The Unexpected Consequences of Love (29 page)

Tubes.

Tubes everywhere, so many of them, coming out of Lawrence's mouth, disappearing into his veins, delivering oxygen and liquids and medication and monitoring his vital signs.

Dot's legs began to tremble again at the sight of him. Josh dragged a chair up behind her and she collapsed onto it, her heart hammering with terror at the sight of so much technology.

But Lawrence was still breathing, still alive. He'd been rushed here this morning, to the Terence Lewis Building at Derriford Hospital in Plymouth. It was the cardiothoracic center of excellence for the southwest, and if anyone could get him through this, it was the staff here.

“You okay?” Josh murmured, keeping his arm around her.

Dot nodded, her mouth dry. At midday she'd been standing on the steps of the Sacré Coeur, gazing out over the city and thinking how happy she was with Antoine. Since then, she'd flown from Paris into Heathrow and traveled by train down to the south coast of Cornwall, to be met at the station by Josh. It had felt like the longest journey of her life, from sunny Montmartre to the cardiac surgery intensive care unit in gray, rain-soaked Plymouth.

“He's very poorly,” the doctor told them, “but we're doing everything we can. And he's through the surgery, which is good.”

It was good. It was also a pretty idiotic thing to say. The doctor looked too young to be allowed anywhere near a patient on his own; he hardly looked old enough to ride a moped.

Oh well, hopefully he knew what he was doing, had a few qualifications under his belt.

“A quadruple bypass,” said Dot. “It just sounds so terrifying, so…major.”

“At least he got to us in time.” The doctor—a surgeon, presumably—nodded at Josh. “Thanks to this one here.”

Dot nodded helplessly. Josh had already told her about Lawrence's call this morning, asking him to phone the doctor when he had a moment and see if he could be seen at some stage today. The moment Josh had heard the words
chest
pain
, he'd hung up, called for an ambulance, jumped into his car, and raced over to Lawrence's flat. With Lawrence unable to get out of bed, Josh had kicked down the door just in time to let the paramedics pile in.

Another couple minutes, apparently, and Lawrence would have been dead.

Dot closed her eyes. It didn't bear thinking about.

Then again, the other thing that didn't bear thinking about was the fact that it could still happen.

He wasn't out of the woods yet.

***

It had been eight days since Lawrence's heart attack and subsequent surgery, but it was Marguerite's first visit. She paused at the entrance to the open-plan, state-of-the-art ward. This was exactly the kind of scene that could have featured in one of her books.

The once-philandering husband lying in his hospital bed.

The once-abandoned ex-wife sitting beside him, leaning forward and touching his arm. After more than ten years apart, they looked like a couple again.

And now: enter the new woman in this man's life, tall and striking, madly in love with him, and furiously jealous of the ex-wife now threatening to steal back his affections.

You could turn it into one of those
Fatal
Attraction
scenarios: threatened and spurned, the new woman in his life walks the length of the ward, managing a tight, polite smile for the benefit of the nursing staff as she passes them…then suddenly produces a kitchen knife from the depths of her Mulberry handbag…

Oh well, you got the idea. Something like that.

Anyway, best get this over with. Bracing herself, Marguerite moved away from the door and headed over to join them. God, how she hated hospitals: that nasty disinfectant smell, the unattractive decor, all the ill people needing constant looking after. So alien and uncomfortable and reminiscent of death.

The moment they spotted her, Dot guiltily slid her hand away from Lawrence's forearm and sat back in her chair. Lawrence nodded with a wary expression on his face and said, “Hello!”

“Well, look at you!” Marguerite cheerily dropped her Mulberry bag onto the other chair and maneuvered her way past an IV. She greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, holding her breath to avoid the hospitaliness of his skin. “I hear you're on the mend, which is excellent. Now, I
did
buy you flowers but apparently they aren't allowed on the ward so I've had to leave them in the car. I'll take them back home with me. But just so you know, the thought was there.”

“Thank you,” said Lawrence. “I'm sure they're lovely.”

“Well, they weren't cheap!” Oh dear, Riley was always telling her off for saying things like that, but she really couldn't help herself; sometimes these things just popped out. “And I've brought you one of my books, seeing as you've never read any of them.” She took a hefty hardback out of the bag and placed it on the Formica cabinet alongside his bed. “You really should give one a go.”

“Great.” He said it like a teenager being presented with a hand-knitted bobble hat by his gran.
Honestly, some men
.

“Sorry I haven't been able to get here before now, but I've been away on a book tour of South Africa.”

