Forget Me Not (Escape Contemporary Romance) Page 9

  ‘That’s funny, because when I first met him, I got the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to be interested in me until I got my memory back and could come back to the firm.’

  ‘That wasn’t the first time you’ve met Brian. You’ll have to believe me when I say that you used to work closely together.’

  Grabbing her hand, Stefan brushed past, heading towards the door. Claire was soft and warm and smelt reassuringly familiar, but she slipped away from him, her fingers sliding from his grasp, her expression hardening.

  ‘I’ll meet you outside then if you like,’ she said under her breath.

  Hell, he didn’t want Claire to be angry at him. She was all he had.

  Stefan sidled up behind her in time to catch her bidding Brian goodbye. ‘Surely you can’t be going home already,’ the lawyer said.

  ‘I don’t like drinking on an empty stomach,’ Claire explained.

  ‘You can get a bite to eat at the Burgundy Bar. That’s where we’re heading afterwards.’

  ‘Not for me thanks.’

  Brian looked to Stefan. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m tired.’ He glanced around the room. ‘This is hard work for me.’

  Brian flashed a good-natured smile. ‘No, this is the relaxing bit. Hard work is what you used to do when you led a team of fifty lawyers, stood up in court and stayed back at the office.’

  Stefan didn’t believe that could be harder than what he was going currently through right. When he’d been a lawyer, he’d had a degree, and years of experience and staff to back him up. He’d known what he was doing then. Now he was clutching at straws.

  ‘Why do you do it if it’s such hard work?’ he asked.

  ‘It pays the bills. Pays the private school fees.’ With a knowing nod, Brian added, ‘You’ll know all about that one day. And it keeps the wife in the style to which she has become accustomed.’

  The wife. Stefan hated that term. Whoever she was, whatever her name was, wasn’t she his wife? Wasn’t she the woman he’d married and loved?

  He and Claire must have had a very different relationship. Claire had never stayed at home living a lavish, relaxed lifestyle while her husband worked his guts out. She had her own job, her own passions, her own identity.

  Stefan held Brian’s gaze. ‘What do you get out of it?’

  He laughed. ‘What do you mean ‘what do I get out of it’? This is my job. It’s what I do. And if you haven’t figured it out, we do very nicely out of it. We get paid extremely well.’

  Stefan nodded.

  ‘Thanks for inviting us.’ Claire turned to Stefan. ‘We’ve got to go.’

  They made their way out and Stefan closed the boardroom door behind him, the sounds of chatter, glasses clinking and occasional laughter disappeared into a muffled mist of noise. He felt good to be out of there.

  Claire stopped outside the door. ‘There was no need to be rude.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘A lot of people could have taken offense at your tone. You’re lucky Brian’s so thick-skinned.’

  ‘My questions weren’t rude. I’m just trying to work things out.’

  ‘You weren’t simply enquiring about his career. When you asked Brian what he got out of being a lawyer, it was though only some sort of imbecile would do the job he was doing and the onus was on him to provide an explanation.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’

  Claire glared at him. ‘Yes, you did. You two worked side-by-side on a lot of cases. If you’re insulting him, you’re insulting yourself as well. You’d do well to remember that.’

  ‘I can’t remember, that’s the whole point.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for being rude. Lift isn’t always about you, how hard it is for you, how you can’t remember. All you think about is yourself and that’s downright selfish. Other people have feelings too, you know.’

  Stefan opened his mouth to argue but realised she was right. He’d been thrown into this world—everyone else knew what was going on and he didn’t. He just assumed others could carry on with their lives and take care of themselves, assumed no one else needed anything from him, especially since he didn’t have that much to offer.

  A little sensitivity wasn’t too much to ask, not now he’d had some time to grow accustomed to his predicament.

  But Claire wasn’t only talking about his brusqueness with Brian. She was talking about herself, and the way Stefan had been treating her. He’d been taking her for granted. Taking. Not giving.

