A little while later, they were lying in Jo's bed, she wearing a thin cotton nightie, and he wearing just his boxer shorts. It had been over a year, since she'd been held in John's strong arms like this, and then she'd been very drunk, not stone cold sober. As they lay there, occasionally talking, sometimes kissing, neither of them feeling remotely like sleep, Jo remembered something. "George told me to ask you something," She said into the silence. "Well, she suggested I should, but I don't think she really meant it." "I'm all ears," John replied, clearly intrigued. "She told me to ask you, about why Charlie ended up living with you, rather than her." "Ah," He said in realisation. "The tomb of the forbidden subject. I'm surprised she raised it with you though." "You've never told me much about that. I've never asked, because I knew you would tell me if you wanted to." "There's no reason why you shouldn't know," He said resignedly. "I'm just not sure that George would want you to, but then again, I'm getting the distinct feeling that she is about to tell you far more about this whole debacle than she ever will me, so why not." Tucking her head into his shoulder, because he didn't want to have to look into her eyes, he began. "When Charlie was born, George, for some reason either couldn't, or didn't know how, to love her. That maternal instinct that I see in you, every time you talk about Mark and Tom didn't quite get switched on in George. She kept this from me for six months, during which time she barely wanted me to touch her, never mind make love to her. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what." "Please tell me that wasn't when you started playing away?" Jo asked, though thinking she knew the answer. "Don't you start," John replied. "I've gone through quite enough guilt about that to last me a lifetime. Yes, I did begin to seek solace elsewhere, because I thought she didn't love me. But it seems it was the other way round. George thought that if I discovered how she felt about Charlie, or how she didn't feel about Charlie, I couldn't possibly even like her any more, far less love her." "How did you find out?" Jo asked, thinking that George's insistence on dealing with everything by herself, had certainly gone too far this time. "In her, oh so infinite wisdom, George managed to stumble on a particularly dangerous coping mechanism, that of not eating. I didn't notice it at first. Well, you don't when you live day in day out with someone. But she eventually got so thin that I couldn't miss it. I never want to go through a day like that again. She was terrified that I would loathe the very sight of her." "But it wasn't her fault," Jo insisted, as if John didn't already know. "Yes, I know," He said, with more regret in his voice than she'd ever heard before. "But she thought she was abnormal, that there was something wrong with her. She'd been finding it difficult to have me anywhere near her, because she didn't think she deserved my love. But, by then, I'd already got the taste for women who I could pick up and throw away again the next morning." Jo winced. "I never thought of you like that," He said, clearly sensing her thought. "Didn't you?" Jo needed some sort of clarification, even if it was John's usual suave insincerity. "Never," He said, lifting her face to his so that he could kiss her. "George must have beaten herself up about that all these years," Jo said after a while. "Yes, she has. She thinks she was a terrible mother, but she wasn't. George did everything she possibly could to keep how she felt from Charlie. She even breast-fed her. That made the not eating a lot easier, any nourishment she did take in, going straight to Charlie. Anyway, when she found out about you, and finally left me, the only way she could deal with it was to close herself off to any kind of feeling. I suspect that's why Charlie came up with the oh so lovely name of the ice maiden." "Ouch," Jo said with feeling. "Yes, adolescents really do have a delightful command of the English language," He said dryly.
