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She wished he hadn’t done this. Shutting her eyes for a moment, she let her shoulders slump—but it didn’t help the tension gripping her nerves. She felt as though any minute now she was going to shatter into a thousand pieces, all the benefit of the afternoon sleep she’d enjoyed ruined.
Bath, she told herself, slightly hysterically. She’d wash the last of the hospital out of her hair and skin. Strange how the faintly antiseptic smell permeated everything, not matter how many creams and perfumes you applied. But she was free of all that now—free of the endless routine and doctor’s visits and lack of privacy. So why did her heart feel even heavier, like a ton of bricks suspended in her chest? She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t let Zeke affect her like this. If she wasn’t strong now it would make things even harder in the future. This was just one night. She could get through that.
Leaving the clothes on the bed, she walked into the en-suite and began to run a bath, using a liberal amount of hotel bath oil until the water was a mass of perfumed bubbles. Slipping off the robe, she divested herself of her bra and panties before sliding into the foam until only her head was visible. It was only then, when her limbs and body were concealed, that she began to relax in the delicious silky warmth.
After the months in hospital there was an element of bliss in being able to luxuriate in the scented bubbles without fear of one of the nurses knocking on the door and asking her if she was all right. Not that she hadn’t appreciated their kindness and concern—she had—but she had felt stifled at times.
How long she lay there she wasn’t sure, but after a while the thought that time was getting on caused a little panic, and she quickly washed her hair and climbed out of the bath. In the old days she and Zeke had often unwound after work by taking a bath together, the room lit by candlelight and a bottle of their favourite wine in hand. It had been a great start to the evening—especially as their intimate sojourns in the massive sunken bath in their en-suite had invariably led to something else. They’d often eaten late by candlelight in their bathrobes.
But that was then and this was now, and trips down memory lane were both dangerous and weakening.
Melody’s mouth twisted with pain and she pulled on her robe, jerking the belt tightly round her waist. There was no going back and it would be emotional suicide to try. She could no longer live up to Zeke’s expectations—his and all the rest of the showbiz crowd they mixed with. And she didn’t want to destroy herself attempting to do so. Oh, she didn’t doubt most people would be very polite and sympathetic to her face, and some of them would even be genuine. But she had come up through the ranks and she knew how it was, how bitchy and calculating ambitious beauties like Katie could be. She couldn’t live with the waiting. Waiting for one woman, more special or more clever at getting what she wanted than the rest, to draw Zeke in.
She wound her hair into a towel and then looked at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe that woman would never appear—perhaps Zeke would be strong against all the come-ons and remain faithful—but that was almost beside the point. It was her who would damage what they had if she stayed with him. She knew that now. Jealousy and suspicion were terrible things, and she couldn’t expect Zeke to live with them and her, because that was how it would be. She had found out a lot about herself in the past weeks, and even more since she had seen him again today, and she wasn’t proud of it. But it was reality.
Maybe if she didn’t love him so much, or had had a different upbringing, or a thicker skin… She shook her head and turned from the bereft face in the mirror. Too many maybes. The accident had thrown up a whole host of gremlins buried deep in her psyche, and the only thing in the world she was sure about right now was that she had to step out of her life and begin again somewhere far away. And she could do that. She would do it. And then perhaps she could sort out her head. Given time. Find the courage to fight the deadening apathy that dominated her outlook on the future when she looked down long years without Zeke. In fact she’d have to. End of story.
She dressed quickly, relaxing infinitesimally once she was covered up. She didn’t think Zeke would barge into the bedroom unannounced, in view of all that had been said, but…
She dried her hair into a sleek shining curtain either side of her face before applying her make-up. She kept it simple—just a touch of eyeshadow and mascara to enhance her green eyes and a warm plum-coloured lipstick for her lips. Nevertheless, the effect was almost startling after not wearing make-up for so long. Titivating had been the last thing on her mind in hospital, but now she looked at herself in the bedroom mirror and decided she would do the same every day.
