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'I've been so terrible to him.'
'To who? Ethan?'
'It's probably too late.' Hannah pressed her hand to her quivering lips. What have I done? I love him and I hurt him. I rejected what he was offering. I threw it back in his face. The strong clasp of Helen's hand concentrated her scattered thoughts.
'You could always say you're sorry,' Helen suggested softly.
A tentative smile curved Hannah's lips and a determined light entered her eyes. 'I could, couldn't I?' she said, her mouth setting in a firm line. Sorry wasn't enough, but it was all she had. 'Thank you, thank you so much, Helen.' She pulled a note from her purse and, without even looking at the denomination, flung it on the table. She left the startled young woman staring after her in astonishment.
All she had to do was convince him that she hadn't meant the things she'd said. All! Ethan had been an innocent scapegoat for her grief and anger. Since the accident she'd felt as if they'd been slipping further and further apart. The distance that had already developed beforehand had expanded in the emotional, hothouse atmosphere of the accident's aftermath until all she could see was a stranger. Not the man who'd fathered her child, the man she loved.
It was as if seeing Ethan from Helen's perspective had reminded her of all the things that had been right between them. She'd spent so long morbidly examining the negative aspects that she'd forgotten what a warm, strong, loving man he was. Ethan wasn't perfect but he came as a package, good points and bad. I'm no bargain myself, she thought wryly.
Did he really say he loved me? she wondered. A sense of wondering disbelief made her almost fall beneath the wheels of a bus. She smilingly brushed away the concern of a passer-by and took several deep breaths. That had been close! Once might be careless, but twice! She'd better be more careful. It would be the ultimate in bad timing to get killed before she'd told him she loved him—especially considering how long she'd been sitting on this particular piece of information.
She'd been walking for ten minutes before it occurred to her that she was on the opposite side of the city to Ethan's chambers. She flagged down a taxi and gave him the address.
'Can I help you?' she was asked on her arrival.
Hannah wasn't in the mood to be intimidated by a superior attitude.
'Yes.'
'Do you have an appointment?' The guardian of the inner sanctum fingered the leather-bound appointment book as if it were sacred.
'No.'
Tm afraid—'
Td like to see my husband.'
'Who exactly is your husband, madam?'
'Ethan Kemp.'
The shift from patronising to deferential was achieved in the space of a single breath. 'I'm afraid Mr Kemp doesn't want to be disturbed today. No exceptions. He refused to see—'
'He'll want to see me.' Hannah picked up the internal phone and held it out. 'Tell him I'm here.' Sometimes pushy worked where nothing else would.
Will he? she wondered. Will he want to see me? She maintained her confident stance with great difficulty whilst she strained to catch one side of a low-toned conversation. What will I do if he won't see me?
She wasn't left in suspense for long; the conversation was brief.
'I'll show you the way.'
Hannah wasn't sure why she was feeling relieved— the hard part was yet to come.
Rich oak panelling, one wall covered with books from floor to ceiling, the affluent antiquity of the furnishings sat cheek by jowl with a top-of-the-range computer and fax which was spilling its information unheeded onto the floor as the door closed behind her. The soft sound made her jump.
'I didn't know you were planning a visit.'
'Neither did I,' she confessed.
Ethan was sitting on the edge of the enormous antique desk. He twirled a pen between his fingers and she found the controlled mechanical movement distracting.
'Is there a problem at home?'
'No, not now.' Her reply quelled the brief flare of concern in his eyes. They didn't give anything away now as she screwed up her courage and her nose and thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket
'You must be wondering why I'm here.'
Her colour was fluctuating from one extreme of the spectrum to the other, and her ringers were spasmodically clenching and unclenching. 'If you don't tell me soon I'd say there's a strong possibility you'll explode,' he observed quietly.
The breath she'd hoarded up escaped her lungs in one audible gasp. 'I came to say sorry and I love you!' She couldn't look at him, but she had to—one eye closed, but the other remaining fixed with anticipation on his face.
Ethan didn't move, but the expensive pen slipped from his fingers. 'You're sorry that you love me?'
"The sorry was for being cruel and mean and despicable to you.* The mingled bronze and green in her eyes misted over emotionally as she opened her eyes earnestly wide in an effort to convince him of her sincerity.