They lay quiet for a time, both thinking over the events of the evening, and Jo trying to sort out everything John had told her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Jo said eventually, feeling that if she had broken George's confidence, as she'd been tempted to do all week, George wouldn't be where she was now. "I know," He said, gently kissing her. "If I were in her shoes, I probably wouldn't have wanted me to know either." They continued kissing, this having always been one of their favourite occupations when they were alone. But when Jo gently disengaged herself from him, he simply raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm fighting an internal battle," She told him. "Because part of me badly wants you to make love to me, and the rest of me knows I shouldn't." "What's stopping you?" He asked, thinking that he really was making progress for her to admit this much to him. Moving out of his arms, she lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling so that all he could see of her was her profile. "Sixteen years is a very long time, John, and I certainly don't look the same as I did at twenty five." "Oh, how fickle you think I am," He commented sorrowfully. "Age and appearance mean a lot to you, John." "With some random woman who I've never seen before, and have no intention of seeing again, yes, but not with you." Putting his arms round her, he turned her to face him. "I love you, Jo, every single part of you. Nothing will ever change that." "I don't want you to get bored of me," She said, looking deep into his eyes. "Who says I will?" "Keeping my distance from you, has meant that you've never quite achieved your goal, not in sixteen years. You always want most, the one thing you can't have. If I give you what we've both wanted, for longer than I care to remember, you'll stop wanting me, and I couldn't bear that." John found that he didn't know what to say. He understood her logic, but how could he convince her that he would never stop wanting her, never stop loving her, no matter how old and grey they both became. "I don't know how to convince you," He said, sounding utterly defeated. "How many has there been since Rachel Crawchek?" Jo asked, needing to know but at the same time not wanting to know. "Only one," He said, hoping that this might go some way to pleading his case. "Once in nearly three months, I'm impressed. For you, that's practically celibacy." "I think her name was Celia," He said, clearly trying to remember. "Oh, let me guess," Jo said dryly. "The Judges' convention you went too last month." "I was bored," He protested, making Jo smile in spite of her disapproval. "I just don't want you to get bored with me," She said, turning serious again. "Do you remember what it was like, all those years ago?" He asked her, suddenly hitting on the perfect way to prove his point. "Yes, of course I do," She said, a fond smile of remembrance turning up the corners of her mouth. "You were really quite shy when I first met you," He told her. "There you were, the most beautiful student in my Bar school seminar, who clearly had no idea just how beautiful she was." "Flattery will get you nowhere," She said sternly. "I remember the first time I kissed you," He continued. "Your lips were so soft, so full, that I just couldn't get enough of them. We were in my office, and the rain was blowing against the window, it being October. You said you had to pick up your children, which was when you told me about your husband, saying that this couldn't happen because he was terminally ill, and you couldn't do that to him. But you still came back." "And do you know just how many times I've loathed myself for doing precisely that?" She asked, but he just kept going. "All that week I thought about you, thought about all the wonderful things I would give anything to do to you." Jo couldn't quite prevent a small shiver of desire as he said this. "Then, when you appeared in my class the next week, you looked so tense, and all I wanted to do was to take all that stress away from you, and to give you a reason to relax. After the seminar, I summoned you to my office, to supposedly discuss your latest essay." Jo grinned. "I think you've been summoning me to your presence ever since." "I remember, you closed the door, and I walked over to you, putting my arms round you. Every fibre of you hummed with tension and nervousness. But when I kissed you, I could tell that you wanted it." "It was more than want," Jo said ruefully, his telling of her story now beginning to arouse her. "You said that your mother was going to pick up the children, which was your way of telling me what you wanted. We went to a hotel, one that wouldn't ask too many questions. Do you know, I can remember the feel, and the taste, of every inch of your body." Jo's pupils dilated with lust when she heard him say this. She could feel her body beginning to react to the inevitable lure of his words. "The little mole you have under your right breast, the small scar from having your appendix out, I remember everything. I remember, when I gave you oral, you said it was the first time anyone had done that for you." As he kissed her, the sweeping action of his tongue across her lower lip, made her memory of this tangible. "You tasted so divinely sweet," He continued, taking note of the flush of arousal in her cheeks. "And I remember how your internal muscles used to always twitch, just after orgasm." "John, stop it," She pleaded, her voice not entirely steady. "Why?" He asked, gently kissing her. "Because my resolve is gradually cracking, bit by bit, and whilst I know that was the point of the exercise, you really are making it harder and harder for me to say no." "I'm trying to show you that you don't need to say no," He said softly, his eyes locking with hers. "I love you, more than I have loved, or will love, anyone else in my life. You're the one point of continuity I have, the one thing that keeps me going. My life would mean very little to me if I didn't have you." For the first time since she'd known him, Jo knew that he was being utterly sincere with her. He clearly meant every word he was saying. But was that enough? "I need to know that you really do mean that, John." "Jo, you're the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning, and the last before I go to sleep. Yes, even when I am with somebody else." "That's praise indeed," She said with a broad smile. "I'm serious," He insisted. "Yes, I know you are," She replied, gently stroking his cheek. "I just..." She stopped, not quite knowing how to phrase what she wanted to say. "What?" He asked, holding her face still when she tried to avoid his gaze. "I'm not sure how much of it I want right now. I need to give myself time to get used to the idea, and though I know this will hurt you, I need to learn to trust you." She was right, it did hurt, but he also accepted that she needed to do this. "Anything that may, or may not happen between us, we take at your pace. I have absolutely no problem with that." She knew he was speaking the truth when he said this, because she could remember how he'd been all those years ago, insisting on knowing that she was sure as she could be that she wanted it.
