Mistaken Mistress

“We’ll wait.” Eden spoke for the first time. “We couldn’t possibly leave.”

But Owen wanted desperately to detain them. “Lang,” he called, his voice weak and slurred.

“Go now,” Sister said. “You’re disturbing the patient.”

“I think he wants to tell me something.” Lang started to move back towards Owen but Sister stepped with authority between them.

“If you don’t mind.” She lifted a hand to signal a medical attendant who wheeled Owen away.

He sat Eden in the waiting room, a cup of coffee in hand before he put through a call to Owen’s home from the privacy of the empty corridor. He had spoken to the Carter housekeeper initially, not filling her in before he had a chance to speak to Delma, but he had left the message for Delma to ring him on his mobile the moment she got in. The housekeeper sensing something was wrong had apologised profusely for not knowing exactly where Mrs. Carter had gone. Mrs. Carter was a busy lady, sometimes she forgot to say.

It seemed an age before Delma’s call came through. He saw the girl’s eyes as he left the waiting room again. She seemed to know intuitively this was Owen’s wife.

Delma didn’t take the news calmly. She was a volatile woman, her cries so despairing they echoed quite stridently over the phone line. It was as though Owen couldn’t possibly pull through. He tried his very best to reassure her but in the end had to fall back on telling her he would ring the instant they had news.

“That was upsetting?” The girl’s eyes flew to his as he took a chair beside her. They were alone. Another couple had been there, but they had left.

He nodded, not surprised by her perceptiveness. “That was Delma. She’s quite distraught.”

“She loves him,” the girl said as though that explained it. As indeed it did.

“I couldn’t convince her she will see him again.” He thrust an agitated hand through his hair.

“It must be terrible to be so far away.”

That incited his retort. “Would you have risked being here had Delma been in the city?”

She looked undismayed. “Of course. But then Owen would have made things clear.”

“That’s childish talk,” he answered, and shook his head. “You truly believe Delma, his wife, would just walk away? Miss Sinclair, you don’t know her. I wouldn’t care to see Delma humbled and humiliated. She wouldn’t react with quiet dignity. She’d turn into a tigress before your eyes. I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. Certainly for her son, Owen’s heir.”

“Tell me about him,” she invited, speaking in a gentle tranced tone. Perhaps she was in shock. “Robbie. Roberto?” She longed to say “my little brother, my half brother,” but she had given her word to Owen he would be the one to break their grand news.

“My godson,” he said with deliberate irony. “I have another. My sister, Georgia’s, boy, Ryan. Both boys are of an age. Why do you want to know?” He allowed his eyes to move over her face, feature by feature, almost dividing it up into segments like a painter. Above and beyond the physical perfection of her features was a quality that gave her real power. Sensitivity? Mystery? Refinement? Maybe it was all three.

“I want to know everything about Owen,” she said. “He’s told me so much but you have a different perspective. Certainly of me.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked with heavy emphasis. “Owen has a wife yet he’s obsessed with you.”

“Obsessions aren’t uncommon.”

“Especially with women like you.”

Tension fairly crackled in the air around them. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I’m like?” she invited, not avoiding his lancing gaze, but suddenly challenging it.

“I have no desire to make you unhappier than you are.” He kept his voice toneless. “You realise Delma will be flying down to Brisbane?”

“I’m surprised she’s not already on a plane.”

“Then don’t be surprised at all the complications. I assume you’re not going quietly?”

What else could she say? “Owen wants me here,” she answered gravely, almost certain Owen, facing surgery and unsure of the outcome for all the surgeon’s reassurances, had been about to divulge their “secret” when Sister intervened.

The surgeon in his operating greens, made an appearance much sooner than either of them had anticipated. His expression, as was the case with so many doctors dealing with life and death on a day-to-day basis, was austere.

“Oh God!” Eden gave a soft moan, every muscle in her body contracting. She wanted to believe everything was all right, but she was still traumatized by the death of her mother. She would never get over those shock moments when Redmond Sinclair, bone-white, had come to her office to give her the catastrophic news the police had found the wreck of her mother’s car. Cassandra was dead. Now Eden breathed in and out fighting off dread.

“It’s too early, isn’t it?” She appealed to this hard, strong, commanding man, Lang Forsyth, but he, too, looked like he was preparing himself for bad news. “What’s it been?”

