Relative Ethics

She was woken abruptly by Oliver pounding on her door.

‘Bron? Open up, I’ve got something to show you!’

What on earth does he want? she wondered, and slid out of bed, her hair tousled, face flushed, eyes half shut. She caught a glimpse of herself on the way to the door, and groaned. She looked a wreck!

‘Come in,’ she muttered, and shut the door again behind him.

He swept her up in his arms and hugged her tight, laughing with delight and something else. She heard the crackle of paper, and then he dumped her on the bed and shoved a letter into her hand.

Sleepily, she pushed her fingers through her hair to lift it off her face, and dropped her eyes to the letter.

‘Oh! You passed your FRCS! Congratulations, Mr Henderson!’

She flung her arms around him and squeezed him tight. That’s fantastic! We’ll have go to out tonight to celebrate. Oh, you clever man! Oh, well done, darling——’

His mouth came down hard on hers, and when he released her his face was blazing with pride and happiness.

‘I can’t believe it—all that and you, too. I’d better get out of here before I do something crazy. See you downstairs in ten minutes.’

He winked and left her, and she gathered her scattered wits and washed and dressed in double-quick time.

The day passed in a whirl of congratulations. Somehow they managed to make some sense of the lectures, but by this time both of them were relying more and more heavily on Jane and Michael to pass on relevant notes during their breaks.

The other delegates heard about Oliver’s success and, not needing much of an excuse, decided to organise a party for that night.

Someone produced some disco lights, which were set up in the conference-room, and the chairs were cleared to leave space for dancing. The sound equipment was pressed into service, and a young SHO, who had done time on the hospital radio as a student, agreed to act as DJ. Jane dragged Bronwen upstairs.

The blue silk,’ she said firmly, thrusting Bron through her bedroom door. ‘I’ll be back in an hour, and you’d better be ready to blow their socks off!’

Bron laughed and shook her head in despair. ‘OK, OK, the blue silk. See you later.’

Fifty-five minutes later there was a tap on the door. Bron was sitting at the dressing-table, clad in a tiny pair of midnight-blue silk panties and her make-up, toying with her hair.

‘Come in,’ she called, and she heard the door open and shut softly behind her. ‘What do you think, Jane, down or up?’

‘Down,’ said a deep voice, and Bron leapt to her feet and spun round, clutching her arms to her chest.

‘Oliver! What are you doing in here?’ she squeaked.

He chuckled. ‘Obeying orders. You said come in.’ He walked towards her and, placing his warm hands on her bare shoulders, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘What are you wearing?’

‘Not a lot! Get out so I can get dressed.’

He grinned. ‘No way. Don’t worry, I’m a doctor——’

‘Huh! Anyway, you’re just plain Mr now, Henderson, so you can take yourself off while I finish my preparations.’

‘No. Is this the one?’ He held up the mightnight-blue silk dress, and she nodded. ‘Which way round does it go?’

‘Oliver!’ Bron tried to sound scandalised. ‘It’s backless!’

‘Pity. I think it would look better the other way round——’

‘Shut up and close your eyes. I’m getting cramp standing like this.’

‘Your choice, not mine. Oh, well.’ He sprawled out comfortably on the bed and shut his eyes. ‘I’ll give you ten seconds.’

It took her six.

‘Right, pervert, do the zip up, please.’

There was a tap on the door, just as Oliver sat up and reached for the zip.

‘Can I come in? Oh, sorry!’

‘It’s all right, Jane. He’s just doing up the zip.’

‘More’s the pity——’

‘Oliver!’

Jane smiled benignly. ‘I’ll see you two downstairs. Michael’s in the bar running up the bill.’

‘Whose?’

‘Yours, I think!’ Laughing at his horrified expression, Jane floated out of the room and closed the door.

‘Do I detect a mean streak?’ Bron murmured, and Oliver glowered at her.

‘Mean? You don’t know him when he gets going. By now, everyone down there will be celebrating my success at my expense, and what’s more I’m not even there!’

Bron slipped on her pumps. ‘Come on, then, what are we waiting for?’

‘This,’ he murmured, and drew her into his arms to kiss her gently. ‘Have I ever told you,’ he murmured, ‘how very beautiful you are?’

‘Oh, Oliver…’ Bron coloured delicately at the softly voiced compliment.

‘Oh, God, let’s get out of here while we still can,’ he groaned.

By the time they joined the others, the party was in full swing. They danced until Bron was breathless, and then propped up the parapet outside to cool off for a while before going back in again.