They lay there for some time, doing nothing more adventurous than kiss each other, gently and lingeringly, Jo gradually allowing the waves of lust to build within her. It occurred to Jo that it must be nearly two in the morning, and that she had to work the next day, but this didn't stop her. They could hear the birds in the garden, perpetually singing because of the short summer nights. John kept his eyes fixed on her, ready to interpret any sign that she might want them to stop what they were doing. But when she took his hand, and led it to her breast, John thought that he couldn't possibly be happier. He hadn't touched her like this for sixteen years. The thin cotton of her nightie was still covering her, but it concealed nothing. As he gently moved his hand on her, grazing his thumb over her steadily hardening nipple, she gasped. "I remember the first time I did this to you," He said, his voice deep with tenderness. "How on earth do you remember so much, after so many?" She asked between kisses, every touch he gave her branding her skin. "Partly because every woman is different, but mostly because you were and you are, the only one I ever wanted to remember." A little while later, when John inched his hand inside the nightie, and began caressing Jo's skin, she moved out of his embrace. Thinking he must have done something wrong, John grinned when she swiftly removed the cotton barrier to her body. When she lay back down, she tried to pull the duvet back over her, but he put out a hand to stop her. "I've dreamt of this moment so often," He said as he gazed at her, not having seen this body unclothed for sixteen years. He ran a delicate finger over the afore mentioned mole, and traced the outline of each nipple, the darker skin of each areola crying out to be kissed. The renewed feel of his hands on her skin, brought back a host of memories for Jo. John wasn't the only one who could remember every detail of their liaison, every snatched moment, every stolen kiss. They had both been committing the crime of infidelity, both finding that form of escapism all too addictive. Her nipples were almost painfully hard by now, and Jo desperately wanted him to take his touching downwards. She thought he must have seen something in her face, a pleading in her eyes to further his total destruction of her resolve. He trailed his hand down over her hip, and began mapping small circles on her right thigh, almost as if he was asking permission. When she granted it, with the slight parting of her legs, he slipped his hand in between them. She really was just as he remembered her, and right now, a boiling, bubbling cauldron of desire, just waiting to be thoroughly consumed. As he removed a well lubricated finger from inside her, moving it up and over her clitoris, just as she used to like it, Jo let out a groan of pure ecstasy. She knew that the attraction she had for John would one day be fatal, and now she was being proved right. Having once tasted of this forbidden and most addictive fruit, she was irrevocably hooked, and had been on the proverbial wagon for the passed sixteen years. The feelings he was inducing in her, made her want to stretch out every muscle, and yet scrunch them all up at one and the same time. No man she'd slept with since John, had ever made her feel so deliciously naughty. As he gently slid three fingers inside her, using his thumb to continue massaging her clit, he said between kisses, "Would you like me to taste you?" "No," She said, though the thought clearly excited her. "This is fine for now. Besides, I want to see you." Taking her at her word, his hand gradually sped up, making her breath come in steadily more frantic gasps. Other than to have her arms around him, Jo hadn't made a single attempt to touch him, but John didn't mind. This night, and any that might follow, were for Jo. She clung even closer to him as her orgasm approached, squeezing his fingers where they still moved inside her, and her cries of pleasure turning into a storm of wracking sobs. Gently withdrawing his hand from her silky depths, John simply held her, occasionally kissing away some of the tears that were pouring down her cheeks. He'd wondered if she might have some sort of emotional reaction to this, it having been so long since they'd done anything like it. "I'm sorry," She said, eventually beginning to calm down. "That's perfectly all right," He said with a soft smile. "I just feel so, so..." She couldn't find the right word. "I know," He said gently. "Happy and confused and afraid, all in one go." "Something like that." After drying her eyes, Jo cuddled up against him, her beautifully naked curves making him feel as though he'd come home. Then a sudden thought occurred to her. "I'm being terribly selfish tonight," She said into his chest. "You're allowed to be," He said, realising that she was feeling a little guilty for not having given him any sort of release. "After all my years of philandering, I'd say it was your turn for a spot of unequivocal take." As they gradually drifted to sleep, Jo realised that it was perhaps this last remark, this affirmation that he was quite ready to wait until she wanted the rest of it, that went part of the way to convincing her that this time, he really was serious about his intentions towards her.
