Interrupted Romance Read online

  CHAPTER 2

  The book shop was crowded with browsers when Dafna arrived about 10 a.m. Yael gave her 'that' look, which meant 'where the hell have you been'… Dafna hurried into the back office and put her shoulder bag into a drawer of her desk. The invoice for the new consignment of books was on the desk, along with the day's mail. She skimmed over the invoice, checking titles received. Some were going to be on back order… damn! Mrs Hermann wouldn't be pleased; she'd already waited longer than she wanted to for that title.

  Yael entered, sat on the edge of the desk, arms folded. "Well, how is he?"

  "How is who?"

  "Loverboy."

  "He's not my loverboy. He's a poor injured man, who has been blinded trying to save me," said Dafna. She smarted under the stern look from Yael. Dafna had been going out for over a year with Moshe, the 'boy next door', and an announcement was due very soon… everyone knew it. Yael obviously disapproved of any competition for Dafna. "Besides, for all I know, there is a future Mrs Lavan somewhere, although I didn't see any photographs to make me think that."

  "OK. But right now I need you out the front, talking to customers. We've had so many enquiries for that new nature book everyone has seen advertised on the television that I can't keep up with demand. Has it arrived with this consignment?"

  "Yes. I'll unpack the boxes. Ask them to wait fifteen minutes and they'll be on the shelves. Has it been like this all day?"

  "Pretty much. That TV ad is free business as far as I can see. They've been coming through the door all morning, asking for it."

  Dafna put a smock over her new slacks and blouse, bought especially to visit Adam, and set about placing the price tags on the new books. She was kept busy for more than the fifteen minutes, but Ilana rushed out every now and then to take a pile of the books back into the shop. They really were selling like hot cakes. If it kept up like this, perhaps they'd under-ordered. It was close to midday when the total consignment was processed, priced, and on the shelves. The rush of customers eased off as the citizens of Netanya thought about going home for lunch and a nap. After all these years, Dafna thought, it is still hard to get used to the idea of a 'siesta' time in the middle of the day. In Australia, people worked on through the day, well into the late afternoon, before they went home. Then, there was the late-night shopping in so many areas, with some stores trading twenty-four hours a day, catering for the shift workers and working Mums with limited spare time.

  The office phone was ringing, bringing her out of her reverie. This was a separate number to the shop, so she knew it was a friend. It was Moshe. He knew she was busy this morning, but would she like to go out tonight for dinner? Dafna was on the point of saying 'no thanks', but quickly changed her mind and accepted gracefully. He had been out of the country on business at the time of her injuries, only hearing about the atrocity on the radio. Friends had contacted him to advise that Dafna had been involved. She ascertained what time Moshe would call for her, and rang off. He'd been anxious about her ever since her return; the bombing; the hospital recovery. Perhaps tonight would be the night he proposed to her. She knew it was only a matter of time. Not so subtle hints had been dropped when he rang her in Sydney, and now that she was home there was no need to hold back any longer. For the past four months, there had been a lessening of passion in their relationship. Dafna put this down to the fact that she'd been in Australia for a long time. The time in hospital didn't help. But the more she thought about it, the more the prospect of marriage with Moshe became a dilemma. Could she spend the rest of her life with this man? Truly, he was a good man. Kind, considerate, loving. He earned a good living as an accountant. He had his own apartment in Tel Aviv. His family approved of her. But there was a nagging doubt that they were too complacent in their relationship. The fire had gone out of their lovemaking - at least on her side. It was as though neither of them could think of a better alternative how to spend time together, and would simply drift into marriage. She reached out to lift the phone, to call him back and cancel the date. Her hand hovered over the phone, then dropped back to her side. Maybe it would be for the best. Settle down. Raise a family.

  Yael and Ilana had closed the shop for the lunch break. They were about to leave. Dafna waved as they went out the front door, closing it firmly behind them. She sat behind the desk, considering what she should wear tonight. Her thoughts kept going back to Adam. How did he manage in between the visits of his mother and sister? She felt responsible for his injuries.

  With a deep sigh, she picked up her bag, closed the shop and walked through the square towards the car park.

  The rest of the day went by in a blur of activity. She hurried home to shower and change for her dinner date with Moshe. The table was booked for 8 p.m. at a posh restaurant in Tel Aviv. Several sets of clothes were tried on and discarded in favour of something else. Finally Dafna decided on the black evening pants, the matching sleeveless blouse with the low neckline that Moshe liked to see her in. The silver thread through the bodice shimmered in the lights. Tonight, the makeup would be applied more carefully than usual; no jewellery apart from her watch and her hair swept up. The final result was stunningly simple, or simply stunning. The scar along her forehead was hidden. A last glance around the apartment, to make sure it was tidy when they came back. The door buzzer sounded and Moshe was there. They kissed briefly before walking arm in arm out to his car.

