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So she’d try talking instead.
‘Tell me how it works around here. Where your patients come from, that sort of thing.’
‘There are two components to the hospital.’ Relief underlined Tom’s words, as though he might be grateful for the change in topic. ‘The surgical unit where you’ll be working is where we see children from all over the South Island who need various specialists’ care. I look after the general paediatric cases. Then I get in other specialists, usually for a week at a time.’
‘So this week is devoted to patients requiring plastic surgery?’
‘Exactly. A lot of the children are from underprivileged backgrounds, but I take everyone who needs us and find funding from various sources.’
‘Social Services?’
‘For some cases. We also rely on charities. In here.’ He waved her into a large room containing a kitchen and dining area at one end, an array of comfortable armchairs and a television at the other. ‘This is the communal living quarters used by specialist staff we draft in and the interns who rotate through here from Canterbury Medical School.’
He paused to draw a deep breath, and Fiona instantly sensed she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
‘All the rooms are in use, so originally I arranged for Jerome to share my cottage. We get on very well and have become friends over the years.’ His troubled gaze met hers with defiance. ‘Which means you are now sharing with me. I know it’s not going to be easy for either of us, but I hope we can make it work.’
‘You couldn’t change the arrangements?’ She couldn’t blame him if he’d wanted to, but nor could she stop the hurt that stabbed her.
‘Unfortunately not—because that would’ve been for the best.’ His tone was neutral, but his stance rigid.
‘I’m not here for an argument, Tom. I’m filling a gap at the hospital for you.’ Exasperation rocked through her. Her bottom lip trembled. Exhaustion had caught up, big-time. What else could be causing this reaction to him? Certainly not having him standing so close to her.
Moving away, she stared at up at his face, suddenly cross for putting them both in this situation. Drawing a deep breath—a steady one, she was surprised to note—she suggested, ‘How about I move into a motel or hotel in the village? It’s only half a kilometre away. I won’t need transport and I’d be available all the time.’
‘I already tried that but everything’s booked out. There’s a golf tournament on this week. Plus it’s school holidays, and many families come here for the snow and hot pools.’
‘Guess we’re stuck with this arrangement, then.’
Tom mightn’t be too happy about it, but she felt another surge of hope. This could be the opportunity that she wanted to get alongside him again. But first she’d let him get used to having her around.
* * *
‘I’ll do my best to stay out of your way. Now, where’s this place you live? I’d like to unpack and put on some warmer clothes.’
Tom stood looking at her as though he had more to say. But finally he turned around, wrenched open an outside door, and led the way along a path winding to a stone cottage set amongst young oak trees.
‘Here’s a key for you.’ He delved into his pocket. ‘Come and go as you please.’
‘Is there anyone else living here?’ Did he have a partner she needed to know about? ‘Am I going to get in anyone else’s way in the bathroom?’ Her stomach crunched as she waited for his reply.
His grey eyes darkened with sadness. ‘I live alone. And, for the record, I haven’t got a woman in my life at the moment.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ She smiled, and her stomach relaxed. Why did this knowledge make her feel better? It wasn’t as though she’d come to claim Tom back. Something niggled at the back of her brain. Really? No, this week was about tying up the loose ends, not starting over.
‘I’m not saying I haven’t dated on and off, but this place takes up a lot of my attention. No one I’ve met has been able to deal with that. I guess I’m too selfish to make allowances.’
‘I’d say you were dedicated.’ And still working every hour there was in a day, to the detriment of everything else.
‘What about you? Have you taken any poor, unsuspecting man to meet your father over the years?’ A straightforward question, but did she hear more than curiosity behind the words?
‘No way.’ Then a chuckle tripped over her tongue at the memory of Tom meeting her father for the first time. ‘I’m not game enough to put anyone through that ordeal ever again.’
He nodded, gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Very wise. Meeting your father is not to be taken lightly, or without protection.’
