Once More, With Feeling

Then he reached for her, a little clumsily, and she turned in his arms to meet his kiss. Their passion caught and blazed, yet he seemed reluctant somehow, as if he was holding back.

She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

He shook his head slightly. I so badly want this to be special for you, but I expect it’s going to be a disaster,’ he confessed, his voice trembling a little. ‘I’ve never done it before, so don’t expect miracles.’

She reached up and cupped his cheek. ‘Nor have I, so don’t worry. I don’t know what to expect—except that it might hurt.’

His eyes clouded. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Emily.’

‘Well, we can’t wait forever,’ she told him with typical candour. ‘I suppose it will only be the once.’

‘I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

‘I know.’

He reached out his arms again and kissed her once more, slowly, softly, with all his love—or so it seemed, because suddenly Emily found she didn’t care how much it hurt, she just needed to hold him and be held by him, to feel his body on hers, to know him in the oldest sense.

She reached for his shirt buttons, freeing two and sliding her fingers inside against the warm, smooth skin. A light scatter of hair grazed her knuckles, sending shivers down her spine.

‘Cold?’ he asked, but she shook her head.

‘No—no, not cold.’

He moved away a little from her, and stripped off his jacket and tie, then his shirt.

Her heart thudded and crashed against her ribs. He was so—male? She felt liquid heat pooling low down, just where her body ached for him. She couldn’t drag her eyes from him, and as he slid his trousers down the taut, well-muscled thighs she thought she would die of wanting him.

He turned back to her, his scanty briefs doing little to hide his need for her, and she flicked her tongue out and moistened her dry lips.

‘Your turn,’ he said gruffly, and helped her to her feet.

‘You do it,’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know where to start—’

‘Zip at the back,’ she told him, and, turning round, she lifted her hair and bent her head forward.

She felt the slide of the zip, then the warmth of his lips pressed against her spine.

‘You smell wonderful,’ he breathed against her skin, and a shiver ran over her.

Turning in his arms, she slipped the dress down over her shoulders and stepped out of it.

The breath left him as if he’d been punched. He lifted trembling hands and curved them lightly over her barely covered breasts.

‘Emily,’ he whispered raggedly, and she arched into his hands, pressing her aching breasts against his palms. His fingers tightened convulsively as her hands locked behind him and drew them together, then as their hips brushed against each other they both gasped.

‘I need you,’ he said, the words shattering against her cheek.

‘I’m yours,’ she said simply, her shyness forgotten.

He drew her down on the rug and slowly, his hands shaking, he stripped away the scraps of silk and lace that hid her from his eyes.

‘Emily,’ he breathed.

She’d thought she would feel shy, but the awestruck reverence of his expression dispelled her last fears. Slipping her fingers in the waistband of his briefs, she eased them down and abandoned them, turning back to study his now totally naked form.

He took her breath away.

‘Let me touch you,’ he murmured, and she lay down again beside him, her hands reaching for his shoulders, smoothing the hot satin of his skin.

Tremblingly, his hands traced her body, cupping her breasts, gliding over the sleek skin of her flank, his knuckles grazing her inner thighs. Her legs fell open for him, her hips arching up against his hand as he straightened his fingers and laid his palm against the damp nest of curls.

Her own caresses grew braver, her hands sliding down his sides, her fingers curling round him, hot satin over steel.

His breath caught and he dropped his head against her shoulder.

‘Steady,’ he muttered.

She could feel the moisture pooling as he stroked her, feel the tension rising even higher. She didn’t want to be steady. She wanted to be his.

‘Oh, David, now,’ she moaned.

Her breath was choking her, her heart thrashing against her ribs as he moved awkwardly over her.

‘Help me,’ he pleaded, and just as awkwardly she did as he asked, guiding him towards the heavy ache inside her.

‘I love you,’ he said against her mouth, and there was a brief flash of pain and then fullness—fullness that she had never even dreamt of …

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his voice taut.

‘Oh, yes—oh, David …’

Her hands gripped his shoulders and she strained up against him, unable to bear the tension. ‘Oh, David, please, do something …’

‘Oh, Emily-oh, God, I …’

His body started to move, winding the tension higher, and then suddenly he stiffened, dropping his head into the curve of her shoulder, his harsh cry muffled against her skin.

