tori wants to talk about me.’
Rita was made of sterner stuff. ‘Of course she does. Bet she’s kept an eye on your career, as you have hers. Isn’t that right, Tori?’
Eek. Ben’s kept up to date with what I’ve been doing? Now what? Tell the truth. It can’t hurt. ‘You’re right. I have.’ By the surprise on Ben’s face she should’ve kept quiet. ‘He’s done extremely well, but that was probably a given from the day he started med school.’ Whoa, Tori, haul on the brakes, will you?
She glanced around. Where was a waiter when she needed one? So Ben had also followed her career, which explained how he’d known she hadn’t changed her name. Seems neither of them had let go of the other entirely. Suddenly she felt warm inside. It was kind of interesting that Ben did want to know what she’d been up to, hadn’t written her off completely.
Glancing up at her ex standing beside her, Tori felt that warmth spread farther out into the corners of her body.
‘Thank you for your compliment. I’ve been lucky to have done well recently,’ he said.
They both knew about the luck, or lack of it. There was no conceit in his voice any more, just a quiet belief in himself. A steadier version of the man she’d married, that belief tempered with reality. But, then, he’d learned the hard way to be humble as far as his career went.
Rita grinned like she’d won a prize at the carnival. ‘Ben, sit down, for goodness’ sake. Snap those fingers and get us some drinks ordered. Tori and I have some serious talking to do.’ She turned her formidable gaze onto Tori. ‘Where did you get that dress? It’s amazing. I want one just like it. Maybe make that almost like it. Can’t be wearing the same, can we?’
Because of Rita’s forthrightness, Tori felt herself relaxing. She had nothing to hide from this woman. Except the same old story she hid from everyone. She shivered. Especially from Ben. ‘I went shopping yesterday straight after I arrived and had a shower to wash off the travel skin.’
‘Travel skin? I like that. I know what you mean. Spending all that time confined in a plane does make you feel less than clean, doesn’t it? You weren’t jet-lagged?’
‘Absolutely, but I’d arrived in France. I wasn’t spending the first hours sleeping. They have the most wonderful shops here. The shoes are amazing. How could I ignore those?’ She felt Ben take his seat, his thigh bumping against hers before he quickly shifted away, putting a small gap between them. Her teeth slammed shut. Even the slightest touch, unintentional as it had been, shot her temperature over the moon.
‘So tell me, where are these shops?’ Rita asked. ‘Or do you have time in your schedule to come with me?’
‘I hope so. I have a few gaps in my schedule. Let me look at the programme after dinner and get back to you on that. There’s a jacket I couldn’t make my mind up about. I’d value your opinion.’ Shopping was always a great way to spend an hour or three, and she’d also like to get to know Rita some more. Hopefully Ben wouldn’t see a problem with that, considering that Rita and her husband were his friends.
Then pine scent caught at her as Ben leaned forward. ‘What do you want to drink?’
Looking around, she saw a waiter hovering. ‘Sparkling water, please.’ Ben looked so cute when his eyebrows rose like that, sort of how she’d imagined he might’ve looked as a boy. Of course, he might be surprised she had given up drinking. He didn’t know that she’d believed her drinking had caused the miscarriage so she hadn’t touched a drop since that awful night. He hadn’t known she was pregnant at all.