She grinned, remembering the difficult introduction Tom and her father had had. From that day on they’d never agreed on anything. They’d both loved her for different reasons and in different ways. Her father had demanded too much of her. Her husband had asked nothing of her. ‘Believe it or not, Dad’s calmed down a lot lately, having finally accepted that I will live my life how I want to, not how he expects. And I’ve learned not to try and live up to his expectations.’
‘Bet that wasn’t easy.’ A twinkle lightened his eyes. ‘Let’s go in before you freeze to death.’
Inside the front door, Fiona stared around the tiny entrance-way and along the hall, avidly looking for anything from their life together. All she saw were stunning black and white landscapes: mountains, rivers, the ocean.
‘Your photography is still superb.’
‘The scenery around here lends itself to great photographs.’
She quickly scanned the photos, searching. Not one photo of the two of them. Nothing of Liam. As a keen photographer, Tom used to plaster the walls of their home with photos. Many of her, she admitted. Her mood slumped. She had been expecting too much. Disappointment stabbed her diaphragm, as though she had a stitch from running too hard. Putting a hand to the wall, she leaned against it, sucking air through her teeth.
Her pack landed with a thud on the floor of a room off to the left, and Tom called out, ‘This is your room. Mine’s opposite, while the kitchen, lounge and bathroom are at the end of the hall.’
With an effort, she dragged herself upright and clumped through the bedroom door. The furnishings in the small, neat room were sparse. The bed stood square to the wall, the coverings tucked in evenly. Only the vibrant terracotta and blue decorating made the room warm and welcoming. Tom had a good eye for colour.
‘This will be fine.’ It was luxury after Pakistan. Then she thought about the time she’d just spent in Sydney with her father on her way home. His new apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour was crammed with luxuries. What she’d once taken for granted now seemed obscenely excessive. This small room was perfect.
‘The kitchen’s well stocked, so help yourself to anything you want. There’s a firebox that runs day and night. You’ll soon feel warmer.’
Her body might feel warmer, but she doubted her heart would ever defrost. It had frozen all those years ago and she’d never known how to thaw it. She’d tried talking with Tom then, but she hadn’t been able to find the right words to get through to him. The harder she’d tried, the worse she’d made things and the further away from her he’d pulled, until they hadn’t been able to talk about anything. Not even what to have for breakfast.
Tom’s voice broke through her reverie. ‘Do you still take milk in your tea?’
A mundane question that spoke of a past they’d shared and hinted that now there might be things neither knew about each other.
‘Definitely no milk. I got used to drinking black tea while travelling.’
Again those eyebrows rose in astonishment, but at least his eyes were on the friendly side of the barometer. ‘As I said, I’m looking forward to hearing about your excursions.’
‘You’re still finding it hard to believe I could leave my feather duvet behind?’
‘Do you blame me?’
No, she couldn’t. Sometimes it had been hard enough believing it herself.
* * *
Tom stretched his legs out under his desk and yawned. ‘Sorry, late night last night.’
Fiona was with him in his consulting room, meeting the patients on tomorrow’s operating schedule. He’d sat quietly throughout each consultation, listening and observing. Now she’d just finished talking to the parents of a six-month-old baby born with a cleft palate, hopefully allaying their fears about their darling child undergoing surgery. She always felt a small thrill at being able to repair the fissure in a baby’s mouth, making that child’s life normal and saving them terrible angst as they grew up and mixed with more and more people.
‘A patient keep you up?’ she asked. Or one of those women who couldn’t deal with his dedication to his hospital? Fiona wondered.
Snap out of it. The guy had a life, and he didn’t have to explain himself to her. If his life appeared a whole lot more balanced than hers, then she’d be pleased for him. It wasn’t his fault hers lacked love and friendship. She’d made it that way. Deliberately. In an attempt to keep it pain-free.