Oliver eyed her thoughtfully. ‘How are we going to keep this going, Bron? I’m in London, you’re in Bristol—it’s going to be hell. Normal people could commute for the weekends, but the chances of us both getting a weekend off together must be remote in the extreme. We might have to wait weeks on end.’

She tried to smile. There’s always the phone.’

He shook his head. ‘It can’t take the place of holding you in my arms—oh, God, Bron, I’m going to miss you so much!’ He tugged her into his arms with a wild desperation that found an echo in Bronwen’s heart, and she clung to him, suddenly terrified.

‘We’ll work something out—we must,’ he murmured against her hair. After a moment he released her, captured her hand, and led her back on to the dance-floor.

In the middle of the evening the DJ paused to dedicate the party and the next number to Oliver. The song, predictably—considering that their blossoming romance was being avidly watched by all and sundry—was a slow, sultry number. Oliver opened his arms and Bron steped into the warmth of his embrace with a delicious sense of inevitability.

He held her close, their thighs brushing with every slight movement, so that she was aware of the change in him almost as soon as he was. His warm, strong hands moved sensuously against the bare skin of her back, tracing the slender column of her spine and sending fire racing through her veins. His heart beneath her cheek quickened and beat more strongly, fanning the flames of her own desire, and when he led her wordlessly out on to the terrace to the other hall door and upstairs she followed without question.

At the door to her room she fumbled with the key so badly that he took it from her with hands only a little steadier than her own. Once in, he leaned back against the door and crushed her body against his, motionless for several minutes, then he eased her away from him and looked down into her eyes.

‘Sorry, I just had to be alone with you. I couldn’t hide my feelings any more.’ His voice was gruff with passion, and yet tinged with uncertainty. He searched his eyes, and then his lids drifted shut and he swallowed unsteadily. ‘Bron?’

‘Oh, yes, Oliver … please?’

For a long, breathless moment, he was motionless, then he exhaled and reached round to slide the zip down with trembling fingers. Slowly, with infinite care, he lowered the dress from her shoulders until it slithered in a shimmering pool to her feet, and then he knelt and eased the tiny triangle of lace down over her trembling legs. With a feather-light kiss on the tangle of curls he had revealed, he straightened and stripped off his own clothes, casting them aside until he stood naked before her, the moonlight silvering the smooth planes of his body, casting shadows in the scatter of curls on his chest, darkening the skin to bronze. Her breath caught in her throat.

‘You’re beautiful…’

He gave a shaky little laugh that cracked in the middle. ‘That’s my line. Oh, Bron…’

He scooped her up in his arms and laid her tenderly on the bed, coming down carefully beside her. She felt the slight rasp of his hair-roughened thigh, and smelled the warm, male, musky scent of his body as it joined with hers, and a soft cry rose in her throat, mingling with his as his mouth closed over her lips and captured her words of love.

She hadn’t known the highs could be so high. It was as if a giant hand had lifted them and thrown them out among the stars, to tumble gently back to earth in a tangle of limbs and murmured promises.

Later, she lifted her hand and touched his face, and found it wet with tears. He turned his lips into her palm, and pressed a soft kiss on the skin. When he lifted his head, she was stunned by the naked emotion in his eyes. His voice was ragged.

‘Dear God, Bron … I had no idea. Oh, darling, hold me, I love you, Bron. I love you, I love you…’

When she woke in the morning, he was gone. He had written ‘I love you’ on the mirror with her lipstick, and there was a note on the dressing-table.

Gone back to clear up the chaos. Think it’s best if I sleep in my room—I don’t want any speculation about you. See you for breakfast. We have to talk—there’s so much to tell you. I love you. Oliver.

She showered and dressed and ran downstairs eagerly, but as she reached the bottom step the manager crossed over to her.

‘Oh, Dr Jones, I’m so glad I’ve caught you. Mr Henderson asked me to give you a message. He was called away in the night—awful business, his brother-in-law was killed in a car accident. He had to dash back; he said his wife—Clare, isn’t it?—is pregnant, and he had to be with her. Dr Jones, are you all right?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘DR JONES? Bronwen? Are you all right?’

Bron lifted her shocked face to Jim Harris’s startled eyes and nodded faintly.

‘Yes—yes, I’m all right, Jim. Just a bit giddy. I think I stood up too fast.’

Oliver swore softly under his breath, and Bron felt her knees give way. She sat down abruptly before she fell.

‘I’ll get you a cup of coffee,’ Jim mumbled, and turned on his heel. Out of the corner of her eye, Bron could see Oliver, his face composed, only a muscle twitching in his jaw giving him away.

He sat beside her and covered her hand with his. ‘Bron? Are you OK? What happened?’