Then he collapsed, his body trembling under her hands, his chest heaving.

She lay there, her hands smoothing him, and slow tears slipped from her eyes.

She needed more—her body screamed for more, for some elusive release that only David had found.

He lifted his head. ‘I’m sorry—oh, Emily, you’re crying. I did hurt you.’

‘No—no, you didn’t. It’s just …’ She hesitated, unable to voice her need, but it was unnecessary.

Shifting slightly, he slid his hand between them and touched her. ‘Is that right?’ he asked softly. Tell me.’

She was beyond speech, beyond anything but the feel of his hand touching, soothing, yet winding the tension even higher until—

‘David!’ she sobbed, and, burying her face against his shoulder, she felt the ripples spreading, lifting her higher, higher, until suddenly she was over the crest and there before her was paradise …

They came slowly back to earth, their arms wrapped tightly round each other, their legs still tangled, and David rained tiny, butterfly-kisses over her face.

‘Are you OK?’ he murmured softly.

‘Mmm. You?’

Shyly, she met his eyes, and nearly melted at the love in them.

He was speechless, just hugging her closer. ‘You were wonderful,’ he said eventually. ‘I had no idea it would feel so—oh, Em …’

‘Nor did I,’ she whispered, thinking of that unbelievable fullness, the rightness of his body joined with hers.

‘Next time I’ll wait for you,’ he vowed.

They grew cold, and while David explored the fridge she unpacked her dressing-gown and had a shower.

By the time she went back down he was dressed again in jeans and a sweatshirt, and had put some salad out on plates.

‘We’ve got champagne to finish,’ he told her, and they sat together on the hearthrug and fed each other nibbles of salad and toasted their toes in front of the blazing logs until the champagne was finished.

David had put on some music, and, emboldened by the champagne and the look in his eyes, she stood up, swaying softly to the music.

‘Dance with me,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Dance for me,’ he murmured.

So she did, slipping the dressing-gown over her shoulders to puddle on the floor, teasing and taunting until with a ragged groan he drew her down before the fire and made love to her again …

‘Emily?’

She turned, startled, to find David framed in the doorway.

Her first thought was that he wasn’t naked. Her second was that her memories must be written all across her face in letters ten feet high.

She felt colour rush to her cheeks and was grateful for the gloomy light in the room.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘I was just passing and I saw your car,’ he told her. His eyes were on the fireplace, then flicked back to her kneeling on the hearthrug where they had made love that very first time. Something flickered in his eyes, and she could tell he was remembering, too.

She struggled to her feet.

‘I was just having a look.’

He glanced round. ‘For old times’ sake? It hasn’t changed,’ he said softly.

Their eyes met, clashed, locked. Her breath clogged her throat, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs.

‘No,’ she murmured.

‘No, what?’ he asked, his voice husky.

‘No, not for old times’ sake,’ she said, firming her voice. ‘I’m going to be living here.’

‘Oh.’ His eyes travelled slowly over her, so that she was conscious of her nipples straining against the fine fabric of her blouse. His eyes strayed lower, then jerked back to her face with an almost physical effort. ‘Good idea,’ he said, his voice still touched with that smoky gruffness she remembered so well from the intimate moments of their marriage. ‘It’s very handy for the practice—is Sarah renting it to you?’ he asked.

She dropped her eyes. ‘No—she’s—Sarah died two years ago. She left me the cottage.’

‘Oh, Emily—I’m sorry. What happened?’

His voice had changed instantly, softening with compassion, and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought back to the awful night when Sarah had died.

‘A car accident,’ she told him hollowly. ‘It was foggy. A drunk driver—’

David groaned. ‘What a waste. Oh, my love, I’m sorry.’

So was Emily, because she hadn’t wanted Sarah to drive in the fog. ‘Stay,’ she had begged her, but she should have been more insistent, hidden her keys or something. Sarah had been upset, too, too upset to drive really, because that was the day she had found out that Philip was dying of cancer—Philip, her beloved husband, Jamie’s father—and the man Emily had then married so that her godson’s future would be secure.

