Their Very Special Marriage (18 page)

‘You will remember to pick Rob up at three, won't you?' Rachel asked.

‘Of course.'

‘Then Sophie.'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm not sure what time I'll be back—it depends on the traffic, and I might go for a drink and a chat with the others after the course. So if you can feed yourself and the kids, I'll make myself a sandwich when I get in,' she said, not meeting his eyes.

‘Right.' Did that mean she had a guilty secret? Or just that she couldn't bear to look at him? He didn't know.

‘Good. Bye, Rob.' She kissed her son goodbye. ‘Have a nice day at school, and be good for Daddy, OK?'

‘Yes, Mummy.' Robin held his mother a little too tightly. So he'd noticed she'd withdrawn, too. Oliver sighed inwardly. This situation wasn't good for the kids. But there wasn't a solution. He'd thought and thought and thought, and there just wasn't a win-win solution. One of them would have to back down. For the sake of their patients, it couldn't be him. But for the sake of their marriage...

Oh, hell. Talk about caught between a rock and a hard place. Whatever he did, he'd fail in a huge part of his life. Why couldn't he have both? Why couldn't he have the family he loved and the job he loved?

‘Bye, Soph. You have a nice day, too, and be good for Daddy.'

‘Yes, Mummy.' Sophie lisped. She, too, hugged her mother tightly. Oliver couldn't remember the last time the children had done that to him. They didn't climb onto his lap to tell him things either, like they did with Rachel.

Had he become a lousy father as well as a lousy husband?

‘See you later, Oliver.'

He didn't get the hug and kiss goodbye, he noticed. Not that he'd expected it, with the mood Rachel was in nowadays.

Even though he'd scheduled a later start for surgery that morning, he was still late for work. He'd managed to drop Robin at school with no problems, but Sophie turned decidedly weepy at the idea of him leaving her at nursery. ‘No, Daddy, don't go!' She wrapped her arms around his knees and sobbed, wiping her face on his leg. ‘No!'

It took him a quarter of an hour to persuade her to make something with play-dough instead of clinging to him with her face pressed into his leg. Even then he had to sneak out while one of the nursery teachers distracted her, and he couldn't shift the feeling that he was a mean, uncaring father who was neglecting his little girl.

‘What happened to you?' Caroline asked.

‘Sophie didn't want me to leave her at nursery. She got a bit clingy.' Heartbreakingly so. He added cold water to his coffee, cooling it enough to swallow it straight down. Right now, he needed caffeine. ‘I never knew Rachel had to go through that every morning.' She'd never said. Then again, he'd never asked.

‘How are things?' Caroline asked.

‘Still the same.' He sighed. He felt slightly guilty about talking to Caroline about Rachel—particularly as he'd been so angry with Rachel for talking to their neighbour—but it was
different
with Cally. She'd known him for years and she was good at keeping secrets. ‘It's stalemate.'

‘You know where her course is being held, don't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then go and meet her for lunch.'

He shook his head. ‘She won't have time. You know how intensive these one-day courses are. Anyway, I've got to look after the children.'

‘She'll make time for you. And if it turns out you're going to be late back, get a babysitter.'

He shrugged. ‘How? It's too short notice.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘If you don't want to spend time with your wife, just say so. Don't make feeble excuses.'

‘It's not a feeble excuse, and I
do
want to spend time with her.' Oliver glared at her, affronted. ‘I just want things to be how they were.'

‘That's not going to happen, Oliver. At least, not on its own. The longer you leave things, the bigger the rift between you is going to get.' Caroline rolled her eyes and shook her head in impatience. ‘Men. Sometimes you can be
so
stupid. If your normal babysitter can't make it, I'll look after the kids for you.'

‘Really?'

‘Really.' She smiled. ‘It's not as if I'm a total stranger. OK, it means they'll get take-away pizza for dinner tonight, but that won't hurt them, will it?'

Oliver flung his arms round her and hugged her. ‘Thanks, Cally.'

‘Just sort it out. You know what you have to do. Stop being so stubborn.'

