Forget Me Not (Escape Contemporary Romance) Page 3

  She stepped back. ‘We should go now.’

  ‘This is an enormous imposition on you. Isn’t there someone else who can help out?’

  Claire lowered her gaze. ‘There is no one else.’

  His mouth fell open. Stefan had been mistaken thinking she was here because she wanted to help. Claire was beautiful and kind and intelligent.

  And she was only here because she had to be.

  Chapter Four

  Stefan watched as Claire turned the key and pushed open the door of her apartment–or was that their apartment? He wasn’t sure which, not that it mattered. This would be home for the next couple of weeks.

  She held the door open for him. ‘Go ahead.’

  He smiled. ‘I believe it’s usually ladies first, but in this case, I’ll make an exception.’

  Actually, Stefan was itching to see the place. At the very least, the apartment would have some clues about his past life and his personality.

  He strode through the entry hall towards the frosted glass doors that led into the living area. Stepping inside, he held the door open for Claire, and looked around.

  There were two, stylish chocolate brown leather sofas, a deep red rug, flowers on the dining table, framed photos on the buffet, and, magazines on the coffee table. There was a welcoming level of clutter, as well as an art deco ceiling and a simple fireplace with a red brick hearth. A decorator hadn’t carefully selected choice pieces for the room—this room looked lived in.

  So, this was home. Stefan could be happy here. Felt immediately comfortable, in fact.

  Nodding, he said, ‘Nice apartment.’

  ‘That’s funny. That’s what most people say when they visit for the first time.’

  ‘Yeah, well, this is a first for me too. It seems so...’

  ‘Familiar?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. In a strange way, this is what I was expecting, only better. This apartment has a bit of personality but it’s not overdone and pretentious.’ Looking at Claire, he added, ‘I knew you wouldn’t live somewhere glitzy and ostentatious.’

  ‘It’s not glamorous, but neither were we. Come on. Can’t stand in the doorway all day.’

  Stefan felt pressure on his arm, as Claire cupped his elbow in her hand and gently pushed him forward. It was the first time she’d touched him like that, and he liked it, liked the feel of her hand on him.

  Pointing at the sofas, he said, ‘They look very masculine. I bet I chose the sofas.’

  ‘Yes, and I chose the cushions.’

  Claire nodded towards an eclectic array of cushions, all in fabrics ranging from silk to embossed velvet, in colours from rich burgundy and fuchsia to pale pink. They didn’t look like something a young lawyer would choose but he didn’t know her very well. Yet.

  ‘A wise choice,’ he said. ‘They stop the sofas looking too stark.’

  Her mouth fell open, warm brown eyes as wide as a child’s, a small furrow creasing her otherwise smooth brow.

  ‘That’s exactly what you said when I bought them.’

  ‘I’m still the same person underneath,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I’m going to say the same things I used to say.’

  ‘I guess you are the same person.’

  Clue didn’t look pleased at this, didn’t seem the slightest bit reassured.

  Stefan held her gaze. ‘I hope that didn’t scare you.’

  ‘No. It’s just a bit weird, that’s all.’

  ‘Would you mind showing me the rest of the apartment?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure. The kitchen is over there, and the other rooms are all in this direction.’

  She seemed pleased for the distraction, leading him through the office and two spare bedrooms.

  Pushing open another door, Claire said, ‘This is the guest room where you’ll staying.’

  A pair of men’s pyjamas lay neatly folded on the pillow on a single bed. There were a couple of books, a pile of CDs and a portable CD player on the bedside table. She’d obviously taken great care to set the room up for him.

  ‘I’ve put clean linen on the bed,’ Claire added. ‘You’ll find everything you need in the bathroom. I shifted your old clothes into this closet so you’ll have something to wear.’

  ‘My old clothes?’

  ‘You left a lot of stuff here when you moved out, clothes included. I guess you intended to come back for them at some stage. You took all your good suits with you, of course, but there will be something here to wear before we go to your new place.’

