The Second Mrs Adams. Sandra Marton

of it, and Morgana had smiled and said that the less men knew about women’s desires to make themselves beautiful, the better.

      So Morgana had made the necessary calls, and he’d seen to it that Joanna’s own robes, nightgowns and slippers were packed by her maid and delivered to the hospital first thing this morning, and now, as he knocked and then opened the door of her room, he was not surprised to find the Joanna he knew waiting for him.

      She was standing at the window, her back to him. She was dressed in a pale blue cashmere robe, her hair drawn back from her face and secured at the nape in an elegant knot. Her posture was straight and proud—or was there a curve to. her shoulders and a tremble to them, as well?

      He stepped inside the room and let the door swing shut behind him.

      “Joanna?”

      She turned at the sound of his voice and he saw that everything about her had gone back to normal. The vulnerability had left her eyes; they’d been done up in some way he didn’t pretend to understand so that they were somehow less huge and far more sophisticated. The bright color had been toned down in her cheeks and her mouth, while still full and beautiful, was no longer the color of a rose but of the artificial blossoms only found in a lipstick tube.

      The girl he had once called his Gypsy was gone. The stunning Manhattan sophisticate was back and it was stupid to feel a twinge of loss because he’d lost his Gypsy a long, long time ago.

      “David,” Joanna said. “I didn’t expect you.”

      “I was stuck in a meeting... Joanna? Have you been crying?”

      “No,” she said quickly, “no, of course not. I just—I have a bit of a headache, that’s all.” She swallowed; he could see the movement of muscle in her long, pale throat. “Thank you for the clothes you sent over.”

      “Don’t be silly. I should have thought of having your own things delivered to you days ago.”

      The tip of her tongue snaked across her lips. She looked down at her robe, then back at him.

      “You mean...I selected these things myself?”

      He nodded. “Of course. Ellen packed them straight from your closet.”

      “Ellen?”

      “Your maid.”

      “My...” She gave a little laugh, walked to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. “I have a maid?” David nodded. “Well, thank her for me, too, please. Oh, and thank you for arranging for me to have my hair and my makeup done.”

      “It isn’t necessary to thank me, Joanna. But you’re welcome.”

      He spoke as politely as she did, even though he had the sudden urge to tell her that he’d liked her better with her hair wild and free, with color in her cheeks that didn’t come from a makeup box and her eyes dark and sparkling with laughter.

      She was beautiful now but she’d been twice as beautiful before.

      David frowned. The pressure of the past ten days was definitely getting to him. There was no point in remembering the past when the past had never been real.

      “So,” he said briskly, “are you looking forward to getting sprung from this place tomorrow?”

      Joanna stared at him. She knew what she was supposed to say. And the prospect of getting out of the hospital had been exciting... until she’d begun to think about what awaited her outside these walls.

      By now, she knew she and David lived in a town house near Central Park but she couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of life they led. David was rich, that much was obvious, and yet she had the feeling she didn’t know what it meant to lead the life of a wealthy woman.

      Which was, of course, crazy, because she didn’t know what it meant to lead any sort of life, especially one as this stranger’s wife.

      He was so handsome, this man she couldn’t remember. So unabashedly male, and here she’d been lying around looking like something the cat had dragged in, dressed in a shapeless hospital gown with no makeup at all on her face and her hair wild as a whirlwind, and then her clothes and her hairdresser and her makeup had arrived and she’d realized that her husband preferred her to look chic and sophisticated.

      No wonder he’d looked at her as if he’d never seen her before just last evening.

      Maybe things would improve between them now. The nurses all talked about how lucky she was to be Mrs. David Adams. He was gorgeous, they giggled, so sexy...

      So polite, and so cold.

      The nurses didn’t know that, but Joanna did. Was that how he’d always treated her? As if they were strangers who’d just met, always careful to do and say the right thing? Or was it the accident that had changed things between them? Was he so removed, so proper, because he knew she couldn’t remember him or their marriage?

      Joanna wanted to ask, but how could you ask such intimate things of a man you didn’t know?

      “Joanna, what’s the matter?” She blinked and looked up at David. His green eyes were narrowed with concern as they met hers. “Have the doctors changed their minds about releasing you?”

      Joanna forced a smile to her lips. “No, no, the cell door’s still scheduled to open at ten in the morning. I was just thinking about...about how it’s going to be to go...to go...” Home, she thought. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, but then, she didn’t have to. She wasn’t going home tomorrow, she was going to a rehab center. More white-tiled walls, more high ceilings, more brightly smiling nurses... “Where is Big Meadows, anyway?”

      “Bright Meadows,” David said, with a smile. “It’s about an hour’s drive from here. You’ll like the place, Jo. Lots of trees, rolling hills, an Olympic-size swimming pool and there’s even an exercise room. Nothing as high-tech as your club, I don’t think, but even so—”

      “My club?”

      Damn, David thought, damn! The doctors had warned him against jogging her memory until she was ready, until she began asking questions on her own.

      “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

      “Do I belong to an exercise club?”

      “Well, yeah.”

      “You mean, one of those places where you dress up in a silly Spandex suit so you can climb on a treadmill to work up a sweat?”

      David grinned. It was his unspoken description of the Power Place, to a tee.

      “I think the Power Place would be offended to hear itself described in quite that way but I can’t argue with it, either.”

      Joanna laughed. “I can’t even imagine doing that. I had the TV on this morning and there was this roomful of people jumping up and down...they looked so silly, and now you’re telling me that I do the same thing?”

      “The Power Place,” David said solemnly, “would definitely not like to hear you say that.”

      “Why don’t I run outdoors? Or walk? Didn’t yóu say I—we—live near Central Park?”

      His smile tilted. It was as if she was talking about another person instead of herself.

      “Yes. We live less than a block away. And I don’t know why you didn’t run there. I do, every morning.”

      “Without me?” she said.

      “Yes. Without you.”

      “Didn’t we ever run together?”

      He stared at her. They had; he’d almost forgotten. She’d run right along with him the first few weeks after their marriage. They’d even gone running one warm, drizzly morning and had the path almost all to themselves. They’d been jogging along in silence when she’d suddenly yelled out a challenge and sped away from him. He’d let her think she was