Was it her imagination, or was there a note of genuine concern in his voice? She snatched her hand away, but that only made matters worse because his hand then lay on her knee, and he made no attempt to remove it. Oh, lord, was she to be punished for that fatal attraction over and over again?

‘Here, drink this——’ Jim thrust a cup of coffee into her unsteady hands, and she tightened her fingers on the handle until her knuckles were white. ‘Did you have any breakfast?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I was sat down and force-fed.’

‘So it’s not the hallucinogenic effect of hypoglycaemia?’ Oliver murmured drily, and removed his hand from her knee. ‘Just to be on the safe side, I’ll get you a bar of chocolate.’

‘Please don’t bother,’ she said curtly, and Jim looked from one to the other of them with puzzled eyes. ‘Do you two know each other?’

‘Yes.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, we do,’ Oliver argued gently. ‘We met on a conference on trauma, remember?’

How could she forget? It had been the most traumatic week of her life. ‘Yes, we have met, but I wouldn’t say I knew you—though I thought I did…’

‘Bron?’

Jim’s bleep went off then, so he excused himself with a worried look at his new registrar, and left the room.

‘Just what did you mean by that?’ Oliver asked.

Bron laughed, a thready, shaky little laugh that betrayed her tension. ‘I would have thought it was obvious.’

‘Not to me. Why didn’t you reply to my letters?’

‘Letters? What letters?’ Bron couldn’t quite meet his eye. There had been letters, three of them, addressed to her hospital, but not for two months, and by then she’d been so hurt that she’d thrown them away without reading them. And then nothing, just when she had been prepared to sink her principles and tell him that she was pregnant. She had wound up her courage to ring Guy’s and tell him about Livvy when she was born, and she was told he had left. Mail would be forwarded, she was told, but they had no address as yet. Her courage had failed before she could post the letter, and afterwards she was glad it had.

He sighed heavily. ‘I tried to contact you—several times. When you didn’t reply, I phoned the hospital and was told you had left with no forwarding address. I had to assume that what we had between us had meant nothing to you—but I was wrong, wasn’t I? You’re as shocked to see me as I am to see you——’

‘Rubbish,’ she got out, and he snorted.

‘Look at you. If you aren’t affected by seeing me again, why are you trying to throttle that cup?’

Surprised, Bron glanced down and made an immediate conscious effort to relax. The coffee slopped on to her skirt and she smacked the cup down on to the saucer with a defiant clatter. ‘Damn—now look what you’ve made me do!’

Unruffled, Oliver produced a clean handkerchief from his pocket and blotted her skirt unnecessarily thoroughly.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered through tight lips, and he chuckled.

‘Oh, Bron. Look, I have to go and start the afternoon list. What are you doing tonight?’

She closed her eyes. Surely he didn’t think she was going to let him pick up where they left off? Thinking of that gave her heart an unruly and unwelcome flutter, and she crushed the memory of his lovemaking with ruthless vigour. Lovemaking, indeed! Sex. A juvenile exercise in relieving hormones. So he was particularly good at it. So what? There were other things—like loyalty.

‘Going home, putting my feet up and telling someone very important to me how much I love them.’

His mouth thinned. Good. He had misunderstood, as she had intended.

‘OK. But we need to talk, Bron, because there’s a lot we didn’t say.’

‘You’re too late, Oliver.’ Years too late.

He stood up and sighed again, running his hand through his hair in that gesture she knew so well.

‘Nevertheless—I left abruptly, without time to say half of the things I wanted to say to you, and I want to apologise.’

‘So, you’ve apologised.’ Her voice softened. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother-in-law. How was—Clare?’

‘Devastated, but the baby’s made a great deal of difference to her life, as you can imagine.’

Bron tried not to laugh. Oh, yes, she could imagine—only too well!

‘What was it?’ she asked, turning the knife.

‘A boy—lovely, healthy little lad. She called him after Tom, but he looks just the way I did as a child. The Henderson genes must be very strong.’

She could imagine that, too. Livvy was the spitting image of her father, from that startlingly direct blue gaze to the unruly tumble of golden hair. She squeezed back the tears that threatened, and rose to her feet.

‘I must get back to work. I’m glad Clare’s OK and the baby was all right. I’ll see you…’

She forced herself to walk away, and when she glanced back from the door she saw him watching her with a strangely unguarded expression in his eyes.

Oh, hell. That was all she needed. For two years she had told herself that he was an opportunist, an unscrupulous bastard—not her favourite word, she thought with a pang—but what if she was wrong?

No, she told herself firmly. Whether his feelings for her had been genuine or not, he was married, and he jolly well should have made that clear and remained faithful, even if only in body.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.