TEN
TORI WELLS STOOD just inside the entrance to the massive conference room in Hôtel de Nice and swallowed hard, digging deep for composure as she scanned the sea of faces and listened to the many languages swirling back and forth. It wouldn’t do her reputation any good to go around grinning like a clown.
The excitement that had been gripping her since her plane had taken off from Auckland International two days ago threatened to spill over and have her dancing on the spot in her new and very gorgeous avocado-green high heels. French, of course. As for the price tag, she could’ve fed a very small nation but for once didn’t feel guilty at all about indulging her passion. Not even the littlest bit.
Accepting the invitation to speak in front of all these people had been a no-brainer. Even though she doubted that world-famous experts would be interested in what a cardiologist from New Zealand had to say about heart problems in children who’d suffered from rheumatic fever, she hadn’t been able to say no to the director of the Cardiac Forum. She’d have come if Monsieur Leclare had asked her to talk about racing snails in the sand, the opportunity to visit France being too awesome to miss. He could’ve saved many euros if only he’d known she’d have slept in a tent on the beach if necessary, but he’d promised, and delivered, a suite in a beautiful hotel overlooking the stunning Mediterranean Sea. The Mediterranean Sea. Her excitement intensified, gripping her.
And then … She grinned. And then he wanted her to go to Paris after this convention to talk to medical students about her work. Oh—my—goodness. Paris. How cool was that? Her hands squeezed tight and she squashed her lips together to hold back the joy from spilling out loud.
‘Hello, Tori. I’ve been looking out for you.’
The excitement vanished in a flash. Gone. The air chilled. She shivered. Benji? Here? She’d checked. His name hadn’t been on the programme. But that was definitely his voice. Turn around and acknowledge him. Can’t. Her lungs had stopped working. Her composure had gone to hell in a barrow. Do it. Face him.
Slowly gathering a steadying breath, she turned to lock gazes with her ex-husband. ‘Hello, Ben.’
Her tongue felt huge in her dry mouth. He looked … stunning. As usual. But different. Older, of course. World-weary, like he’d taken a hit somewhere over the years. Hardly surprising given the circumstances surrounding them seven years ago when he’d walked out on her. Finally she managed, ‘What are you doing here?’
Lady Luck had thrown a wild card. No, make that a grenade. Fragments of pain, anger, bewilderment, even need, cut into her, making a mockery of what had become her well-put-back-together life.
‘I’m a last-minute fill-in for one of the partners I work for. He’s handling a family crisis back in London.’
The voice she’d have to be dead not to recognise whispered across her skin, reminding her body of things she didn’t want to recall. Hot nights on the beach in Fiji, where they’d gone for their honeymoon. The first time he’d taken her on a date—at the hospital cafeteria because they’d had less than an hour between shifts in the cardiology surgical department. I don’t want to remember those times. She used to call him Benji. Too intimate. Too loaded with memories.
Tori reached for normality, came up with, ‘How are you finding living in London?’
His smile appeared genuine, but appearances could be deceptive, had become so with Ben in those last bewildering months before he’d left. To be fair, which she mostly was, she had no idea what he was like these days. And didn’t want to know. Oh, really?
Ben replied, ‘I’m working towards a partnership in the cardiology clinic I’ve joined, so I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do I indulge my passion for English history by visiting more castles and historic homes than even I could’ve imagined back in NZ.’ He wasn’t having trouble talking, made it seem perfectly normal to be chatting with her for the first time since he’d said goodbye on the doorstep of their apartment. Tears had been streaming down his cheeks then. Tears he’d tried hard to hide from her.
Concentrate on what Ben had just said, act like this was nothing to be in such a turmoil over. He’d mentioned castles. She used to buy him books filled with photos of the most stunning homes set in the English countryside. ‘The château at Mount Ruapehu doesn’t quite compare, then?’ Thinking of the tourist hotel back home where they’d stayed for their first wedding anniversary made her smile tightly despite the way her heart was pitter-pattering in her chest.
Stop smiling. He’ll think you’re happy to see him.
‘No comparison at all.’ Ben was no longer smiling.
She could see in his eyes the memory of those wonderful couple of days spent in the snow and back in their hotel room afterwards. She also saw regret. For stopping to talk to her? Why had she mentioned the château? It was loaded with their history.
Then Ben straightened even taller and stole her breath with, ‘You’re looking fabulous.’ The words were glib and exactly what she’d expect. He’d always been an expert in saying the right thing. Not always the whole truth and nothing but the truth at the end, but definitely always the right thing.
These days she’d learned to do glib, too, and so could ignore the compliment. ‘Why, Ben, thank you.’ If she said ‘Ben’ often enough then surely her brain would get the idea and forget Benji had ever existed.
‘I mean it,’ he said softly, sincerely.
Talk about knocking her in the back of her knees. Any second now her legs were going to dump her in a heap in the midst of this crowd. At Ben’s feet. ‘Thank you,’ she squeaked.
She was stunned. It had been seven years since she’d seen Benji—Ben, damn it—and the circumstances back then had been too awful to ever want to revisit. Long, lonely years in which she’d struggled to get over him, to put their failed marriage behind her and make life work in a way she could be proud of. She’d thought she’d succeeded, right up until this moment when her heart was beating like a drum. Like they had unfinished business, or something equally ridiculous. Crazy, because she’d loved him with her whole being, and then he’d gone and left her and she’d had to face life without him at her side. Then there’d been the tragedy that had occurred weeks later that she’d had to deal with on her own.
A few minutes in his company and her brain was stalling, unable to bring up anything coherent and sensible to say. She was well-known for her good sense back home at her clinic. But this was a rerun of those months towards the end when she hadn’t known how to talk to Ben without feeling like she’d been underwater, slowly drowning.
A woman jostled her as she squeezed past and Ben stepped closer, using his body to shield her from the stream of people now pouring into the enormous room. He touched his hand to her elbow. Contrition darkened those eyes that she’d always called pools of caramel. ‘Tori, I’ve upset you by appearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry.’
Hello? This definitely wasn’t Benji. An apology? To her? He’d said more words in the last couple of minutes than he had in the final months of their marriage. She studied him quickly, thoroughly. The intervening years had added a depth to his gaze, deeper lines at the corners of his mouth, and a few grey hairs in his dark curls, but it was definitely the Benji she’d once loved with all her heart. A long time ago. Except the man of her past hadn’t done apologies. No, he’d packed his bags, said bye, and gone out the front door, out of her life. So this had to be Ben, not Benji. See, she was getting better at this already. Ben.
Tori