told me you would, but…’
‘So am I,’ she said softly, ‘glad.’ She removed one hand from the flowers and stretched it towards him. ‘Thank you for being with me.’
Rolfe hesitated before placing his fingers over hers, holding them. His gaze stayed on their linked hands. ‘I couldn’t not come,’ he said.
‘Of course. You’re my husband.’
He looked up then, his eyes scanning her face. She moved to stretch her other hand to him, somehow needing that warm personal contact, and the flowers slipped, rolling down to the side of the bed.
Rolfe rescued them and stood up, releasing her. ‘I’ll see if I can rustle up a vase or something,’ he promised, and left the room.
He returned with a big glass vase that he filled with water from the room basin, plunging the bouquet straight into it.
‘They’re lovely,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
He looked down at her and his hand lifted almost as though he couldn’t help it, his knuckles lightly brushing her cheek as he fingered her hair that had dried to a thick honey-brown bob with lighter streaks, the ends just level with her earlobes. ‘Suits you,’ he murmured.
She reached up to clasp his hand, but already he had withdrawn it.
‘They said after you woke that if there are no obvious problems you may be discharged tomorrow,’ he said. ‘The accident has stretched the hospital’s resources. Do you want me to book us into a hotel for a day or two, or shall we fly straight back to New Zealand?’
‘New Zealand?’
‘You did say you wanted to come home.’ His voice had turned gravelly. ‘Or have you changed your mind?’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ The reply was automatic. Her heart thudded uncomfortably. She turned her head, staring out of the window, where darkness was creeping over the hills.
He said, ‘You do know you’re in Australia, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’ She looked back at him.
‘So where were you staying?’
She opened her mouth to reply, then paused. Finally she said, ‘You must know that.’
He was gazing at her curiously. ‘You don’t remember.’
‘No.’
‘Do you remember anything that’s happened to you in the past two months?’
‘No…I don’t.’ She moistened her lips and said huskily, ‘I seem to have forgotten…most of my life.’
Rolfe stared down at her, his eyes going nearly black. ‘You knew me when you woke.’
Rolfe. She had known him, known his name. Just as she had known her birth-date without having to think. It had been reassuring, that familiarity. ‘Yes, I recognised you.’
‘How much do you remember about…us? About our life together?’
She looked away, running her tongue across her lips. ‘I knew your face,’ she confessed finally. ‘Your name. That’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Rolfe repeated.
She said helplessly, ‘I know that must be a shock.’
He gazed down at her with frowning speculation. ‘And now?’ he enquired. ‘Has anything more come to mind?’
‘No.’
This time there was a lengthy silence, as if he had trouble taking that in. ‘If you don’t remember anything about me,’ he said slowly at last, ‘anything about our marriage, then for all intents and purposes I’m a stranger to you.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, her hands twisting painfully together on the bedcover. ‘Yes, you are. A total stranger.’
‘WHAT exactly do you remember?’ Rolfe demanded.
She swallowed. ‘Not much. I remember things when I’m asked directly, or when something reminds me…’
His mouth compressed and his cheeks grew taut. ‘Do the doctors know this?’
‘They say it’s probably temporary. And I feel fine, really…just a bit tired.’
Rolfe regarded her broodingly. ‘I’ll talk to them.’
‘They’ve already examined me thoroughly. I just need to be…home.’ In familiar surroundings where she was safe and loved. Then surely this surreal feeling of existing in a vacuum would be dispelled. All she needed was the right trigger to fill the inexplicable void.
‘Still…’ Rolfe looked at a loss. That probably didn’t happen to him often. He had the air of a man who knew his way around his world. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said abruptly, swung round and left the room.
When he came back she’d been dozing. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, said he’d leave her to sleep and was gone.
Throughout the night she was dimly aware of being regularly checked on, and in the morning she was examined by a neurologist, then sent for another scan and more tests because Rolfe, she was told, had insisted.
Late in the day the neurologist told her, ‘The good news is, all the tests have come up negative. A knock on the head can do strange things to people, but the amnesia is probably temporary. Your husband says you want to go home, back to New Zealand?’
‘Um…yes…’ Aware that she sounded less than positive, she said more firmly, ‘Yes, I do.’
He smiled. ‘Of course.’
She repeated her theory that familiar surroundings would surely solve the puzzling problem of her memory.
‘You’re probably right,’ he agreed. ‘Take it easy for a little while, and don’t try to force anything. I’ll give you a letter for your own doctor. If things don’t start coming back to you spontaneously pretty soon, you’d better see someone.’
When she asked about her belongings, the nurse said, ‘We gave your shoulder bag to your husband for safety. Your passport and money are there, but your makeup is in the locker. Things were a bit wet but there didn’t seem to be much damage. The police sent along a box of passengers’ effects soon after you came in, stuff that had been found in the wreckage, and we identified you from your passport photo.’
Next day Rolfe brought in a stack of wrapped parcels and shopping bags, put them on the bed and began opening them. ‘They tell me if I look after you I can take you home. I bought three bras—I hope one of them fits.’
‘I don’t have any clothes?’ she queried.
‘The ones you were wearing were ruined. Even the undies were pretty bedraggled, and one bra strap was broken. You may have had a suitcase but it hasn’t been found. And as you don’t know where you were staying…’
‘But don’t you? Weren’t we together?’
He gave her a quick look. ‘No, we weren’t.’
She’d assumed that they’d been holidaying together, that she’d only been on a short trip without him, perhaps shopping or visiting someone. ‘Where were you?’
‘In New Zealand. I came as soon as I could get a flight. Look…’ he touched her arm ‘…why don’t you get dressed and we can talk properly later?’
‘All right.’ She looked at the things scattered on the bed, some still in their wrappings.
‘Do you want some help?’ he