‘No, a birthday party for one of the staff. Hanmer Springs isn’t as dull as some people would have you think.’ Tom smiled. ‘Though it does take some getting used to. At least it did for me, being a city dweller. There’s excitement, and then there’s excitement.’
She grinned straight back. ‘Late nights never used to wear you out. You showing your age, or what?’ Clapping her hand against her forehead, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, of course—it’s the big four O coming up at the end of this year. No wonder you’re so tired, you old man.’
‘Careful, you’re only five years behind me.’
He looked darned good, having matured from the boyish good-looks of the thirty-year-old she’d first met into a very handsome man comfortable in his own skin. Even the new lines around his mouth added character.
‘That’s a lifetime, buster,’ she quipped, before concentrating on the pages in her hand, needing to quell the sudden thumping in her chest. ‘There are some notes on a boy here that I didn’t receive by fax. Cameron Gordon?’
‘A late addition to tomorrow’s list. The paperwork arrived in this morning’s post. He had a cleft palate repaired when he was a baby but for some reason his harelip wasn’t corrected.’
‘But he’s ten. He must’ve suffered a lot of teasing over the years.’
‘I think he got lost in the system. His parents divorced when he was three, and from what I can gather he’s been shunted back and forth between them ever since. When his GP phoned on Wednesday asking me to help I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Do you ever turn a child away?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Not if I can help it.’
A gentle tap on the door interrupted them.
‘Sophie Clark and her father are here,’ the cheerful receptionist announced, and held the door wider to allow them through.
Fiona uncrossed her ankles and straightened up from leaning against the edge of Tom’s desk, then turned to greet her last patient.
A middle-aged man gently led a slight, shy teenage girl into the room. The girl hunched against her father, her face hidden behind a curtain of long hair.
Fiona’s heart went out to this girl, who obviously hated people seeing her damaged face. A jolt of sadness hit Fiona when she saw the jagged purple scar marring Sophie’s left cheek from just below the eye to the corner of her mouth. The medical notes mentioned a car accident.
Tom shook Mr. Clark’s hand, saying, ‘Jacob, good to see you again. Sophie, how are you? How did you do in the school’s short story contest?’
‘I won.’ Sophie smiled, the dullness in her eyes lifting. She was a beautiful girl, with fine bone structure and enormous eyes, and eyelashes that had to be the envy of every female alive.
‘Brilliant.’ Tom clapped his hands. ‘Now, take a seat. This is Dr Fraser.’
‘Hi, Sophie. I’m your specialist this week.’
‘Hello, Dr Fraser.’
‘Call me Fiona. It’s easier.’ And she was not used to being called Dr Fraser.
Sophie turned the left side of her face away again. ‘Okay, Fiona.’
Fiona sat opposite the girl and reached for her hand. ‘Sophie, you’re a very beautiful girl, and what’s happened to your face doesn’t change that.’
Scepticism clouded Sophie’s face, and her shoulders tensed. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘I mean it. You have the sort of strong bone structure that most women would give anything to have.’ Reaching for the hand mirror she’d placed on Tom’s desk earlier, Fiona tentatively held it up in front of Sophie. Then she leaned over to run a fingertip across the girl’s right cheekbone. ‘See how high your cheekbones are?’ she asked, in a soft, but determined tone.
Sophie darted a glance at the mirror, looked away, despair filling her eyes, tears welling up.
‘And your skin—it’s so clear of blemishes. How do you manage to avoid pimples at your age?’
‘Guess I got lucky with something.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘But no one wants to look at me now. I’m ugly. You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘You’re right, I don’t.’ Fiona cringed at the anguish this young woman suffered. ‘But I know you’re not ugly. Forget that idea. Let’s really look at you. Take the mirror while I show you the real Sophie Clark.’
Fiona held her breath as she waited for the girl’s response. No one in the room moved. Then, just as Fiona sensed Tom about to intervene, Sophie snatched the mirror out of Fiona’s hand and held it too close to her face to really see herself.
