Chapter Four
Isobel fumbled with the last of the buttons on her dress as she emerged from behind the screen. She had been tense throughout the examination, fearing the worst.
“Please take a seat,” said the doctor, gesturing towards his desk. “May I offer you a glass of water?”
“No, nothing, thank you.”
“Please, Mrs. Roberts, you have no need to be anxious. The good news is that it seems you have nothing too serious to worry about, and possibly nothing to worry about at all. But I won’t know for sure without seeing you again.”
Doctor Weismann, a bald and bespectacled man with an oval face and a goatee, looked like he had chosen to work till he dropped. He rinsed his hands at a sink as he spoke. “You do have an ovarian cyst, but the results from the lab have confirmed it is not cancerous, and it does not seem to be growing in size since I last saw you. That, I am sure, comes as a relief to you.” Isobel nodded. “So, unless you are planning to have more children, then the best course of treatment is to watch and wait. The cyst may disappear of its own accord, with no need for intervention.”
“I don’t have any children.”
The doctor picked up a file. “But if I am not mistaken…”
“I did have a child, over ten years ago,” she said, her eyes glazing over at the memory, “a boy, but I suffered complications. He died two days after a premature birth.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Roberts, I do apologise. It is unlike me. I should have consulted my notes with more care.”
“But if I were planning on having another child?”
Dr. Weismann had returned to his desk, his head bowed as he consulted his papers. “Do you think that is likely?” he asked, looking at her over the rim of his spectacles.
“I separated from my husband last year. We hadn’t planned the baby who died.”
“Although no less distressing for that. And did you try for additional children?”
“The time wasn’t right, not for my husband anyway, so we agreed to leave it till later, when his career had settled down.”
“But ‘later’ never came?”
“By the time it might have been right for him, things had changed. Emotionally, I mean.”
“Yes, I quite understand,” said the doctor, seeming to read more from Isobel’s expression than from her words. “And now…”
“Now, if I found the right person, yes, I would want a child.”
“And, if you do not consider it impolite, are you now with Mr. Right?”
“I don’t know; it’s too soon to tell. Much too soon.”
“Well, I’m sure you will make the correct decision when the time comes, and I have found no medical reason preventing you having a child, although of course the risk increases for you, and for the baby, as time goes forward.”
Isobel nodded. “Yes, I appreciate that. If the cyst does not go away by itself, what is the worst that could happen?”
“That is a hypothetical question, Mrs. Roberts, and an improbable scenario. But if the cyst did turn cancerous it would need to be removed by surgical procedure under general anaesthesia. That is normally a straightforward intervention, or as straightforward as any surgery can be, and as far as childbearing goes, you would not be affected. But, worst case, in the event it were necessary to remove one or both ovaries, then that is something else.”
Isobel nodded, understanding. She remembered similar accounts from friends.
“But as far as my diagnosis goes, for now it remains the same: we watch and wait. If anything changes with your symptoms, or should you become pregnant, then contact the hospital straight away.” He scribbled as he spoke. “I’m going to prescribe something to help with the discomfort during intercourse. And I’d like you to stop at the desk outside and make an appointment to see me again in six weeks.”
“And if I do decide to try for a child, should I do anything differently?”
He laughed, stood from behind his desk and extended his hand. “Have sex more often and cut out the contraception. That usually does the trick.”
When Isobel left the surgery she called Ryan, but only got a mechanically cheerful recording. “Everything went fine at the hospital; just a routine check-up,” she added. “Call me back when you can.” For the first time since they met, she wondered whether she could imagine him as the father of her child, and what kind of father he would make. She laughed to herself at the irony of it—fifteen years married to a man whom she once loved and who could have given a child the best start in life, but who became too consumed by his career. Now, in the space of two full moons, she dared to think about the possibility of a child with a man who, for all she had seen, owned nothing more than a pickup truck.
