Love: Classified (12 page)

     During his waking hours I continued to read to him but he also wanted to know more about work and my colleagues.

     “And what do you hope for in the future?” he asked.

     I gulped. I couldn’t admit that I wanted to get married, have children, and spend the rest of my life with…him. Instead, I said, “I hope I’ll still have the e-
magazine and my friends, and that Josie gets better...”

    
“What do you really want?” he urged. “You’re hiding something.”

     I blushed
and snapped, “No I’m not!”

     “You’re a warm, loving woman. Don’t you wish for a special relationship? A family of your own?”

     “Of course I do. But so far, those things don’t seem likely. So I concentrate on my adopted family. One of the women at work has a daughter, Bree, whose father disappeared fourteen years ago. I sometimes think it’s more likely that my friend and her ex-partner, Josh, got together again than I’d ever find a partner.”

     “What about Peter?” he said suddenly, urgently.
“When I was at your place the first time he must’ve left a message on your mobile because you called him with a message of your own. You said something like ‘It’s me, Pete. All’s good. I’ll talk to you properly later. I love you’”

     I was suddenly furious. How dare he be jealous! And repeat my words probably exactly as I said them. Was he some kind of creep? If Peta’s name had come up in a different kind of conversation, I would have told him that Peta was my best friend, a beautiful
woman
, that she wasn’t Peter, a man. But I was so angry with him for prying into my private life, for eavesdropping, that I decided I’d let him keep thinking that Peter was a special male in my life. I’d make a mystery of Peter to punish Magnus for daring to question me about him.

     “Pet
er
is none of your business,” I said curtly.”

     His face fell and he said, “I know. I have no right to question you. Please accept my apologies.”

     I nodded, still slightly cross.

     “Tell me more about Bree,” he said.

     He’d got me onto one of my favourite subjects and I smiled. “I love her as much as if she was my own flesh and blood. She certainly helped me get on with my life after I lost my parents. It’s almost impossible to be permanently sad when there’s a bouncy toddler demanding you make sparkly pink play-dough or a new dress for Miss Teddy.”

     He grinned. “I can easily picture you whisking a batch of pink goo on the stove or patiently producing teddy bear outfits.

     I went on, “I’m proud to say that Bree’s mum relies on me to help bring Bree up because she can be a handful. Even Jake and Josie help out occasionally, getting her to do little jobs for them so she can earn some pocket-money. Bree’s as worried about Josie as Jake and I are.”

     Magnus spoke little about himself and I longed to ask him about his hopes and dreams. I also wondered how his wife could have let him go. But I was frightened of finding out. I guessed there was an awful truth in his troubled heart.

     “This is heaven,” he commented one afternoon, waking from a long siesta.

     Fully clothed on the mattress beside him, I smiled my agreement.

     “Only one thing could improve it,” he murmured huskily.

     “You must be feeling better,” I said briskly, sure he’d made the slightly suggestive comment only because that’s what happened to male patients. They got randy.

Dr Jenkins called in again and expressed surprise at how fast Magnus was recovering.

     “I’ve got a fabulous nurse,” Magnus said, grinning at the doctor. The two men were sitting at the card table with coffees the doctor had brought for us all. I was in the van, making pizza dough. I knew Magnus knew I could hear him and was amused when he said to Dr Jenkins, “I’m lapping up all this attention, doc. It’s pretty close to paradise, being here with Virginia, enjoying the view over the water, eating the most wonderful food. She’s my idea of the perfect woman.”

     “I’d agree with you there,” Dr Jenkins
replied. “I’d swap places with you any day. You have an intelligent, beautiful, loving companion, and nothing to do all day but eat the grapes she peels for you, metaphorically speaking. I’m pushing sixty-five and here I am, the only general practitioner in the district. I’m run off my feet. Ten years ago I loved it. But it’s getting too much for me now. My wife’s passed away, my children are all in the city and I s’pose I get lonely although I’m too busy to realise it.”

     Through the window above the sink I could see Magnus looking thoughtfully at the older man.

Mrs Smart paid Magnus a visit eight days after the fight. Dr Jenkins had told me to expect her and I’d cooked scones in the camp oven and brewed a big pot of tea.

     “I wish there was some way I could repay you,” the old woman said.

     “There’s no need,” Magnus
assured her, struggling to his feet. “I was glad to be able to help you and put those four characters in hospital. The constable came to see me yesterday and said they’d be cooling their heels in jail for a few months. That’s reward enough for me.”

    
“Sit down, sit down,” Mrs Smart said. “You’re still pretty battered and bruised. But I bet the bikies are worse off. I just want you both to know that if there’s ever anything I can do, be sure to let me know. If you can’t find me at home, I’m in the telephone book.”

     “I will, thank you,” Magnus said. “Now, Virginia’s cooked us a feast. I doubt the poor table will be able to hold it all. Would you like a scone?”

     “Oh they look so light! Yes, a scone would be delightful.”

     “Fig or strawberry jam?” I asked.

     “Fig please, dear.”

     I buttered Magnus’ scone because his fingers were still too swollen to properly hold a knife.

     “Are you liking it here, you two?” she asked.

    “It’s beautiful,” I
answered. “And we saw a pretty little ruin on the way here, before the fight. You might know something about it.”

     “Ah yes,” she said, her face becoming dreamy. “It was an inn, long ago. There’s a fresh water spring there which keeps the garden alive even in the hottest summers. And in winter there are mushrooms, daffodils and Easter lilies. I used to play there as a girl.”

     “It’d be so good to live there,” I remarked.

     “Here, here,” Magnus agreed.

     Mrs Smart looked at us both and smiled.