  ‘I’m sorry, Claire,’ he said. ‘For everything. None of this is your fault and I’ve been quite hard on you.’

  Her mouth fell open, surprise washing across her face. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  Stefan paused, then said, ‘You could say ‘apology accepted’.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ Though her expression was composed, her lips widened into a smile that reached her eyes, and he knew she meant it. ‘Let’s go.’

  This time when he took her hand, Claire didn’t slip away as they walked together across the sparkling marble floor and towards the elevator.

  Claire slid her hand out of his and jabbed the elevator button.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I need to be selfish a little longer. There’s something that’s bugging me.’

  She turned to him. ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s Veronica. Talking to her has…well, it’s thrown me.’

  ‘She’s very frank.’

  ‘That’s the problem. She was too forward for my liking but so familiar with me that it made me wonder…I really don’t know how to ask this.’

  ‘Then just say it.’

  The elevator doors opened. Neither of them talked and waited until the doors slid shut.

  ’Was I having an affair with her?’ Stefan covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Please don’t tell me I was.’

  Claire shook her head gently. ‘No, you weren’t.’

  He let his hand drop. ‘Thank Christ for that.’

  ‘I don’t think you ever liked her that much. You respected her work ethic but didn’t approve of her methods. As far as I know, though, she didn’t try anything underhanded with you.’

  ‘But how can you know I wasn’t involved with her?’

  ‘I know you.’

  ‘Can you know someone else that well?’

  ‘There are a lot of things I don’t know. I have no idea what you did after you left me, if you were seeing someone or who that might have been. But I know it wasn’t Veronica.’

  Claire seemed sure, but he still found the whole thing unnerving. Veronica had been so confident—pretending she was his buddy, leading him on—and though he hadn’t trusted her, Stefan had been overcome by the feeling that Veronica knew much more than she let on. ‘You don’t look convinced,’ she said. When he didn’t say anything, Claire added, ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about when it comes to Veronica. Honestly, you couldn’t get drunk enough to go with her.’

  Stefan shrugged. ‘Great.’

  Claire smiled. ‘That was a joke. I’m trying to make you feel better.’

  He returned her smile. ‘Well, that’s very reassuring.’

  ‘Now, if that’s settled, I guess were good to go.’

  Looking into her eyes, Stefan leaned closer. He waited for a signal, for some sign that she wanted him to.

  He’d kissed her the other night and hadn’t given her much choice. He’d foisted himself on her, certain Claire had wanted him as much as he wanted her—he’d been wrong. There had been desire on her part—there was no doubt about that—but she’d had no problem walking away from Stefan at the end.

  The next time he kissed her, he wasn’t going to let her walk away. The timing would be right, the moment special. He wouldn’t stop at one kiss.

  Hell, he was a man and Claire was a woman and they’d loved each other once. They’d made love many times, of that he was sure, and he wanted to believe they would again.

  Her words from earlier in the evening came back to
him. It’s not always about you. Maybe this was about Claire, her feelings and her pain. She’d dropped everything to take care of him and he’d barely acknowledged her generosity. He couldn’t assume she was keen, just because he was.

  Stefan pressed the elevator button, the door springing opening immediately.

  ‘Thanks for everything,’ he said.

  He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her ahead of him into the confined space. They were both looking straight ahead as the doors closed.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘It’s good to see you, Son.’

  Silver-haired James Porter wrapped his arms around Stefan and pulled him close. Barrel-chested and tall, James was still a powerful man with strong shoulders. As far as Stefan was concerned, he was putting all of himself into the bear hug they currently shared.

  Stefan wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but certainly not this level of effusiveness. His father wasn’t holding back, but then, the man was finally seeing his long lost son again.

  ‘It’s good to see you, too,’ Stefan said to his father.

  That wasn’t the truth but it wasn’t a lie, either. He felt he should say something warm to these people, who’d cared for him, loved him and raised him. They were his parents, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt them.