Lawrence nodded. “Yes, I remember. You told me you were going.”

“It went
very
well.” Marguerite realized she was talking about herself rather than asking him how he was, partly out of guilt, because she'd actually arrived back from Cape Town three days ago. “So anyway, how are
you
feeling?”

Lawrence shifted against the propped-up pillows. “Well, not wonderful. But I guess things could be a lot worse.” He glanced over at Dot, who was apparently engrossed in reading the get-well-soon cards on the wall behind his bed.

“Must have given you a scare when it happened,” said Marguerite.

“It did. I thought I was a goner.” He shrugged and briefly touched his chest, bruised and scarred but healing after the surgery. “Lucky to be here, I know that.”

Over a week had passed since it had happened. From her discussions with a doctor friend, Marguerite had learned that the danger period was now over; barring setbacks due to infection or clots, the prognosis should be good.

She looked at Lawrence. “Actually, would you mind if we left you for a few minutes? I'd really like a word with Dot, if that's okay. In private.”

Together they took the lift down to the ground floor and sat on a bench outside in the courtyard garden. Dot looked like a captured spy preparing to be interrogated and possibly shot.

“Have you been coming here every day?” Marguerite opened the proceedings.

“Yes.”

“Traveling down or staying here in Plymouth?” She already knew the answer to this one.

Dot's spine was as straight as a debutante's, her hands clasped together in her lap. “Staying. In a small B and B not far from here.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't bear not to be near him. Marguerite, I'm sorry if you're furious with me. I know you two were seeing each other and you probably think I have a damn nerve being here like this…but I can't help it.” Dot shook her head. “I just can't.”

After a pause, Marguerite said, “I hear you cut short your Paris trip.”

“I had to.”

“And how did the glamorous Antoine feel about that?”

“He wasn't tremendously impressed,” said Dot.

Nor had he returned to Cornwall, Marguerite knew that too.

“Is it over between the two of you now?”

“Yes.”

“And how about Lawrence? Do you love him?”

“Of course I do.” This time Dot didn't flinch. “With all my heart.” She exhaled and said again, “I'm so, so sorry.”

Marguerite shook her head. “Don't be. It's fine. Lawrence and I did our best to make it more, but we were only ever friends. If anything, I'm relieved to be off the hook. Looking after someone who's ill isn't my thing. Just don't have the patience. And I can't stand hospitals.” She smiled briefly. “So all in all, I'm glad you're here.”

“Oh, thank
goodness
.” Dot clapped a hand to her throat. “
Thank
you
. You'll never know how guilty I've been feeling. I didn't want you to feel…you know…”

“It's okay. Really. I'm happy for you.” Marguerite tilted her head. “But I have to admit, also a bit puzzled. Lawrence has been in love with you all along. Everyone knows that. You could have had him back any time you wanted.”

“I know.” Dot carefully smoothed her skirt over her knees. “But he broke my heart when he left. I was devastated, and there was Lawrence, madly in love and as happy as anything with Aurora. If she hadn't died, he might still be happy with her. But she did die. And it was Lawrence's turn to be devastated. Then, once he'd recovered from losing her, I saw the way his mind was heading. But I didn't want to be second best, option number two. And I still wanted to hurt him for doing what he'd done to me. Why should I make life easy for him? So I decided to punish him instead.” She paused, tipping her head back as if searching the sky for birds. Marguerite saw the glistening in her clear blue eyes and knew she was employing the tilt trick to stop the tears spilling out.

“Without realizing how much you were punishing yourself,” she said gently.

Unable to speak for a moment, Dot nodded. Then she swallowed and said, “Well, I did kind of know. But somehow it seemed worth it. Lawrence was always there, wanting me back and unable to have me. But then something like this happens”—she indicated the hospital—“and it just hits you, out of nowhere. He's the only man I've ever loved. What if he wasn't around any longer? We so nearly lost him. And the thought of that… Well, it would just be unbearable.” She managed a smile and a shrug. “So that's how it happened. I realized I couldn't punish him, or myself, anymore.”

“Well,” said Marguerite. “What can I say? I should put the two of you in a book.” Her gaze softened. “Lawrence must be happy about it.”

“He doesn't know yet. I haven't told him.”

“But you're staying here in Plymouth, visiting him every day. You left Antoine behind in Paris. He must have some sort of idea.”

“Who knows? He's a man; you can never be sure with them.” Dot looked mischievous. “If he does suspect, he's far too scared to ask.”

