Page 126 of The Sisters of Sea View
Maj. J. Hutton
Surgeon? Immediately her stomach roiled. Tapping the letter, she asked, “What is this about? Some new method of restoring hearing in that ear?”
He smirked. “What ear?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t believe there is any hope for my right ear, but with the remaining one, I want to hear what the man has to say. He specializes in scar reduction and other facial surgeries.”
Bile climbed her throat. “Is this because of Miss Truman?”
“In a way. Her disgust certainly solidified my resolve to do something about this gore.” He circled a finger around the right side of his face.
“You want to win her back?”
“Never. I am not grieving her loss, Miss Summers, if that is what you are tempted to think. Yet if there is a way to become less revolting, I believe I owe it to myself, and to the seeing public at large, to pursue it. Who knows? Perhaps one day I might askanother woman to share my life and bed, and I don’t want her to pull away in disgust.”
He stepped near and held her gaze. Once again Viola recalled the sensation of being held against his naked chest and could barely breathe.
She won’t pull away, Viola wanted to say, thinking he might be referring to her. But if he was not? Viola could make no such assurances for any woman besides herself.
“What is this surgeon’s name?” she asked instead, feeling queasy just posing the question.
“Mr. Bird’s colleague? I don’t recall.”
It surely wouldn’t be Abner Cleeves, she thought, reminding herself of the many surgeons who came to Sidmouth. Even so, bile soured her throat once more at the memory of the man she’d seen outside the York Hotel.
She swallowed and said, “If it’s Cleeves, run the other way.”
25
All who would win joy,
must share it;
Happiness was born a twin.
—Lord Byron,Don Juan
Later that afternoon, Emily and Viola sat together in the library, curled up in the two armchairs near the fire, knitted blankets over their legs, empty teacups on the little table between them. Outside, a cold rain fell, but inside they were warm and peaceful, enjoying each other’s company and conversation—just the two of them, which they had not done much of in far too long.
They talked about their ill-fated bathing experience with more abandon now that there was no one about to hear them. They teased each other as they recalled the details: the tipsy attendant, the awful costumes, Viola goading her, saying there was nothing to be afraid of, only for them both to be knocked down by a fierce wave and Viola having to be rescued.
Emily said, “When I saw that wild, half-naked creature emerge from the sea holding a woman in his arms, I thought the undertow had addled my brain! It was like one of those old mythology printscome to life—Triton and the nymph. I wondered if he had the legs of a man or the tail of a fish!”
Viola laughed, and Emily noticed her blush as well. “You really can tell a story, Em,” she said. “Perhaps you ought to write it all down—changing the names of course.”
“Hmm ... maybe. I still can’t believe Triton turned out to be your major.” Emily slowly shook her head. “Certainly not the invalid I had in mind when I wrote that advertisement.”
They talked about the mishap a few minutes longer, how the fishermen had rallied to help, and Tom running into the water to make sure they were all right and then seeing them home.
After that they were quiet for a time, content to watch the glowing, crackling fire.
Then Viola said, “When I returned from France to recover from that last surgery, you came into my room and read to me from a story you were writing, remember? So you read to an invalid long before I did.” The two shared a fond look, then Viola asked, “Whatever became of that story? I remember liking what I heard.”
“Heavens, I don’t know. I have written the beginnings of many stories and have yet to finish one.”
“Perhaps you should. I would be first in line to read it.”