  At the same time, he felt another familiar pang inside. This was a moment he’d hoped might be a turning point, that might trigger the return of his memory, but it wasn’t.

  Two weeks ago Stefan had lost his memory, and one had passed since he’d moved in with Claire, yet there had been nothing, not even a flash of familiarity. He was fed up. James Porter pulled a thin, well-dressed woman in front of him, his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘I wanted to get in before your mother,’ he said. ‘I have a feeling that once she gets a hold of you, she won’t let go.’

  Stefan saw tears in the woman’s eyes, as she leapt forward and wrapped her fine arms around his waist, her short red-brown hair pressed against his chest. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. The petite female holding herself to him, gripping Stefan so intensely, was a stranger.

  Placing his hands on his mother’s back, he held her gently. After a few moments, Barbara Porter pulled back, whipped a tissue from her leather handbag and pressed it to the corners of her eyes.

  ‘You must both remember Claire,’ Stefan said, taking a step backwards to stand by her side.

  Claire looked elegant in a simple sea-green dress that was sleeveless and showed off her curves. Over that, she wore a little cardigan which wasn’t doing much to cover her up. ‘Of course we do,’ James replied, then looked at Claire and nodded. ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Pleased to see you again,’ echoed his mother.

  They leaned across and kissed the air by her cheeks. Claire, clearly uncomfortable, exchanged a few niceties and asked about their plane trip.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my being here,’ Claire said. ‘The three of you should have been alone together for this reunion dinner but Stefan insisted I come.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t mind.’ James looked away as he pulled a chair out for his wife.

  Stefan pulled out a chair for Claire and took his place beside her. ‘Claire has been like a rock for me over the last week. I wanted her here.’

  His mother placed her hand over Stefan’s, and leaned forward briefly. ‘Of course, darling.’

  ‘I still don’t know why you didn’t want us to meet you at the airport.’

  ‘It’s such a long flight,’ Barbara replied. ‘Even in first class, with those comfortable sleeping pods. We haven’t seen you for a year and didn’t want you to see us looking such a mess.’

  Stefan didn’t care about the way they looked. Seeing them was the important thing, but it had taken a while for them to get here.

  At least they’d done more than his sister Caroline. She’d called Stefan yesterday but the conversation had been such a garbled mess that he felt more confused after her phone call than before. She’d seemed nervous and had rambled on, then finished up the call abruptly. He still didn’t know what to make of it.

  ‘We would’ve loved to have had you at the apartment for a meal,’ Stefan said. ‘I’m becoming quite the cook, you know.’ Proud of his recent achievements in the kitchen, he smiled at Claire.

  Glancing around, Barbara said, ‘This was always our favourite Sydney restaurant. Yours, too.’

  With an entry foyer containing a huge wrought iron sculpture, from the contemporary décor of the interior to the large picture windows looking out onto Darling Harbour, Ruby’s Restaurant certainly looked impressive. The décor was overstated, with the exception being the dim, atmospheric lighting.

  Stefan would have felt more comfortable meeting his parents in more familiar surroundings.

  ‘We’d still love to have you for a meal at our place.’ He turned to Claire. ‘Wouldn’t we?’

  She nodded. ‘Absolutely. Your son is an even better chef now than he was before. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.’

  His mother smiled sweetly. ‘Perhaps.’ But Stefan knew a ‘no’ when he heard it.

  As Stefan expected, the restaurant food was excellent; his fillet steak was seared to perfection and beautifully presented, an aspect of his cooking that he’d have to work on. The meals he prepared for Claire were good but they didn’t look the part, not the way these platters did.

  ‘The hospital psychologist came by a couple of days ago,’ Stefan said, as they finished their main course.

  His father frowned. ‘What for?’

  ‘They wanted to check up on me and make sure I was all right. She’ll be back again next week.’

  ‘You are all right. You’re not a mental health patient.’

  Stefan was pretty sure that’s exactly what he had been at the hospital, but he didn’t want to start an argument.

