The Last Time I Saw Venice

Annabel glanced round, expecting to see a fellow delegate of Tom’s from his orthopedics conference. She froze, her eyes flaring in shocked dismay. The last person she’d expected to see was Simon Pacino! How did Tom know him?

As Simon’s gaze flicked to hers, she saw her own shock mirrored in the blue of his eyes—only maybe without the same dismay. More surprise, bemusement, than dismay.

“You already know each other?” Tom eyed them uncertainly—maybe because of their obvious shock and the fact that neither was smiling.

“We met earlier today, in St. Mark’s Square,” came Annabel’s quick reply. “By accident.”

“We knew each other back in Australia,” Simon said deliberately. “Only we lost touch. She’s living in London now.”

Annabel tensed, willing him not to say more. He didn’t…for the time being, at least.

“Well…old friends. That’s great.” Tom, sensing some tension, didn’t push it. “This is my wife Tessa,” he said, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Simon, summoning his familiar lopsided smile for the first time—a smile that twisted Annabel’s heart, making her wonder if he’d ever again smile like that for her—skirted the table to shake Tessa’s hand. “And this must be…your new baby,” he said when he saw the baby beside her.

Annabel held her breath. Had Simon recognized the baby from this afternoon? Fast asleep and bundled up in different blankets, with only her tiny face visible, would he be able to tell?

“Our baby daughter Gracie,” Tom said proudly from behind. “Take a seat, Simon. Here, between the two ladies.”

As the men settled into their places, Annabel gulped in some much needed breaths of air. Was Simon wondering where her baby was? And where her so-called lover was? Any minute now, she expected him to ask if her baby’s father would be joining them—or if he was remaining upstairs to babysit while she was down here socializing! Husbands and wives often did cooperate that way. Wistfully, she recalled the evenings when she’d had a legal function or dinner meeting to attend and Simon had babysat Lily. Or the evenings when she’d minded Lily while he was operating throughout the night. Busy as they’d both been, mutual give-and-take had made their marriage work.

A marriage without a lasting, solid base…as time had shown.

Oh, this was a nightmare! How was she going to survive dinner, making polite conversation with an estranged husband who thought she was tied up with another man and already had a new baby? An unplanned baby…

History repeating itself, he must be thinking, and hating her for it. But then, he hated her already. In their last painful weeks together, even on the few occasions they’d had sex, there’d been no comforting words of love, no whispers of forgiveness or understanding, none of the old intimacy they’d once shared. Not since he’d lost his precious Lily. Her precious Lily, too…

“Well, this is amazing,” Tom said, rather too jovially. “Fancy all of us meeting up here in Venice, after all this time! Simon and I studied medicine together, you know. We were at Melbourne Uni together, and haven’t seen each other since. We both have lots to catch up on. But first, tell us about yourself, Annabel. What brings you to Venice?”

The last thing she wanted was for the focus to be on her. Luckily, the arrival of a drink waiter gave her a moment’s reprieve, a chance to put her chaotic thoughts in some sort of order. As they ordered drinks, she could feel Simon’s eyes boring into her face, sense him waiting for her answer.

“Okay, Annabel,” said Tom, after they’d raised their glasses and sipped dutifully. “You have the floor.”

She managed a smile, urging herself to keep her answer light and brief. “I’ve had time off work with pneumonia,” she said. “I’m better now, but my law firm refused to let me come back until I took a short break away from London. The weather’s been really foul there lately.” She shrugged. “That’s about it. The minute I heard it was sunny and warm in Venice, I headed here.”

Maybe she’d been searching for something more than just sun and warmth. Redemption, maybe. Peace. Hoping that the memories of her first visit to Venice, when she and Simon had met and had such a blissful time together, might have given some balm to her soul, reminding her that they’d been happy together…once. She needed some happy memories…not only of their carefree romance in Venice, but happy memories of their daughter, too…memories of the short, beautiful time they’d had her. Memories to cherish.

So much for finding peace or salvation in sunny Venice! Simon’s unexpected arrival and the hostile confrontation that had followed had shattered any soothing calm she might have found here. Stung by his bitter attack on her, she’d let him believe his ready assumption that she’d found another man…that she’d had another man’s baby, for heaven’s sake. As if they didn’t have enough real issues to deal with!

“You didn’t bring your baby with you, Annabel?” Simon asked her, his gaze pinning hers so that she could catch the ominous glint in his eye.

Her heart dipped. He wanted to confront her now, in front of Tessa and Tom? He’d be asking her about her phantom lover next! If they’d been alone, she might have been tempted to string out the elaborate fiction a bit longer, as a self-protective mechanism, but with witnesses here, she knew she would have to come clean.

“Baby?” Tessa looked at her in confusion.

Annabel sighed, resigned to the inevitable, but needing to take another quick breath before answering. She didn’t want to talk about babies, fictitious or otherwise. It might lead to painful revelations about her own lost baby. Our baby, she corrected herself, sliding another veiled glance at Simon. He wouldn’t say anything about their daughter if she didn’t.

“The baby you saw me with this afternoon was Tessa’s.” Her voice caught a little, as it always did when she had to say the word baby. “I was minding Gracie while Tessa did some shopping.” She waved a hand in the direction of the sleeping baby in the capsule on the floor. “Didn’t you recognize her?” she asked, trying to make light of it, even managing a teasing note.

She was relieved when Simon’s gaze swiveled round, away from her. “Babies look different when they’re hidden in blankets, fast asleep,” was all he said. If he felt any anger at her subterfuge, or any triumph at her forced confession—or any relief—he wasn’t showing it, his tone coolly impassive.

She drew in another fractured breath. At least he hadn’t said, All babies look alike. But then Simon wouldn’t. Not after having a baby daughter of his own. Losing a much loved baby of his own. Emotion welled up inside her, and she grabbed at the menu like a life-line.