Part of her rehabilitation, she thought with grim humour, remembering the words of the consultant when she had last seen him. He had been so kind, Mr Price. Grey-haired and fatherly, but a man who called a spade a spade, albeit with compassion and gentleness. ‘I’ve mended your body, Melody, but it’s up to you to do the same with your spirit. I know this has knocked you for six, but there’s the rest of your life to live now—which is more than some of my patients can look forward to. I don’t understand everything you’re feeling, but when you are ready I’d like you to see a colleague of mine who can talk things through with you as many times as you need.’
She’d looked down at the name and telephone number he had given her. Dr Greg Richardson. Swallowing hard, she had whispered, ‘Is he a psychiatrist?’ already knowing the answer. They all thought she was losing it, that she’d cracked.
Mr Price’s voice had been soft when he’d answered. ‘He is someone who works with people who need a different kind of healing to the one I can give. Look at it like that. He’s a good man. More than that, he’s a friend of mine and I know you would benefit from seeing him. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Melody. And…’ The good doctor had paused, waiting until she had met his steady gaze before he’d continued, ‘Don’t make any life-changing decisions in the next little while. Give yourself time. It might be a cliché, but time is a great healer.’
‘You’re talking about Zeke,’ she’d said woodenly.
This time the pause had been longer. ‘Partly, yes.’
Mr Price had meant well. Turning away from the mirror, Melody took a deep breath. And she knew he hadn’t agreed with her decision to end her marriage. Emotion flooded in, overwhelming her. But he didn’t understand. How could he? He was a doctor first and foremost. He didn’t have a clue about the entertainment industry other than what he experienced when he watched TV or went to the cinema or theatre. Showbiz was another world, a world within the everyday world, and since she had entered it after leaving dance school she had relished every second. It had been hard, exacting, unforgiving, sometimes unfair and often capricious, but it had enabled her to do what she loved most—dance. Or what she had loved most until she had met Zeke. From that point he’d become the centre of her world.
She had had it all. She bit her bottom lip with small white teeth, her eyes cloudy. And the gods didn’t like mere mortals who tasted paradise on earth. How many times had she thought it was all too good to last? Well, she had been right. It hadn’t lasted.
Melody stared blindly across the room, straightening her shoulders as she took several deep calming breaths. And now she had to adapt to the cards she’d been dealt. It was a simple as that. Everything was changed, but there were millions of other people much worse off than she was. She could not, she would not give in to the numb, grey, terrifying depression that kept trying to draw her into a mindless vacuum. There was life after dancing. There was life after Zeke.
‘Melody?’
The knock at her bedroom door made her jump out of her skin as she came out of the maelstrom of her thoughts. Her hand at her chest, she steadied herself. Then she walked to the door and opened it, a cool smile stitched in place. ‘I’m ready.’
He looked fabulous. Dinner suit, hair slicked back, magnetism increased tenfold. ‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘Cocktails in the sitting room? They’re all ready.’
‘Lovely.’ Her voice was a little breathless but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. She needed to project coolness, if anything.
‘You look…’ He smiled and the warmth in his eyes increased her heartbeat to a gallop. ‘Good enough to eat,’ he finished huskily. ‘But then you always do.’
‘Thank you.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded ridiculously prim. ‘The clothes are very nice.’
‘But I forgot to give you this when I gave you the other things earlier.’ He handed her a package, beautifully wrapped like the previous ones. He seemed totally at ease and not at all bothered by her lack of enthusiasm at the gift.
‘What is it?’ Melody asked flatly, refusing to acknowledge to herself how wildly attractive he was.
He took her arm, leading her through into the sitting room before he said quietly, ‘Open it and see.’
‘I—I don’t want it. I mean, you’ve given me enough. I can’t accept anything else. Not—not when I haven’t got you—’
‘Open it.’ He interrupted her stumbling words coolly, and when she still made no attempt to obey him he casually pushed her down on one of the sofas and sat beside her, undoing the ribbons on the large box. ‘It won’t bite,’ he added.