She'd already texted him that message. Several times. Maybe, Oliver thought, it was time he admitted she had a
point. Time he admitted that his
wife
had a point. He'd meet Rachel from her course, take her out and lay his heart on the line. Offer to compromise.

He just hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

‘I was very impressed with your contributions, particularly in the last session,' Marty, one of the other course delegates, said to Rachel when the whole group was sitting in the hotel bar for a quick drink at lunchtime. ‘So you do a lot of paediatric work?'

‘I'm responsible for child health in our practice, yes,' Rachel said with a smile. ‘I enjoy it.'

‘Me, too.' He gave her an appraising look. ‘Rachel, I know we've hardly even had a chance to introduce ourselves, but I was wondering if I could take you to dinner tonight, after the course?' His eyes seemed fixed on her mouth—as if he was wondering what it would be like to kiss her. ‘I don't normally do this sort of thing. I mean, I don't make a habit of asking women out. But there's something about you. I'd really like to get to know you better.'

Rachel couldn't remember when a man had last looked at her with that kind of interest. Not since before she'd met Oliver. And it was a hell of a boost to her confidence: a man actually found her attractive. Unlike her husband, who used his job as an excuse to keep his distance from her.

For a split second she was tempted to say yes. It would be good to spend an evening with someone who actually
wanted
to spend time with her. Somebody who wasn't going to have half an ear on his mobile phone and would give her his total attention. Somebody who wouldn't have to rush away within a few minutes, full of apologies.

But eight years ago she'd made a promise to love, honour and cherish. An important promise, one she couldn't—
wouldn't
—break. Even if her husband had already broken it.

‘I'm sorry, Marty. I'm enormously flattered, but I'm also married. With two small children.'

‘You don't look old enough to be married with children.'

She laughed at the blatant line. ‘Thank you, Marty, but we both know I'm a qualified GP. My son's six, so you can work out just how old that has to make me.'

‘You can't blame a man for trying,' he said good-humouredly. ‘Especially with a woman as beautiful as you.'

So her new image had worked on a stranger. Why hadn't it worked on Oliver? Why hadn't her husband noticed?

She smiled back at him. ‘I'm very flattered. But the answer's still no.'

‘Your husband's a very lucky man.'

Rachel almost said, ‘Try telling him that.' But that wasn't fair. It wasn't Marty's fault that her husband had fallen out of love with her. And she certainly wasn't going to burden a near-stranger with her problems. So she smiled and turned their discussion back to the course.

* * *

Oliver remained in the doorway of the hotel, just watching. He'd guessed that the delegates would be in the bar—it happened with most courses. What he
hadn't
expected was to see his wife talking with another man. Talking animatedly, throwing her head back and laughing, putting her hand on his arm.

Jealousy knifed through him. When had Rachel last been that carefree with him? He couldn't remember the last time she'd flirted with him like that. And here she was, lapping up the other man's attention.

Part of Oliver wanted to storm over there, punch the guy on the nose and tell him to keep away from his wife. The more sensible part of him knew that if he did cause a scene like that, Rachel wouldn't be impressed by his macho display. She'd be embarrassed, ashamed and probably very sarcastic
to him. He wouldn't have a hope in hell of sorting things out with her tonight.

He probably didn't have a hope anyway. This ‘surprise lunch date' really wasn't a good idea. If he turned up in the middle of the delegates, he'd look as if he was some kind of jealous husband who didn't trust his wife. He didn't want to embarrass Rachel like that.

And right now she looked happier than he could remember seeing her look in a long, long time. With a sigh Oliver turned away and headed for his car. He texted Caroline to say she didn't need to pick the kids up, he'd do it himself. And when Rachel arrived home—a surprisingly short time after the course was supposed to finish—he couldn't bring himself to ask her about the mystery man. He tried to sound interested in her course, but all he could think of was how far away she was slipping from him. And he couldn't for the life of him work out how to get her back again.

* * *

The following week, Oliver's elder brother left him a message at the surgery to say he'd see him for lunch in the pub. Why did Nigel want to meet him for lunch? Oliver wondered. He hardly ever saw Nigel nowadays, except at family functions. Rachel made no secret of the fact that she didn't like his brother, and their loathing was mutual. Probably because Nigel was used to women falling at his feet, and resented the fact that Rachel didn't adore him, Oliver thought grimly.