The doorbell chimed as Isobel dallied in the shower, rubbing rose petal–scented oil into her body. She had dashed back home from the hospital so she could be ready when Ryan arrived. He had called the previous evening and surprised her when he said that he wanted to see her. She felt almost ashamed how much she longed to see him. A week earlier she had feared he had lost interest in her, and now that he stood on her porch she had to stop herself from running to greet him. She wanted to grab him and hug him, but checked her enthusiasm.
“You’re late,” she said as she opened the door, still pulling at the tendrils of wet hair that were caught under the silk robe.
“Late for what?” said Lance Denning with a smile, his body framed by the wooden porch. With his groomed hair and in his crisply ironed white shirt and gleaming black brogues, he could have been an office worker out for lunch who has discarded his jacket and tie in deference to the midday sun.
Isobel’s breathing quickened. She had found herself mulling over her encounter with the urbane Mr. Denning, but she had not expected to find him on her doorstep. She had spent two hours with him but he had revealed only snippets about himself, and certainly nothing about his relationship status. “Mr. Denning?”
“Please, Lance. Have I called at a bad time?”
“I’m not ready to receive visitors, as you can see.” Her hands went to the folds of the robe.
“But it’s almost noon,” he said, grinning.
“I know what time it is,” she snapped, feeling vulnerable and defensive, knowing that the flimsy drapes of the robe that she clutched to her body revealed the outline of her nipples.
“Does a well wisher need an appointment?” he asked with a smile.
She looked out left and right along the street. “May I ask why are you here?” she said, now regretting her brusqueness, but uncomfortably aware that Ryan might arrive at any moment. She knew she had no reason to be anxious. The cocktail with Lance had been nothing more than an innocent encounter, yet one she had chosen not to mention when telling Ryan about her day at the Del.
“To say hello, for one. And I’m also wondering if you have thought anymore about what we discussed?” He paused, the delay allowing Isobel time to think back to their conversation, but leaving her unsure what her unexpected visitor might be referring to.
“What we discussed?” she said, half thinking she might have forgotten some commitment.
“Talking with Pauline, I mean.”
Isobel had thought about it, but dismissed it as just a chat-up line. “It was a very kind offer, something I will think more about when the time is right.” She reached back for the door handle. “But if you don’t mind—”
“Oh, one other thing. I popped into Bay Books and I noticed the new guide to San Diego. I know how quickly these things get out of date. And strangely enough, it also has a section about the unfortunate suicide at the Del, and I knew you’d be interested to read more about it.” He took the book from his bag as he spoke.
A suitor bearing gifts, she thought, painfully reminded how easily and naïvely she had been taken in by her ex-lover Jay’s battery of blandishments. “How did you know where I lived?” she asked suspiciously.
“Ah, yes, another local mystery to be solved. You filled out your details when you signed up for the Del tour.”
“Very resourceful of you, but isn’t there a law against giving out personal information in California?”
“I expect so, but when I explained it was a matter of life and death, they relented.”
A car slowed up alongside the property. Isobel’s heartbeat picked up a beat. Her eyes followed the car, only returning her gaze to Lance when it pulled away. Lance too looked over his shoulder but, unlike Isobel, appeared unfazed by the prospect of an imminent arrival.
“It seems the visitors you’re not ready to receive may have arrived. And I have blocked their parking space.” He offered the book. “I hope you find somewhere you haven’t come across yet.”
At this moment, Isobel wanted nothing more than to get Lance off her porch, but the man seemed in no hurry to take his leave, visitor or no visitor. She accepted the book gracefully, careful not to touch his hand.
“Thank you. I’ll read it with interest.”
Isobel let out a sigh of relief when she noticed Juanita, standing out on the sidewalk, appraising the scene. Isobel clutched the book to her chest.
Lance maintained his cool. “I apologise that it isn’t gift-wrapped. The bookshop ran out of ribbon this morning.”
Isobel did not reply, instead directing her attention to Juanita. “I’ve been wondering where you must have got to,” she called out, with a piercing stare that defied the girl to defend her time keeping. “The gentleman is just leaving.”
“Por favor, señor,” said Juanita as Lance stepped aside to allow her through.
“Hola, chica,” he replied, touching his forelock but continuing to focus his attention on Isobel.
