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Her chest rose and fell erratically as she tried to fill her lungs with air, but he started to massage her back and, gradually, her breathing steadied as she felt the warmth and the safe haven of his arms, and after some minutes it slowed to normal.
She closed her eyes in sheer relief, and when she opened them it was to see Max Goodwin watching her with a mixture of relief himself, and amazement.
‘All right?’
She nodded but sagged a little against him. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered.
He picked her up. ‘I think we both need a brandy.’ And he carried her through to the den.
‘What brought that on?’
The den was definitely a masculine room with mocha walls, fishing trophies, a wall of books and an impressive entertainment centre.
Alex sighed and studied her balloon glass, then took another grateful sip. ‘Remembering Seisia,’ she said a little raggedly. ‘It was the last holiday I had with my parents. They died a couple of weeks later.’
He stirred. ‘And you still get panic attacks about—about losing them?’
‘Yes. But I haven’t had one for ages,’ she confessed.
‘I’ve never met anyone who knew Seisia, so that must have triggered it.’
‘Hmm …’ He stood lost in thought for a moment, but didn’t share them with her. He sat down beside her instead and laced his fingers through hers. ‘Do you have any friends, Alex?’
‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘I went skiing with six of them not so long ago—mind you, that does seem a long time ago now!’ she marvelled. ‘And there’s my neighbour. She’s a widow and a lot older than me, but we get along really well together. We’ve even thought about getting a joint dog.’
He looked askance. ‘A joint dog?’
Alex grinned. ‘A dog to share between us. She loves them, I love them; she doesn’t work during the day, but I do, so it seems like a good idea, but we’ve never got around to it. So—’ she sobered ‘—look, don’t worry about me—’
‘How can I not worry about you?’ he said a shade irritably. ‘I’ve never seen anyone have a panic attack. It’s—it’s bloody scary. And what has a paper bag got to do with it?’
She explained that when you hyperventilated as she had been, you were actually taking in too much oxygen rather than too little, and you became short of carbon dioxide, which made you feel short of air. If you breathed into a paper bag, you breathed in your own carbon dioxide, which helped.
‘You live and learn,’ Max Goodwin commented. ‘But I would have thought, if anything would do it, it would be a fright.’
‘It can be, or it can be underlying stress or it can have nothing to do with what’s going on around you at the time,’ she told him.
‘So you’ve taken medical advice, Alex?’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed. ‘I really thought I was over them,’ she said again and added unthinkingly, ‘I guess there’s more stress in my life at the moment than I’m accustomed to.’
He let go of her hand and turned to look at her with his elbow propped on the back of the settee. ‘Why? Interpreting?’
She looked into his eyes and could have kicked herself because interpreting was a breeze compared to what she was going through on his account. But he was not to know that.
‘Uh—it’s not as easy as it looks.’
His lips twisted. ‘I never for one moment imagined it was. So that’s all?’ He raised his eyebrows and she noticed the little scar at the outer edge of his left eyebrow again.
She looked away and didn’t answer immediately.
‘Alex?’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me.’
‘I think it’s just—I think it’s—’ She stopped. Although the attack was over, she didn’t feel well enough to be inventive or clever or anything. ‘That’s all.’
He watched her intently, then smiled at her. ‘OK. Finish your brandy. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep? Would you like to stay down here? We could fix you up a bed on the settee.’
‘No. Thank you, but I’ll be fine upstairs now.’
