Paris had decided that Ben and Ana should leave the hospital for a while to have a meal and some conversation. She pointed out that Olivia was fine and that specialists would no doubt be examining Valerie and conducting whatever diagnostic procedures were required. She had appointed herself as orchestrator of the interaction between her son and his ex-wife, and was determined that he not be drawn back in due to his sympathetic nature. She remembered clearly Valerie’s penchant for manipulation. It wouldn’t be a surprise to Paris if the woman were feigning the memory loss. Not that she lacked pity for what had been endured by both women, but she remained suspicious that Valerie might try to turn it to her advantage.
Olivia and her parents collectively shooed Ben and Ana out of the room with firm instructions to stay away until morning. Ben would be allowed to check in once by phone. He knew better than to argue, so he took Ana’s hand and led her out of the cubicle then out of the hospital. Once on the sidewalk they looked at each other with mutual expressions of self-consciousness. Both said sorry at the same time, dispelling any previous conflict. However, the somber air between them remained, the day’s stark truths weighing heavily on both. They walked slowly to a nearby café that advertised tortilla española on the sidewalk menu board. The aching in Ben’s body had subdued his appetite and he had declined the custard offered by a nurse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any food. When asked if she had eaten, Ana had to admit it had been over twenty-four hours. Something simple and hearty, like potatoes and egg, seemed just the ticket. Fortified by the food and strong coffee they hailed a taxi and returned to the hotel.
* * *
Ben looked exhausted, his face showing the emotional strain of seeing Valerie. Even for Ana it had been almost too much to take in—the facts concerning the robbery along with Valerie’s lapse from reality. Ana was struck by the fact that whenever they had found themselves alone—whether in a hotel or house, under a tree or in a field—there had been a developing crisis in the works. First there was the attack, the night together in her hotel dealing with his injury, and then the next attack followed by their fleeing to the Cotswolds. There were an occasional few moments alone in the house, but there was Edith, the housekeeper, who was wont to pop in unexpectedly. They had never been more isolated than in the field, the place where they had finally given in to the lust. She wondered if their passionate moment had been tainted due to what was going on around them— at least for Ben. The uncertainty caused her to question whether the moment would ever come, or if that was their one chance, if everything had peaked among the flowers and was now on a downhill slide. Not for her—of that she was sure. But now, again, the moment was wrong.
“Ben, you look war-weary,” Ana said. “With everything that’s been going on, I doubt your body has let go of the trauma it experienced. You need to sleep.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes, then took a deep breath and blew it out. “Right. But here we are alone again in a hotel and I’m still basically useless.”
Ana stepped back toward the adjoining door then stood looking down at her shoes. She emitted a sigh and said, “Yep… seems to be a pattern with us. Or maybe an omen?”
“Not an omen— just consistent bad timing… so far.” He swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the pillows. “I know this is a well-worn adage, but it applies here: the best things in life are worth waiting for.”
“You’ve ‘set the bar high’ with that statement, but from my side I tend to agree with your little adage—in some cases.” Ana smiled, clearly teasing, but Ben saw a hint of embarrassment on her face. He found it arousing in spite of his aching fatigue. She added, “It might be dangerous to have such expectations. It could be a formula for disappointment.”
“I’m not worried,” he said, locking his eyes with hers and grinning provocatively.
Ana felt the familiar flush run through her body. Such a small thing, that grin, but it touched her to the core. It took more than a modicum of control to keep her from dashing to the bed and throwing herself onto her back, arms extended, and begging him to take her post-haste. That instant of reckless imagination gone, she shook herself back from the brink. The sometimes-pragmatic Ana took charge. She walked to the bed, bent over, kissed Ben’s forehead and told him to sleep well. He took hold of her arm rather tightly and pulled her down. She fell against his torso—rather clumsily, she thought. He leaned forward and slipped his other arm around her back, and without a moment’s pause his lips met hers, his tongue forcing exploration of her mouth in a frustrated attempt to enter her in some way. Then as suddenly as it had started it was over.
Ben backed away, and Ana pulled herself up into a sitting position. When he had regained control he said, “Do you still question whether it’s worth waiting for? Still worried about disappointment?”
“I think not,” Ana said, still a bit dazed from the suddenness of his actions and their effect on her. She knew the effort had to have caused him some pain.
He reached for her