It only seemed a matter of seconds, until Jo's alarm clock woke them at seven. Stretching an arm out to switch it off, Jo realised that not only was she naked, but that John was lying beside her. Gradually, the events of the previous day began coming back to her. So, George was in hospital, and she, Jo, had gone as far as allowing John to give her an orgasm. The world really must be going mad. "Good morning," Came John's sleepy voice. "Did last night really happen?" Jo asked with a yawn. "Why," John asked with a laugh. "Are you trying to convince yourself it didn't?" "No, it just all seems a bit peculiar, that's all. First George ends up in hospital, and then I spend the night with you. I wonder how she is this morning." "I'll give the hospital a ring before court, which is going to have to be adjourned for at least today. We need to give the defence time to find a new barrister." "I'll try and pop into see her at lunchtime, but I might not be able to get away until this evening." "Can I join you in the shower?" John asked, glancing at the clock. "Sounds like a marvelous way to wake up," Jo said, stretching luxuriously at the prospect. "Oh, does it now?" John asked, reaching over to lay a warm hand on one of her breasts. "Mmm, definitely," Jo replied languorously, laying her hand over his, momentarily imprisoning it against her skin.
Picking Mimi up from Charlie, so that she wouldn't try to drop her off when he wasn't there and start asking questions, John took her with him to court, asking a perpetually willing Coope to look after her not only for the day, but for the entire weekend. When he explained that George was in hospital, Coope could see that something was not only worrying him, but making him inwardly furious. "And if Charlie rings when I'm not here, tell her I'm in a meeting with the Lord Chancellor, or The times again, anything to stop her asking awkward questions. I'm pretty sure that George wouldn't want Charlie to know where she is or why she's there." "What is wrong with Mrs. Channing, Judge?" "You can keep a confidence, can't you, Coope?" "I don't think you need to ask me that, Judge, not after all these years. I know more about your women than you do." John forced a smile at this slight reproof, his face then resuming its former angry expression. "The spineless cretin, who calls himself the secretary of state for trade, has been using her as a punch bag, ever since the end of the One Way case." "Oh, no," Coope replied, sounding genuinely sorry for George. "If I had my way," John continued. "He'd be in a cell, waiting for the scales of justice to swing down upon his head." "You know that isn't going to happen, Judge." "Yes, I know, which makes the legal system I've been working for, for the last thirty years, appear to be more corrupt than the Mafia. At least they have principles."
