Reunited...in Paris!

Hi, Heart Lady. Why are you in a hospital? Aren’t you coming home?

He should be sound asleep at this hour. Dean’s mother would be growling at her for disturbing her son. It would be after midnight back in New Zealand. Her smile turned to worry. Was Dean having sleep issues again? Before she’d operated he’d always been exhausted and yet unable to sleep well. She replied.

Of course I’m coming home. I want to see you again. Do you have a message for Maelee?

Tell her to be brave and that she’s going to get better soon, like me.

After passing on Dean’s message, Tori followed Marc out of the ward to discuss tomorrow’s surgery. ‘Why did it take so long for Maelee to get specialist treatment?’

‘Her mother ignored the signs, and it wasn’t until Maelee became ill at school one day that the nurse picked up on her breathing and heart rhythm. The faulty valve is congenital due to the mother having had rubella during her pregnancy.’

‘The mother didn’t follow up on getting her baby checked after birth?’

Marc shook his head. ‘She says she did, but Maelee’s symptoms didn’t present until she was nearly five.’

The child should’ve been monitored right from birth, but not knowing the full details of the case Tori didn’t say a word. Anyway, it was more likely the mother hadn’t been vigilant than the health system failing Maelee. ‘I’ll see her when I visit John in the afternoon,’ Tori told Marc. ‘If you’re happy with that,’ she added hurriedly.

‘Very happy. Merci.’

Tori headed back to Intensive Care, but before going in she sent an email to her clinic head nurse.

I’m concerned about Dean. Seems he might not be sleeping properly. I’d like you to arrange for him to come in for a check-up with Conrad ASAP.

Conrad had joined her clinic six months ago for post-grad work and was talking about moving to England when the year was up. Tori didn’t want him to go as he’d become such an asset to the clinic. His medical skills were invaluable and the children adored his jokes and games.

She sighed. Get over it. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known he’d be moving on. But having to take on yet another new, and most likely temporary, doctor always had everyone on edge for the first few days. In some cases, first few weeks. Not that she could fault Conrad’s thinking. He wanted to get as much experience under his belt as possible before settling into a full-time practice. Another sigh trickled over her lips.

‘What’s with all the sighing?’ Ben asked from behind her.

Tori almost leapt off the floor, she’d been so engrossed in her thoughts about home. Home—the clinic really was her home. She mightn’t have a bed of her own or a wardrobe there, but she spent most hours of the day and night in the place. Just like old times. She hadn’t cut back on those hideous hours at all, instead using them to hide from reality. Shock rippled through her. She didn’t have a life outside work.

‘Tori, have I grown a wart on my nose?’ Ben chided.

Shaking away the revelation that had slammed into her, she said, ‘Just keeping tabs on a patient back home.’ She explained to Ben about the email and Dean, ignoring the bouncing exclamation in her head... You don’t have a life other than as a cardiologist. You don’t have a life other than as a cardiologist. What had she been saying? Patient. Dean. Tori then mentioned Conrad. ‘He’s too good to let go, but I can’t find the incentive needed to keep him with us permanently.’

‘It’s not unusual for newly qualified residents to head overseas for work experience,’ Ben agreed. ‘Have you thought of offering him a place for when he returns?’

‘Tried that, thinking I could lock him into one year away, but he’s reluctant to tie himself down. I’m being silly. It’s not like I have trouble getting doctors to work with us.’

‘But you hate change.’ Ben grinned.

Laughter bubbled up, banishing her despondency. ‘You haven’t forgotten anything, have you?’

His grin widened as he rolled his eyes. ‘Why can’t we go to the movies on Sunday afternoon, Tori?’ Then he mimicked her. ‘I like going on Saturdays, that’s why. It’s what I’m used to.’

She flicked his arm with the back of her hand. ‘I never.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Okay, maybe I did like routine, but movies only on Saturdays? I don’t think so.’

‘In the interests of not having an argument I will resist the temptation to remind you of other similar...’ he flicked fingers in the air ‘...routines we lived by and instead will invite you to join me for a walk through the old city area. I hear there’s lots of wonderful art and antiques there.’

‘You got me.’ Then she hesitated. ‘What about John? Is Rita back?’

