Page 74 of Conail

"Yes. Donald is a friend of mine and a retired surgeon. He lives a few blocks from where she is."

"Good. I think we should have the pastrami. And a salad."

"Are you upset?"

"About having pastrami?"

"Yasmine."

She had her back to him as she took out a cup. "A little."

"She called me, I--"

"No." Shaking her head, she turned to face him as she poured water over the pouch. "I gather that her husband is not there."

"They're having problems."

She glanced at him and concentrated on pouring honey. "I see. She told you?"

"Yes." He was still watching her closely and saw when her hand shook a little. "I saw her at a function recently."

"Okay." Pasting a smile on her lips, she went to the fridge to take out the pasta. "We'll just heat this up--" She broke off when he clamped his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

"She's my past."

"Of course." She refused to look at him for fear of seeing something she could not bear.

He was about to say something else when his phone rang.

"Answer it," she advised. Not giving him a chance, she turned to take up her cup and walked out of the kitchen.

"Dammit!" he muttered before grabbing up the phone.

"I don't know how to thank you."

He wanted to snap at her for spoiling the magic but managed to tamp down the irritation.

"No problem. How is the child?"

"Doing much better. He was given some antibiotics. If it wasn't for you--"

"I'm happy I was able to help," he told her formally.

"Conail, I really am sorry." She eased out a breath. "I wish things were different."

"They're not." He glanced at the empty doorway and realized how impatient he was to get back to Yasmine. "Go and take care of your child. Goodbye." He hung up without a second thought and stood there for a minute. He had to explain to her. Tell her what had happened in the past and assure her that he was over it--over Michelle. And he would mean it. Shaking his head, he pressed a hand over where his heart was pounding. He would mean every word, because it was the truth.

Putting away the pasta, he hurried from the kitchen.

*****

The tea had cooled. She could feel it only because her fingers were wrapped around the cup. She had not taken a sip for fear of choking. It would not have gone past the hollow in her throat. It was lodged there, just as the pain was spreading inside her chest.

She had heard him talking and knew instinctively that it was her. The woman he loved, the one who had caused him so much pain. The one she could not compete with.

When she heard the sounds in the sitting room, she sat up and pretended to drink the now lukewarm tea and wanted to convince herself that she was properly composed.

"I thought you were downstairs." His eyes scanned her face cautiously.

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