The rest of the medical centre slipped into darkness. The summer sunshine shifted to the gold and pink hues of twilight over the mountains and Lake Jindabyne, and stole between the shutters into the clinic.
Sheva looked up from her work only when she had cleaned, sutured and covered the wound.
‘He’s asleep,’ Rosie whispered.
Loathe to wake him, Sheva studied his face, much of which had been hidden by the Zorro mask at the ball. The sharp sculpted perfection of high cheekbones, patrician nose, square chiselled chin and wide forehead contributed to the arrogant and supercilious expression when awake. Asleep, with the frown erased, he looked young and vulnerable. The lips drawn taut in rigid control of pain, were all contoured sensuousness at rest. His closed eyelids were fringed with curling lashes a woman would die for.
This was the man who had tempted her that night. Whose words had haunted her in Sri Lanka.
Sheva stepped back. ‘Let him rest for a while.’
He was younger than she had assumed. Maybe a few years older than her. Her eyes lingered on his face. The furrowed forehead and lines etched around his mouth and eyes spoke of life experience and pain. Her fingers itched to smooth them over. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. It would be so unprofessional and way over the requirements of the Hippocratic Oath.
His eyelids flickered open. He looked around, grey eyes disoriented.
‘Who—’ his eyes scanned her face and fixed on her lips. He frowned. ‘Who are you?’
‘Mr Knight, you are at the Jindabyne Medical Clinic. You were injured. We cleaned and sutured your wound. I am the doctor.’
A frown puckered his forehead. He sat up and shook his head. His eyes swept around the room. ‘Ah, yes. Sorry, Doctor Singh.’ He reached his right hand towards Sheva. ‘Thank you. You are good, very good. I didn’t feel a thing. I apologise for not introducing myself. I’m Roy Knight.’
Sheva peeled off her gloves and gave him her hand. ‘Sheva Singh.’
Their eyes met and held. There was reluctant admiration and some deeper emotion in his. The grey of his eyes, no longer sharp flint, was now more like a stormy evening over the Snowy Mountains. His brow furrowed. ‘Doctor Singh. You’re new here, aren’t you?’
‘The clinic is new and I’ve been here a couple of weeks.’ She pulled her hand away and forced a laugh. ‘You’ve just been too healthy to need a doctor.’
She slipped off the stool and shrugged out of her coat. ‘I saw your car outside, Mr Knight. You’ve had pain medication and are likely to feel disoriented and drowsy. You don’t live in town and I don’t want you driving home in the dark. I’d like you to spend the night here.’
The broad shoulders tensed. ‘I am not staying here.’
‘You are not in a fit state to drive, Mr Knight.’ She gestured to the door to her right. ‘We have a four-bed ward. I’ll get dinner sent in to you. There are towels and basic toiletries in the bathroom, as well as a hospital gown for you to sleep in.’
She turned to Rosie. ‘Can you please call Peter?’
‘Peter’ she explained to Roy, ‘is the clinic attendant. He sleeps in the attached annex. My house is across the street, so he’ll get in touch with me if needed.’
The grey eyes were flint again. Worse, they crackled with fire. He stood up, towering over her. It didn’t take much to tower over her petite five foot nothing frame, anyway.
Cursing, he staggered and held on to the table with his right hand. Rosie and Sheva grabbed his shoulders and eased him into a chair. He grunted and dropped his head into his right palm.
Sheva crouched on the floor and looked up at him. ‘Mr Knight, you can’t drive tonight. Is there anyone I can call?’ She glanced at his left hand. The fingers were as bare as she remembered.
‘I have my mobile phone, I’ll call my place.’
Peter bustled into the clinic.
‘Come on, mate.’ He took Roy’s arm. ‘Let’s get you washed and settled for the night.’
Rosie was on the phone ordering a take-away meal.
Roy turned and looked at Sheva. His brow puckered in a frown.
If he recognised her, it would blow her cover.
Chapter 14
Sheva shut the door of the medical centre and walked across the road to her house.