  He was in a chirpy mood, happy to have her company again after the panic of hearing of her injuries from the blast. They chatted amicably all the way to Tel Aviv. Moshe parked the car in the hotel car park and they rode the elevator up to the restaurant level. They were shown to their table, in a quiet alcove away from the main dining area. Dafna was surprised and delighted at the beautiful spray of flowers set into a niche just above their table. With the mirrored wall behind it, the arrangement looked vibrant. As she was seated by Moshe, who wouldn't allow the waiter to hold her chair, she noticed a small card tucked into the flowers. She placed her evening bag on the table and reached out for the card.

  "Is this for me?" she asked, looking at a smiling Moshe. He nodded.

  The card read: Welcome home, darling. Marry me.

  Dafna looked up quickly, reached out to Moshe, who took her hand in his. He waited, but she said nothing.

  "Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" he said. "You know I love you, Dafna, as I have since we first met."

  "I'm not sure that I'm ready to marry yet, Moshe. I'm sorry. I can't answer that question now. I have the shop to run…" her voice trailed off. What on earth was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just say 'yes' and be done with it!

  He slowly let go of her hand and leaned back in his chair. "Is there someone else? Have you met another man?"

  "No. Yes. I don't know. I'm…" she couldn't go on. "Please, Moshe, I need more time. The bombing, the trauma… I can't make a decision on anything. Could we just enjoy each other's company tonight? I really need to just relax and forget about everything that's happened."

  The rest of the evening passed slowly for them both. Dafna was preoccupied; Moshe trying not to show disappointment. He'd thought she was expecting a proposal from him, but now he was uncertain. That was a feeling he didn't welcome. Uncertainty wasn't part of his personality. He decided precisely, in life, and in work. He thought things out and came to a logical conclusion as to what was the best way to proceed. In his profession one dotted the 'i's and crossed the 't's and left nothing to chance. He was dealing with a proposal to Dafna in just the same way. It should have worked. Or so he thought. Besides, he wasn't accustomed to being fobbed off or turned down, in any capacity. He was used to having his suggestions and decisions accepted, without further ado.

  What he thought would be an enthusiastic acceptance of his marriage proposal had turned into a non-event. They talked steadily of mutual friends, their businesses - he trying to put on a calm face, sensing that if he pushed the idea of marriage again tonight, Dafna would be more definite in her decision, and it pro
bably wouldn't go his way. For her part, Dafna was stunned at her own indifference to his proposal. There was an unspoken agreement that they wouldn't spend the night together after all.

  When he walked her to her door, Moshe held her in his arms and kissed her firmly and with meaning. Then he said "Goodnight darling" and turned away without any further conversation. Dafna opened her door, went inside and closed the door softly behind her. She stood in her living room arms by her sides, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Slowly, she turned toward her bedroom, moved automatically through the doorway to the bed. First the evening bag dropped to the floor, then she allowed herself to sink down onto the bed, hands covering her face, sobbing quietly. 'Dismal' wasn't the word for how she felt. Maybe 'devastated' would fit her feelings better. Why had she acted that way? She lay back across the bed, fully clothed, eyes closed. The memory of his face, his whole demeanour, after she made it plain she wasn't interested in his marriage proposal tonight, stayed with her. For hours she lay there with thoughts racing through her mind, trying to find a reason to justify her humiliating refusal. For that was what it was. She had embarrassed him, humiliated him, confounded him. He was so sure of himself early in the evening, and she ruined it for him. And he had every reason to be self-assured when he'd proposed to her. Prior to tonight, there had been no reason to believe she didn't reciprocate his feelings. No reason to think she hadn't expected or anticipated a proposal. Dafna felt guilty that she'd allowed the situation to go on over the past months without letting him know of her own misgivings. Being a Piscean she hated hurting other people's feelings.

  Gradually, the mental turmoil eased enough to allow her to sleep until soft sunlight, shining across her, made her stir and wake. She lay still for a moment, remembering why she was lying there in her evening clothes. Then, with a visible effort, she got off the bed and headed for the shower. A new day had started; her shop would be waiting for her to start another busy day.

  CHAPTER 3

  The days and weeks passed slowly for Dafna. Moshe hadn't called her. Why should he after what she had put him through? She went about her business, dined out occasionally with friends, and went to the movies once, alone.

  It occurred to her that she hadn't been back to see how Adam was coping with his injuries. She wanted to see him, to know he was OK. His phone number was in her office directory, but she ignored it. Calling out to Yael on her way through the front of the shop, she told her she wouldn't be back until tomorrow and headed for the car park in the next block where she regularly left her car.

  It was a slow drive to Tel Aviv, traffic was heavy at that time of day, with so many people heading home for the midday break. There was a wonderful programme of Israeli folk tunes playing on the radio… always popular. She hummed along with songs she knew from childhood.

