Midwives On Call: Stealing The Surgeon's Heart. Marion Lennox
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jumbled thoughts into words they might even start to make sense.
‘Drew and I had been washed up for ages, but people didn’t know that. They’re going to think it’s just a fling or wonder how on earth…’ Her voice trailed off and after the longest silence it was Ciro who finally spoke.
‘Are you beginning to wonder?’ he asked perceptively.
‘No,’ she said, but her voice was saying otherwise. ‘No,’ Harriet said again more firmly, hoping that if she could convince him she could convince herself. ‘Of course not.’
‘Harriet, we need to talk.’ Ciro’s voice was serious, using that low, slightly urgent tone he had occasionally used these last few days when he had tried to bring up the difficult subject of their future.
If there could even be a future.
And she knew without him voicing it the sheer impossibility of the situation they were in—that Ciro was from the other side of the world, they spoke different languages, that if, if this relationship proceeded then horrible choices would have to be made. She felt cold fingers of fear creeping around her heart, just as they always did when the conversation turned this way. She felt a horrible sense of foreboding that she truly wanted to ignore, but Ciro wasn’t letting up, his deep, lyrical voice stabbing at her fragile mind. ‘There are things we have to discuss. Both of us are in other places…’ His fingers snapped in frustration as he struggled to find the right words, but Harriet didn’t want to hear them.
‘Different places,’ Harriet snapped back, jumping up quickly, determined to end this conversation before it even started. ‘Both of us are in different places right now. I know that, Ciro!’
‘Harriet, please, I just want to talk.’
His was entirely the voice of reason, but Harriet shook her head.
‘Can’t it wait, Ciro? I’m starting to burn, sitting here…’ She raked a hand through her hair, brushed some sand from her legs, pulled down at her T-shirt—anything other than looking at him, anything other than seeing again the exasperation in his eyes at her utter refusal to listen. ‘I just want to get the next few days over with. I’ve got work to deal with, solicitor’s appointments and real estate agents to deal with. Surely we can do this some other time? Surely?’ she said again, finally forcing herself to look at him.
Relief whooshed over her when finally he reluctantly nodded. He took her hand and they wandered in silence back to the apartments, watching a crazed cocker spaniel chasing the surf, the sun prickling shoulders Ciro would surely massage later. And she wished she could capture that moment, hold that slice of time in her hands and never move forward, keep it all as simple as it was when it was only the two of them.
‘Are you hungry?’
Ciro was flicking through his mail-box, pulling out letters and idly wading through his mail, as Harriet pressed the button for the lift.
‘Starving,’ Ciro moaned. ‘But I am thinking we should just call for room…’ He paused, standing stock-still for a moment, his eyes fixed on an envelope before he finished his sentence. But to Harriet every word was forced now, his smile impossibly false. ‘Room service,’ he said brightly. ‘Just a nice quiet evening on the balcony.’
‘Anything interesting in your mail?’ Her casual enquiry was equally forced as the lift made its way upwards, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as Ciro shook his head and, just as he had when the phone had rung in the middle of the night, he effectively dismissed her.
‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
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