Lucy Gordon - His Pretend Wife

She became aware that she was still holding him, and took her hands away. He hauled himself up in bed, grasping the sheet firmly, in a way that suggested her suspicions had been correct. Then he sat leaning against the bedhead with an expression that seemed strangely defeated. His hair was tousled and fell over his broad forehead.

‘Some things are hard to cope with,’ he said at last. ‘That child who died tonight-we all fought so hard, but it was no use-’ Suddenly he closed his eyes. ‘He was six years old,’ he said huskily.

She drew a swift breath. Who could empathise with that pain better than herself? But she could see the answer on Andrew’s face. He was ravaged by his failure, and it was more than the damaged pride of a man who hated to fail. She was witnessing real misery.

‘The worst thing is telling the parents,’ he went on. ‘They were so happy. They’d thought it was going to be all right, and then-their faces.’

‘Must it be you who tells them?’

‘Yes. I’m the one who’s failed them, you see.’

‘But that’s not fair. People die. It’s not your fault. You can’t be held responsible if the odds are too great.’

‘But I’m the one they trusted.’ He gave her a swift, intent look. ‘If Hetta had died, wouldn’t you have felt that I’d let you down?’

‘I know heart transplants are risky,’ she said carefully, ‘and it’s not fair to blame the surgeon because luck was against him. I wanted a miracle and you gave it to me. But if not-I hope I’d have understood.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ he said, smiling at her sadly. ‘You mightn’t have said anything, but you’d have looked at me-and I’d have seen you-’

‘She’s everything to me. You were our only hope and if things had gone wrong-yes, you’re right. I wouldn’t have been just or fair about it. What did the parents say to you?’

‘Nothing. They just looked betrayed. And I can’t wipe that look out of my mind. I wanted to be able to tell them that it was all a dreadful mistake, that their son was alive and would wake up soon. I wanted to promise them a miracle, but the miracles aren’t in my hands-’ He closed his eyes.

‘Andrew-’ She reached out and touched him again, gently. He opened his eyes and looked at her with weary despair. ‘I’m becoming afraid,’ he whispered. ‘And how can I work if I’m afraid?’

Never before had she known him admit to fear or doubt. It broke down her defences, and without thinking whether she was being wise she gathered him into her arms. Miracles weren’t in her power either, or she would have performed a dozen for him. She would gladly have lifted the weights that were crushing him, given him everything, even herself if that was what he wanted.

She caressed him with passionate tenderness, murmuring anything she could think of to comfort him. ‘You’re not really afraid, my dear. It’s only tiredness.’

‘But it goes on and on,’ he whispered. ‘And there’s no rest. It’s not the work, it’s the responsibility-people’s lives in your hands. That’s the one thing I never thought of in those days.’

‘Those days,’ she said longingly.

‘Do you remember how it was then?’ he murmured against her hair. ‘How confident I was-no, not just confident, arrogant, cocky!’

‘I thought it was wonderful,’ she said with a remembering smile. ‘You were like a king, so sure of yourself.’

‘But I shouldn’t have been. I never saw the traps I was laying for myself.’

‘Nor did I,’ she said gently. ‘I don’t suppose we ever do.’

‘Not until it’s too late.’ He rested his head against her.

‘Do you have nights like this very often?’ she asked, stroking his hair.

‘Yes. That’s one reason I started to stay at the flat. It’s better to be alone when this happens.’

‘No,’ she said swiftly. ‘It’s never better to be alone. Haven’t you learned that? I have.’

‘How?’

‘Through being alone,’ she said simply.

‘Funny. In all those years I never pictured you alone.’

His voice was so quiet that she had to strain to hear it. ‘What-did you say?’ she asked after a moment.

‘You were so lovely and full of life-it was what drew me to you-I couldn’t stay away-’

‘Did you want to?’

‘Yes. I kept trying to be strong, but it was no use.’

‘I wish I’d known. I always thought of you as so aloof. Andrew?’

Silence. He had fallen asleep against her shoulder.

Moving very carefully, she swung her legs up onto the bed and lay down, drawing him beside her. He made a sound between a grunt and a sigh, turning slightly so that his weight was half across her, his head between her breasts. The bed was so narrow that she was forced to lie pressed up to him, intensely aware of his hard body, now relaxed against hers.

