The Wife He Never Forgot. Anne Fraser

to speak. She recognised his voice straight away.

      Today had started like any other day. She’d been off duty when the phone had rung. At first the American accent on the other end of the line had thrown her. Then, when the male voice had identified himself as a doctor from the Royal London, her first panicked thought had been that something had happened to Alan, who was still flying Apaches in Afghanistan. But it was Nick he was calling about. Nick had been brought into the hospital with a head wound and was asking for her.

      Without waiting to hear any more, she’d dropped the phone and bolted for her car.

      She searched Dr Blackman’s face, trying to read his expression for clues, but his calm exterior gave nothing away. ‘Why don’t we go into the relatives’ room? It will give us some privacy.’

      She felt sick. People were usually invited into the relatives’ room so they could be given bad news.

      ‘Just tell me.’ Her lips were so numb she could barely articulate the words. ‘Is he dead?’

      ‘Dead?’ Dr Blackman’s mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘No the lieutenant colonel is very much alive. He was drifting in and out of consciousness for a while but he’s going to be just fine.’

      Relief buckled her knees. Still, she had to see Nick for herself.

      ‘Take me to him,’ she said.

      ‘I think we should talk first.’

      Tiggy straightened to her full five feet five. Whatever Dr Blackman had to tell her could wait. ‘Please, Doctor, I need to see him. Now.’

      The doctor clearly realised she was in no mood to be thwarted. ‘Very well. If you’ll follow me?’

      Nick was lying on his bed, as still and as white as a corpse. His head was bandaged and there was a dark bruise on his left cheekbone only partly hidden by the stubble of his unshaven face.

      But it was still Nick. Her husband. The man she hadn’t seen for six years.

      * * *

      Nick’s head was filled with images. Bombs were exploding, helicopter blades whirled incessantly, scattering dust everywhere. There was blood, so much blood, and soldiers and civilians running in panic. Then someone was sticking something into his arm.

      Slowly the nightmare scenes began to fade and a strange sense of calm filled him as Tiggy’s face appeared before him; her blue eyes were wide, her red hair a sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. The vision shifted and he was holding her, kissing her——she was in his bed, in his arms, laughing up at him, giggling at something he’d said.

      He liked it when he dreamt of her.

      ‘I’m here, Nick,’ he heard her saying in that quiet, determined way she had. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’ Her voice was like cool rain on a hot night. Even in his nightmares the memory of her voice, her touch, always soothed him. It was when he was awake that the memory of her tormented him.

      ‘Can you hear me, Nick?’ a different voice said. An American, by the sound of him.

      ‘Come on, Nick. You need to open your eyes.’ It was Tiggy speaking again. Much better. He far preferred her voice to the American’s. But he was damned if he was going to wake up. The dream was so much better.

      ‘Nick, for God’s sake, say something!’

      If he hadn’t known he was dreaming, he would have sworn it was Tiggy. But that was impossible. Tiggy was lost to him. Well and truly lost, as he was damn well going to tell that nagging voice.

      He shifted slightly, trying to force his limbs to move. God, his body was aching. It was as if he’d been driven over by a Humvee. But he hadn’t been run over by a military vehicle or anything else. He hadn’t been in Afghanistan. He’d been in London. Other fragmented memories flooded back. The last thing he remembered was that he had been walking down a street. Which one he couldn’t for the life of him recall. A man had been on the ground. Someone had been kicking him. He’d moved in to stop the fight. He’d taken a blow to his stomach, but not before he’d landed one of his own. After that? Nothing. Except an exploding pain in his head.

      Using every ounce of willpower he could muster, he reluctantly opened his eyes.

      He had to be still dreaming. Tiggy was bending over him, her beautiful eyes awash with tears. It couldn’t be her. Not after all this time, and not after what he’d put her through. He closed his eyes again. Now, if only he could get back to the dream where she was lying in his arms, laughing up at him. He didn’t like Tiggy being sad.

      But damn. He was awake now. He opened one eye. The image of Tiggy was still there. He closed his eyes and opened them again. No, it was no hallucination. No dream. It was her.

      ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he growled.

      * * *

      Tiggy reeled as if she’d been slapped. But what had she expected? That Nick would be pleased to see her? Considering the way they’d parted, it was as likely as a snowstorm in the desert. Yet when he’d first opened his eyes she could have sworn it had been hunger—and pleasure—she’d read in their brown depths. She had been wrong.