Isobel ushered Juanita over the threshold as she also retreated, only to stop in her tracks as Ryan appeared on the drive. He had chosen to dress at his most casual, his hair tousled, jeans hanging low on his hips, and white trainers. A crumpled rucksack hung from one shoulder.
“Sorry, babe, took me a while to park,” he said, his eyes narrowed at Lance, seeming to fix responsibility for the inconvenience where it belonged. “Some wise guy with a limo took my spot.”
“My apologies,” said Lance. “If I’d known you owned that stretch of road—“
Their shoulders collided as Ryan jostled past.
“Hey, you don’t own the drive either.”
“Please, Ryan—“
“You just can’t get a Jehovah’s Witness off your doorstep, can you,” said Ryan. It was an uncharacteristically strident entrance, and Isobel guessed that he had either had a nightmare of a drive down, or taken his time surveying the situation before making his appearance. He put his arm around her. “Sling your hook, mister.”
Lance smiled. “You a tough guy?” he asked.
Ryan stepped forward, his chest up against Lance. “Tough enough to handle you.”
Lance stepped back, conceding the space and raising his palms. “I’m sure, I’m sure. But what about him?” He jerked a thumb backward. The burly black man that Isobel remembered from the Del was getting out of a sedan that sat the other side of the road. “But before we put that to the test, I’ll say adios and continue on looking for souls to save. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Roberts. If you have the opportunity to stop by the Bible class, please do.” He turned his gaze to Ryan. “Nice to have met you, sir.”
Ryan let out a dismissive snort. “Asshole,” he muttered, turning away.
Isobel pulled Ryan through the door, thankful that the encounter had not amounted to any more than posturing.
“Hi babe, you look great,” he said as she embraced him.
“You too,” she said, kissing him.
“Who was the smart ass?”
“Sorry darling, I really don’t know what he came here for. He’s some random guy I met. He just arrived on the doorstep two minutes ago.”
“Smug fucker, whoever he is. And what a wuss, hiding behind his hired muscle like that.”
“Just as well you arrived when you did to rescue me,” she said, running her hands up his chest.
“You want I can come back later?” said Juanita, standing at the kitchen doorway with a bowl in her hand.
Ryan ran a finger down the centre line of Isobel’s buttocks, but she pulled it to one side and entwined her fingers in his.
“It’s okay, Juanita. I just need to finish getting ready; we’ll be going to the beach in a while.”
Ryan pulled his hand free and returned it to Isobel’s backside.
“I come back later,” said Juanita, making a fuss of being distracted by placing the bowl on the table. “I have made up a picnic also, it is in the kitchen, señora.”
“That girl is a godsend,” said Ryan as soon as Juanita had left. He dropped his bag and scooped up a helping of refried beans on a cucumber slice she had left on the table.
Isobel hugged him from behind, pressing her body into him. “Let’s leave those till later.”
He turned to face her and she ran her hands under his T-shirt, kneading the smooth skin of his waxed chest. He reached and gently pulled her face to his, pressing his lips to hers. She pushed her tongue into his mouth as she dragged her nails down his torso.
“Wow, babe, what happened to freshening up?”
“I’ve been missing you, and who knows how long we’ve got.” She led him into the bedroom and kicked off her sandals. Her clothes were strewn about and the bed needed making, but she didn’t care.
“You naked under that thing?” he asked.
She put her arms around his neck, excitement running through her. “How about you check?”
He pushed his hands round to her buttocks and she pressed herself against him, her skin tingling in expectancy. Her hand went to his crotch and she delighted that his readiness matched her own. “You’ve been missing me too?” she said, slipping her hand inside his jeans.
He pushed her backward. “Get those thighs around my waist, you horny bitch.” He lifted at her backside. “I want you against the wall.”
“You’re one smooth talking hunk,” she replied, parting her legs as he lifted her. He pressed her to the wall, his hardness trapped against her belly, his fingers exploring and teasing, and she ached to have him inside her.
