Night Fires

The older woman shook her head. ‘Go on,’ she said gently. ‘Get back to your patient before he wakes and finds his nurse gone. Here,’ she added, plucking a rose from the vase beside her, ‘give him this on his breakfast tray.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Just be sure and tell him it’s from me.’

Outside, the sun beat down as if determined to make up for the recent days of poor weather. The early morning streets were unusually crowded as people gathered to begin the long holiday celebration.

Gabrielle almost regretted running this morning. When she’d awakened, she’d dressed automatically in shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes, but by the time she went down to check on James she’d begun to think about cancelling the run. Driving to the shop would be quicker.

But then she’d quietly pushed open his door and looked into the room. James had been lying on his belly, naked to where the blanket lay tangled across his hips. One leg—the injured one—was thrust out, tan against the white sheet. Pale sunlight dappled his skin, dusting his flesh with gold.

Her mouth had gone dry. Quickly, she’d stepped back into the hall and pulled the door shut. And then she’d scribbled a hasty note and let herself quietly out of the house, hoping that running would bring back her sense of equilibrium.

She wasn’t naive. She had attended an exclusive girls’ day school. Her classmates were the daughters of wealthy men—bankers, lawyers, politicians—some of whose photos hung on Uncle Tony’s walls.

‘Respectable people,’ he’d said with a throaty laugh as he wrote out the first tuition cheque and handed it to her father. ‘Nothing’s too good for our Gabriella, hey, Giovanni?’

The school prided itself on protecting its young charges from the real world. But its curriculum was thoroughly modern. Even the health classes offered the most up-to- date texts and films, and her teacher had been frank to the point of embarrassment.

‘Your body readies itself slowly—we’re more fortunate than men when it comes to such things. A knowledgeable young woman can never be rushed into something she’ll later regret.’

It had all sounded reasonable, if somewhat mechanical.

And it had proved accurate. Gabrielle had dated— a classmate’s brother, a couple of boys she’d met at school dances, a few of the men at work—and she’d always had the time and the will to push away from their goodnight kisses before they deepened. The kisses, and the furtive touches of their hands, had been pleasant at best, but never anything more.

That wasn’t the way things had been last night. Reason had fled while she was in James’s arms, and there’d certainly been nothing slow about her body’s reactions. Desire had been a white-hot flame, burning out of control. Gabrielle had dreamed about those moments all night, and then this morning, seeing him asleep…

She stumbled over a crack in the pavement. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why hadn’t she telephoned home from the shop? Waking James at a discreet distance would have been sensible. Well, it wasn’t too late. The bakery was just ahead. She’d order coffee and the cakes, and while the clerk was filling the order she’d call James. There was a public phone just outside the shop…

… which was out of order. So much for her clever scheme, Gabrielle thought a little while later as she let herself quietly into the still silent house, the bakery bag clutched in her arms. She started to ease the door shut, then thought better of it and let it slam like a clap of thunder. She waited, heart racing. But the hall filled with silence.

She sighed as she walked into the kitchen. The juice and note were on the counter, untouched. All right, she’d make coffee and put the cakes in a warm oven. Maybe the smells of breakfast would awaken James. If not, she’d shower: the plumbing in the house was venerable and moaned and gurgled with age. If all that noise didn’t do the trick, well, then she’d have no choice but to awaken him.

She worked quickly, measuring the coffee and pouring boiling water through it, setting out a basket for the cakes. Every now and then, she lifted her head and listened for sounds from the spare room, but there weren’t any, and gradually her disappointment at his not being awake turned to worry.

Suppose James was ill? Suppose he had a fever? Suppose he’d got up while she was out and fallen?

Her heart tripped. Something terrible might have happened to him and here she was, hiding in the kitchen. Quickly, she hurried down the hall.

His door was still shut. Carefully, holding her breath, she opened it and looked inside the room.