  Stefan wasn’t sure he wanted his suits. Was he going to put them on and pretend to go to the office?

  He nodded. ‘I’ll take a better look through these things later.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘There’s just the master bedroom left.’

  Claire didn’t say anything. He knew the room must contain personal items and he didn’t want to pry, but at one stage it had been his bedroom, their bedroom. For all he knew, the sight of it might bring his memory back.

  ‘That’s not a problem, is it?’ Stefan asked.

  He saw a glimmer of reluctance in Claire’s eyes but she quickly composed herself.

  ‘Not at all.’

  Stefan followed as Claire walked into the master bedroom ushering him ahead. Stepping inside the doorway, he looked around, wondering what on earth he was searching for, what he thought he might find.

  It was just a bedroom, though a stylish one. The bedding was coloured in mocha tones that complimented the feature wall behind, covered in embossed wallpaper the colour of bitter chocolate. The only other furniture in the room was an antique mirrored dresser, with delicate carved walnut wood grain on its many small drawers.

  Stefan couldn’t believe how damn frustrating this was, had the feeling that if he kept looking he’d find answers, but he didn’t even know if he was looking in the right direction.

  Stepping back into the hallway, he thanked Claire. His mind, however, was elsewhere, What would bring his memory back if the sight of his wife and their bedroom hadn’t?

  Claire closed the door behind them. ‘That was okay this time, but my bedroom is private and I’d like to keep it that way.’

  Stefan could hardly object. It wasn’t like Claire was being unreasonable. ‘No problem.’

  They ambled back to the living room. He couldn’t have been the only one struggling with his feelings at the moment. Having Claire’s personal space invaded by her ex, having to play nursemaid to him, couldn’t have been easy for her.

  Claire swept one had towards the sofa. ‘Why don’t you take a seat while I get dinner ready. It’s getting near that time of evening.’

  ‘I thought I might look through your photo albums, if that’s okay with you. I presume we’ve got some.’

  Surprise washed over her face. ‘Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. They’re in the sideboard against the wall. I’ll be in the kitchen.’

  Claire turned and walked away. Stefan opened the cabinet and grabbed the albums, settling himself down on the sofa. Minutes later, he heard the sound of the fridge door swishing shut, a cupboard door being opened and a gush of water from the tap. These were familiar sounds but he felt like he was hearing them for the first time.

  How was he ever going to get used to this? Any of it. He hadn’t even faced the outside world yet, just the cloistered environment of the hospital. Living with Claire in this apartment was the easy part, and it would only get harder from here on in.

  He had to find out more about himself, and the photo album was one way of doing it. What was that old saying? A picture tells a thousand words. Time to see what pictures had to say about Stefan Porter.

  The albums were all neatly laid out, the pictures labelled. There were photographs of him and Claire with friends—barbecues and picnics—pictures of Claire’s mother, and someone called Sophie, who looked like a darker haired version of Claire. There were pictures of them in full ski gear standing at the tops of mountains, at Parisian cafes and in front of the Ei
ffel Tower. They must have taken lots of vacations together.

  Stefan looked pretty much the same, just younger and leaner, but there was something in his expression that jumped out at him. The man in the photo seemed extraordinarily confident, smug even. Staring at one picture, where he stood with his arm around Claire, Stefan thought he looked rather like the cat that had got the cream. With good reason.

  He’d only ‘known’ Claire for a few hours, but what did he truly know about her? Next to nothing. Yet, he did trusted her.

  Looking through the wedding album, he finally came across photos of his parents. Only then did he realise that they’d been absent in earlier photos. One look at his father and there was no doubting the family resemblance. Stefan hoped he didn’t look quite as arrogant as the older man, although.

  The phone had rung a couple of times while he was occupied, but Claire must have picked up the calls in the kitchen because they soon stopped. Stefan skipped through the albums quickly, trying to digest as much information as possible, but found himself glancing up at the kitchen door. That spicy smell was distracting, and he found it difficult to concentrate.