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY arrived to take up her post two weeks later, having sent the housekeeper on ahead to clean up the cottage and prepare it for her arrival with Jamie.

He was thoughtful about leaving the big house in Surrey where he had lived with his parents, but she explained that they wouldn’t be selling it yet and could always come back for visits. Anyway, she remembered how much Jamie had wanted to move to Devon, how he had begged her. That was one reason, probably the most significant, why she had taken the job. She just hoped for all their sakes that it didn’t prove a huge mistake.

‘Are we going to live in Mummy’s cottage, Emmy?’ he asked for the hundredth time on the drive down. He was so insecure now, and she hastened to reassure him.

‘Yes, darling. We’ll be there tonight.’

‘Will I have my own room?’

‘Yes, of course.’

There was the question of where she would sleep, but as the cottage had four bedrooms there was no need for her to use the room that Sarah and Philip had used—and that she had slept in with David on their honeymoon.

Mrs Bradley, the housekeeper who had been with Philip’s family for years and who was to stay on to help care for Jamie at Philip’s behest, would have the large room next to Jamie as her bed-sitting room. Emily would have the fourth bedroom.

It was small, but she was on her own, so it didn’t matter. Anyway, it had a distant view of the sea down the valley and across the rooftops of Biddlecombe, and the sun would wake her every morning.

They arrived at the cottage to a warm welcome from Mrs Bradley, and within a very short time Jamie was settled in his bed, his teddy under his arm, his thumb tucked in his mouth, and Emily was sitting down with Mrs Bradley going over the arrangements for the beginning of the next week when Emily started work and Jamie would join the village school. She had managed to get a place for him, and the headmaster was looking forward to meeting the boy on Monday.

The only thing left to concern her was David, and the prospect of working with him made the ergonomics of her accommodation and Jamie’s schooling pale into insignificance.

In fact her first morning at the surgery was much easier than she had expected, because he greeted her with a friendly smile, gave her a cup of coffee and took himself off, leaving it to Laurence to make her feel at home and show her where everything was kept.

Her first patients were genuinely in need, but she had no doubt that after a few days word would get round and she would be inundated with people giving their noses a treat.

Her clinics, she noticed, were already booked some way ahead, especially the family planning and antenatal.

They like a woman for a woman’s domain,’ Sue said with a smile. ‘I have to agree—but if you feel you’ve got too many I can shift some back to David, although he won’t like it. Some of them flirt with him, but you can’t blame them. He’s just such a sexy beast—Oh, lord, I’m sorry!’ Her hand flew over her mouth, and Emily smiled at her discomfort.

‘Sue, forget it. It was ages ago, and I’m over him,’ she lied. ‘Don’t feel you have to walk on eggshells, please. One thing, though—I’d rather the patients didn’t know we’d been married.’

‘Oh, of course not,’ Sue agreed. ‘It’s nobody’s business but your own, and I’m sorry I said what I did.’

Emily smiled again. ‘You’re right, though—he is a sexy beast.’

‘You couldn’t be talking about me, could you?’

David’s voice behind made her jump, and she turned towards him with a cool smile. ‘Your ego’s still intact, I see. No, we were talking about Robert de Niro, actually. Excuse me.’

She slipped past him and retreated to her office, closing the door behind her.

It opened almost immediately.

‘Can I have a word?’

She shrugged. She couldn’t shut him out of her life completely; they had to work together.

‘Of course.’

She waved to a seat and positioned herself safely behind her desk. ‘What can I do for you?’

He sighed thoughtfully. ‘Oh, Emily, there’s a question and a half.’

‘David …’ Her voice contained a warning, and he grinned, melting her insides.

She almost groaned aloud. Sue was right—he was a sexy beast.

‘This afternoon,’ he said, the grin replaced by a businesslike expression that wasn’t nearly so heart-melting—thank God, she thought. He went on, ‘Mr and Mrs Blake are coming to see you. They’re my patients, and I don’t know what they want—perhaps it’s family planning or something. Anyway, they specifically requested an appointment with the new lady doctor when she arrived, and the appointment’s been booked for over a week.’

‘I’ll tell you what it’s about,’ she promised.