James seemed to be sleeping soundly. He was lying on his back, both arms thrown above his head, his chest rising and falling steadily. Gabrielle’s gaze moved swiftly over the patches of dark hair in his armpits, to the mat of it across his chest, then to the flat ridges of muscle in his abdomen. A shadowy arrow led down from his navel, dipping below the blanket that lay across his groin.

‘James?’ Her whisper hung in the still air. She cleared her throat. ‘James?’ Her voice was louder this time, but he didn’t move.

What now? The answer was obvious. Now, she had to cross the room to his side, put her hand on his arm, touch him…

‘No!’

She started, shocked by the raw sound of his voice. The word sounded as if it had been torn from his throat.

‘No,’ he cried again. His eyes were closed tight, his face contorted. Suddenly, his arms shot into the air, his hands closing on something unseen. ‘Gabrielle. Gabrielle!’

She reached him just as he sat up abruptly, his back against the headboard.

‘James. James, wake up,’ she said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

His eyes opened. His stare was empty and unfocused. Then, as she said his name again, he turned towards her and his gaze steadied.

‘

‘Gabrielle?’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘It’s all right, James. You just had a bad dream.’

He stared at her, then ran his hand through his hair, pushing the dark locks back from his brow.

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s still early. How does your knee feel?’

James shifted his leg free of the sheet. ‘I think the swelling’s gone down. Why don’t you check?’

Later, she wanted to say, I’ll check later, when you’re out of bed and safely in the kitchen, when you’re dressed, when my heart isn’t skittering so crazily.

But the innocent look on his face couldn’t hide the laughter in his eyes. He was teasing her, and she was determined not to give away anything more than she already had.

‘I’ll be glad to.’

James let go of her wrist and she leaned forward and gently began unwrapping the bandage that covered his knee. She tried not to touch him, but it was impossible not to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. Her hand shook as she pulled the last of the bandage away—and then the sight of his swollen, discoloured knee drove everything else from her mind.

The memory of that single moment in the car the .day before, when she’d looked at him and wondered if his pain was really as bad as it had seemed, rose in her throat like bile.

‘Oh, James,’ she whispered, ‘it looks awful.’ Her eyes met his. ‘It must hurt something fierce.’

He put his hand to her cheek. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said softly. ‘It always loo

ks a hell of a lot worse than it feels.’

‘Are you sure? Did you use the ice pack I gave you last night? Let me refill it and get you some aspirin. Let

me call the hospital and ask ’

‘Gabrielle, I’m fine, really.’ Her eyes spoke her doubt, and he smiled. ‘Watch,’ he said, and in one swift motion he swung his legs to the floor, the sheet falling carelessly across his loins.

His face paled beneath his tan. Gabrielle put her hand on his arm.

‘You’re pushing things. Stay in bed for a while. I’ll bring your breakfast to you.’

‘No.’ His voice was hard; he drew a breath, then let it out slowly. ‘No,’ he repeated, this time with a tight smile. ‘The best thing is exercise. If I baby it, my knee will just freeze up.’

‘Are you sure?’ ‘

He nodded. ‘What I need is coffee. The smell of it’s driving me crazy.’

His colour was returning. Still, Gabrielle hesitated. ‘Can you get yourself dressed?’.

James laughed. ‘What would you do if I said I couldn’t?’

She felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, but she met his gaze. ‘I’d call my neighbour,’ she said evenly. ‘Miss Toner is seventy years old, but she’d be glad to help.’

He grinned. ‘We’ll let Miss Toner off this time. I’ll manage by myself. I think I’ll even try the shower.’

‘Just be careful, James. Please.’

He nodded as he wrapped the sheet around him and knotted it at the hip. ‘If you’d just hand me those crutches—that’s it.’ He stood up carefully. ‘Stop looking so worried. I promise, I won’t slip and drown.’

Gabrielle smiled. ‘You’d better not. I can just see myself trying to explain that to Nurse Ramrod.’

James’s laughter echoed after her as she walked from the room and closed the door after her. It was an infectious sound, and by the time she climbed the stairs to the next floor and her own room she was laughing too.

It was the first time she’d begun the day with laughter in longer than she could remember.