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She heard the mumbling of voices and the clink of crockery. If only they would shut up. Quiet was good. The bedroom door swung shut with a resounding thunk.
Good, peace again.
‘Polly.’
Drat the man. If she didn’t answer maybe he would go away.
‘Polly, your food is here.’
The tiles had gone from cold to numbing. Polly liked numb. It was peaceful.
‘Polly, if you don’t answer me right now I am going to break down the door.’
He wouldn’t, would he?
‘Final warning, three, two...’
‘Go away.’ Was that her voice so clear and strong? She thought it would be croaky with years of misuse. But after all it had only been fifteen minutes since she had shut the door.
It just felt like centuries.
‘Polly Rafferty, open the door this instant and come and eat some food.’
She pulled a face in the direction of the door.
‘Now!’
Her peace had evaporated. He was evidently not going to give up.
‘I’m coming.’
She rolled round and clambered painfully to her feet, hugging herself as the cold from the floor permeated every pore, and walked slowly to the door, twisted the lock and inched the door open. ‘Satisfied?’
‘I ordered you chips. And bread. Carbs are good for sore stomachs.’
‘I thought you only ordered things full of vitamins.’
He didn’t answer, just walked away to lift the silver covers off the plates on the desk.
‘You’re having chips as well?’ Wonders would never cease. She’d bet half her trust fund that he would go on an extra run tomorrow and not stop until he had burnt off every calorie and gram of fat.
‘I wasn’t sure that you would cope with the smell of anything else.’
He hadn’t asked about the test, not even with his eyes.
‘They’re positive.’
A flash of something then; sorrow, a hint of anger but both overshadowed with concern. ‘They all agree?’
‘I only managed to take six, even after drinking a gallon of water.’
She sank onto the bed. ‘Oh, God, positive. What do I do?’
He handed her a plate. ‘Tomorrow you plan. But now...now you eat.’
* * *
Polly was showing no sign of wanting to leave the hotel room. She had managed to eat a few chips and drink the tea he’d ordered. Now she was lying on the bed seemingly absorbed in the music videos playing on the TV.
But Gabe could tell she wasn’t hearing a note.
He put the empty plates out into the corridor and walked back into the room. Polly hadn’t moved, not even a centimetre. With one eye on her, as cautious as if she were a feral cat, Gabe sat back onto the bed and stretched out alongside her. Close but not touching.
He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. The plaster was perfectly smooth, as featureless as the rest of the hotel.
‘I can’t bake.’
He turned his head to look at her. She was still propped up on the pillows and staring at the TV.
‘That’s okay.’
‘Of course it’s not okay. You have to be able to bake. No one cares if a mother has an MBA or an amazing job. It’s the cupcakes that count. I can’t sew either.’
‘No, but you work somewhere full of people who can do both those things so why care?’
She moved slowly until she was propped on her side looking at him. Her eyes were almost navy blue, matching the shadows deepening under them. Her skin pale under the rapidly fading tan. ‘I bet your mother can bake and sew.’
‘Oui, but she doesn’t have an MBA.’
She didn’t answer, just continued to look at him, her eyes searching his face as if he had all the answers.
‘I don’t know his surname.’
Cold rage swirled. How could anyone seduce this woman and just walk away? There were women who knew the game, who enjoyed playing, who wanted little more than a night or two. They were the ones you played with. ‘We can find him.’
‘You think?’ The hope in her voice was killing. But then she shook her head. ‘I don’t see how. All I know is that he’s Danish. What a mess. He probably wouldn’t want to be involved, but he should know.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Markus. I met him in Mancora after I finished the Inca trail—he was about my age, recently divorced. A little lost.’ She tried for a smile. ‘Like me.’
‘And I thought this was it, my life here, at Rafferty’s, was over, that I needed to start again. I needed to be a new Polly.’
‘That’s a shame,’ he said, keeping his voice level despite every trembling instinct. ‘I kind of like the old Polly.’
‘Me too,’ she whispered as if it were a confession. ‘But old Polly had failed. No job, nobody who cared about me. Oh, I dated, had serious relationships but I always walked away. Relationships need compromise, you see. Only what they wanted was for me to compromise. For me to work less hours, to attend their work dos. To make the relationship work I had to be less. They could just keep on doing what they were doing.’