She held him lightly until he began to mutter again, and then she tightened her arms, whispering wordless comfort until the tension went out of him and he fell silent once more.

She stared into the darkness, thinking how achingly ironic it was that he should lie with her now, and not twelve years ago. Then her young body had clamoured for him. Now the ache of desire was there again, but tempered with understanding, and even compassion. She was no longer a girl thinking of her own wishes, but a woman who’d been through the mill and wanted to give him anything that would make his life sweeter.

When he moved again she kissed him, very softly and tenderly, and was pleased when he immediately calmed again. She kissed him again and felt his arms tighten.

‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’

She didn’t know if he could hear her but she murmured to him again, not words but wordless sounds of comfort, stroking her fingers gently against his hair, his face.

‘This is how it should have been,’ she told him softly. ‘We should always have been like this-if only I’d understood-’

In her mind she saw again the time they’d landed on the little island and lain blissfully under the trees, until she’d broken their bliss by trying to claim him as a lover, and blaming him when he’d refused. Two selfish husbands had taught her the value of a man who’d loved her more than his own pleasure, a man she’d thrown away.

‘You were thinking of me, but I didn’t know it,’ she murmured. ‘And when I understood it was all too late. We had something so wonderful and special. I know it now. I used to tell you that I loved you but I didn’t know what the words meant. But I could tell you now, if only I could be sure that you wanted to hear. Oh, darling, such things I could say to you now!’

He stirred again and she held her breath, wondering if he’d heard her. He seemed to be still asleep but his hands moved across her body. She should wake him now, and stop him doing this, but the excitement he was setting off confused her.

She wished that she were wearing something beautiful, a glamorous, flimsy concoction such as a woman chose for her lover. The nightgown she had on was made of cotton, and buttoned up to the neck. Its matronly style fitted the way she saw herself these days, but it was out of keeping with the fierce sensations that were coursing through her.

His fingers had found her buttons, were undoing the top one, then the next and the next. She did the rest herself, wrenching at them so fast that the last one flew off. It was she too who pulled the sheet back so that her nakedness lay next to his.

‘Ellie…’ The word was a whisper.

‘Yes, darling, I’m here. Hold onto me.’

She clung to him too, kissing him without restraint, loving him with the pent-up love of years. ‘Hold me,’ she repeated.

His mouth covered hers eagerly. She welcomed him in, offering her whole self, keeping nothing back. Whatever he needed now, that was what she wanted to give.

He moved like a man urgently pursuing something he had long desired. His hands seemed to know instinctively how to find her, roving lovingly over the hills and valleys of her shape. Now she too was free to explore him and sense what she’d only suspected before, the power of him, the taut hardness of his muscles. He had been designed to please a woman, and everything in her responded.

He kissed her breasts, first one then the other, his tongue caressing her gently, teasing the nipples to peaks of desire. She’d never known that anything could feel this good. She was coming into her own, claiming what had always truly been hers. She reached for him.

And then Andrew raised his head. His eyes opened.

And with brutal suddenness the dream was over. She saw the shock in his face as he realised what was happening, heard his horrified cry of, ‘My God, no!’

ANDREW wrenched himself out of Elinor’s arms and for a moment he covered his eyes with his hand, as though engulfed by some feeling that was too much for him. Bitterly she realised that he couldn’t even bear to look at her.

‘Andrew-’ she said desperately.

‘No, for pity’s sake! Ellie, this isn’t the way I wanted it, can’t you understand?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. It’s not fair on you.’

She could hear him talking fast, trying to put a different light on this, anything rather than admit that he’d found himself with a woman he didn’t want. It was part of his kindness, she thought wretchedly, to try to make her feel better, but nothing could do that.

She was frantically buttoning up her nightdress, keeping her head down, but she was still aware of hasty movements as he covered his nakedness.

‘Dear God!’ she wept.

‘Ellie, please believe me, I didn’t come here for this. When I arrived tonight I was going to explain, and then leave. That would have been best for both of us, and I swear it’s what I meant.’