And the Bride Wore Red. Lucy Gordon
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but stopped. He needed a moment to think before he saw another patient.
He went to stand at the window. Here, two floors high, there was a close-up view of the trees hung with cherry blossom; the promise of spring had been gloriously kept, and still lingered.
Here in China cherry blossom was a symbol of feminine beauty; seemingly delicate, yet laden with hope and promise. Now he saw that wherever he looked it was the same, as fresh new life returned after the cold, bringing hope and joy for those who were eager to embrace it.
On the surface nothing very much had happened. Olivia Daley was strong, independent, concerned not for herself but those in her care, much like the kind of woman a medical man met every day. It might only have been his imagination that beneath her composure was someone else—someone tense, vulnerable, needing help yet defiantly refusing to ask for it.
He could hear her again, insisting, Nothing hurts me. I just bounce.
He wondered if she truly believed herself so armoured to life. For himself, he didn’t believe a word of it.
A few minutes they’d been together, that was all. Yet he’d seen deep into her, and the sad emptiness he’d found there had almost overwhelmed him. He knew too that she’d been as disconcertingly alive to him as he had been to her.
He’d smothered the thought as unprofessional, but now it demanded his attention, and he yielded. She was different from other women. He had yet to discover exactly how different, and caution warned him not to try. Already he knew that he was going to ignore caution and follow the light that had mysteriously appeared on the road ahead.
It was a soft light, flickering and uncertain, promising everything and nothing. But he could no more deny it than he could deny his own self.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked the nurse from the doorway. ‘You haven’t buzzed.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said with an effort. ‘I just—got distracted.’
She smiled, following his gaze to the blossomladen trees. ‘The spring is beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Beautiful.’
They arrived back at the school to find Mrs Yen, Dong’s mother, waiting with a worried look that cleared as soon as she saw him waving eagerly.
‘Perhaps you should take tomorrow off?’ Mrs Wu, the headmistress, asked when they were finally alone.
‘Thanks, but I won’t need to.’
‘Well, be sure. I don’t want to lose one of my best teachers.’
They had been friends since the day Olivia had joined the school, charged with instructing the children in English. Now Mrs Wu fussed over her kindly until she went to collect her bicycle and rode it to her apartment, ten minutes away.
She had moved in six months ago, when she’d arrived to work in Beijing. Then she had been distraught, fleeing England, desperately glad to be embraced by a different culture which occupied her thoughts and gave her no time to brood. Now her surroundings and her new life were more familiar, but there were still new discoveries to be made, and she enjoyed every day.
She had a settled routine for when she arrived home. After a large cup of tea, she would switch on the computer and enter a programme that allowed her to make video contact with Aunt Norah, the elderly relative in England to whom she felt closest.
London was eight hours behind Beijing, which meant that back there it was the early hours of the morning, but she knew Norah would be ready, having set her alarm to be sure.
Yes, there she was, sitting up in bed, smiling and waving at the camera on top of her computer screen. Olivia waved back.
Norah was an old lady, a great-aunt rather than an aunt, but her eyes were as bright as they’d been her youth, and her vitality was undimmed. Olivia had always been close to her, turning to her wisdom and kindness as a refuge from the selfcentred antics of the rest of her family.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said into the microphone. ‘There was a bit of a kerfuffle at school today.’
She outlined the events of the afternoon, making light of them.
‘And the doctor said you were all right?’
‘He says I’m fine. I’ll have an early night and be fit as a fiddle.’
‘Are you going out with anyone?’
‘You asked me that last night, and the night before. Honestly, Auntie, it’s all you ever think of.’
‘So I should hope. You’re a pretty girl. You ought to be having a good time.’
‘I’m having a wonderful time. And I do have dates. I just don’t want to get serious. Now, tell me about yourself. Are you getting enough sleep?’
There was more in the query than just a desire to change the subject. Norah was in her seventies, and the only thing that had made Olivia hesitate about coming to China was the fear of possibly not seeing her again. But Norah had assured her that she was in the best of health and had urged her to go.
‘Don’t you dare turn down your chance because of me,’ she’d insisted.
‘I’m just trying to be sensible,’ Olivia had protested mildly.
‘Sensible? You’ve got the rest of your life for that sort of nonsense. Get out there, do things you’ve never done before, and forget that man who didn’t deserve you anyway.’
Norah could never forgive the man who’d broken Olivia’s heart.
‘I’m sleeping fine,’ Norah said now. ‘I spent yesterday evening with your mother, listening to her complaining about her latest. That sent me right off to sleep.’
‘I thought Guy was her ideal lover.’
‘Not Guy, Freddy. She’s finished with Guy, or he finished with her, one of the two. I can’t keep up.’
Olivia sighed wryly. ‘I’ll call her and commiserate.’
‘Not too much or you’ll make her worse,’ Norah said at once. ‘She’s a silly woman. I’ve always said so. Mind you, it’s not all her fault. Her own mother has a lot to answer for. Fancy giving her a stupid name like Melisande! She was bound to see herself as a romantic heroine.’
‘You mean,’ Olivia said, ‘that if Mum had been called something dull and sensible she wouldn’t have eloped?’
‘Probably not, although I think she’d have been self-centred whatever she was called. She’s never thought of anyone but herself. She’s certainly never thought of you, any more than your father has. Heaven alone knows what he’s doing now, although I did hear a rumour that he’s got some girl pregnant.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes, and he’s going about preening as though he’s the first man who’s ever managed it. Forget him. The great fool isn’t worth bothering with.’
Thus she dismissed her nephew—with some justice, as Olivia had to admit.
They chatted for a while longer before bidding each other an affectionate goodnight. Olivia delayed just long enough to make herself a basic meal, then fell thankfully into bed, ready to fall asleep at once.
Instead she lay awake, too restless for sleep. Mysteriously, Dr Mitchell had found his way into her thoughts, and she remembered him saying, Other people have to pick up the pieces, and often it is they who get hurt.
He’d given her a look full of wry kindness, as if guessing that she was often the person who had to come to the rescue—which was shrewd of him, she realised, because he’d been right.
As far back as she could remember she’d been the rock of stability in her family. Her parents’ marriage had been a disaster. They’d married young in a fever of romance, had quickly