***

Marguerite made her way across the parking lot, wearing wraparound Dior dark glasses. Dot had headed back to Lawrence in his ward on the sixth floor. There had been no reason to go with her; the deed was done now. And she hadn't been lying when she'd told Dot she was happy for her. Because she
was
.

Thank God, here was the car, tucked out of the way in a corner. Marguerite's hand trembled slightly as she pressed the key to unlock the door.

It wasn't until she was in the driver's seat of the Mercedes that she felt safe enough to take off the sunglasses and bury her face in her hands. Hot tears dripped through her fingers, and her shoulders shook with the effort of not honking like a goose.

So much for having allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe, she and Lawrence might have stood a chance of happiness together.

It was never going to happen now. She'd known it the moment Riley had told her about Dot flying back from Paris.

When the outburst was over, Marguerite carefully wiped her face with a succession of tissues, cleaning away the mascara that had run into the wrinkles around her eyes, giving her the look of a centuries-old witch. Then she took out her makeup bag and painstakingly reapplied everything that had come off.

She might not have a man in her life—
again—
but there were still standards to maintain.

No more Lawrence, with whom she'd had such high hopes of building a proper relationship. It wasn't to be. Marguerite gave her mouth a final defiant slick of take-no-prisoners crimson lipstick.

Oh well, at least she still had her career, her fans, and her dignity. She'd wanted Lawrence and been found wanting in return. But no one would ever know.

“What are you thinking about now?”

It was evening, and visiting time was almost over. Dot looked at Lawrence and said, “Why?”

“That little smile on your face. I like it. I want to know what made you smile like that.”

“Okay, do I make something up or tell you the truth?”

“The truth.” Lawrence paused. “Although now you've said that, I'm a bit worried I might not like the answer.”

What
the
hell, go for it
. “I was thinking about the time you asked me to marry you.” As she said it, one of the nurses arrived to check on Lawrence's IV.

“Ooh, marriage proposals, lovely!” Rose was a cheery soul who loved to chat. “Was it wonderfully romantic?”

“He probably doesn't remember it,” said Dot. “It was over half a century ago.”

The nurse feigned dismay. “Oh, Lawrence, surely you haven't forgotten! Have you?”

“I remember,” said Lawrence. “I'm not that decrepit.”

“Go on then, tell me.” Rose beamed. “I'm all ears!”

Her ears
were
actually quite large and stuck out. For a split second Dot and Lawrence exchanged a glance, silently daring each other to smile.

“It was a Saturday evening.” Lawrence held up his arm, allowing Rose to get on with the task of unpeeling the tape holding one of the IV lines in place. “Started off sunny, then the sky clouded over as we were setting out. We'd been invited to a party at a friend's house and my car had broken down the day before, so we had to walk there instead. It was about five miles away, but that was okay. We could manage it, no problem.” Drily he added, “Back when we were young.”

“Wait,” said Rose. “I need to know. Had you planned the whole thing? I mean, did you have the ring with you?”

“No.” Lawrence shook his head. “We'd only known each other a few weeks. I knew I loved her, but that was as far as I'd gotten. So anyway, we'd walked a couple miles along the cliff path when it started to rain. And Dot was wearing a new dress. A yellow one.”

Dot, sitting at his bedside, couldn't believe he remembered the color of her dress.

“Pale yellow,” Lawrence elaborated. “With white daisies on it. And pockets on each side.”

“It was the sixties,” Dot explained to Rose. “Daisies and pockets were
very
popular back then.”

“When it started raining, she was worried about her dress getting wet, so I took off my jacket and let her wear it. But the rain came down harder. So then we tried to take a shortcut, leaving the cliff path and cutting across some fields. Which would have worked well if it hadn't been for the locked gate.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Rose was expertly retaping the IV line.

And now it was Lawrence's turn to smile. “I was helping Dot to climb over the gate. But she was wearing white, pointy-heeled shoes and she slipped on her way over the top bar. She went crashing down the other side, skidded, lost her balance, and ended up sitting in a puddle, splashed head to toe in mud. Well, that was it; I knew what girls were like when their new clothes got wrecked. I was just waiting for her to go ballistic.” He shook his head, evidently visualizing the scene. “But d'you know what? She started to laugh instead. And there was mud all over her face…and her dress…”

“And your jacket,” Dot added. “And you were still on the other side of the gate, looking
stunned…
”

“So then
I
climbed over the gate like a complete gentleman to haul her up. I grabbed hold of both her hands, and do you know what she did, Rose?” Lawrence raised an eyebrow at the nurse. “Instead of letting me help her get back on her feet, she
deliberately
pulled me down into the mud.”

