Page 33 of Prognosis Temporary

His steps faltered as his gaze fell on another item of clothing. The purple dress was draped over the arm of a plush old-fashioned winged chair placed near the sliding door. Bloody hell, was the woman trying to kill him?

With clothes?

Unable to help himself, he ran his finger over it as he passed. It wasn’t quite how he’d imagined getting his hands on the dress but it felt cool and glossy against the pads of his fingers.

And beggars could not be choosers.

They sat at the small table on the balcony and for a few moments Sebastian allowed the sights and the sounds of the river to absorb him. The Yarra looked like mercury in the afternoon light, the setting sun throwing dark shadows and tarnishing the water silvery black.

She cleared her throat. ‘I wanted to congratulate you on your paper,’ she said. ‘You were...It was magnificent. And very well received. There were too many people wanting a piece of you after to tell you at the time.’

Sebastian regarded her for a moment. She was nervous - her gaze everywhere but on him. Which was just as well as he tried to distract himself from thoughts of how soft her blouse would feel beneath his fingers.

‘Thanks. You were pretty good yourself.’

Now, that got her attention. Her gaze met his and held. ‘You were there?’

Sebastian heard the note of doubt in her voice and nodded. ‘Of course. You were great.’

‘I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Sebastian.’

‘I know. But you were.’

She waved her hand dismissively indicating she was done with the topic as she glanced out over the river but not before Sebastian had caught her brief look of relief. He hated that she’d even doubt herself but clearly she wanted to move on.

‘Which sessions are you down to see tomorrow?’ he asked, changing the subject.

They chatted about the merits of the different sessions on offer the next day for quite a while as the late afternoon sky passed into the muted hues of twilight around them. They kept things strictly business - conference-related topics only and even indulged in a second beer from her bar fridge.

‘What time’s the dinner tonight?’ Sebastian asked, dragging his eyes off the city lights starting to dance on the water to consult his smart watch, surprised to find it was nudging six-thirty.

‘Seven-thirty,’ she said as she took a swig from her beer.

Sebastian watched as Callie raised the long-necked bottle to her mouth and pressed it against her lips suppressing the groan rumbling in his throat. They must just be two work colleagues talking shop but watching her drink was torture.

There was something exceedingly sexual about it and the catch in his groin every time she sipped had started a fever pounding through his blood. She was staring out over the river in quiet contemplation and he was afraid that if conversation didn’t continue between them soon, he might just haul her into his lap and start kissing her.

‘What are you thinking about?’

‘Your father.’

Sebastian paused, the bottle halfway to his mouth. ‘My father?’

‘Your paper...it felt deeply personal. I know what it’s like to grow up in a family rules by mental illness and I was listening to you talk and...’

And what? Sebastian waited for her to continue. What was she trying to say?

She shrugged. ‘I felt for you. I wondered if you were ever as scared and confused and worried as I used to be. I wondered if he was...violent.’

Sebastian placed his beer on the table between them. Like

the lights reflected in the polished glass surface of the Yarra he could see the empathy shining in her eyes. It wasn’t a subject he often talked about.

People didn’t really understand.

But he knew she did. And after talking about it already today, albeit in an abstract kind of way, he felt strangely compelled to tell her more.

‘No,’ he murmured. ‘He wasn’t violent, just... dysfunctional. He had bouts of crippling depression and suffered from night terrors. He was severely agoraphobic. He couldn’t work. He had chronic indigestion. He smoked and drank too much. But he wasn’t a nasty drunk. If anything, I was probably... ignored. It was as if I was...invisible a lot of the time.’

---