Deadly Admirer by Christine Green

Author:Christine Green [Green, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Reference
ISBN: 9781906288761
Publisher: Ostara Publishing
Published: 2012-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

A whole night! Eleven hours! I had no knitting with me, because I'd never learned how; I was halfway through a paperback book, but if the other half was as dull as the first I'd have real trouble staying awake.

‘Relax, Kate. I'm not going to give you any problems,’ said Jonathan as he sat on the bed and stared at me. ‘On the other hand I'm not going to sleep either.’

‘I'm glad you're not going to give me any problems, but why no sleep?’

He shrugged. ‘Let's just say I wouldn't want to miss any time with an attractive young redhead.’

I didn't quite know how to answer that so I smiled, deciding that like mad dogs, mad medics could probably smell fear. I pushed from my mind all the things that could happen. Instead, I tried to concentrate my thoughts on his fear, the fact that he was ill, that he needed a sympathetic ear.

‘Is there anything you'd like to do, Jonathan – watch television, play cards, talk?’

‘We could screw.’

‘We could,’ I said. ‘But we're not going to.’

‘All the girls I meet say that. What's wrong with me? Go on, tell me … I can take it. Is it my looks? I never manage to keep my girlfriends for long. I'm not repulsive, am I?’

‘Of course not. You're good-looking enough. Perhaps you just try to rush them.’

He thought about that for a while as he began to pace the floor and as he did so, he swept his hand through his hair over and over again as if that would somehow smooth out his thoughts. Eventually, as the pacing continued I realised he had forgotten the question and that I was there.

On the assumption that he would be more relaxed lying down I said, ‘Why don't you get undressed and get into bed? We could talk properly then.’

‘Right,’ he said, his red lips forming a half smile that just missed being a leer. He began to remove his sweater and jeans. He let them fall into a pile at his feet and stood there in red and white spotted boxer shorts waiting for my reaction.

It was the bruises that surprised me. On both shins and upper arms vivid stains, like blue ink, mingled with red grazed patches and, as if to punish me for my reaction, he swiftly removed his underpants and stood naked before me.

‘Seen all you want to?’

‘Good body,’ I said. ‘Shame about the bruises. They must be painful.’

I tried to imagine the scenario of Jonathan trying to throw himself over the bridge and the brave passer-by who clung on to his legs and managed to haul him back again. It was no wonder he was bruised.

His bravado failed then, his eyes filling with tears, and I stood up and looked away, wishing I felt more able to cope. Wishing I wasn't there. Wishing I could do something.

When I looked back Jonathan was in bed, curled into the foetal position – sobbing.

I sat down, pulled the armchair close to the bed and patted his shoulder.

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