“Feels like you’re ready, babe.” He put his fingers, dripping wet with her juices, against her lips. She took them into her mouth, her gaze unfaltering as she held his blue eyes with hers, hungrily savouring them, then put her open mouth to his, waiting for his tongue. With their lips locked together, he lowered her onto him and thrust into her, and she responded with equal urgency, grunting and groaning and snatching at him as all consuming lust took over. She came before he did, mouthing silent expletives, and he moved her to the bed and tumbled her onto her back, pressing her thighs to her chest so her body doubled in two. She pulled down on him, her mouth open in wanton encouragement as he pounded down on her, his eyes wild and her hair knotted in his clenched fist, before he collapsed down on her, his body spent.
They lay silent for a while, she idly stroking his chest, waiting her moment. She touched his cheeks and he opened his eyes. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Apart from you getting off like a train, you mean?”
“You didn’t mind me coming that quickly?”
He laughed. “No guy’s ever gonna complain about that, babe, believe me. Just so long as you don’t lose interest once you’re done.”
She made a line of kisses up and down his chest. “You know what you said the night we argued.”
He put a finger to her lips. “What is it with dolls that getting laid makes them start thinking,” his voice mimicking a gangster in a fifties movie. “Now what was it I supposedly said?”
“You know…about me only wanting to see you when I needed it. You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Maybe I want to believe it. Some guys would take it as a compliment,” he replied, tickling her between her legs.
“I’m serious. You mean more to me than what we do in the bedroom. You know that?”
“Hey babe, chill. As long as we’re both having fun, it’s cool.”
He closed his eyes again and they dropped back into silence. When she gauged by his breathing he had fallen asleep, she uncoupled herself from him and went to the shower. She stood before the mirror looking at her own body. Her breasts were still firm and pear shaped and her legs toned and smoothed, but she knew it was not the same body it had been twenty years ago, and she wondered how it compared to the much younger women Ryan must surely be used to dating.
He had awakened by the time she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She pulled the robe tight and slipped in beside him without removing it.
“You’re worried about the wet patch,” he said.
“Something like that.”
“We’re gonna spend the whole afternoon in bed, or are we still hitting the beach?” He answered his question by springing up and grabbing his boxers.
She followed his lead, but pushed herself up with less enthusiasm. “I’ve packed a towel and a swimsuit, and some sunscreen. Do I need anything else?”
“No, that’s cool, everything else we need is in the truck.”
“Everything else we need for what?”
“You’ll see,” he said, with a grin, pulling on his trainers without unlacing them.
The sight of three surfboards sticking out of the back of the Chevy immediately satisfied Isobel’s curiosity.
“You can’t be serious,” she exclaimed.
“Bet your sweet ass I am. You can’t come to California without riding a wave or two. It’s a rite of passage thing.”
“I had my rite of passage at eighteen, thank you. And I still bear the scars. I’ve never even been on a skateboard, let alone a surfboard.”
“Well, now’s the time to fix that. I mean, you can swim, can’t you?” Isobel resisted the temptation to say that she couldn’t, knowing it would only sound pathetic. “And you can ski, right? So there’s nothing to it. It’s just a question of balance.”
“And that’s why they have surfing academies and lessons, I suppose?”
“I’m telling you, surfing is as easy as falling off a greased log. All you need is the board and a bit of courage. You’ll get the hang of it. It’s not like there’ll be any big surf out there. I mean, kids of six and seven are surfing.”
“Which just tells me I’m old enough to know better.”
“But young enough not to care, right?”
Was he patronising her? Ryan’s carefree nature, so different from her staid husband, undoubtedly added to his attraction. Yet at times like this the lifestyle that went with that nature exaggerated their age difference. It had been Ryan with drink in hand and full of bravado who had hit on her, that much she knew. But why he continued to pursue her when he surely had willing starlets closer at hand, she often wondered.
She gave him a playful shove. “So where exactly are you planning to drown me?”
“I thought we’d check out Imperial Beach. The vibe is it’s an okay spot. Won’t compare with LA, but hey, maybe that’s a good thing, you being, like, a novice beach babe.” He took the picnic basket from her and pinched her backside. “Let’s go see what you can do with that pretty ass of yours.”