‘You can’t show me anything new. I used to see this every morning when I got up, but I don’t look any more.’
Fiona held back the hug she wanted to give this girl—a hug to repair some of the damage done to her. Instead she twisted her chair around and sat beside Sophie. With her forefinger she pointed to the big blue eyes glaring back at her from the mirror.
‘Not many people’s eyes are so dark, almost navy in colour. Very attractive.’
Sophie blinked, stared at herself for a moment before looking away.
‘Your hair is shiny and healthy, and, I presume, naturally blonde. The matching eyebrows are a giveaway. And when you smile your whole face lights up. Did you know that?’
After a slight shake of her head the gap between Sophie’s face and the mirror increased fractionally. Fiona waited patiently as Sophie ran her tongue around her lips, attempted a small smile, and tried to watch her eyes.
With great care Fiona turned Sophie’s face so that they were looking at her right cheek. Then with a gentle movement she eased Sophie around to look at the left side of her face.
‘I can’t take the scar away, but I can make it a whole lot better. It’s unfortunate that the scar runs across the muscles rather than up and down. It will always show a little, and more so when you’re tired. I’m going to make the scar less obvious, and over the years it will fade a lot. With the help of make-up you’ll be able to hide it—if you want to.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’m sure you don’t, but I’d like you to trust me to help you.’ She was asking a lot from a traumatised teen. Whoever had first operated on her injury had not done the best possible job, and now Sophie believed the result to be as good as it would ever get. ‘I can help, big-time.’
Sophie’s enormous eyes were glued to her, sizing her up, and she felt a jolt of shock as she realised this girl was mature beyond her years.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Sophie acknowledged.
‘Good.’ Now Fiona couldn’t help herself. She hugged Sophie. ‘I’ll see you again in the morning. And if you have any questions at all, any time between now and then, even in the middle of the night, get your nurse to call me. She’ll know where to find me.’
‘Do I have to eat at the hospital?’ Sophie’s eyes were filled with a mischievous glint.
Not knowing this hospital’s protocol, Fiona looked to Tom for guidance.
‘As long as you have nothing to eat after eight o’clock tonight you can have whatever you like.’ Tom smiled at the girl. ‘But if you’re thinking of a fast food chain, forget it. The population here is hardly enough to support one of those outlets.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Jacob muttered as he stood up. ‘Show me a steak house and I’ll be happy.’
‘Dad! Not steak again.’ Sophie turned imploring eyes onto Tom. ‘There are takeaway places here? Aren’t there?’
Tom appeared to think about it, until Sophie stared him down.
‘There are a few.’ He pushed his sleeve back to look at his watch. ‘But of course, this is Hanmer Springs. They might’ve already closed for the night.’
‘Dr Tom, you’re so not fair.’
Fiona listened to the banter while watching Tom. He was at ease with Sophie, gently teasing her, diverting her mind from her operation. He would have been a great father. He had been a great father, who’d never got to see his son growing up. For both of them Liam was still five months old, as though stuck in a perpetual state of nappies and breast milk. Other children grew taller, learned to walk and talk, but not Liam. He’d never go to school, ride a bike, kiss a girl. Cot death had stolen him away, along with her heart. Along with Tom’s heart.
Her breathing grew tight. Her palms moistened. How she missed her darling boy. How she missed her marriage.
Had Tom ever thought about having another family? Her blood slowed. Why wouldn’t he? Then again, he had surrounded himself with a continuous stream of children. Were they his family now? That would be a shame. Tom was definite father material.
She bit down on her lip in an effort to distract herself from the ache that thought brought on. A long time ago she’d made up her mind never to take the risk of having more children. The thought of losing another child almost paralysed her, so nothing would ever change that decision. But she’d hoped Tom might have recovered enough to try again.
* * *
Tom returned from showing the Clarks out and made himself comfortable in a chair by propping his legs on the desk. He couldn’t get his head around the fact that after all this time Fiona was here, sitting opposite him in his office. It felt bizarre to be talking to her about patients, as though they hadn’t had all those years apart. He only had to reach across the desk and he’d be touching her.