George had woken many times during the night, usually when she'd moved in her sleep, resulting either in the pulling of her stitches, or the flexing of numerous bruised muscles. This meant that she certainly wasn't at her best the next morning. Tricia had been into empty the drains and change the dressings, and George had barely exchanged a word with her. She felt sore, unwashed, and tired, not a combination to improve the mood of anyone, never mind a recalcitrant barrister with a legendary temper. When Ric came to see her, George found herself telling him some of the things that were bothering her. She didn't know what it was, but there was something in Ric that reminded her inexplicably of John. "I never look like this, not even on a bad day," She complained. "Is a shower really so out of the question?" "There was some concern," Ric said, sitting down beside her bed. "That you had been sexually assaulted." "Even if I was, which you do not need to know," George said quietly, though with no less bite in her tone. "It certainly didn't happen yesterday. So, I'm not carrying any evidence that might be destroyed." "Mrs. Channing..." "You've sewn up parts of my insides, so you may as well call me George." "George, whoever did this to you, needs to be punished. I wouldn't be wrong in thinking that this wasn't the first time, now would I." "Perhaps the political position of the man who did this to me, might tell you just how pointless such a thought really is," She said icily. "Political position or not, that doesn't give him immunity from punishment." "Not even if he is the current secretary of state for trade?" She said almost idly. Ric stared at her, clearly gobsmacked. "Now do you see how pointless taking photographs, or collecting any other evidence would be?" "Yes," He was eventually forced to admit. "But that doesn't make it right." "You sound just like John," She said with a smile. "What relation is he to you?" "John is my ex-husband, and Jo is his current unofficial attachment." "Good god," Said Ric in astonishment. "I wish I had such an amicable relationship with even one of my exes." "It hasn't always been like this, especially when you consider that I appear in court with both of them fairly often." "That sounds like a recipe for disaster," Ric said with feeling. "Yes, you could say that. So, seeing as there's no need for me to remain looking the way I do, please can I get rid of some of these tracking devices, and make myself look a little more presentable?" "Of course, but a shower is out of the question because of the drains, and the tracking devices stay put for now, so I'll ask Tricia to help you tidy yourself up a bit." Biting furiously down on the retort that she didn't require help to do anything, George realised that this was as good as she was going to get.
As court had been adjourned until next week, John thought he may as well go and see George that afternoon. As he strolled onto Keller, he saw a tired-looking Ric, Connie, and a doctor whom he didn't recognise, clustered around the desk, clearly looking at some X-rays. Ric looked up as he saw John approaching him, the expression on his face telling John that these were George's X-rays they were looking at. "Are those George's?" John asked as he reached them. "Yes," Ric answered, immediately shutting the folder so that John couldn't see. Then, to bring everyone up to speed, he said, "Diane, this is Mr. Justice Deed, one of George Channing's relatives, and this is my registrar, Diane Lloyd," He added for John's benefit. "Hmm," Connie said dryly. "The nurses were singing your praises all last night." "How is she?" John asked, ignoring Connie's jibe. "Restless, belligerent, and insistent on getting out of here." John laughed. "If she's arguing, she really is getting better, believe me. Can I see those?" He asked a little too casually. "We don't usually recommend showing a patient's X-rays to a relative," Diane said kindly, wanting to spare him the not very pretty sight. "Which tells me that I ought to see them," John insisted quietly. "Still on the hunt for admissible evidence?" Connie asked nonchalantly. "Would it be such a problem if I were?" John replied smoothly. "No," Connie said, fixing her gaze on his. "But if I perceive even so much as a hint, of the cross-examination I witnessed last night, I'll have you barred. Is that understood?" She'd said all this in such a quiet, casual tone, that John was momentarily taken aback by her threat. "Message received loud and clear, Mrs. Beauchamp," He replied, allowing no hint of his surprise to filter through in face or voice. "Though I think you might give me some credit, for being well versed in the handling of particularly, prickly, women." He spaced out the last three words, leaving her feeling really quite excited at the possible prospect of hooking a high court Judge. "Oh, I've no doubt," She replied, her eyes locking with his. Then, as she walked away, she threw back over her shoulder just to show him who was winning, "Don't forget what I said, in here, I lay down the law, not you." Turning his eyes back on Ric and Diane, John saw that Ric was smirking at him. To stop himself from laughing outright, Ric opened the folder, his face resuming its previously serious expression. "The black lines are used to show any fractures," He said, pointing to what looked like far too many. "She has three cracked ribs in her upper abdomen, plus two that are almost healed, meaning they were done some time ago. It was this one," He said, pointing to one of the fractures. "Which was responsible for her ruptured spleen. She also has one fracture up here," He added, pointing to the chest region. "Which slightly punctured her lung. If, and I say if, Mrs. Channing is to be let out earlier than I would normally recommend, though it certainly won't be today, my main concern would be that if she moves around too much, her fractured ribs could cause further damage. Quite why she is so determined to escape from here, I don't yet know, so perhaps you could try and find out for me. I may be wrong," He added as an afterthought. "But I think that the prospect of being confined to hospital, for even a few days, appears to frighten her." A light suddenly switched itself on in John's head. It had just dawned on him exactly why George didn't want to stay here any longer than she thought was absolutely necessary. "There may be a possible reason for this," He said carefully, not really wanting to discuss this in front of the entire ward. Taking the hint, Diane left them to it. Leading the way towards his office, Ric called over his shoulder to Tricia, and asked if she could make two coffees. "What did your last slave die of?" She quipped back, having always got on with Ric, ever since she was his PA. "Hard work," He told her with a smile.
