Page 116 of Wife After Wife
Ana visited on weekends, and for half an hour in the evening during the first two weeks, dropping to two evenings and Sunday afternoon on the third. She brought Eliza once, and he realized he’d missed her first day at school. He asked Eliza about it, but she seemed more interested in the complicated metal arrangement encasing his leg.
He found Ana’s visits tiring. She fidgeted and avoided prolonged eye contact. Kisses were limited to a peck on the forehead. He didn’t knowwhat to say to her, how to make things right again. The loss of their baby hung between them, and he knew she still blamed him.
•••
The nurse came in. The tall one with the kind eyes—Clare. “How are we today, Harry?”
“All the better for seeing you, Nurse Clare. And I’m sure we will be feeling much improved after a top-up of those lovely painkillers.”
She picked up the chart from the bottom of his bed. “Not due for an hour or two yet. Can you manage?”
“How disheartening. Do I have a choice?”
“We don’t want you leaving here an addict, do we? Now, time to change this dressing.”
Harry’s attention was abruptly diverted from Clare’s agreeable body to his own leg as the pain made him gasp.
“Sorry, Harry, I’ll be quick as I can. Look on the bright side—at least we know the nerve damage is healing.”
He shut his eyes as she left the room ten minutes later.
“Harry?”
He opened them to see Janette by his bed. “Janette. Boy am I pleased to see someone who’s not going to prod me or poke me or generally cause me unspeakable agony.” He gave her a weak smile.
“Oh, you poor thing! Is it really painful?”
Janette’s sympathy pierced his cheerful facade and he closed his eyes again, groping for her hand.
She took it and kissed it, then he felt her lips on his forehead. “This is so awful, my love. I hate seeing you like this.”
“Another hour to wait for painkillers.” He kept hold of her hand.
“The doctors know best, Harry. It’s going to take time.” She stroked his brow, then his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.
He sighed. It felt as if no one had touched him, other than to inject him, measure him, or bandage him, in weeks. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You’re an angel, Moneypenny.”
The hand on his head stilled for a moment, then stroked his cheek tenderly.
“I just want to see you all better. More than anything.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead again, more slowly this time.
He opened his eyes and looked into hers, hovering just above him. “You wouldn’t take advantage of a man who couldn’t move, would you?”
She smiled. “Not unless he wanted me to.”
He moved his hand to the back of her head and gently brought her close, until they were kissing. His head spun with the drugs and the pleasure of a sensation that wasn’t pain.
Later, he had a quiet word with Nurse Clare, ensuring that—from now on—he wouldn’t be disturbed during his assistant’s visits.
Ana
Took me three hours to get through security at JFK,” said Terri, who was just back from New York. “Everyone there’s jumpy as a flea on a bouncy castle.”
“A what?” said Ana.
“Sorry, metaphor fail. Jet lag.”
A few weeks ago, the world had been rocked by the terrorist attack on New York’s Twin Towers, and Londoners were on edge again too. Bomb threats were a normal part of life, but IRA attacks had dwindled, and since the Good Friday Agreement, people had finally dared hope for a lasting peace. Now it was back to bomb alerts and loop messages about unattended baggage.
