Interrupted Romance Read online

  Contents

  Interrupted Romance

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Glossary

  A Note from the Author

  About Topsy Baxter

  INTERRUPTED ROMANCE

  By

  Topsy Baxter

  For my daughter, Kylie, without whose trust, expertise and belief in me, this book would never have seen the light of day.

  COPYRIGHT

  Interrupted Romance

  By

  Topsy Baxter

  http://www.topsybaxter.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, other than those clearly in the public domain, are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Topsy Baxter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cover design © Digital Donna.

  All rights reserved

  http://www.digitaldonna.com

  CHAPTER 1

  Tel Aviv airport was a busy place, as four aircraft had landed one behind the other. Dafna moved closer to the luggage collection sector designated for her flight, watching the way people jostled for positions close to the moving conveyor. She hated being caught in crowds.

  A strong hand grabbed her arm, forcefully pulling her backwards. Dafna spun around and stared, surprised and angry, at the man behind her. His hand was still grasping her arm and as she tried to jerk it loose, her mouth opened in outraged fury. But before she could demand what he thought he was doing, an explosion shattered the afternoon bustle.

  Dafna was thrown to the ground as the blast knocked her sideways, along with scores of others. Flames erupted from the baggage collection zone and hot metal tore through the air. The people closest to the explosion were either torn apart or horribly burnt, in an instant. It had been detonated somewhere in the moving luggage, or under the conveyor. For several seconds after the blast there was no sound at all, but then she heard them… the screams, the shouts, moaning, crying, pleading. A young mother, who had been sitting with her twin two year old boys in front of Dafna on the plane, rushed past her with a torn and tattered child in her arms, her mouth wide open in shock. Beside Dafna, half laying across her legs, the man who had tried to drag her backwards was covered in blood. He turned towards her. She could see him staring, unseeing, in horror. She passed out just as she became aware of pain.

  All this came back to her as she lay in the hospital ward, recovering from the injuries caused by flying debris. Severe burns, and the destruction of flesh and bones by flying shrapnel, had been the causes of most of the deaths and major injuries sustained. Fortunately for Dafna, her injuries were minor compared to those of some of the other victims. Her forehead, along the hairline, had been torn open when hit by an airborne object. This had needed fourteen stitches to pull the damaged flaps of tissue together. Also, she had suffered concussion and memory loss, which had lasted several days. Her face showed the effect of the battering and was badly bruised.

  It had taken some time to recollect all the details of that day, but she felt able to withstand the police interview, which had been scheduled for the afternoon. The police were piecing together every bit of available information from the survivors of the explosion.

  The plane had landed with a bump at Ben Gurion Airport, outside Tel Aviv, amid a flurry of activity from passengers anxious to collect belongings from the overhead lockers. Coats and hand luggage and books were hurriedly secured on laps, happy voices chatting to neighbours about who was to meet them at Arrivals. The cabin crew had tried throughout the flight, unsuccessfully, to keep the passengers in their seats, to keep the aisles clear for the trolleys of meals and drinks.

  For Dafna, it had been amusing to watch the in-flight activity, as it seemed that everyone on board wanted to walk up and down the aisles. They were packed. Surely more passengers were standing, than sitting. It was obviously the way Israelis came home, joyfully and good-naturedly blocking the crew's progress ever since the El Al flight had left Rome. Compared to the flights she had taken over the past three years aboard Australia's national airline, Qantas, these were novel events. The Qantas passengers rarely left their seats, unless it was to move to the washrooms at the rear of the economy class section, or to take a stroll around the plane every three or four hours to stretch their legs.

  The struggle to be first at the baggage collection area was no different to any other airport, and as Dafna waited… and waited… she took time to watch her fellow passengers bustling for a position close to the moving baggage conveyor. They were mostly young people returning from holidays in Europe, a few families with small children, some fretful and tired, and a smattering of businessmen in a hurry to return to the office, the phone, the computer… and maybe to the wife.

  The long journey from Australia had tired her and she drew herself up, smoothing back her shoulder-length black hair. Her dark eyes and olive complexion were not noticeable different to other women in Israel, but beauty shone from her face. With her healthy skin and a slightly amused expression, she enticed people to smile back at her. Her smile was a credit to her uncle, the dentist, and showed white, even teeth. At twenty-four years old, she was a happy, well-adjusted woman, with a business of her own, albeit inherited from her father following his death two years before. The book shop was where she belonged. Where she loved to be. It was always a busy shop, filled with people who loved to browse among the titles, carefully choosing what they wanted to read. She was daydreaming about the new titles due in the next day, when the man next to her grabbed her arm.