Did he want to touch her? So far, every time he had, heated awareness of her had triggered a longing so deep it terrified him. Which meant the coming week would be an ordeal, because she was definitely forbidden territory.
So get back to being professional. Concentrate on why Fiona had come here. Think about the patients whose lives she would be making so much happier. ‘You did well with Sophie. It took me three visits to get that far with her. She’s had a difficult time coping.’
Fiona’s patience with the unhappy teen had surprised him. He had the feeling that she’d have sat with Sophie all night if necessary. But it hadn’t been necessary because of her empathy with the girl. Fiona seemed to intrinsically understand where Sophie was coming from, and what she needed from her plastic surgeon.
Patience had never been a part of Fiona’s make-up. Certainly not with him over the months following Liam’s death. She’d got so frustrated when he wouldn’t talk about it. At the time he’d been struggling to function enough to get out of bed every morning. In hindsight he could see that neither of them had known how to deal with what had happened. Neither of them had known how to give each other the compassion they’d needed to heal. They’d been too busy using it up on themselves.
Obviously time and events had taught her to stop and listen to people. Earlier he’d been wondering how she’d coped after they separated. He still didn’t know the answer to that, but from what he’d seen so far the result was impressive.
Looking at her, he was startled to see a warm glow colouring her cheeks as she replied, ‘Thank you. I see a lot of patients despairing because they think no one will want to look at them again. They mainly need listening to.’
How true. ‘Teenagers suffer especially. They’re so vulnerable when they perceive themselves to be different to their peers.’
‘Often their families and friends don’t know how to cope with the situation, which adds to their problems.’
Much as they’d both felt when they’d lost Liam, he realised. And they’d been adults. Both had been taken up with their own grief, unable to reach out to each other or anyone else. But he should have done more. ‘Especially those who try to help.’
A flicker of understanding sparked across Fiona’s face. ‘We didn’t manage very well, did we?’
His jaw clenched. ‘There wasn’t a manual.’ How did anyone know what to do? ‘I tried my best for both of us.’
‘We both did,’ she whispered. The colour drained from her cheeks. Pain flicked into her eyes.
The urge to hold her tight against him, to take that hurt away, swamped him. He longed to stroke her hair, craved her breath against his neck. He wanted to make her feel better. He focused instead on studying her, and was shocked to realise that the inherent sparkle in her eyes had flickered out, gone, replaced by a soul-deep tiredness. His chest tightened as he thought of all the pain she’d endured because of Liam’s death and the toll it had taken on her exuberant outlook on life. He looked closer at her drawn face. Was she unwell? Was she up to the job? Of course she was. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. That much he trusted.
Gravel crunching under tyres outside reminded him of the trip to the hot pools. ‘The haemophiliac patients and their families are waiting on the bus at the front door. They’re going to the thermal pools. We always send staff with them, and I like to tag along occasionally. It’s fun playing with the kids.’
‘I’ll see you later, then.’ Fiona shuffled files together, her face wistful.
‘Come with us. That way you’ll get really warm for the first time today.’ Now, why the hell had he suggested that when he needed to put space between them?
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’
There—problem solved. She wouldn’t be joining them at the pool. But the devil had hold of his tongue. ‘That’s easily fixed. There’s a shop next to the pools dedicated to swimming costumes.’ Fiona in a swimsuit? His gut clenched.
‘It’s very tempting.’
‘Then grab your purse, and a towel from my bathroom, and meet me at the front steps in five minutes.’ He watched her unfurl from the chair and leave his office. He squashed a spurt of fear. In no time at all she’d got under his skin, made him very aware of her. His banging heart seemed more than happy with her arrival. His head said the hospital needed her and that she was proving to be very good with her patients. Exactly what he wanted, demanded, from the specialists who came to work here.
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