The agent had told her the two-bedroom cottage dated from the early 1960s, one of the first to be built in the new town of Jindabyne.
When she first arrived here, she had been too shell-shocked at what was happening to her life to appreciate the old-world beauty of the cottage. She had soon grown fond of it. The cedar wood exterior and gable roof gave it a rustic quaintness, setting it apart from the other regulation brick veneer houses on the street. She had fallen in love with the tiny back garden and the front lawn, where frangipani trees reminded her of the family home in Colombo.
The white roses at the front door provided a fragrant welcome home. Bending, she picked a rose for the bud vase by her bed. Maybe she’d buy the cottage when she finished here. No, she couldn’t make plans for the future. She needed to live in the moment of each day. Her tomorrows were too frightening to contemplate, as was the past.
She inserted the key in the double lock Dan had insisted on having installed, and swung the door open. Her first action was to kick off her shoes, and allow the cool slate under her bare feet to take her back to the polished cement floors of her childhood home in Sri Lanka. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the welcoming warmth of the old house envelop her. Sheva was aware of it every time she walked in. It was as if the ghosts of past residents were happy to see her safely back home again.
She would have to tell Dan about the hen’s weekend in Jindabyne and her meeting with Roy. God, how she hated laying her life out for public scrutiny.
She dropped her handbag on the hand-crafted mahogany centre table and fell into the leather upholstered couch. The cuckoo clock over the fireplace called out seven thirty. Cursing under her breath, she glanced at the telephone.
The red light on the phone blinked in the dark room. She’d missed the six pm check-in call. Dan would be furious. She rummaged in her handbag for her mobile phone, switched it on and punched speed dial.
The twice a day calls between six and seven, morning and evening were part of the deal. She was to report anything unusual in the clinic routine or anyone who expressed undue interest in her. Tell him anything even remotely suspicious is how Dan had described it. Other than that one proviso, she was free to run the Jindabyne Medical Centre as she saw fit.
Tonight, she definitely had something to report.
The knock on the front door coincided with the kookaburra cackle ringtone on Dan’s mobile phone.
He had a set of keys to her house. ‘Come in, Dan,’ she called.
The rattle of keys and a smothered curse indicated his annoyance.
‘Where the heck have you been? Nora said you left the gym in a hurry, nearly two hours ago. Your mobile has been switched off. You weren’t answering your landline. I swung by the Medical Centre and the clinic was empty.’
Daniel Cooper was an erupting volcano when he was upset. Right now he was spewing lava. Her temper rose in response. Be patient, she reminded herself. He’s looking out for you.
‘Sorry, Dan. I was working on a patient in the so-called surgical room. I use only the overhead lamp when doing minor surgery, so the clinic looked empty. Before you ask why I was there after hours, the man refused to go to Cooma. He’s spending the night in the ward.’
Dan walked in, and shut the door behind him. She heard the click of the lock.
‘A man came in after hours? What’s his name? Why didn’t you check with me before going back to the clinic? You know the rules, Sheva.’
‘I am sick and tired of your rules. I am a doctor and this was an emergency. Anyway, he’s a local farmer, Roy Knight.
And, I need to tell you—’
The volcano subsided to a simmer. ‘Roy’s one of our volunteer firemen. He should be safe,’ Dan mumbled. ‘You shouldn’t have done it. What happened?’ His eyes bored into hers. ‘You know you’re supposed to transfer patients to Cooma after hours.’
‘He needed sutures and Rosie was in a panic. She thought he may have sliced an artery—fortunately, he hadn’t. I decided to go in and see to it.’ She stopped and stared into his eyes. ‘I follow instructions, Dan, but I need the freedom to make medical decisions.’ She gathered her courage. ‘As it turned out, there’s a slight complication.’
Dan’s body tensed. ‘What do you mean “a complication”?’ he snapped.
A tremor went through her body at the seriousness of his expression. His eyes darted around the room and his hand rested on his hip pocket. She wondered if he had a gun in there.
‘There may be something you and your team missed when you investigated my activities.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I went for a weekend away with Monica and Suzanne.’