  Dafna's stay in hospital took almost eight days. The bruising on her face gradually diminished. There was a scar running along her forehead, at the hairline, which would fade with time. The concussion had gone, but the memory… never.

  The man who had tried to pull her away had survived the blast. One of the policemen who interviewed her was able to tell her that much. He was in another hospital, still recovering, as his injuries were more serious. His name was Adam Lavan.

  Following her discharge from hospital, Dafna checked that the book shop was running smoothly without her, (thank goodness she had chosen wisely when recruiting new staff two years ago). The police questioning was over and she had told them all she could remember of the bombing… practically nothing. She stayed at home for a further week before deciding it was time to find Adam, to thank him for saving her life. His name would be in a telephone book, somewhere.

  It would take hours of searching the phone books herself, so she turned instead to the Internet via her computer. Finding the listing was easy. Adam Lavan, Apartment 2, 34 Dizengoff Street, Tel Aviv. A thirty minute drive took her from Netanya, by the sea, to Tel Aviv. The address turned out to be over a sports
store. As she stood outside the address, across the street, she wondered what she would say to someone who nearly lost his life saving hers. What damage had he sustained? She cursed herself for not asking more questions when she had the opportunity.

  'Well, there's only one way to find out' she thought. She crossed the street and entered the passageway and looked up at a flight of steep stairs. "So do it!" she muttered.

  The stairs were clean and painted a soft cream, a nice contrast to the pale blue walls. As she walked along a short corridor to the door of Apartment 2, she hesitated… will he know me? Will he even want to talk to me? She knocked twice, quickly.

  The door opened after a few moments, startling her as she hadn't heard footsteps approaching.

  "Yes? Can I help you?" said Adam. His left arm was in a sling, he was favouring his left leg which showed the marks of many stitches, recently removed. But they were nice legs, Dafna decided, as she slowly looked up at him. He was tanned, fit, tall, and wearing only a pair of crumpled shorts. Dafna realised he must be about 190 cm tall. His expression was puzzled, even vague. He stood waiting patiently for her to speak.

  "Can I help you? Who are you?"

  "Adam Lavan?" He nodded slowly, once. "My name is Dafna Zoreff. I've come to thank you for saving my life at Ben Gurion."

  He hesitated a moment and then extended his right hand in her direction. She took it and he shook her hand briefly, released it slowly and stepped back from the door, saying, "Please come in, but excuse the state of the apartment. I haven't been able to tidy up much lately."

  Dafna walked into a white room. The floor was tiled with large white tiles, the walls were painted white, most of the furniture in this living room was white leather. The colour came from the scatter cushions, brilliant blues and golds, most of which were on the floor. He'd obviously thrown them there so as to stretch out on the lounge. Vivid landscape paintings were spaced around the walls, interspersed with lush green plants standing in earth-coloured containers. A beautiful rug, again in bright blues, covered much of the entrance to the room. This had softened the sound of his approach. It was the reason she hadn't heard him coming.

  "Please sit down. Would you like coffee?" Adam asked.

  "Thank you. May I help?" Dafna replied.

  "Actually, yes, you may. I don’t see too well at the moment,” Adam said.

  At this, Dafna turned quickly to look again at his face. She watched as he tentatively made his way to a low coffee table in the centre of the rug, felt about a moment, then picked up an eye patch. He struggled to put the black eye patch in place with his one free hand. After a short time, he succeeded in covering the fine lacing of scars around his left eye.

  She swallowed, cleared her throat, stepped toward him. "This happened that day?"

  "Yes. I caught tiny pieces of shrapnel around the eyes, which are still there apparently. I have to have another operation to restore the sight fully. I have only blurred vision for now, and even that comes and goes."

  "I'm so sorry, Adam," Dafna said. She reached out a hand in sympathy, withdrawing it almost at once, when she realised he couldn't see it anyway. "I came to say how grateful I am that you pushed me down. I would have been hurt a lot more if you hadn't done that. How on earth did you know what was happening? You pushed me before the blast, if my memory serves me correctly." He led her to his kitchen as they spoke, feeling for the jug, turning it on before continuing.