‘John’s sleeping and Rita’s happy, sitting with him.’ Ben took her hand in his and turned them in the direction of the elevators. ‘Let’s go and find you some old art thing to take home for your apartment.’

‘Old art thing? Very classy, Mr Wells.’ But she had been intending to look at the antiques in the hope of finding a piece of porcelain to add to her growing collection.

‘Absolutely, Tori.’ His fingers squeezed hers gently.

At least he hadn’t said Mrs Wells. She should pull away from his hand. Would do so in a minute. But not just yet. It had been too long since she’d had physical contact with Benji—she wouldn’t count a kiss and a few other touches over the last few days—and she was learning how much she’d missed that. Not that she hadn’t known, of course she had, but to touch him, have his hand in hers brought back memories of other intimacies. Intimacies she’d enjoyed. All this from a hand touch. Yes, Benji was getting to her—again.

His name is Ben. Ben, not Benji. Sure. Of course.

* * *

‘I love that one.’ Tori pointed to an urn tucked in the corner of a shop two hours later. ‘I want to buy it.’

Ben stared at the nearly four-foot-tall urn and shook his head. ‘Of course you do. Have you booked a spare seat on the plane?’

‘Don’t be difficult.’ But it wouldn’t be the easiest thing to get home. Not only big, but fragile to boot. ‘I wonder if they package and deliver?’

‘The extra seat might be cheaper,’ Ben noted, even as he shifted a small chair to give her better access to her heart’s desire.

‘It’s beautiful.’ She sighed. Not the small piece of porcelain she’d been thinking of finding. ‘It’s going to look perfect in the entranceway.’ The multi shades of blue in the floral design would look stunning against the cream walls and the duck-egg-blue tiles of her foyer.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Ben was studying her urn. ‘I only hope it survives the trip.’ He headed to the man watching them from behind a wonderful carved wood counter and began trying to explain the situation.

Tori left him to it and sat on the chair to study the urn. Running her fingers lightly over the surface, she felt a thrill tingle up her spine. What an amazing souvenir to take home from France. If it was at all possible. Surely the shop owner would be used to sending his precious antiques all around the world? She’d be devastated if the urn arrived in pieces.

‘Seems anything is possible,’ Ben leaned down to tell her.

Turning her head, her eyes locked with his. ‘Truly? That’s wonderful.’ She should be looking away, but for the life of her she couldn’t drag her gaze from his twinkling caramel eyes. Eyes full of laughter and charm and— Love? For her? Couldn’t be. ‘Ben?’

/> He leaned closer, so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. Then his lips brushed her cheek, her mouth.

‘Madame, you want this urn to go to New Zealand?’

Tori jerked back and stared around to find the shop owner watching her with amusement. ‘Y-yes,’ she stuttered. ‘Is that possible?’

‘It is. It will be very expensive for the freight,’ the man told her.

‘I expected that.’

‘You haven’t asked how much this will all cost,’ Ben reminded her.

Too late. The man would have to be comatose not to see that she’d pay just about anything to have it, and was probably upping the price right then. ‘What’s the price of the urn?’ she asked anyway, because she did need to know sometime.

The man’s English was clear and precise and they soon reached agreement on the price and then arranged freight and the insurance to cover any mishap on the way.

Back out on the street Ben said, ‘I need a drink after that.’ He took her hand again—she was getting used to this and liking it—and tugged her across the road into a wine bar.

After ordering sparkling water for her and beer for himself, Ben settled onto the chair opposite her. ‘I thought you’d have moved out of that apartment once I’d gone.’

It’s where my memories of you were freshest at the time. Memories I needed to get through long and lonely days, and to remind myself we had been in love once.

Memories that had helped her through the post-miscarriage blues a little, and at other times had dragged her down even deeper. ‘It was in the perfect location and had everything I’d always wanted for my home so I had no reason to sell and move.’

The fact Ben had left her was more than enough reason, according to her friends, and they’d never understood why she’d hung on to the place. Sometimes when she’d been struggling to come to terms with his departure she’d questioned herself, had once gone as far as making an appointment with a real estate salesperson, which she’d cancelled at the last minute. She hadn’t needed the added stress of selling, finding another home and moving.