Faith by Peter James

Author:Peter James [James, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General, Suspense, Fiction, Medical, Alternative Medicine
ISBN: 9781409133025
Google: TyfekRB_-CIC
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2010-10-06T18:30:00+00:00

59

In bed, Faith closed her book, Wild Swans. After reading of how women had been treated in China, she was fortunate at least to have been born and brought up in this country, if nothing else. Her head was pounding. It was twenty past eleven.

She squeezed two paracetamols from their foil wrapping and swallowed them with a glass of water. Then she took out her contact lenses, put them in the solution in their containers and replaced the lids.

Ross, naked, carried his suit jacket across the room and disappeared into the walk-in wardrobe. Moments later he emerged, strode across the room and placed his trousers in the wooden press. She knew exactly what he would do next. He would pick up his tie, examine it in the light for any marks, then carry that into the wardrobe and carefully hang it in its colour-coded slot on the rack. Then he would emerge again, check his shoes, carry them into the wardrobe, and put them in their places on the shoe shelves. After that, he would fold his underpants and place them on the chaise-longue. Next to them he would lay each of his socks, neatly smoothed out. And finally, he would fold his handkerchief and place that beside the socks. In the morning he would pick them all up and drop them into the laundry basket. She had never understood why he didn't just drop them straight into the basket.

His penis wasn't erect, but looked as if he was starting to get aroused.

Please let me sleep. I don't want you inside me, I don't want you coming remotely near me.

She turned off her bedside light, leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes.

'You OK?' he said.

'I have a bad headache.'

'You took some pills?'

'Paracetamol.'

'How are you doing with the Moliou-Orelan capsules? You still have plenty left?'

'Yes, plenty.'

'How many days' supply left?'

'About a week.'

'I've got more coming. And you've been taking them three times a day, every day?'

'Ross, I have a headache.'

Downstairs in the kitchen Rasputin began barking. Probably a rabbit, she thought, or a fox.

'How's the nausea? Are the pills helping it?'

'No, not so far.'

Rasputin barked again then fell silent.

'You are taking them, aren't you, darling?'

'Of course I'm bloody taking them.'

She felt the bed sag slightly. Then his hand on her stomach, sliding down, his fingers working through her pubic hair. She squirmed away. 'Ross, I really don't feel well.'

'You had a headache on Wednesday.'

'I'm ill, OK? I'm sorry.'

His fingers persisted, working their way inside her.

'Please, Ross.'

'We haven't made love since last Saturday.'

She didn't reply.

To her relief, Ross removed his fingers. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. 'Goodnight, darling.'

Ross picked up the British Journal of Plastic Surgery from his bedside table, opened it and began to read. But he wasn't concentrating, he was listening to Faith's breathing, which was steadily deepening.

Then he turned and watched her eyelids. Waiting for the fluttering that signalled she was moving into REM sleep. He waited patiently, turning the pages of the magazine, glancing at her, listening.

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