‘I got you a pint,' Nigel said when Oliver walked into the Red Lion.

Oliver went straight onto red alert. Usually, he was the one buying the pints. Nigel almost never stood his rounds. Which was probably why he could afford to run an expensive sports car and was always nipping off to Madrid or Amsterdam or Venice for the weekend. ‘Thanks,' he said cautiously, and sat down.

‘So, how are you?' Nigel asked.

‘Fine. You?'

‘Can't complain. Suzanna keeps my hands full.'

Suzanna was clearly the latest girlfriend—yet another Oliver hadn't met. ‘Right,' he said, attempting a smile. Though he could hear Rachel's voice in his ear, irritated rather than amused.
Oh, for goodness' sake, does he have to squeeze imaginary breasts every time he mentions a woman's name?

‘I've ordered us the steak and ale pie,' Nigel said.

Oliver would definitely have preferred a salad. But at least his brother was trying to make an effort. ‘Thanks,' he said.

‘I saw your Rachel last week,' Nigel continued.

‘She didn't say she'd seen you at the surgery.'

Nigel shook his head. ‘No, not professionally. Out.'

Out? Rachel hadn't been out—except to her course. At least, to Oliver's knowledge, she hadn't been out anywhere.

‘Quite a change of image. You know, the suit and the hairstyle.'

Hairstyle? So
that
was what had been nagging at him. Rachel had had her hair cut. And he hadn't noticed. No wonder she'd been frosty with him.

‘The blonde streaks suit her.'

Oliver hadn't noticed anything different about the colour of Rachel's hair either. Another black mark to him. And, he wondered, just what else had he missed?

‘You know what they say—new image, new lover.'

Oliver scowled. ‘Don't be ridiculous.' Of course Rachel didn't have a new lover. Then he remembered the way she'd been flirting with that guy in the bar last week.

‘Just a saying. Keep your hair on,' Nigel mocked.

Oliver forced himself to stay calm. This was what lunch was all about. Nigel was just trying to get a rise out of him—the dull, stolid, boring younger brother who'd fitted into their parents' expectations instead of dumping his
responsibilities and pleasing himself about what he did with his life. Sibling rivalry. After thirty-seven years of it, he really ought to know better than to let Nigel's little comments upset him. ‘So, tell me about your—Suzanna, is it?'

‘Lovely. Blonde and curvy. We're off to Paris at the weekend.'

‘Very nice.' Paris. Something he and Rachel had always planned to do, but had never actually made it. Not even on their first anniversary. ‘Car going OK?'

‘Beauty. You ought to get yourself one, you know.'

‘I need something big enough to carry the kids and all their stuff,' Oliver said lightly. A little two-seater convertible was out of the question.

Somehow Oliver made it through lunch with Nigel and back to the practice. He wished he'd made some excuse and not gone because all afternoon he kept hearing Nigel's voice.
You know what they say—new image, new lover.

It got worse when he saw Nancy Griffiths.

‘I feel a bit silly. I should know better at my age. Stood on a nail. Peter pulled it out for me, but he said I ought to come and see you.'

‘Absolutely right.' Oliver opened the relevant file. ‘Your last anti-tetanus jab was nine years ago, so I'm going to give you a booster to be on the safe side. Can I have a look at your foot?' Gently, he checked for signs of neurovascular injury. There weren't any, so at least he wouldn't have to refer her for an X-ray. ‘I need to get this cleaned up, Nancy. It's quite hard to clean wounds in the foot, so what I'll need you to do is to come into the side room with me.' He led her into one of the treatment rooms, then filled a bowl with antiseptic and water. ‘I need you to sit here and soak your foot for about fifteen minutes, then I'll come in and put a dressing on for you and give you an anti-tetanus booster. Can I get you a magazine or anything while you're waiting?'

‘No, thanks, Dr Bedingfield. But thanks for asking.'

After he'd seen his next patient, he came back to finish treating Nancy.