Even as the surgeon turned away they saw Owen being wheeled out into the corridor.
“Come on,” he heard himself saying to her, upset beyond words at the whole damn business.
Owen’s dazed eyes rested on him first. “Lang!” He put up a hand and Lang took it, feeling the strange chill off Owen’s skin. “We’re here for you, Owen,” he said, allowing his strong feelings to show. “Eden is here, too.” He used her name knowing that he liked it. It suited her.
“Eden?” Owen tried to turn his head, clearly excited, agitated and the medical attendant shook a warning head at them.
She came forward, taking Owen’s other hand, bending over him, her lovely face as sweet and innocent as a Madonna’s.
The expression that blazed out of Owen’s face caused him to look away. This was love. Real love. God! And it was going to last. He knew that now. No one, not wife, not child, not partner, was going to separate them.
Ward Sister came up briskly. “Thank you,” she said with what was clearly a dismissal. “Mr. Carter is due in surgery. You’re waiting?”
“Yes.” He spoke for both of them. “We want to be here.”
Sister nodded. “There’s no telling how long it might be.”
“We’ll wait.” Eden spoke for the first time. “We couldn’t possibly leave.”
But Owen wanted desperately to detain them. “Lang,” he called, his voice weak and slurred.
“Go now,” Sister said. “You’re disturbing the patient.”
“I think he wants to tell me something.” Lang started to move back towards Owen but Sister stepped with authority between them.
“If you don’t mind.” She lifted a hand to signal a medical attendant who wheeled Owen away.
He sat Eden in the waiting room, a cup of coffee in hand before he put through a call to Owen’s home from the privacy of the empty corridor. He had spoken to the Carter housekeeper initially, not filling her in before he had a chance to speak to Delma, but he had left the message for Delma to ring him on his mobile the moment she got in. The housekeeper sensing something was wrong had apologised profusely for not knowing exactly where Mrs. Carter had gone. Mrs. Carter was a busy lady, sometimes she forgot to say.
It seemed an age before Delma’s call came through. He saw the girl’s eyes as he left the waiting room again. She seemed to know intuitively this was Owen’s wife.
Delma didn’t take the news calmly. She was a volatile woman, her cries so despairing they echoed quite stridently over the phone line. It was as though Owen couldn’t possibly pull through. He tried his very best to reassure her but in the end had to fall back on telling her he would ring the instant they had news.
“That was upsetting?” The girl’s eyes flew to his as he took a chair beside her. They were alone. Another couple had been there, but they had left.
He nodded, not surprised by her perceptiveness. “That was Delma. She’s quite distraught.”
“She loves him,” the girl said as though that explained it. As indeed it did.
“I couldn’t convince her she will see him again.” He thrust an agitated hand through his hair.
“It must be terrible to be so far away.”
That incited his retort. “Would you have risked being here had Delma been in the city?”
She looked undismayed. “Of course. But then Owen would have made things clear.”
“That’s childish talk,” he answered, and shook his head. “You truly believe Delma, his wife, would just walk away? Miss Sinclair, you don’t know her. I wouldn’t care to see Delma humbled and humiliated. She wouldn’t react with quiet dignity. She’d turn into a tigress before your eyes. I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. Certainly for her son, Owen’s heir.”
“Tell me about him,” she invited, speaking in a gentle tranced tone. Perhaps she was in shock. “Robbie. Roberto?” She longed to say “my little brother, my half brother,” but she had given her word to Owen he would be the one to break their grand news.
“My godson,” he said with deliberate irony. “I have another. My sister, Georgia’s, boy, Ryan. Both boys are of an age. Why do you want to know?” He allowed his eyes to move over her face, feature by feature, almost dividing it up into segments like a painter. Above and beyond the physical perfection of her features was a quality that gave her real power. Sensitivity? Mystery? Refinement? Maybe it was all three.
“I want to know everything about Owen,” she said. “He’s told me so much but you have a different perspective. Certainly of me.”
“Can you blame me?” he asked with heavy emphasis. “Owen has a wife yet he’s obsessed with you.”
“Obsessions aren’t uncommon.”
“Especially with women like you.”
Tension fairly crackled in the air around them. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I’m like?” she invited, not avoiding his lancing gaze, but suddenly challenging it.
“I have no desire to make you unhappier than you are.” He kept his voice toneless. “You realise Delma will be flying down to Brisbane?”
“I’m surprised she’s not already on a plane.”
“Then don’t be surprised at all the complications. I assume you’re not going quietly?”
What else could she say? “Owen wants me here,” she answered gravely, almost certain Owen, facing surgery and unsure of the outcome for all the surgeon’s reassurances, had been about to divulge their “secret” when Sister intervened.
The surgeon in his operating greens, made an appearance much sooner than either of them had anticipated. His expression, as was the case with so many doctors dealing with life and death on a day-to-day basis, was austere.
“Oh God!” Eden gave a soft moan, every muscle in her body contracting. She wanted to believe everything was all right, but she was still traumatized by the death of her mother. She would never get over those shock moments when Redmond Sinclair, bone-white, had come to her office to give her the catastrophic news the police had found the wreck of her mother’s car. Cassandra was dead. Now Eden breathed in and out fighting off dread.
“It’s too early, isn’t it?” She appealed to this hard, strong, commanding man, Lang Forsyth, but he, too, looked like he was preparing himself for bad news. “What’s it been?”
“An hour ten.” A V-shaped cleft formed itself between his definite brows.
They were both on their feet, both persuaded the relatively short duration of the operation might mean the worst.
“He must go on living. He must. He can’t die.” Eden didn’t realise she was muttering aloud. Finding her father had given her own life meaning. She couldn’t lose him now. Her distress communicated itself to Lang at an intense level. He found himself putting a supportive arm around her, encircling her slender body. At the same time he felt a deep thrust of desire within him which he didn’t much welcome. It was dangerous, even shameful. The odd part was she leaned into him for all the world like she trusted him utterly. It was as if they were friends. But then she was desperate for comfort and support from anywhere. Even from him.
Only when the surgeon reached them did he give a brief but illuminating smile.