He nodded. ‘OK. I’ll be around if you want to refer to me—perhaps sneak out to get a form from reception or some such excuse.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you really think that’ll be necessary?’

He shrugged. ‘Probably not. I just get a feeling about them. I don’t think they’re all that happy together, and a joint appointment with a stranger—’ He shrugged again. ‘Could be nothing, of course, but I just thought I’d prime you. Right.’

He unfolded his legs and stretched his hands over his head, yawning widely. ‘Oh, God, I hate weekends on duty. I’m going home to walk the dogs—I’ll be back before two for my clinic. What are you doing about lunch?’

She opened her drawer and pulled out some sandwiches.

‘You don’t want to come with me and grab a snack at home and a quick stroll over the hill?’

It sounded lovely, just the way they had spent their honeymoon, but she forced herself to shake her head. This was hardly the way to start, and working with him would be hard enough without encouraging little intimate walks over the hills.

‘I think not,’ she said as firmly as she could manage, and with a rueful grin he left her alone, wondering if she’d lost her marbles completely or if it just seemed that way.

She should have known to trust his instincts, she thought as she studied the couple opposite her.

They were in their thirties, a very average professional couple, but the way the consultation was going was far from average.

‘Of course,’ Mr Blake was saying, ‘we’d probably stand more chance of having another child if the first one wasn’t always in our bed.’

Mrs Blake’s eyes slid away, and Emily’s own instincts prickled. Her attention switched to the woman.

‘How old is your child?’

‘Four—and she has terrible nightmares. If we don’t have her in bed with us, she wakes screaming and it takes ages to settle her down again.’

‘Not that long,’ her husband argued.

‘No, well, it isn’t you that ends up doing it,’ she returned bitterly. ‘You just lie there on your back snoring your head off and complain that I’ve woken you with the creaky boards—though if you’d ever put them down again properly after you fixed that pipe they wouldn’t creak—’

‘I think we’re rather getting off the point,’ Emily interjected gently but firmly. ‘I have a son of six, and when his father died recently he was very upset. He started getting into bed with me at night, and I could see this becoming a pattern, so what I did was when he woke I got into his bed for a little while and gave him a cuddle, then slipped out again when he’d gone off. If he came to me, I’d carry him back once he’d settled.’

She regarded the couple in front of her. ‘It worked for us—it might work for you. I certainly don’t think you can leave a child upset in the middle of the night, but to allow her presence to affect your relationship to this extent I think is probably not healthy either for the child or for you—’

‘Not healthy?’ Mr Blake bristled. ‘Are you accusing us of abusing her or something?’

‘No, of course not,’ Emily soothed. ‘I’m simply suggesting that a better sleep-pattern, undisturbed by a frightened child, or more opportunities to concentrate on the physical aspect of your relationship might be emotionally and physically healthier for all of you.’

‘Well, it wasn’t my idea to have her in bed with us in the first place, and she’s much worse now than she used to be.’

‘And I suppose that’s my fault!’ Mrs Blake said defensively—too defensively.

Clearly, Emily thought, she wasn’t going to get anywhere until she split these two up—and perhaps a word with the intuitive Dr Trevellyan might be in order.

‘I don’t seem to have all your notes here,’ she said blandly to them. ‘If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll just go and see what I can find in the office.’

She nipped out of the door and down the corridor. Sue was on the reception desk, and Emily asked if she knew where David was.

‘In his office—he’s alone, so if you want to go in you can. I think he’s half expecting you.’

She knocked on the door and went in. ‘You were right,’ she said directly.

‘The Blakes? What’s the problem?’

‘He’s complaining that they can’t have another child because the first is still coming into their bed at night and so they don’t have the opportunity. Reading between the lines, I would say Mrs Blake isn’t keen anyway. Apparently they’ve been trying for over a year.’

David’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Have they, indeed? So why did she come and see me six months ago for another diaphragm?’

Emily’s jaw dropped, and then she nodded. ‘Oh, that figures. The child’s a smokescreen—she’s using her so she doesn’t have to sleep with her husband—or, at least, can only sleep.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Hmm?’

‘I heard a rumour—it might be nothing, but she could be having an affair.’

Emily’s mouth formed a round O. ‘Tricky.’