  Finally, unable to bear his hunger it any longer, he put the albums aside and stepped into the kitchen to investigate. Hit by the smell of a thick wave of complex spices, he leaned in the doorway, breathing it in.

  ‘What is that wonderful smell?’

  Claire glanced up at him, her gaze retuning to the items on the stove. ‘Indian.’

  She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail of shimmering blonde, baring the lovely neck and face. There was a hint of perspiration at her brow, her pale skin glowing. Still dressed in the skirt and reddy-brown top she’d worn at the hospital, Claire looked a little overdressed but comfortable nonetheless.

  ‘You’re just in time to set the table.’ She nodded towards the cutlery, plates and serving bowls piled with rice and curry.

  ‘You must be a good cook,’ Stefan said, doing as he was told.

  ‘You’re quite the chef yourself, too.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘You wouldn’t approve of my methods. You were always a grinding-your-own-spices-in-a-mortar-and-pestle kind of guy, whereas I like a little help from a jar of something from the supermarket.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Sacrilege, on my part.’

  Stefan picked up the last bowl from the cupboard. ‘Sacrilege smells good.’

  ‘Would you like a beer with dinner?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do I like beer?’

  Claire turned and took two long necks of Stella Artois from the fridge. ‘You like it with Indian.’

  After they were seated at the table, Stefan reached across, grabbing a beer and Claire’s empty glass. ‘Let’s see if I know how to do this.’ He tilted the glass, pouring a beer with a perfect head and passed it to Claire.

  ‘You remembered how to pour it?’

  Shrugging, Stefan picked up his own beer. ‘I just knew. It must be the instinctive male beer-drinking gene.’

  She lifted her glass and clinked it against his bottle. ‘Here’s to the newly discovered beer-gene.’

  Claire took a deep draft and watched, wide-eyed. As if it wasn’t hard enough getting used to a usually clean-shaven Stefan now having a trendy goatee—now, he was drinking straight from the bottle, too.

  He looked at her blankly. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I’ve never seen you do that before.’

  ‘But you said I liked beer.’

  ‘Only from a glass. You always said it was uncouth to drink straight from the bottle.’

  Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘So, you think I’m uncouth?’

  ‘No, you think you’re uncouth.’ Claire felt her brow furrow. ‘Or you would if you could remember.’

  His smile reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners. ‘Maybe we’d best not go there.’

  Perhaps he was right and Claire should just take him as he was. After all, he was a lot easier to get along with now than he’d been before walking out on her. This Stefan might have lost his memory, but at least he didn’t hold any grudges.

  After a while, Stefan put his knife and fork down. ‘Mmmm. This is absolutely the best meal I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Wow. Thank you so much.’ Claire was beaming, but on reflection he’d spent the last week in hospital, so that probably wasn’t saying a lot. ‘Hospital food is renowned for being lousy? I’m not sure what you said was a compliment.’

  ‘I wasn’t poking fun at you. This meal is excellent.’ Poker-faced, he added, ‘Even if you didn’t grind your own spices.’

  ’I’d like to see you do better!’

  It wasn’t a witty retort, but was the best Claire could do.

  Reaching across, Stefan covered her hand with his. ‘I honestly didn’t mean to offend you, but this is so much better than anything I can remember having. It was lovely of you to cook tonight. Hey, maybe I’ll cook tomorrow night.’

  She smiled at the warmth of his touch. ‘Maybe you will.’

  Stefan grinned, let her hand go, and continued eating.

  God, how she’d missed these little touches and the way they made her feel, and even the teasing. But was all temporary—Stefan’s memory loss, the way he behaved and talked to her, him staying in her apartment. All those things would change.

  Claire stood, plate in hand, but Stefan gestured for her to sit down.

  ‘I’ll do the cleaning up,’ he said.

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Of course. I’m not an invalid. I presume that occasionally I used to clear the table.’