Dan laughed. ‘The hen’s trip. Yes, we knew about it. Your diary said you were in Canberra.’
‘My diary?’ Sheva snapped. ‘You tapped into my Gmail account? My google calendar? Is nothing sacred?’
He brushed away her protests, ‘We know everything. You are very thorough in your calendar entries, we even know the dates of your—’
‘The girls lied. They didn’t take me to Canberra.’
Dan went on instant alert. ‘Where were you for that weekend?’
‘Jindabyne.’
‘You’ve been here before? How did our guys miss that?’ The shock in his voice would have been amusing in different circumstances. As it was, and feeling incredibly weary, she only managed a tired grimace.
‘Hmm, it was a masquerade ball. We—the three of us were masked cat women.’
‘Sheva—’ Dan crouched by the lounge and looked at her. His eyes locked with hers— ‘there’s more, isn’t there? What happened at the party?’
‘My friends arranged a blind date for me—’
‘Let me guess.’ He swore. ‘Roy Knight.’
Sheva nodded. ‘Zorro.’
‘So, you were both masked.’
She nodded.
‘But, you recognised him, today?’
‘His name was in the admission documents.’
‘Did he give you any hint that he recognised you?’
‘No. He was shocked to see a subcontinental woman doctor. Being dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt ruined my professional image.’ Her laugh was tinged with hysteria. ‘He’s misogynistic, racist and a couple of other things that there aren’t polite words for.’
Dan sat back on his heels. He stroked his chin with his right hand, and his eyes grew contemplative and thoughtful. ‘The job we did on changing your looks seems to have worked.’
‘Dan, I was a masked, scarlet, cat-woman with feline ears, red claws and twelve centimetre sequined red heels at the party! I wouldn’t have recognised myself. And,’ she paused and shrugged, ‘I followed the girls’ instructions to let myself go and be naughty. I’m not particularly proud of how I behaved.’
‘Did you sleep with him that night?’
‘No. I did not! I was leaving in a few days to get married in Sri Lanka.’
Getting to his feet, he raised his hands in surrender. ‘Sorry, just asking.’
‘This is such a mess.’ Sheva dropped her face into her hands.
‘We need to work laterally here.’ Dan paced across the room, then swung around to face her. ‘I know what to do.’ He pulled out his phone and punched in a number.
‘Dan?’
He shushed her with his hand, ‘Hello, Elvis. This is Ringo Two. I need you to run a check.’ He paused. ‘Yes, I am aware it is late. And yes, I need the information tonight. Name: Roy Knight. He’s a thirty-something businessman. Has a farm or business in Jindabyne.’ He listened and frowned. ‘No,’ he said with his voice tinged with sarcasm, ‘I don’t have any more.’ He thumbed the call off. ‘Supposed to be a computer whiz kid. I thought these nerds could trace anything.’
‘So, what do we do now?’
‘We wait.’
‘You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll lock up.’ She got off the couch.
Dan moved to stand before her. ‘Sheva, Roy Knight is a hurdle we have to overcome, and we will. Elvis is fast and efficient. We’ll hear from him soon.’
She moved away and glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Have you eaten? I’ve got some soup and pizza.’
Over food, Dan entertained her with stories of what he called his mongrel heritage. ‘I was adopted. My adoptive mum, who’s a Sri Lankan Tamil, was best friends with my biological mother, who was an Indian coolie girl. My adoptive father is British. They met in a tea plantation in Sri Lanka.’
Sheva calculated the years in her head. ‘It would have been the time when the British Raj owned the tea plantations.’ She looked at his cobalt blue eyes and dusky olive skin. His brown-black hair cut short and curling close to his scalp. ‘A Sri Lankan girl and a British planter. That would’ve put the cat among the pigeons.’
He laughed. ‘It sure made for some high jinks.’
They sat side by side for a few minutes.
Sheva’s eyes drooped. She yawned and stood up. ‘Maybe we should both rest a little. The spare bedroom downstairs is made up if you want to sleep. There are towels in the ensuite.’ She stopped and waved a hand at Dan. ‘Since you furnished the house, you know where things are.’