‘Very. I’ll give you the details later. Split them up, send him in to me for a physical, and get her to spill the beans.’

‘OK. Now?’

‘Yeah, send him straight in. I’ll return him to the waiting-room.’

She went back and sent Mr Blake to David, then confronted Mrs Blake.

‘OK. On your notes it says you have a diaphragm. I’ve spoken to Dr Trevellyan; he confirmed it.’

Panic flared in the woman’s eyes. ‘He won’t tell Neil, will he? I mean, it is confidential?’

‘Of course he won’t tell him. And clearly you haven’t, or else you wouldn’t be here today talking about infertility.’

She let the silence stretch, then Mrs Blake gave a shaky sigh and reluctantly met Emily’s eyes. ‘I don’t want another baby,’ she said slowly. ‘At least, not Neil’s.’

‘Things don’t seem all sweetness and light between you,’ Emily acknowledged.

The woman gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘You could say that. It was OK for a while, we struggled along making the best of it, but then—there’s someone else, someone I love—’ She pressed her fingers to her mouth, clearly upset, and Emily settled back in the chair.

‘Take your time,’ she said reassuringly.

‘He’s wonderful—warm, tender, understanding.’ She paused. ‘He’s also married.’

‘Ah.’

‘His wife’s disabled. He loves her, but like a sister, you know? Not that there could be anything else between them. She’s got multiple sclerosis, and she’s—well, she’s bad.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Emily’s soft heart went out to the unknown woman whose husband apparently loved her, but not enough to stay at home.

‘She’s permanently bedridden now—she’s incontinent and her limbs are very spastic. She finds swallowing difficult, and she’s very depressed.’ Ann Blake looked at Emily. ‘I’d hate her to find out about us, but Richard’s coping all alone and someone has to help him through it. He gives her so much, not just his time but friendship, support—he gets really depressed. That was how it started, really—he was sitting in the park, and I was out with Jane and the dog. He looked so bleak, so alone. We started to talk, and …’

Ann paused, her face softening. ‘He laughed, for the first time in months, he said. I saw him again by accident, and then we began arranging to meet, always quite innocently. We never meant this to happen.’

‘But it did.’

‘Yes. And all I want is to be with him, but I can’t.’

‘And meanwhile you’re living with a man you no longer love, who wants to have another child.’

She nodded, and her eyes filled. ‘What can I do? Richard can’t leave Jenny, and I can’t afford to leave Neil and live on my own with Jane. Anyway, he’d probably want custody and she loves him.’

‘Is it fair to her to use her as a smokescreen?’

There was silence for a long while, then Mrs Blake shook her head. ‘No—no, of course not. I didn’t even realise I was doing it until just now. It was only when you suggested that if we put her back in her own bed it would give our physical relationship a chance that I realised how badly I didn’t want that to happen.’

Emily eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Mrs Blake, when did you and your husband last make love?’

She snorted. ‘We don’t make love, Dr Thompson. We had sex back in—June? July? And that was the first time since Easter.’

‘And it’s now September. How long can you fool him?’

She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Nor do I,’ Emily told her, ‘but one thing I do know—it isn’t fair to Jane to use her like this. She must start sleeping in her own bed again, and I don’t mean with you. How you persuade your husband that you aren’t going to have intercourse is your problem, but if you want any help or counselling advice you can always go to Relate, the marriage guidance people. They’re very good. Perhaps you ought to try it.’

‘And what can they do?’ Ann asked heavily. ‘Make me fall back in love with Neil again? I doubt it.’

So did Emily, but there was nothing more she could do. There was clearly no fertility problem that exposure to the appropriate opportunity wouldn’t solve, and there was obviously no need for any further medical involvement. How Mrs Blake dealt with it from here was her own problem, and it was one Emily didn’t envy her one bit.

As she was leaving, she turned back to Emily. ‘Dr Thompson, this is confidential, isn’t it? I mean, whatever we’ve told each other in here won’t get back to Neil?’

‘No, of course not. Not without your permission.’

‘So he won’t ever know what went on in here today?’

As Emily confirmed that, it occurred to her that it was a strange way to phrase the question. After her surgery was over she went and sought David out.