When Juliet was alone again, her sanguine mood evaporated. She knew she’d have to suffer long months of pain and probably multiple operations before she could begin to think about putting the attack behind her. She had never been vain, but neither was she confident in her looks. If she were badly disfigured it would be a massive burden to carry and certainly affect her professionally. She didn’t even want to consider what it might do to her private life.
She was still occupying a side ward. It contained two beds, but she’d not been asked to share it with another patient. She’d just fallen back against the pillows when there came a tap at the door. Jake Fidler came in, carrying books and a newspaper.
‘I didn’t know what to bring you,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t think you were the floral type.’
‘I’m not,’ said Juliet, ‘and I’m not sure flowers are allowed in hospitals these days.’
‘I visited on Sunday, but you were sleeping and they only let me stay a little while. I couldn’t get away yesterday, unfortunately.’
‘But you did call to ask how I was,’ said Juliet. ‘The staff nurse told me.’
‘They said you were groggy yesterday. How are you today?’
Juliet was furious with herself when her eyes again filled with tears.
‘Just ignore me,’ she said, brushing them away. ‘It’s a side effect of the drugs they’re giving me: they play havoc with your emotions.’ She paused. ‘Did they tell you that my face is likely to be scarred? They’ll do their best with plastic surgery, but there are no guarantees.’
He took her hand.
‘You’re the most beautiful person I know.’
She attempted a smile.
‘Gentleman Jake,’ she murmured.
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I was just playing with words.’
THE END