hand was shaking as she opened the front door.
‘Good morning, Mrs McBride—’
Oh, help!
In an instant she recognised the man standing on her doorstep.
Tom.
Tom Pirelli…Staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.
After eight long years.
‘Mary!’
Tom. She couldn’t get a word out. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her hands pressed against her chest as she felt something snag in its centre, as if a pulled thread was unravelling her heart, spooling her back into the past.
Within a mad second she was twenty again, feeling the same swift clutch in her throat, the same painful, aching rush she’d always felt whenever she saw Tom.
Her legs trembled. She was drenched in a thousand sweet memories.
Eight years had hardly changed him. He was dressed in neat civilian trousers and a snowy white open-necked shirt, but his black hair was still clipped short, military style.
Perhaps he was more mature-looking—his body more honed and muscular, his face a little more rugged, lined and lean—but in every other way he was the same Tom. His eyes were the same haunting, deep black-brown and were teamed with the same strongly defined cheekbones and, heaven help her, the same mouth.
But today there was no slow smile. Tom Pirelli looked as shell-shocked as she felt.
‘It’s you. It’s Mary Cameron.’
‘Yes. I—I’m M-Mary McBride now.’
‘McBride?’ He seemed to wince as he bit off an exclamation. ‘You don’t mean—don’t tell me you’re Ed’s wife.’
He looked so suddenly ill her heart almost stopped beating. She opened her mouth to ask him how on earth he was connected with Ed, but confusion and fear held her back.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m Ed McBride’s wife.’
‘Oh, God, Mary. I can’t believe this. I—I—’ He shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. ‘I had no idea you were still here in America.’
She was so numb she couldn’t think of the right way to respond.
‘I hadn’t heard you were married,’ Tom went on. ‘I heard that your father was posted back to Australia and I assumed—’
‘No, I didn’t go back with my parents.’
Tom muttered something harsh beneath his breath and Mary felt her face heat. Seeing him sent her compass points suddenly haywire, her emotions swinging wildly between joy and despair. She had loved this man. She’d broken her heart over Tom Pirelli and it had taken far too long to mend.
But this was the very worst time to be meeting him again. If she’d had Ed by her side, she would have been able to handle this. But alone?
‘Why are you here?’ she managed to ask.
At first he shook his head, as if he couldn’t remember, then blinked and said, ‘Uh—because of Ed. We were in the same Special Squad.’
‘Really?’ His words sank in. ‘You mean you’ve found him? No one told me. Is he OK?’
‘No, Mary. I’m sorry if I misled you. Ed hasn’t been found.’
‘Oh.’ She swayed against the door frame and her eyes closed as tears burned against the insides of her eyelids and stung her throat. The combined shock of seeing Tom on top of her worries about Ed were too much to take in. Covering her mouth with her hand, she tried to hold her emotions in check, but beneath her fingers her lips twisted as she struggled not to cry.
Tom’s throat worked. His dark eyes shimmered as he said, ‘Please accept my sympathy, Mary. Ed was—the best.’
‘Don’t say that. You make it sound like he’s dead.’
He frowned. ‘But—’
She shook her head. ‘He’s only missing. I haven’t given up hope. I’m sure he’ll be found, that he’ll come back.’
‘Yes, of course. I understand.’ Tom’s eyes avoided hers and his tone implied that he understood her words but didn’t quite agree with her.
There was an awkward pause while he stood on her doorstep and she stood with her hand on the door, knowing that if he were any other man she would invite him inside. But inviting Tom into her home seemed impossible. It felt too momentous, too meaningful.
‘What about you, Tom? Are you married?’
‘No.’
The single syllable seemed to hang in the warm July air the way the boom of a brass gong lingers.
Mary groped for another question. ‘So…What have you been doing?’
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Same as your husband—defending the free world.’ For a moment he studied her with hard, dark eyes. ‘I have something for your son,’ he said. ‘Ed wanted me to bring it to him.’
At the mention of Ethan, Mary felt a fresh surge of dismay. Her stomach churned. Their gazes locked and her cheeks burned as years of silence and buried emotions hung in the air between them. So many unanswered questions…
After all this time…What was Tom thinking? What was he feeling? What did he expect from her?
She turned back and could see through the house to the family room. Ethan was lying upside-down on the beanbag, laughing at the antics on the television screen. Already he looked much brighter than he had at breakfast.
‘Ethan’s home from school today,’ she told Tom. ‘He has a cold.’
‘Would it be better if I waited till he’s feeling better?’
Goodness, that would mean seeing Tom again. Was that wise? ‘How long will you be here?’
‘Just a few days.’
‘Well, I don’t want to mess you around. I’m sure you have lots of other things you want to do. And if you’ve brought Ethan a gift from his father it might cheer him up.’
‘It’s a watch.’ Tom patted his pocket.
‘A watch?’
‘I believe it’s the McBride family watch.’
‘Oh, no!’ Ed treasured that watch; it was his talisman. To have it returned seemed so symbolic. A tangible sign. Surely it meant that he must be dead.
This time Mary couldn’t hold back her tears. She covered her face with both hands.
‘Mary—’
She could hear Tom’s voice. His hand patted her arm tentatively and for a brief moment she thought how comforting it would be to cry on his shoulder. But, heavens, how inappropriate.
She sniffed loudly and dragged her arm over her face, trying to wipe her tears away on the sleeve of her shirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not usually so fragile. It’s such a strain, waiting to hear.’
‘I’m sure it must be. Look, I’ll just give the watch to you. I don’t want to upset your son. And if he’s not well he wouldn’t want to have to meet a stranger.’
‘That might be best.’
He reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a bulky envelope. ‘There’s no fancy packaging, I’m afraid.’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly, staring at the packet he held out to her, almost afraid to touch it. But as her fingers closed around it she said, ‘I don’t understand how Ed could give you this if he’s disappeared.’
Tom grimaced. ‘He wanted me to