“Nooo!” Rose was agog.

“I mean, what kind of a girl does that?” He shrugged helplessly. “She dragged me down with her and laughed and laughed, then she kissed me and rolled me around until we were both completely covered, then she kissed me again and I knew exactly what kind of a girl did that.” Lawrence's mouth twitched. “It was the kind I wanted to marry. So that was it; that was when I asked her. There and then.”

“In the mud and the rain,” said Dot.

“In an empty field.”

“And with our clothes ruined.”

“I couldn't have cared less.” Lawrence looked at Rose. “She said yes; that was all that mattered.”

“Ah, that's so lovely.” Rose was clasping her hands together in delight. “So you never did make it to the party.”

“Oh, we did.” Lawrence smiled. “We wanted to celebrate with our friends. Weren't going to let a bit of mud stop us.”

“They lent us a change of clothes,” said Dot. “Weird clothes, but at least they were dry.”

“They gave you a giant pair of dungarees,” Lawrence remembered. “And I had to wear a terrible pair of corduroy trousers. God, they were
purple
.” He threw his head back and laughed. “But we still had the most brilliant night.”

“We did,” Dot agreed. “Even if a couple people thought we were far too young to be thinking about getting married and said it would never last.”

“Ha, and you proved them wrong!” Rose beamed. “Look at the two of you now, fifty years later. Oh, I
love
stories like this. You give the rest of us hope; you really do!”

Dot opened her mouth to say,
Except
we
aren't married; we're divorced.
Then she met Lawrence's gaze and closed it again. Why do it? Why disappoint Rose and prompt the question that would mean explaining all over again why their happy marriage had ended in unhappy divorce?

Instead she smiled and said, “We just struck lucky, I guess.”

When Rose had finished and moved on to the next patient, Dot looked at her watch and said, “They're going to be kicking me out soon.”

“Yes.” Lawrence paused. “Thank you.”

“For what? The grapes?” Dot had eaten most of them herself. “Sorry about that. I'll bring some more tomorrow.”

“Never mind them. Thank you for everything. Just…everything.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Anyway, you should be heading off.”

To her lonely attic room back at the B and B. It was funny how a hospital ward, with all its bustle and chatter, could come to feel like home. She said, “I suppose I should.”

“Thanks for keeping me company. Again. And for not telling Rose the depressing truth.”

“Didn't have the heart to disappoint her.” Dot lightly touched his wrist. “I'm impressed, by the way, that you remembered what I was wearing when I fell over in the mud.”

“Just because I don't talk about things doesn't mean I don't remember them.” Lawrence shook his head. “I'll never forget anything about that night.”

Dot reached for his hand, curling her fingers between his. She'd felt like the luckiest girl in the world that day. It had been the ultimate spur-of-the-moment proposal, followed by a wild, impromptu celebration. Poor Antoine; all the immaculate planning and painstaking attention to detail in the world couldn't have matched it. She looked at Lawrence and said, “I love you.”

Stunned, he gazed back at her. Finally he nodded and replied, “I love you too.”

“Who knows how much time either of us has left? I don't think we should waste it.”

“Visiting time's over, you two lovebirds,” Rose sang out as she made her way back past them.

“Seriously?” Lawrence whispered.

“Absolutely.”

“Oh my God.” He squeezed Dot's hand. “Are you trying to give me another heart attack?”

Dot spluttered; his sense of humor had always made her laugh. “Do try not to have one.”

“Well, despite the fact that I'm lying in a hospital bed full of tubes,” said Lawrence, “this ranks right up there as one of the best days of my life.” He raised his head from the pillow and she leaned over to kiss him on the mouth.

Eleven years since the last kiss. Dot closed her eyes; how she'd missed him.

Well, we're together again now. Until death us do part.

Her heart turned over. “You know what? Me too.”

“And is Antoine…you know, definitely off the scene?”

“Absolutely definitely.”

“You mean, out of him or me, you chose me?”

“Looks like it,” said Dot.

“Wow,” said Lawrence. “That's amazing. No accounting for taste.”

“I know. Weird, isn't it?”

He reached up and touched the side of her face. “I'm the luckiest man in the world. I really hope I don't die just yet.”

Dot smiled, cupped her own hand over his, and murmured, “You'd better not. If you do, I'll kill you.”