Part Fifty One

On the Saturday afternoon, a week after Connie had been allowed out of prison, Connie was in her office at the hospital, reacquainting herself with the myriad of paperwork that other people had been forced to deal with whilst she was away. Her door was open and she could hear the various sounds of the ward, and it comforted her to know that Ric was just down the corridor, also using the Saturday afternoon to catch up on admin. She had done this a thousand times before, but she couldn't escape the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Part of her felt tense, on edge, as though different parts of her were working against each other, rather than all working to the same end, to keep her going whatever happened. She felt as though her pulse was racing, though she knew that it wasn't, as though her fight or flight response to stress was in full swing. Everything ought to feel at least vaguely back to normal, she thought to herself, whilst knowing that nothing had been remotely normal since she'd left prison. It was Ric, she decided finally, he was being so gentle, so understanding, and so god damned nice to her that it was almost suffocating. He had stayed with her for the first couple of days, taking care of her physical needs, and giving her the room to discuss what had happened, but not pressuring her into it if she didn't want to talk about it. Another thing, on Monday, when he had obviously gone back to work, Ric seemed to understand without her even raising the subject that she wanted some time to herself, to get used to being in her house alone, without him, without Michael. He'd brought her a cup of tea in bed on the Monday morning, kissed her goodbye and said that he'd ring her that evening. Yet she had known, somehow, that if she'd changed her mind and wanted him to stay that night, he would have done. Then, on the Wednesday morning, when she'd come back to work, he had again been there for her. But when she'd categorically asked him to give her space, he had acquiesced. Then, a horrifying thought occurred to her. Was Ric in love with her? Did he in fact love her?

"Oh! God! No!" She exclaimed, thumping her clenched fist into the surface of her desk, almost wanting to scream at the utter incongruity of such a thing. He couldn't, he just couldn't love her. It was a well known fact, at least to herself, that Connie Beauchamp was bad, mad and definitely dangerous to know. She didn't have anything, except perhaps her figure, that was worth loving. She was made up of a tongue that could be both gutter filthy and razor sharp in equal proportions, emotions that even at the age of thirty-nine she couldn't explain, and a level of skill at manipulation that at times frightened even her. It actually made her feel quite sick to sum herself up so thoroughly, but nothing she'd thought was untrue. She knew it, even if nobody else did.

"Are you all right?" Looking over to where the voice had come from, Connie saw Donna Jackson in the doorway.

"I'm fine," Connie replied, not sounding altogether sure of herself.

"You don't look it," Donna told her matter-of-factly, observing the way Connie was massaging her right hand in her left. "You're really pale."

"I'm fine," Connie reiterated. "I think I'll go and top up my Nicotine levels." She needed to get out of here, to get away from anyone who might question her too closely. Once up on the hospital roof, she could breathe freely again. The thought that Ric might have significantly deep feelings for her startled her immensely. She couldn't deal with love, she didn't understand it, but this was almost certainly what Ric really felt for her. Ric undoubtedly deserved reciprocation from her, but Connie didn't think she could give it to him. It wasn't that she didn't feel an enormous amount of affection for Ric because she did, both for how he'd supported her during her stay in prison and, she knew, how he would probably go on supporting her until her trial. But she knew that she definitely didn't love him. Connie didn't think she'd ever loved anyone, not with that all consuming, utterly enthralling passion that made you play the soppiest music going and think about the person at any number of highly inappropriate moments. As she smoked, she wondered what she could possibly do about Ric. She needed to somehow convey to him just how much she really did appreciate what he'd done for her, but in a way that might help to put them back onto their previous footing that mainly consisted of giving each other sexual gratification. Then, as the thought occurred to her, she could have kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier. The only way to achieve what she wanted to achieve was to quite literally go back to what she and Ric had with each other before her incarceration. The language of lovers was a form of communication she knew better than any other in her repertoire. Well, that was it then, she mused as she ditched her cigarette end over the roof, seduction would yet again be the answer to at least one of her problems.

