Page 4 of London
He shrugged. As sappy as it sounded, he was glad he’d made her laugh and banished some of the sadness that had marked their initial meeting.
“Nothing that complicated,” she said, returning to the conversation at hand, using the pink straw to stir her drink. “I’ve been living here almost a year, but lately I’ve been working too hard. I’ve sacrificed the small pleasures of life—like fast food.”
“Why’s that?”
She looked at him, taken aback. “Are you always so bold?”
“Yes, although some people say nosy. It’s never stopped me from asking questions—a side effect from my career.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is it because of the divorce you mentioned? If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me to mind my own business, and I will.” He gestured with the mint leaf he’d picked up from the edge of his glass. It hadn’t improved the taste.
Linda’s demeanor didn’t change, but he detected a glimmer of humor in her eyes. They were getting to know each other, and he couldn’t be more thrilled.
“Gossip is everywhere, even at the clinic. Didn’t it cover my marriage and divorce?” Her tone was tinged with sarcasm.
“If there’s been gossip, I’ve been so busy that I’ve missed the latest updates,” he joked. “I didn’t even know you were married. Now that I’ve met you, I assume the guy is an idiot for walking away from you, and it’s probably in your best interest that he did.”
Her eyes opened wide, but before she could say anything, the young server brought their food. He thanked her absently, but his gaze never left Linda. Had he gone too far? Not many people appreciated his direct approach.
To his relief, Linda’s lips twitched humorously.
“Thank you,” she said. “Actually, there isn’t an interesting story here. Like millions of women, I married the wrong man. Fourteen months later, we accepted the fact and parted. No scandal involved.” She reached for one of her fries and dipped it in mayonnaise.
“It was brave of you to admit you’d made a mistake,” Gerard said seriously. “Some people wallow in misery for years before they do. It takes guts and brains to start over.”
Her mouth twisted in a bitter half-smile. “If I’d had the brains, I wouldn’t have done it in the first place. I got caught up in his charm, in the illusion of the lifestyle he offered.” She propped her chin on her hand. “Tony was extravagantly romantic. I thought he was a true gentleman. Only after we married did I realize that to him I was just another possession, something he’d bought and now owned.”
Gerard hated the son of a bitch on principle. He could imagine a sleek, arrogant Italian gangster type whose suits were worth more than he was. Linda deserved far more than being some rich, shallow bastard’s arm candy.
“Brain freeze. I drank that lemonade too quickly.” Linda grinned and rubbed the spot between her eyes. “Now that you know my boring story, tell me yours,” she said. “You’re French, aren’t you?” Her cheeks pinked.
She was embarrassed about having revealed so much about her life, but Gerard admired her for trying to make light of it. He played along.
“Is it so obvious?” He exaggerated his accent.
She giggled. “Bien sûr,and that almost sums up my French.”
“But, you have a great pronunciation.”
“Merci beaucoup!Italian is linguistically quite similar to French, so that probably helps.” She sipped her drink. “How did you end up in foggy old London? If you don’t want to talk about it, just tell me to mind my own business,” she mimicked, grinning.
He laughed, delighted to discover she had such an enchanting personality.
“I was born in Paris, and I lived there until I was sixteen when my father died.” Even thirty years later, the pain was still there, the regret sharp.
Gerard didn’t want to give into the grief. He resumed his story, rhyming off a litany of facts.
“He worked in nuclear research. I didn’t know much about his work at the time, since I was too busy being a teenager. He was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. He’d ignored the symptoms until it was too late. He refused to go through chemotherapy, making do with painkillers. Two months later he was dead. After that, my mother decided to move here to live with her sister, Cecile.”
He tried to appear detached, but was certain his voice still reflected the pain of that horrible trauma. It was natural for children to bury their parents, but not when one of the parents was only forty-two years old.
Sorrow filled Linda’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did your father’s death influence your decision to become a doctor?” Her voice was gentle, filled with understanding, confidence, and warmth.
Her perceptiveness astonished Gerard. He sipped his lemonade thoughtfully. The question was one he’d asked himself many times.
“It’s possible,” he answered. “Maybe subconsciously it affected my choice, but there were other considerations. I inherited my father’s thirst for knowledge, his fascination with science in general and the human body in particular. Like him, I’m intrigued by mechanisms, by the configuration of live organisms, and by their chemistry, the way they function, their need to adapt, to reproduce…”
Linda lowered her gaze, her cheeks redder than earlier.