When they were seated in his office, and Tricia had brought them the coffee, John said carefully, "As far as I am aware, the last time George was in hospital, was when our daughter, Charlie, was born. That was nearly twenty five years ago. It would be safe to say, that this was probably one of the worst experiences of her life, though she wouldn't thank me for telling you." "Was it a difficult birth?" "No, not especially, but George didn't take very well to motherhood. She found it very difficult to form any type of emotional bond with Charlie, and I suspect that being in hospital again, has brought back a lot of the feelings associated with what she perceived to be her one, significant failure. That, combined with the fact that her current lover has been verbally and physically castigating her, for failing to keep his corrupt government out of the shark pen, will only be adding to what she is feeling." "Yes, George did tell me precisely who had done this to her." "If I had my way, he would be behind bars, but the system unfortunately tends to look after those who champion its cause." "So, we appear to have something of a problem," Ric said, taking a grateful swig of his coffee. "I would be failing in my duty if I allowed her to go home too early, and I will be putting her psychological health in possible jeopardy if I don't." "What would be required, in order for her to come home, say in the next day or so?" "Well, for the secretary of state for trade, to have been forcefully ejected to start with." "Already accomplished," John replied, the fury at what Neil had done briefly showing in his eye. "I'm glad to hear it. But whilst this obviously removes the vast majority of the problem, there is no way I am letting George go home, if there is no one there to look after her. She will have to stay in bed for at least three days, and only get up when absolutely necessary. I don't want her doing anything that she doesn't have to. Any unnecessary or sudden movement, could cause the fractured ribs to pierce their surrounding organs." Without any hesitation, John said, "I don't have any intention of just leaving her to it, now that you've put her back together. I can certainly look after her for a few days, and after the way things appear to have gone this week, I might even have some help." "There is also the fact that this isn't entirely my decision to make," Ric continued, seeing the flicker of a sincere feeling of responsibility in John's eyes. "The chest cavity is Mrs. Beauchamp's domain. I will have to discuss all this with her, before I decide anything. However, I expect to be able to remove George's drains this afternoon, so we'll see after that. When you talk to her, tell her that it is being considered."
When John went into George's room, she had removed a notebook from her handbag, and was clearly making some notes on a case. "I hardly think that work comes into the category of convalescence," He said, removing the notebook from her hand and putting it out of her reach. George looked up in irritation. "I was bored," She said succinctly. "And I doubt you'd behave any better if you were in here instead of me. Oh, no, I forgot, you'd be trying to pull every nurse and doctor in sight." "Well, admittedly, I wouldn't mind getting to know that utterly sensational consultant in Cardiothoracics, but she is currently off limits." "You're surely not telling me that you are finally trying to be faithful to Jo?" "Even I can achieve the impossible if I try," He said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. "Jo said that she would try to get in at lunchtime, but if she couldn't, she would definitely be in this evening." George was touched. "Jo's been awfully nice to me this week, when I've done absolutely nothing to deserve it." "You'd be surprised," He said with a smile. "What you did at the end of the One Way case was what did it. The look on your face, when you agreed to the settlement, was the most genuine thing Jo's ever seen in you. I think we could both tell that you regretted ever having taken that case on. If someone realises the error of their ways, and does something to try and put it right, that means an awful lot to Jo. Why do you think she's kept putting up with me all these years?" "You don't know how many times I've regretted taking on that case," She said, her voice so tight and defensive, that John could tell just how difficult it was for her to keep on holding it together. "We all make mistakes," He said, gently running a finger over the back of her hand. "Me more than most." "You're different from last night," She said, trying to get her voice under control. "You haven't yet taken the opportunity to start questioning me again." John gave her a rueful smile. "Ah, well, I was reliably informed, that if I attempted to brow beat you for a second time, I would be barred from the hospital." Without thinking, George began to laugh, and then struggled to stop from the pain it caused her. "Yes," John said dryly. "I thought you might find that funny. I also wasn't about