  Changing the subject, his mother said, ‘You’ve got such an Australian twang to your voice now.’

  ‘Have I?’ Stefan said, surprised.

  She nodded. ‘Most definitely. This happens every time I see you. I forget how Australian you sound.’

  ‘That’s funny. Everybody here else tells me how American I sound.’

  His mother laughed, though he hadn’t intended it as a joke.

  Their waiter came by and his parents ordered their desserts. They were served with elaborate garnishes, and looked more like sculptures than food. On Claire’s recommendation, he’d ordered the chocolate mousse.

  After one spoonful, he looked across at Claire. ‘Excellent choice. This is too good for words.’ The rich bitterness of dark chocolate mixed with the mousse’s creaminess and melt-in-your-mouth texture and made for a simple, elegant dessert.

  Claire smiled. ‘You’ve never had much of a sweet tooth, but this was always one of your favourites.’

  ‘I thought you would’ve gone for something a bit more daring,’ his mother said. ‘Isn’t chocolate mousse a bit boring?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you,’ he replied. ‘All of these simple, everyday things that you’ve seen a hundred times are new to me. You might’ve had chocolate mousse before, but I haven’t. I’ve got a lot to learn and it hasn’t been easy.’

  That was an understatement, but Stefan had the distinct feeling his parents didn’t want to hear about his troubles. Dinner conversation had been pleasant but they’d steered away from discussing anything too deep.

  ‘Actually, Stefan,’ his father said. ‘There’s something we wanted to talk to you about in private. When Claire has finished dessert, of course.’

  ‘What is there that we can’t talk about in front of Claire?’ Stefan asked, taking another spoonful of mousse.

  ‘Son, surely you know she’s not one of the family anymore. You two were well on your way to getting a divorce.’ James Porter shifted his gaze briefly to Claire. ‘No offence intended.’

  Through the corner of his eye, Stefan saw
Claire lower the spoon in her hand, her shoulders stiffening.

  ‘I’m aware Claire and I were separated,’ he said. ‘But she’s also been kind enough to take care of me for the past week.’

  ‘That’s what we wanted to talk to you about.’

  Claire swept her napkin up from her lap, placing it on the table. ‘It’s okay. I’ll go.’

  ‘No, you’ll stay.’ Stefan slid his hand to her thigh and felt the softness of her flesh through the fine fabric of her dress. His touch was firm. He waited until she’d leaned back in her chair before pulling his hand away, and only then looked at his father. ‘Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say in front of Claire.’

  The man didn’t seem fazed. ‘Okay, Stefan. Your mother and I have talked about it and we think the best thing all round would be for you to come and live with us in New York.’

  Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Because we love you and we can take care of you better than anyone else.’

  ‘Better than Claire? Is that what you mean?’

  James nodded. ‘We’re your parents and we know what’s best for you. Your mother birthed you, we raised you, and helped you become the man that you are. That’s a bond that can’t be erased. Even if you’ve lost your memory, even if you don’t recognise us, there’s something still there. You can feel it. A bond like that can’t just disappear.’

  Can’t it? He wasn’t sure what he felt for these people. There was a sense of duty, of not wishing to offend them, sympathy for their difficult position, but very little genuine feeling for them.

  He only had to look to Claire and her family for real emotion. Claire had tried to keep her own mother away but June Simons hadn’t listened, and insisted on regularly dropping by. He’d seen her love for her daughter, heard the concern in June’s voice. There was no covering that up. The same went for Claire’s sister, Sophie, who couldn’t travel but had been phoning every day.

  His family seemed so different from Claire’s.

  ‘Why New York?’

  ‘It’s where we live,’ his father replied, as though it was obvious.

  ‘It’s not where I live.’

  ‘You’re a grown man. We don’t expect you to move back into the family home and live like a teenager again. You can have the loft apartment above ours. Your sister has been using it on and off for a few years, and we’ve talked to her, told her it’s going to be yours. That way we can keep an eye on you but you’ll still have your independence.’