Returning to her office, Connie switched off the computer, deciding that four-thirty on a Saturday was quite late enough to be at work if she didn't absolutely have to be there. After taking a few minutes to redo her make up and renew her perfume, she locked her office door and made her way along to Ric's. She found him in much the same situation as she had been before her trip up to the roof.

"Can I tempt your attention away from that lot?" She said, closing the door of his office behind her and gesturing to the patient records he was currently updating.

"Oh, please do," He said theatrically, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head to release the kinks from his shoulders.

"Do you have any plans for this evening?" Connie asked, slipping round his desk to where he sat and perching on the edge.

"Not that I'm aware of," Ric said, smiling at her.

"Good," She said, laying a hand on his right cheek, moving her thumb over the slight stubble on his chin.

"What did you have in mind?" He asked, anticipating nothing more exciting than a relaxing evening with Connie, cooking a meal together, maybe watching a film, and eventually going to sleep cuddled closely in her bed.

"I thought I might cook you dinner," She said with a smile, "And I don't know about you, but I would quite like to be reminded of just how talented those surgeon's hands really are." The way she trailed her hand down to his collar, and the lascivious smile she gave him left him in no doubt precisely what she meant. Pushing his chair away from her in anger, he said,

"No way, Connie."

"Well, I suppose that's nice and decisive," Connie told him bitterly.

"Connie, sleeping with you is just about the last thing I want right now."

"Why?" She demanded, feeling as though he'd slapped her. "Is sleeping with a suspected killer that slightest bit too dangerous for you? Funny, but I thought you used to enjoy raising the stakes as high as possible. After all, sleeping with someone soon to go on trial for murder can't possibly be more reckless and stupid than putting twenty grand on the roulette wheel." In the resulting silence they stared gobsmacked at each other. Connie couldn't believe she'd just said that, knowing that for someone like Ric, that was way below the proverbial belt.

"And just why," Ric demanded just as scornfully. "Would I want to have sex with someone who won't even think of letting me get remotely close to her? Yes, Connie, you are incredibly beautiful, and you are definitely the most sexually exciting woman that I've ever been to bed with, but emotionally, you're about as cold as the North Pole."

"It didn't appear to bother you before I ended up in prison," She threw back at him, not wanting to examine his statement too thoroughly.

"Connie, you don't try to ignore the existence of a pregnancy just because you don't know how you or the father might feel about it. You don't carry my baby for nearly four months without telling me about it, and you certainly don't try to sleep with me again just because you want to avoid talking about it."

"Do you know something," Connie said, the tears now running freely down her cheeks. "If I didn't have this fucking farce of a murder charge hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles, and if you had wanted me to continue with the pregnancy, I would have done. I would have given birth to your daughter, and I would have loved her and brought her up to the best of my ability. The reason why I wanted to make love to you, is because maybe I'm trying to regain just a little bit of normality, just perhaps I wanted to feel good about something again." Turning on her heel, Connie swept out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

Staring absolutely astonished after her, Ric sat at his desk thinking about everything she'd said. So, their child had been a girl, they would have had a daughter. Would he have asked her to keep it? He didn't know. He hadn't been a particularly good father to his other nine children, but might it have been different with this one? As for Connie trying to get back something she knew, something she understood, well, he knew all about that, didn't he. That was the precise reason he had returned to the gambling all those times, to regain that feeling of temporary happiness that he always craved at times of stress. He thoroughly understood her need for normalcy, but he also knew that if he had slept with her, nothing would have been sorted out, nothing would have been resolved.

