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She looked at his down-bent head, and frowned. She had the strangest feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling her...
Catching her frown, he gave her a reassuring smile and talked on, filling in all the details she needed to know in a calm, reassuring manner: how old she was, where they lived, and his career as a banker.
She looked around the room. It was obviously a private room, tastefully furnished, with pictures on the walls, and an en-suite bathroom. ‘Is this a private suite, a private hospital? ’ she asked curiously.
‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘You have a very wealthy husband, you lucky girl.’
‘And a very conceited one,’ Josie offered as the nurse bustled through the door.
‘Sorry, Mr Zarcourt, visiting is over for this evening, but I must say, Josie, you look much better. I knew your husband would soon put a smile back on your face.’
It was only when Ann mentioned her face that Josie realised she had no idea what she actually looked like...
‘You’re beautiful,’ Conan said softly, and, briefly pressing his lips to hers, he stood up.
He had read her mind. ‘How did you...?’
‘Because you’re mine. My wife.’ And the dark golden eyes resting on her gleamed with proud possession.
Much later, as Josie drifted gently into sleep, she smiled softly reliving Conan’s parting kiss. Her husband...
In the morning, Josie swung her legs over the side of the bed, a strong arm at her elbow supporting her, but for an instant she felt dizzy.
‘Come on, Josie; if you want your hair washed, you have to make it to the bathroom,’ Ann commanded.
‘It’s okay for you,’ Josie smiled up at the nurse. ‘You haven’t been out cold for days.’
She had awakened feeling physically almost normal, but mentally she was still trying to remember her past. But when Ann had walked in with a huge bunch of red roses, the accompanying card reading, ‘Love, Conan,’ every nagging worry had been pushed from her mind.
Ann washed Josie’s hair then left her with some privacy, insisting only that the door must remain open so Josie could call if she needed her.
Standing in front of the mirror over the washbasin, her legs felt a little as if they did not belong to her, and the mirror image of her face appeared equally strange. Large, thick-lashed violet eyes stared back at her with an expression of wary interest. Thick black hair hung in deep ringlets to her shoulders, framing the small oval of her pale face. Apart from a whopping black and blue bruise from her forehead to her temple, she was pretty, she supposed, though a lot younger-looking than she had imagined. And a lot shorter... A rueful smile curved her full lips.
She glanced down at her naked body, glowing pink from the shower; there was no disguising the round swell of her stomach where her baby nestled. She was getting big. Still, Conan must approve of her looks or he would not have married her, and it was his child that was adding the inches to her waistline.
She sighed, her heart sinking a little. The trouble was, she still did not recognise herself. The thought made her uneasy, and turning, she picked up the nightdress from the negligée set draped over the rail that Ann had left for her, and slipped it over her head. It was exquisite—white silk, with a softly scooped neckline, falling to the floor in gentle folds. She smoothed the fabric over her hips, loving the feel of the fresh-scented material. Conan must have given it to her. Josie stopped in the process of picking up the matching robe. How did she know that? Had she remembered? she wondered, and, slowly slipping the robe on, she frowned. Conan appeared to be a very attractive, sophisticated, wealthy man. Somehow her own image didn’t seem to quite match his. But Conan must love her or why would they be married? She hesitated, her hands on the belt of the robe as the thought exploded in her mind. She wanted him to love her... She had no memory of him apart from yesterday, but she instinctively knew she loved him...
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOWEVER, Josie had no time to dwell on her husband, amnesia, or anything else, as the morning was taken up with a scan, and another examination by Dr Ferguson and a female doctor called Dr Masters, who was apparently Josie’s obstetrician.
Josie had just finished a late lunch when Dr Ferguson breezed into her room, his kindly face crinkled into a broad grin.
‘Excellent news, Josie—your scan was fine. The slight swelling in your brain has subsided, so apart from the bump on your head you’re okay.’
She smiled back. ‘Does that mean I can leave now?’
‘Patience, Josie. In three or four days maybe. Can’t wait to get back home with your husband, hmm?’
But Josie was not so sure. ‘Well, yes. No, I don’t know. I didn’t really remember him,’ she confessed truthfully, trying to explain her mixed emotions.
That’s about what I would expect But you felt comfortable, happy with him?’
‘Oh, yes. I think I love him, but...’
‘No buts. Obviously at some deeper level of your mind you do recognise him; just give it time. I must admit I’ve never seen a more devoted husband than Mr Zarcourt. To hire an air ambulance must have cost him a fortune.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘You certainly have nothing to worry about.’ He turned to leave, just as the door swung open and Conan walked in.
Josie’s eyes skimmed over him, registering the sombre business suit, and the silk shirt and tie that went with it. He looked hard and arrogant, and, recalling her own reflection, she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. How on earth had she managed to marry such a powerful-looking man? And what was this about an air ambulance?