‘A little shut eye wouldn’t hurt. I am pretty bushed. I’ve been coordinating a search for a bushwalker all day. Some idiot went off track on Mount Townsend and had to be rescued.’ Dan yawned and stretched. ‘Sure you don’t mind about the car?’ He gestured with his chin to the front door.
Sheva smiled as the implication of his words sank in. ‘Dan, given the trouble I’m in and the temporary nature of my job here, the fact that people may think we spent the night together is the least of my worries, don’t you agree? Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be my boyfriend here in Jindabyne?’
Dan looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘Sounds almost like an invitation.’ He chuckled. ‘Just joking. Go upstairs and get some shut eye, Sheva. Keep the main lights off. Use the night light or table lamp in your bedroom. I’ll do the same. I’ll call you if I hear anything from Elvis.’
Sheva brushed her teeth and crept into bed without changing. After all the excitement, she expected to keep awake, but fell asleep almost as soon as she finished her prayers.
In her dreams, she went back to that night. When Roy and she were Zorro and cat-woman. In her dreams, they were together.
Chapter 15
The kookaburra cackle ringtone of Dan’s mobile phone jerked her awake. Sheva glanced at the clock radio. It was one AM. She jumped out of bed and ran barefoot down the stairs to the guest room.
The sheets were rumpled and blanket thrown back. Dan sat on the edge of the bed in the cone of light shed by the small bedside lamp, his phone fixed to his ear as he scribbled in his notepad. His hair was rumpled and shirt partially pulled out of his trousers. ‘Yes, yes, yes, thanks. Call me if you dig out more info.’ He switched the phone off and continued writing.
Dan placed the notepad down on the bedside table and held his left hand out to her. ‘The boyfriend seems to be in the clear. He checked out clean. On first round anyway.’
Sheva walked to his side. Dan patted the bed beside him. ‘Sit down.’ Yawning, Sheva dropped down beside him.
‘He’s from a well-established business family. Broughton-Knight Enterprises, corporate advocacy. His full name is Royston Broughton-Knight. The company is apparently the go-to place for big businesses in trouble. They have an impeccable record of success in saving ailing companies.
His father Edward established the company fifteen years ago.’
He stopped, and jabbed a finger on the notepad. ‘One strange and apparently out of character event. About two years ago, his father handed over the company to Roy—or Royston as he is known in Sydney business and social circles—and retired with his wife to their property in the lake district in England. Elvis is following up on it.’
Dan looked at his notebook. ‘Royston was a rich, spoiled brat. Brilliant and wasted as a teen. Newington College and then Sydney University. Degrees in accounting, finance and law. Straight high distinction averages while playing rugby and getting drunk with his mates. Had a long term girlfriend—’ he glanced down at the pad— ‘by the name of Charlene, she apparently broke off the relationship about the time he took over the business from his father. Charlene hooked up almost immediately with Royston’s best mate.’
He looked again at his scribblings. ‘Some sources say that handing over the reins to his son was how Edward forced Royston to grow up and take responsibility. It apparently worked. The company is more successful now than it was when Roy took over as CEO and executive director from his father.’
Royston Broughton-Knight. The images she had of him swam across her consciousness. A man who managed to look impossibly handsome, even when lying injured on the clinic couch. Zorro—whose touch and lips had awakened feelings in her she had never felt before—and had no right to think about now.
Dan waved his hand in front of her face. ‘Come in, Earth calling to Doctor Singh. Where are you?’
Sheva smiled. ‘Sorry, Dan. Just trying to fit in the little I know of Roy into the image of the ruthless corporative executive you have just described.’
‘Successful executive, yes. However, from what I have here—’ he stabbed his finger on the notepad again, ‘—not ruthless. He manages to pull up companies with minimal loss of personnel. Even goes as far as finding alternate employment for the retrenched. There’s a story here about a fellow rugby player who was injured and couldn’t continue playing. Royston employed him and looks after the man’s family back in the Islands.’
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