By the time Connie returned home, her tears had dried, leaving a weight in her chest that she couldn't seem to eradicate. She lay in a hot bath, with music on in the bedroom and a glass of wine to hand, but her thoughts kept returning again and again to what Ric had said to her. He'd said that she was as emotionally cold as the North Pole. Whether or not he was right wasn't really in question, because Connie knew that he was, but what she couldn't reconcile herself with was why that seemed to matter to him. She knew precisely why it was that she kept all her feelings buried. It was because to let them out, to allow them what amounted to free rein, meant risking her very soul, putting it on display for others to wound even more than it already had been. Confronting her feelings, giving them to someone to do with what they would, terrified Connie. Not giving anyone access to her emotional core was how she survived. But that didn't necessarily mean this was how she wanted to live. Connie would have dearly liked to become emotionally involved with someone, to really show someone just how frightened and confused she was at what was currently happening to her, to take comfort from someone just by being held in a pair of arms, with any physical aspect to a relationship being a secondary instead of a primary concern. As she lay there, Elton John playing softly in the background, she thought of George. Perhaps with George Connie did have something akin to an emotional relationship. They certainly didn't have a physical connection, no matter what Natalie Buxton had said, though Connie couldn't quite deny an interest in finding out just what that would be like. Connie could visualise George as she'd last seen her, when George had come to see her at the prison after the miscarriage. Her very petite body had been clad in a fairly casual blue skirt and top, and the only reason that Connie could tell that one of George's breasts was false was because she knew about it. She could remember George's beautifully sculptured face, with those big blue eyes and incredibly full lips, looking at her in concern, as though she really did care what happened to Connie, which Connie was forced to admit was true. Connie was all too well aware that she was probably getting way too attached to George, but this wasn't something that Connie could bear considering to halt in its tracks. There was something about George, something that was almost a siren's call, luring her into abandoning everything she thought she knew about friendships, about relationships. George, whether she knew it or not, was in some way calling to Connie, urging her to give not only her body, but her soul to a woman, to open her heart up to something entirely different, indisputably new. As Connie's thoughts returned to George's beautiful lips, she could far too easily picture them wrapped around John's cock, an image that she realised she would give an awful lot to witness. As she cupped a breast in each hand, gently rolling her nipples between finger and thumb, she found herself wondering if this was what it felt like to make love with a woman. Bowing to the inevitable, Connie slipped one hand beneath the water, deftly seeking out her clitoris, her masterful manipulation causing her to suck a breath in through her teeth at the images that were now bombarding her mind. She wondered what those lips of George's tasted like, what they would feel like against her own. As she came with a groan of satisfaction, she couldn't quite believe she'd just done that, fantasised about George, and to some extent about John and George. But one thing it had achieved was to help her calm down a little, to slightly temper the fight or flight feeling that she'd had all day, which she could now attribute to sexual frustration. Putting the argument with Ric to the back of her mind for now, Connie got out of the bath and thought about making herself something to eat, the smile on her face testament to how powerful her thoughts of George had really been.

When George actually phoned later that evening, Connie found herself blushing.

"Get a grip," She told herself as she moved to pick up the cordless phone from the coffee table. "Connie Beauchamp does not blush."

"How are you?" George asked.

"Drowning in paperwork," Connie told her. "But for the first time, I'm glad of it."

"I thought I'd give you a few days to get back into things," George told her. "But there are a couple of things I need to pick your brains about."

"I don't know whether that sounds ominous or interesting," Connie said with a grimace.

"It could be both," George conceded. Connie invited George to come over, and George agreed, saying that she would bring a bottle of wine as a peace offering for the questions she was about to ask.

When George drew up outside Connie's house, her eyebrows soared. Yes, she knew that being a surgeon who often did private work, Connie would obviously sometimes be earning the kind of money she did as a barrister, but George knew now though that Connie's husband Michael must also be pretty well off. The house was without doubt bigger than hers, though with Connie and Michael having lived fairly separate lives for years, George supposed this was really no surprise.

"You look better than the last time I saw you," George commented as Connie let her into the hall.

"I do feel it," Connie agreed, and led the way into the lounge where some soft music was playing. When they both had glasses of wine and were sitting at each end of the sofa, Connie said, "So, what do you need to know that I probably don't want to tell you?"

"What sort of reception have you received from your colleagues?"

"Most of them are happy to have me back," Connie told her a little wearily. "Why, who shouldn't have been?"

"I found out yesterday who the prosecution witnesses are going to be."

"Go on then, which one of them is stabbing me in the back?"

"Will Curtis, which I suppose isn't any surprise, and Diane Lloyd, who I know absolutely nothing about."

