sounds were coming from further down the hall.
Elinor crept out, closing Hetta’s door so that she should hear nothing, and made her way along to the pine door. There was no doubt now that the cries were coming from the man who slept behind it, and she knew he wouldn’t be pleased if she disturbed him. But she couldn’t leave him like this. Pushing open the door, she slipped in and closed it behind her.
A soft light from the window limned his body. He wore no pyjama top, and the sheet had slipped down far enough for her to suspect that he probably wore nothing else either. Not wanting to embarrass him, she swiftly drew it higher, then dropped down by the bed and put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him hard.
‘Andrew-Andrew-wake up.’
His eyes opened fast and immediately flew to the little clock beside him with its luminous figures.
‘What is it?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Who needs me? Tell them I’m coming at once.’
‘No.’ She shook him again. ‘There’s no need for that.’ She put the bedside lamp on. ‘It’s me, you’re not in the hospital.’
His eyes seemed to take a moment to focus. Then she felt the tension drain out of him.
‘Thank you,’ he said wearily. ‘Was I shouting?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s abominable of me to disturb you. Hetta-?’
‘She’s still asleep.’
‘Thank God! It’s just something that happens now and then when I’ve been overworking.’
‘I think you overwork all the time.’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Yes, par for the course. Sometimes it’s worse than others, but it doesn’t mean anything.’
‘That’s not true,’ she said quietly. ‘You know it isn’t.’
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