Even with her nose buried in the menu, she could feel Simon’s probing gaze on her. Finally, risking a glance up, ready to defy any condemnation she saw in his eyes, she was surprised to see a glimmer of concern in the piercing blue, when he had good reason to be gloating at catching her out. She felt a shivery tremor run through her.

“Well, what are we going to have to eat?” Tom asked cheerily, and the awkward moment passed.

Over their meal, Tom kept the conversational ball rolling with tales of knee operations and amputated legs, and how he’d met Tessa while she was working as a physiotherapist and how he’d proposed to her within weeks. By the time their dessert arrived, the wine had loosened Tom’s tongue enough for him to risk getting personal again and quizzing Simon about his life.

“Enough about us…tell us about your brilliant career, Simon. I don’t doubt it has been brilliant. You were always so determined to be the best in your field one day. You must be a top neurosurgeon by now.”

“Actually, I gave up neurosurgery eighteen months ago,” came the cool response. As Annabel’s head snapped back in shock, Simon, in the same impassive tone, explained. “I damaged my hand and couldn’t operate. I worked as a neurologist while I was having treatment, then took a year off to sail around the world.”

The room spun. Annabel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Simon, the dedicated, hardworking neurosurgeon, unable to operate? Being forced to give up neurosurgery? Her heart went out to him. It was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. He’d devoted his life to it.

She’d once asked him why he’d decided on neurosurgery, wondering what had motivated such a demanding choice of career. Knowing little about him at the time, she’d assumed it must have been the money, or the prestige, or even a secret passion for fancy cars and the good life. But his answer, when it eventually came, had shown he hadn’t done it for himself at all.

“My mother died of a brain tumor. The doctors couldn’t save her, even though it was operable.” He’d shown no emotion, no anger, no resentment, clearly well-practiced at hiding his feelings. “We couldn’t afford the best neurosurgeon…we had to make do with the specialist chosen for us. He was…inexperienced and inadequate. I swore the day my mother died that I was going to study medicine when I finished school, then specialize in neurosurgery and become the top brain surgeon in the country. It was too late for my mother,” he’d added heavily, “but hopefully I could help others with a similar need for the best skills and care.”

And he’d succeeded brilliantly, despite the fact that he’d had to do it entirely on his own. His father had walked out on his family when Simon was only seven, and he’d had no brothers or sisters or other family support. He’d never given her a reason for his father leaving home, always withdrawing and closing up when she asked about that obviously painful time in his life.

Simon had always found it hard to open up, even to her, she mused with a tug of regret. He’d kept his emotions and past hurts locked away somewhere deep inside him. Even when Lily died, at a time when she’d most needed his support, and he’d most needed hers, he’d shut himself off from her. She’d known he was silently condemning her for what had happened to Lily, for letting the accident happen—just as she’d blamed herself, and still did. He’d thrown himself even deeper into his demanding surgical work, the one thing left that meant something to him. That meant everything.

And now, apparently, he’d lost that, too

She ran sympathetic eyes over his right hand as it curled round his wine glass, then over his other hand resting on the table—the hands she’d once longed to feel on her body—noting the long, sensitive surgeon’s fingers that had healed so many. Both hands looked fine to her. As they must be by now if he’d been able to sail around the world for the past year.

Sail! She’d never known Simon to sail a boat before.

She had so much she wanted to ask him! But she could sense him retreating again, could read the signs she’d come to know so well. And perhaps it was just as well. She didn’t want to ask him personal questions in front of Tom and Tessa, two people she barely knew. Yet she did want to ask him…sometime. Which meant she would have to see him again.

But would he want to see her?

“So…what have you all seen of Venice so far?” Leaning back in his chair, Simon deftly changed the subject, shifting the focus away from himself. As he’d been doing from the day she’d first met him, she thought wistfully, seldom opening up fully, never telling her more than he thought she needed to know. Or more than he wanted her to know.

She had a feeling there was something in his past— long before she’d met him—that was secretly tormenting him, and she suspected it might have something to do with his father, who’d walked out on his family when Simon was barely seven years old. She remembered asking him once if he’d ever tried to seek out his father, a man he hadn’t seen or heard of in all the years since, and his answer had been harsh and unequivocal. “No, and I never will. My father is dead as far as I’m concerned.”

Simon, when badly hurt by something, or somebody, could be a closed, hard, unforgiving man, she’d concluded sadly when he’d shut her out as well after Lily died.

Tom and Tessa, sensing Simon’s reluctance to talk about his changed circumstances and loath to probe any deeper, leapt at the chance to talk about Venice’s many attractions. Soon they were all talking at once, swapping notes and suggesting places the others simply must see.

The magic of Venice had come to the rescue. Just as Simon, diving into the Grand Canal like a wildly romantic, heroic Italian Romeo, had come to her rescue once, Annabel mused, a pensive smile curving her lips.

Simon saw Annabel’s smile and wondered if she was thinking back, too, remembering the day they’d first met, when she’d fallen overboard and he’d jumped into the Grand Canal to save her, sweeping her into his arms and pulling her out of the water…a flowing-haired, dripping water-nymph with the most wondrous green eyes he’d ever seen.

A touch of cynicism quirked his lip. It was more likely she was wondering why he was here now and how she could avoid seeing any more of him. She’d already tried her best to get rid of him by letting him believe she’d had another man’s child. Thank God, it hadn’t been true. If he hadn’t reacted so violently to seeing her with a strange baby, hadn’t hurled those bitter accusations at her, maybe she would have told him the truth from the start.

Now that they’d both had time to cool down a bit and at least had that complication out of the way, he’d be wise to curb his impatience and give her time to adjust to having him back in her life. Or if not in her life, at least to seeing more of him.