"Ouch!" Connie said whilst reaching for a cigarette. "Before we deal with those two, who else does the prosecution have lined up?"

"Well, as the person who did the original post-mortem has retired, they have Dr. Harry Cunningham who did the second, plus Detective Inspector Archer, the female officer who arrested you."

"They are understandable, I suppose," Connie concluded, before taking a long drag.

"So," George said, whilst lighting her own cigarette. "Before we get onto the lovely Mr. Curtis, why might Ms Lloyd want to have you removed?"

"She's in love with Ric," Connie told her succinctly. "And has been ever since she almost married him when she was in med school. In spite of being currently married to Owen Davis, our head of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, she knows that with Ric is where she would like to be. The main reason that she isn't with Ric, is because she couldn't deal with the serious gambling habit he used to have. The day you and I had the row to end all rows, I asked Ric if he'd ever done anything that in the heat of the moment felt great but afterwards turned out to be something he deeply regretted, and he told me about a time when he'd borrowed Diane's credit card, supposedly to buy some champagne for the staff on Darwin and Keller on New Year's Eve, and immediately used it in an online casino. I guess she's never forgiven him for it."

"Did it really used to be that bad for him?" George asked, feeling an enormous wave of sympathy for Ric.

"Apparently so," Connie said thoughtfully. "He came off the wagon a couple of weeks before Jo Mills overdosed, but thankfully for only a day or two."

"That infamous night seems to have well and truly done the rounds," George replied dryly. "And she really wouldn't want quite so many people to know about it."

"No, neither would I if I'd done something similar," Agreed Connie.

"Don't even think about it!" George told her firmly, just for a second revealing how much fear this thought caused her.

"If it hasn't crossed my mind since I was arrested," Connie said, trying to reassure her, "I doubt it ever will."

"Connie, I will only believe such a theory once this entire mess is over," George said quietly, knowing from her own experience how tempting such an option could be in the worst of times.

After refilling their glasses, Connie asked,

"So, what do you want to know about will?"

"Well, for a start, have you ever slept with him?"

"Not so you'd notice," Connie replied, feeling a little uncomfortable as she remembered the exact circumstances of her capturing of Will's attentions.

"Connie, is that a yes or a no?" George asked, a slight smile on her face.

"It's a not quite," Connie told her. "It was at Ric's fiftieth birthday party. From my very first day at St. Mary's, which was only a couple of months before Ric's party, Will had loathed my very existence. He hated the fact that a woman was in a superior position to him. He assumed that because I was a woman, I couldn't possibly teach him anything. You know all about what happened with that Battista operation I did on my first day. Anyway, because Will wound me up, I made it my mission to seduce him. Yes, he is a married man, and no I shouldn't have done it, but when has that ever prevented me from doing anything. Anyway, at Ric's party, will gave in. So, when he finally had his hands where I know he'd been wanting to put them for weeks, I told him that I'd just wanted to prove I could have him. If it makes you despise me a little less, I do cringe every time I think of that night."

"I can tell you without any doubt that Brian Cantwell will get maximum enjoyment out of using that in court," George told her honestly. "Does Ric know about that?"

"I don't think so. I'm getting the feeling that he's about to learn far more than he ever bargained for," Connie said miserably.

"Would you consider putting him in the picture about some of it beforehand?" George suggested quietly.

"God no," Connie replied with a shudder. "Tell Ric face to face that I used to be a prostitute, that'll really go down well.."

"Connie," George asked her tentatively. "Would it be worth my asking why you did that?"

"No, it wouldn't," Connie replied stonily, all her barriers falling instantly back into place. "You really don't want to know, believe me."

After quite a long silence, George reached out and briefly touched Connie's hand.

"I'm sorry," She said, wishing that she hadn't had to probe into what was obviously the darkest area of Connie's life.

"It's all right," Connie assured her. "It's just that there are some things from my past that I don't think even you could willingly ever drag out of me."

"We all have skeletons, Connie," George told her. "And they really do come in all shapes and sizes."