  Finally she drew up near the apartment of Adam Lavan. There was no parking close to the entrance, so she drove around the block to find a quiet area to leave the car. She walked back with a purposeful step. How foolish not to have phoned first. He may not be there. He may not want to see her. Her footsteps slowed, hesitated, got started again, until she climbed the stairs to the apartment.

  She knocked and waited, listening to music through the door. It was the pleasant voice of a tenor… one she knew… Andrea Bocelli, the Italian. He was singing… what was it… Donizetti wrote it… The door opened. Adam stood there, his arm out of the sling, but still in plaster. His eyes were uncovered. He was looking at her, almost. She said, "Shalom, Adam", and before she could give her name he had guessed. He said, "Dafna?"

  "Yes. How did you know?"

  "Your voice. I remembered your voice. It's been a while hasn't it?"

  "Yes, and I apologise for that. With one thing and another… I really meant to come back sooner."

  Adam stepped back, motioning her inside. "Please," he said, "come in. Make yourself at home."

  "Thanks."

  He led the way to the living room chairs, waited while he heard her sit down then sat down himself. The cushions were tidily in place this time. A pile of CD's was on the coffee table. Obviously, he spent his time listening to music. Reading wasn't an option just yet.

  "Coffee?"

  "Thank you, no. But I'll make one for you if you'd like one," Dafna said, starting to rise.

  "No, not now. I'm so full of the stuff I'll be sick soon. I make it for something to do half the time."

  Dafna studied his face. He seemed much better than the last time she'd seen him. There was a healthy colour to his face, and he was walking without favouring the leg. His eyes were still the major problem. But apart from that, it seemed he had spent many hours sitting in the sun. His skin was very tanned. As she watched, he was pulling on a T-shirt over a brown, muscled chest. A chest covered in black curly hair. She had an urge to run her fingers through the hair on his chest, but stopped herself abruptly. Whatever was she thinking of!

  When the plaster came off, his arm would be very pale compared to the rest of his body. At least, compared to that part of his body which she had just seen.

  "So, how are you finding the recovery period Adam? Is it going as well as your doctors would like?"

  "Actually, they are delighted. Next week the plaster comes off my arm… can't wait for that. It's driving me crazy. I itch all the time now. My leg feels good. The operation for the eyes will be delayed. The specialist is overseas on a lecture tour. In fact, I think he is in Australia somewhere."

  "Why don't you go to Australia and see the doctor there, if he is so good? That would save a lot of time, wouldn't it?"

  "I suppose so. But wouldn't I have to book into a hospital there? I don't know anything about it, I'm afraid."

  "Surely his secretary here could make some arrangement for you? Have you asked?"

  "No. I didn't think of it," he said.

  The Bocelli CD ended. It was suddenly quiet in the room. Adam rose to change the CD's in the player. Dafna watched him in silence. She hadn't realised how broad-shouldered he was. He made his way back to the sofa with practised skill, but didn't sit down as the sounds of a gentle waltz filled the room.

  "Dafna, would you dance with me? I know it sounds crazy, but there's not a lot I can do yet, and not many people have time to come to see me because they are working."

  She stood up swiftly and moved towards him. "Of course. That music is conducive to movement, isn't it?"

  Her arm went up to his shoulder, just as the plastered arm lifted up to take her hand. He slipped his other arm around her waist and they began to move gracefully, slowly at first, then circling about the room. The concentration was evident on his face as he waltzed her about the room without falling over the furniture, treading on her, or pushing her into a wall! She felt quite safe with him, and their only stumble was when their feet met the edge of the rug. Adam almost fell with her, but quickly recovered his balance, and laughed out loud with delight at his accomplishment. As the waltz ended, they were both laughing and a little breathless. His strong arms hadn't let go of her and so they stood there, waiting for the next tune.

  Dafna could see his pulse beating in the base of his throat, at her eye level. Her own heart was drumming more heavily than need be. The music began again, this time a tango, and he smiled and quickly drew her along with him to the hypnotic beat. The rug didn't get them, but the coffee table did. Adam banged up against it, falling over it, pulling Dafna with him this time. Fortunately for both of them, he landed on the sofa with her on top of him. Neither was hurt, but neither moved for a short time. The feeling of body to body was intoxicating… and the tango played on.

  Adam was the first to move. He helped Dafna up to her feet and stepped back from her

  "Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea after all," he said smiling. "Are you OK?" He reached out a hand towards her.

  She laughed, recovering her composure. "Yes. No injuries. But I enjoyed the dance. Thank you."

  "Adam," she went on, "would you like to go out somewhere for a dri
ve? It would take you out of the apartment for a while. Maybe to the beach?"

  He considered that a while, then nodded. "Really, that would be just wonderful. I'd like to get the scent of the sea air. How about fishing? Would you like to go fishing? I know a great spot, if you'd drive us there. When would suit you?" he asked.