to start in on you, without your bodyguard to keep me in check. Jo was quite cross with me for the way I behaved last night." Finally forcing herself to meet his gaze, George said, "I'm sorry, that I didn't tell you about Neil. I know I should have done, and I know I was stupid to think I could deal with it myself." John had been about to reply, when the door opened, revealing Ric and Connie. "We've come to see about removing your drains," Connie said in explanation. "Was it you who threatened to ban his Lordship here?" George asked. "Of course," Connie replied, giving her a smile. "I thought he needed reminding who was in charge round here. I don't think it did him any harm, do you?" She added conspiratorially. "Oh, certainly not," George drawled in satisfaction. Ric and John simply exchanged amused glances. "Once we've removed the drains," Connie said, turning serious again. "We should be able to put an estimation on when you can be allowed home." "You don't need to stay for this, John," George said, badly not wanting him to see her bruised and battered body. "It's not as if I haven't seen it all before," He objected mildly. "Not looking like this, you haven't, so go and get yourself a coffee or something, please," She added, her politeness so unfamiliar to him, that it achieved the instant result of his departure.
When John had left, and Ric had closed the door behind him, he and Connie moved over to the bed. "That was a very neat dismissal," Connie said, gently drawing back the covers, to reveal George clad in a clean hospital gown. "He's not used to me being even vaguely polite to him," George replied, as Connie reached to push a little of the gown aside, so that she could gain access to the chest drain under George's right arm. She jumped as Connie touched the skin just behind her right breast. "Try and relax," Connie said calmly. "I need you to stay very still." George bit down on her lip, to stop her from making a sound as the chest drain was removed, and as Connie placed a dressing over the small wound. But as Ric raised the lower half of her gown, George squeezed her eyes shut, and they could both see her cringe away from his touch. She gasped as his very male hands touched her skin, holding her in place to remove the drain. Looking down, Connie saw that George was gripping the side of the bed, clearly in an effort to prevent herself from pushing him away. Gently prising her fingers away from the mattress, Connie held onto George's hand, softly chafing it between her own. When Ric had completed his task, he looked up, to see that there were silent tears pouring down George's cheeks. Working in complete harmony for a change, they lowered her gown back into place, and drew the covers around her. "Are you all right?" Connie asked, loathing the inanity of the question. "I think I just need to be left alone for a while," George said, feeling thoroughly silly at her outburst. "Okay, but if you need anything, just shout," Connie replied as they moved towards the door.
As they were walking down the corridor, Ric suddenly kicked out savagely at a trolley that was standing against the wall. "Hey, what's got into you?" Connie asked, never having seen such a reaction from him. "I don't enjoy feeling, as though I am violating my patient's personal space," He said angrily. "I know," Connie said sadly. "And it's not like you to get so involved." "No, you don't know, Connie, because you're a woman. How? How can anyone be capable of doing that? How can a, what I assume to be normally vibrant, beautiful, incredibly intelligent woman, be reduced to a nervous wreck, who can't even bear to have her surgeon touch her?" #"Because unfortunately, that's the way of the world," Connie said matter-of-factly. "Things like this do happen, which is why there are people like you, and like me, who are here to pick up the pieces. That's how it works." "Well, it shouldn't," He said stubbornly. "It sounds like you need a bit of good, old fashioned TLC to me," Connie said in a soft, sultry voice, her invitation very clear. "If I had anything like the energy," He replied with a smile. "I'd take you up on it. But seeing as you appear to have assigned me twenty hours out of every twenty four this week, I'll have to decline." Just then, they became aware that John was watching them from where he stood at the nurses' station, clearly having witnessed the entire scene. As he came towards them, Ric realised just how unprofessional he must have looked. "How is she?" John asked as he reached them. "I think she could do with some space," Connie said carefully. "Has she told you any more about what happened to her?" John asked, though from what he'd heard, he now thought he knew most of it. "Anything said to me in assumed confidence," Ric said placatingly. "You know I can't share with you." "How am I supposed to help her, if I don't know what's been happening to her?" "You are," Connie said gently, seeing real concern in his eyes. "You're helping her just by being here," She qualified. "She's lucky to have you."