"I know," Connie agreed with her. "But if Ric ever finds out about some of mine, he won't even want to look at me again, never mind sleep with me."

"Am I right in thinking that you use sex in the same way that John does?" George asked, though not really needing Connie's answer.

"Why, does John also use it as his main form of communication?"

"He always has," George told her. "And he probably always will."

"Sometimes it's an awful lot easier than talking," Connie replied gloomily.

"Simple, honest affection and comfort, doesn't always have to be paid for," George told her quietly, openly looking deep into Connie's violet eyes.

"Really," Connie replied a little mockingly. "So if I asked you for a cuddle, you'd give it to me without wanting anything in return, would you?" completely calling Connie's bluff, George moved along the sofa and put her arms around this beautiful, brittle, utterly complex woman, feeling the tension singing throughout Connie's muscles. Gradually relaxing, inch by mind-blowing inch, Connie eventually brought her own arms up to go around George's smaller frame.

"I suppose that answers my question," She said a good while later, her cheek gently touching George's.

"And I thought you preferred the philosophy of actions speak louder than words," George said quietly, her lips turning up into a soft unguarded smile. Holding George so close, Connie could feel the jutting prominence of her shoulder blades, and the small, firmness of George's breasts, the false one and the real one, nestling against her own.

"You do know you're playing with fire, don't you?" Connie said into their contented tranquillity.

"Oh yes," George replied, her voice deepening slightly. "As I was reliably informed last weekend, as though I didn't know already."

"And just who was it who enlightened you as to this enchanting little piece of wisdom?" Connie asked with a soft laugh.

"It was John," George told her. "Who else?"

"It might have been Karen," Connie mused thoughtfully. "She's either kept an eye on you herself, or had it done for her, every single time you've visited Larkhall."

"She's always been a little overprotective," George replied fondly.

"She still loves you," Connie told her succinctly. "You can see it, every time she looks at you."

"And a part of me will always love her," George replied, knowing this to be true. "I wouldn't know just how good being close to a woman can make me feel if it wasn't for Karen."

"And how would you feel about letting me in on the secret?" Connie asked, her voice playful but her eyes deadly serious.

"That's up to you," George told her, knowing that she absolutely should not be doing this, but being entirely unable to stop now. Drawing slightly back from her, Connie thoughtfully examined George's face, seeing the slight flutter of George's long eyelashes as she watched Connie in return, and the full graceful lips that were calling to Connie's like a magnet.

When Connie slowly closed the gap between them, covering George's mouth with hers, it felt to both of them as though they had finally found what they had been searching for, as though they'd both finally connected with the one person who needed no explanations, no written directions to find the other's soul. Their lips were so soft, so silky, so pliable, that but for the want of air, they could have carried on doing this for hours. When George tentatively traced Connie's lips with her tongue, Connie held George even closer, returning the favour without any further prompting. Connie found kissing George to be so sexy, so sensual, that her mind began wandering to other, even more delightful possibilities. But when Connie eventually drew back from George and said,

"Would you like to stay?" George's eyes rapidly moved from one thing to another, while she settled on how to phrase what she wanted to say.

"No, not tonight," She finally replied, her eyes finally resting back on Connie's. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling thoroughly stupid.

"It's okay," Connie told her, running a finger over the back of George's hand.

"I, erm, I need some time to get my head around the thought of you seeing my less than desirable body," George said quietly, unable to meet Connie's penetrating gaze. But when George did look up to see Connie's reaction, she saw to her consternation that there were tears swimming in Connie's eyes.

"Sweetheart," Connie said softly, taking George's hands in hers. "I have seen it. I was there when Ric created that scar."

"And you were seeing it as a doctor, not as a lover," George told her. "And, with the situation as it currently is, I need to reconcile what I feel for you with my professional conscience."

"I know," Connie told her, thoroughly understanding George's dilemma. "It'd be the same as me sleeping with one of my patients, which I haven't as yet done." But when George left not too long after, they both knew that eventually the time would come, when both George's conscience and her fear of a beautiful woman, would be turned away from the growing familiarity and closeness that might one day lead to so much more.