We were in no hurry to leave York. I rang Jake most days to find out how Josie was and Magnus and I were relieved to know she’d soon be out of hospital. I’d sent her several quick postcards, each with different pictures of the quaint little town, and a letter telling her how Magnus single-handedly defeated the bikie gang.

     The constable
came to see us one morning, inviting us to a country dance to be held that evening in the town hall. “There’s a brilliant bush band and I know you’ll enjoy it,” he promised.

     Magnus was so much better he was eager to attend and I was happy to go with him.

     He was in jeans and a checked shirt waiting at the card table while I showered and changed, trying different combinations of clothes until I found the one I disliked the least. I finally emerged from Matilda wearing something I’d ordered from the catalogue but, until now, lacked the courage to wear. It was a peacock blue, straight, sleeveless dress in gauzy Indian muslin, tiny beads in every shade of blue embroidered around the hem.

     Magnus wolf-whistled when he saw me. “You
’re like a gorgeous, exotic mermaid in that. I’ll be fighting off the other men, I just know it.”

     “No more fights
!” I laughed, punching him softly in the side. He still sported a bandage over one eye but most of the swelling had gone down, leaving a few yellowing bruises.

     We walked the short distance into town. Magnus must have thought about putting his arm around me, because I noticed him raise it. However he let it fall to his side. I knew he was only pretending he thought I looked presentable.

     The band was warming up when we arrived and many of the locals were already letting loose on the shiny dance-floor, made hazardous by several generous sprinkles of cornflakes. We exchanged knowing smiles. We’d both been to country dances where cornflakes had been
de riguer.

    
We called greetings to the other dance-goers and took seats on the edge of the floor before Magnus bought us each a beer from the makeshift bar. As night fell and the hall filled, the band swung into serious action and soon Magnus said above the loud music, “I feel better than I have in months. My feet are itching to dance, and I bet yours are too. Come on, let’s show them how it’s done.”

     He
pulled me up and into his arms. 

     I nearly fainted from the suddenness of his movement and the
strength of my craving. One moment we were sitting demurely beside each other and the next I was so close to him I could feel his breath on my forehead and smell the healthy male scent of his skin. He held me so tight the buckle of his belt pressed against my belly but I could also feel the urgency of his body and put it down to the fact that there were several very attractive young women on the floor.

     I’ve never been able to dance but years of enforced ballroom and folk dancing lessons at school ensured I remembered some of the moves. Magnus, though, was a natural and was so strong he was able to take the lead and make me feel like an expert.

     I was relieved, though, when we sat down in a break. I was afraid to let my feelings for him show. I was delighted to accept Dr Jenkins’ invitation to dance with him. “You look so pretty this evening,” the doctor said to me. “Doesn’t she, Magnus? She positively sparkles in that dress and her hair’s like a silken banner flying out behind her.”

     Before Magnus could say a word the doctor had swept me onto the floor
and I was so relaxed with him that I caught myself behaving a little coquettishly, which was out of character. As the Pride of Erin drew to a close, a farmer about Magnus’ age and build – carrying on the country tradition of asking the man if he could dance with his partner – booked me for the frangipani waltz.

     “I’d love that, but could we get some fresh air outside first?” I asked, hot from all the exercise.

     “Sure,” he agreed, leading me outside.

     We began chatting, leaning on the
verandah railings. We exchanged names and I asked him about the harvest and before I knew it he was telling me of his plans to grow sandalwood and tee-trees as an alternative to wheat and sheep.

     Then I heard Magnus calling my name. It was dark to see him, so I said, “Here I am. Just cooling off. Meet…”

     “Come and dance with me,” he broke in.

     “Later. I’m hot. I’m interested in talking to…”

     “Now,” he insisted. “Please.”

     I heard
urgency in his voice and with a backward, apologetic glance at the farmer, walked inside with Magnus’ arm possessively around my waist.

     “What was that about?” I spat as he drew me close and began swaying to the music.

     “I missed you,” he breathed, his mouth brushing against my hair.

     I looked up at him with a smile and saw with surprise that he seemed deadly serious.

     We moved to the music, my desire so overpowering I could barely hold myself up and relied on Magnus’ strong arms. I thought he must have been a little drunk. After all, we hadn’t touched alcohol while he’d been recovering.
He’s just had too much to drink. He didn’t miss me,
I told myself, while allowing myself to revel in the feel of his hard cock against me.  

      
Just as the music was finishing, another man came towards us.

     “May I have the next dance?” he asked.

     “This one’s mine too, mate,” Magnus said, his voice flinty.

     “Okay, okay,” the man
replied, backing away. He probably didn’t want to end up in hospital like the bikies.

     “
Magnus!” I warned, outraged, wrenching myself from his grip. “You don’t own me. I would like to dance with him.”

     “It’s all right,” the man said, his tone conciliatory.

     “No, it’s not all right,” I insisted. “Magnus has no authority over me.” I broke from his reach and stood angrily beside the man, glaring at Magnus.

     “I’ll see you later then,” Magnus
bit out, walking away.

     “Whew!” the man said, relief flooding his face as Magnus stalked out of the hall. “He’s crazy about you. That’s obvious.”

     “Rubbish!” I mumbled shakily.

     I stayed until the dance finished
at almost two in the morning, refusing to run after Magnus who’d behaved like a spoilt child. His boyishness, however, while it had enraged me, also endeared him to me. I often caught glimpses of the vulnerable boy the man had once been. His childlike enjoyment of the novel I’d read him, his eager, laughing eyes when we played cards, aroused my maternal instinct as well as some baser instincts. Although I wasn’t off my feet for the rest of the night, my enjoyment of the bush dance had gone with his departure.