  "Well, I'm a… I was… a security guard at the baggage collection area, and it's… it was… part of my job to watch for suspicious persons, or actions. The guy I spotted, and was following, looked like he was about to cause trouble. He was sweating profusely, didn't appear to be worried about finding luggage, but was determined to push to the front of the waiting passengers, then kept looking over his shoulder. It wasn't the usual behaviour… you'll find the coffee in the blue container, and the jug has just boiled… so I was about to approach him with a view to asking him his business, when he bent quickly down and then turned and pushed through the people to get away. I knew instantly there was a problem. You were closest to me, so I pulled you down… I hope just in time. Were you hurt, too?"

  "Not as badly as you appear to be. My scalp was opened up, but the bruising to my face has faded a lot. I was concussed by something flying through the air, but otherwise I'm OK now. Do you take sugar?" Dafna had been busily finding mugs and a spoon as she spoke.

  "Just one, thanks. Come into the living room and sit down."

  They walked out of the kitchen, back into that pleasant room and Adam sat on the sofa. Dafna put the coffee mugs on the table, pulled it closer to where Adam was sitting, then turned to pick up some of the cushions off the floor, placing them on another chair. She sat in a comfortable chair, facing Adam, and both gazed toward each other, remembering the sudden, horrific act that had brought them together like this. They had both heard the reports of the terrorist action, which had listed six people killed and twenty-one wounded or maimed. The terrorist was among those killed. Apparently, he was revenging the imprisonment of a relative, who had murdered an Israeli child waiting for the school bus.

  Dafna used this time to look carefully at Adam. He had a strong jaw line, full lips, piercing blue eyes. Right now, he needed a shave! His short, black, curly hair was neat, and…

  "Are you staring at me?" he asked. Dafna stirred guiltily. She realised that he must think her very rude.

  "Excuse me, yes, I was. Until now I had no idea who had saved me, what you looked like. The last time I saw you, you were covered in blood."

  "I only saw you from the back. What do you really look like?" he asked.

  "Oh, nothing special. I'm twenty-four years old, 165 cm tall, black hair to my shoulders, brown eyes, a little heavier than I care to admit. I wear glasses when I read, try not to run over pedestrians when I drive, enjoy going to the beach, fishing when I get the chance."

  "Fishing! So do I. Where do you fish?"

  "Actually, I haven't fished regularly in Israel. My friends don't enjoy it, so I won't go alone here. You know, for security reasons. But I always manage to get away somewhere when I'm in Australia, visiting my mother. After Dad died two years ago, Mum moved back to her family home in Sydney. But we often travelled between the two countries before that. I'd just come back from there when the bomb hit us. Now, I run the little book shop in Netanya, which I took over from my father."

  "I've been in that shop!" Adam said. "It's the one in Independence Square, isn't it!" He had given it the Hebrew name, Kikar Haatzmaut. "Why are we speaking in English? Do you not speak Hebrew?" he asked.

  "Of course I speak Hebrew, Adam. I've lived half my life here. But, just coming back from months in Sydney, I am still in English mode. Truth to tell, I prefer English."

  She couldn't help thinking , as she had done when she first walked in the door, that his accented English and his deep voice were a captivating combination.

  "So, who runs the shop for you? Should you be there now?"

  "I have Yael, who is wonderful. I don’t need to be there all the time, although I do love being there. Especially when the new titles come in. I love to be the one to unpack them and display them on the shelves. Yael does all the accounts, makes sure I pay everything on time. She lives in Netanya with her family. Also, Ilana comes in three days a week to help. So, I'm able to move about pretty much as I want. It's a great arrangement. What will you do now, Adam? When do you expect to be back at work?"

  "That depends on when I can see, of course. I don’t know. Meanwhile, my mother and sister come in twice a week. They clean up after me, prepare meals I can put in the microwave. I manage quite well. But work… I don't know. The boss has been to see me. He said my job is there when I can make it back. I'm hoping that will be no longer than three months away. Assuming the operation is successful and I can see properly again.

  Dafna's coffee had gone cold. She stood up. He looked up, hearing her movements. "Are you leaving?"

  'Yes, I really sho
uld get back today. I have a large consignment coming in, and I'd prefer to be there. May I come and see you again next week? I'd like to know you are OK."

  Adam stood up, bent to find the mug he'd put on the table, decided to ignore it, and moved around the table slowly. They walked toward the door. He fumbled for the door handle, found it, and opened the door. Once more, he extended his hand to her. This time she held his in both of hers. A feeling she wasn't quite sure of swept over her and she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, squeezed his hand, turned and walked away with a soft "Lehitraot".