  ‘Usually you cooked. You hated cleaning up.’ Stefan had never been lazy and had always done his share, but if he hadn’t liked doing something, he’d find a way around it. ‘But who knows, maybe now you’ll like doing the dishes.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’d like doing the cleaning up, only that I’d do it.’ He held her gaze, his pale eyes intense, almost mesmerizing. ‘I was wondering … looking through our photo albums there were a few things that didn’t quite make sense. My parents, for one. Except for the wedding album, there are very few other pictures of them, but there are plenty of photos of your mom and sister. I presume Sophie is your sister?’

  ‘Yes, she moved to Perth for work years ago. Mum lives in the Western suburbs of Sydney and we’re very close. It was Mum and Soph who called while I was in the kitchen. They’ve been worried.’

  Claire had tried to tell her mother there was no need to come over and check on her, but her mum hadn’t seemed convinced. She’d probably come by regardless.

  Sophie was a different matter. Eight months pregnant and on the other side of Australia, Claire’s sister wasn’t in a position to drop by. She’d probably just phone every day, instead.

  ‘What about your father?’ Stefan asked. ‘You haven’t mentioned him.’

  ‘He died when I was a kid.’

  That was the short version. Stefan had never felt close to his family, so he hadn’t been able understand that her father’s death had brought Mum, Sophie and her closer together.

  ‘And my parents?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t they worried about me?’

  They couldn’t give a toss about you. Claire barely stopped herself from saying it out loud. Stefan’s parents had been thrilled when he’d finally gone off to college and out of their hands. They hadn’t even complained when he’d come to Sydney and liked it so much he’d stayed. Not that they’d understood his decision—it involved extra study and exams to allow him to practise as a lawyer in another state—but they hadn’t objected.

  Sure, his parents had given him money, as there’d been no shortage of that, and when Stefan had arranged it, they’d meet up with him in exotic locations. That had been the extent of their relationship with their son.

  ‘New York is a long way away,’ Claire said. ‘I spoke to them over the phone last night. They know about your amnesia and said they’d be here in a week or so.’

  Stefan’s mother had become teary and emotional, but then his fath
er had grabbed the phone from her and questioned Claire closely about Stefan’s condition. He’d been relieved to find his son was in good health and no immediate danger. And that had been all.

  ‘Do you think I should call them?’ Stefan asked.

  ‘You can try. I got them on their cell phone but they were at Long Island, and said they’d be very busy over the next few days.’

  ‘Busy?’

  Claire could see his mind ticking over. Memory or no memory, Stefan was clever enough to put the pieces together, but she still didn’t like seeing him hurt. Before his accident, Stefan had got used to his parents’ attitude, eventually giving up on them after years of personal struggle. She didn’t fancy him going through that again. ]

  Claire shrugged. ‘That’s what they said. You can talk to them yourself when they get here.’

  After dinner, they drank coffee in the living room. Conversation flowed easily between then, with Stefan asking many questions about his old life and listening intently to her answers. Even though Stefan didn’t remember her, they had lots to talk about, or perhaps it was because he didn’t remember her.

  It was like they’d just met—a clean slate, a fresh start. He was meeting her for the first time, discovering new things about her, growing fond of her all over again.

  Until, one day, he’d remember and then it would all be over again. No, she wouldn’t let that happen. Claire would do what she had to do to help Stefan get back on his feet but she wouldn’t let herself lose her heart to him again.

  Claire looked at the empty coffee cups on the small table, deciding she’d worry about them later. Or perhaps Stefan could put them away. He wasn’t infirm.

  She stood. ‘I’m going to call it a night.’

  Stefan looked at her, surprised. ‘It’s still early.’

  ‘I’ve got a book to finish reading.’

  Her work for the day was done—get Stefan from the hospital; bring him home; tell him about his past. Tomorrow’s task was to show him around the city, reintroduce him to his colleagues and stop by his old apartment. Anything beyond that was too much.

  No, she wasn’t going to fall into the trap.

  Not a second time.