“An hour ten.” A V-shaped cleft formed itself between his definite brows.

They were both on their feet, both persuaded the relatively short duration of the operation might mean the worst.

“He must go on living. He must. He can’t die.” Eden didn’t realise she was muttering aloud. Finding her father had given her own life meaning. She couldn’t lose him now. Her distress communicated itself to Lang at an intense level. He found himself putting a supportive arm around her, encircling her slender body. At the same time he felt a deep thrust of desire within him which he didn’t much welcome. It was dangerous, even shameful. The odd part was she leaned into him for all the world like she trusted him utterly. It was as if they were friends. But then she was desperate for comfort and support from anywhere. Even from him.

Only when the surgeon reached them did he give a brief but illuminating smile. He shook hands first with Lang, then Eden. “I’m happy to tell you everything went well.” He eyed them almost cheerfully. “Mr. Carter is a remarkably fit man. His heart is strong. We’ve repaired the internal injuries, stopped the bleeding. Orthopaedics will be looking at the collarbone. As you saw, he has some fairly extensive facial and chest abrasions, but they will heal. He’s been taken to the recovery room. You can see him for a few moments when he regains consciousness.”

The relief was enormous. Eden could feel the swoosh of blood through her veins. “I’ve got so much time to make up.” She spoke with deep gratitude. “So has Owen. Now our whole world can expand.”

He looked at her with disbelief. Keeping his tone level was a physical effort. “I wonder if you’ll say the same a year from now?” he asked soberly. “I’m not sure I could be happy walking over other people to achieve it. I know it happens all the time but these are my friends.”

His tone though quiet all but savaged her. Eden felt if she couldn’t speak out soon she’d become unstuck. Thank God, Owen would be able to make things abundantly clear very soon. She wanted to wipe away Lang Forsyth’s deep concerns. She wanted to be free of that daunting stare. She wanted to come out with the truth.

I’m Owen’s long-lost daughter. Just like in a work of fiction. I’m the daughter he never laid eyes on until six months ago. Only she knew Owen was set on revealing the whole story to his friend, rather than her.

Once more, Eden watched Lang Forsyth walk away to make his phone call to Owen’s wife. She’d thought many times over the past months Owen could have told his wife of her existence. The fact he hadn’t made her wonder anew about the state of their marriage. If the marriage was strong, she had a chance of being accepted. If the marriage was rocky Owen’s wife wouldn’t want any reminders of her husband’s past love right under her nose. In his exultation at finding her Owen appeared to have given little, if any, thought to the repercussions on his marriage. And what of young Robbie, his father’s heir? He mightn’t want a ready-made grown-up sister. One, moreover, to whom his father found no difficulties with demonstrating his love. Eden knew intuitively many problems lay ahead. All of them were merely human with human faults.

Eventually they were allowed to go to Recovery where they found Owen conscious despite his facial lacerations, looking better than they’d thought, but as expected, very groggy.

“How’s it going?” Lang bent over his friend, showing his relief and affection.

“Fine, pal.” Owen tried hard to sound normal but even for Owen the feat was beyond him. “Thanks for everything, Lang. I owe you so much. Where’s my beautiful girl?”

“Here, Owen.” Eden went forward, as she did so, the expression on Owen’s face almost embarrassing in its exclusion of the rest of the world.

Eden looked like she desperately wanted to hug him. She was half crying, her eyes for Owen alone.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Owen was imploring, his voice hurting but boundlessly tender.

Lang found once more he had to turn away. This was all too damned disturbing. It was going to alter lives. He knew, too, when he was beaten. Delma, God help her, had yet to find out.

In a little space of time they were ushered out. Owen was in no condition for more than a few words, though by sheer force of will he brought up his arm to wave at them as they moved through the door.

In the corridor Lang turned to look down at her. Tears were sliding silently down her face, yet she looked radiant. It was fascinating to see and it was driving him crazy.

He still had the use of the hire-car. It was parked in the leafy street, a short stroll from the hospital entrance.

“Your overnight bag is in the car,” he reminded her as they walked down the driveway. “I have time to drive you home.” Some knight, he thought. She was evoking such strange contradictory emotions in him; he had to fall back on simple good manners.