George had cried herself to sleep when they'd gone, the exhaustion finally catching up with her. When she awoke about an hour later, John was sitting by her side, just holding her hand and watching her. "You still here?" She asked drowsily. "I talked Sr. Williams into letting me stay passed official visiting time." "Typical," George said through a yawn. "What time is it?" "About a quarter past four. How do you feel?" "Tired, and sore, and feeble. Does it sound stupid, to say that I could really do with a cuddle, but that I don't want anyone near me?" "No, it doesn't," John replied, his voice barely above a whisper, because he could feel the tears swimming in his eyes. It hurt him immeasurably that she couldn't let herself be given what she clearly needed. "Oh, John, don't cry," She said, not having seen him do this for a very long time. As she made to pull herself into a sitting position, she winced as it pulled at her stitches. Immediately, his arms shot out to help her, gently pulling her against him, so that she lay with her head on his shoulder with her arms round him. "Now listen to me," She said, wiping away a stray tear with a finger. "You are doing everything you can for me, just by being here. You never thought you'd here me say that again, did you, but it's true. I don't remember asking them to phone you, but I must have done it for a reason." "I just wish you'd told me before this," He said, feeling that he should have known, he should have seen something. "I know," She said, gently stroking his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Jo tell me?" "Jo didn't tell you, because I practically begged her not to, and I didn't tell you, because that would have meant telling you, that I'd screwed up yet again. You picked up the pieces after Charlie, and I didn't want to need you to do it again. This was a mess purely of my own making, so it was up to me to get myself out. Neil has even more power than you, John, which means that simply walking away was never possible, and we both know that that's what you would have told me to do." "You know me too well," He said, playing with a tendril of her hair. "I've had enough practice," She said fondly. "I was talking to Mr. Griffin earlier, and he is considering allowing you home in the next day or so. But if he does, he says that you're going to need someone to look after you. I was wondering if you'd be prepared to put up with me for a few days." "I don't want you to feel as though you have to," She said, not feeling in any way deserving of the attention he was bestowing on her. "I don't," He said simply. "But it's either that, or staying here until at least Tuesday or Wednesday, and who knows, I might even have Jo to help me." George gave him a lopsided smile. "Now that really would be weird, seeing Jo in my house. But if you're sure, yes, that would be nice."
Hours later, when John and JO were again lying in her bed, they were talking about George, the combination of subject matter and environment striking Jo as utterly surreal. "She seemed a bit happier tonight," Jo observed, having gone to see George that evening, and John having still been there. "She's still not telling me anything," He grumbled. "Some people don't talk about that sort of thing for years, John, so give her time." "What makes it possible, Jo?" He demanded vehemently. "What makes it all too easy, for a corrupt cabinet minister, to escape punishment for doing something so despicable?" "Because any government, no matter how democratic and supposedly transparent it may be, will always take steps to look after its own." "But that's just plain wrong!" He replied, letting his fury at the injustice of the situation take him over. "John, you're preaching to the converted," Jo said quietly, trying to calm him down. "I'm sorry," He said, gently kissing her. "God knows where I'd be now, if I didn't have you to knock some sense into me once in a while. But I can't help loathing the fact that there's very little I can really do to help her." "What exactly do you feel for her these days, John?" Jo asked, though knowing she probably shouldn't. "I love her for having given me Charlie," He said without hesitation. "I care deeply for her, even though she drives me to distraction on a regular basis." Jo smiled when he said this. "But most of all, I feel responsible for her. I always have, and I probably always will. Why?" "I just wondered," She said, thinking that it wouldn't do him any harm whatsoever, to feel responsible for something or someone occasionally. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about where George is concerned," He said, correctly interpreting her unvoiced question. "Far too much water has gone under the bridge, for either me, or George, to love each other in that way again. She would tell you exactly the same." As they drifted to sleep in each other's arms, Jo wondered if, for the first time in all these years, she and George might, perhaps, be able to finally lay the past to rest.