Mike turned to him from the controls. ‘You’ve gotta be knackered, boss. You’ve had four days of hard yakka.’
‘Yeah, but we saved the Kalgoorlie Company with minimal job loss and angst, so it was worth it.’
‘I caught up with a couple of the guys at the pub, Boss. Regular battlers, who had believed the company was gone belly up for sure. You got in there and saved it. You saved some lives for sure.’
Roy chuckled. ‘More likely we saved some marriages.’
Another project successfully completed. Another notch in his belt. There would be celebrations in the Sydney and Canberra offices, yet there was no sense of elation for him. Only a feeling of futility in what he had accomplished. The company was growing, in size, fame and capital. But every time he returned home and looked at his father, he felt the emptiness of his life. His business success had no real meaning, because there would be no next generation to inherit it all.
‘Fifteen minutes to touchdown, Boss,’ Mike called out.
Roy clicked on his seat belt. The high wing of the Cessna gave him an unobstructed view of the township of Jindabyne nestled in the curve of Kosciuszko Road. He picked out the grey-black rooftops of Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre, Jindabyne Medical Centre clearly distinguishable as a new addition facing away from the lake. He flicked his cuff back and glanced at his watch. It was six pm. Sheva would be just finishing up for the day. He wondered what she did on an evening, apart from the gym workout. Maybe she had a dinner date with the ranger Dan.
Roy was surprised at the shaft of possessive jealousy that ripped through him.
Well, ranger Dan could do with some competition.
The aircraft banked over the mountains. The dense bush gave way to gnarled, windswept snow gums, followed higher up by flat alpine vegetation. Yellow, white and mauve fields of summer wildflower carpeted the lower slopes, giving way to the green-blue of sphagnum moss higher up. Remnants of winter snow clung to the grey brown alpine high peaks.
The winding ribbons of walking tracks were barely visible. He picked out his favourite one, the Main Range trail that descended from Charlotte pass to cross the humble beginnings of the mighty Snowy River, then continued to Mount Carruthers and on to Mount Kosciuszko. A day of bushwalking would do him good. He wondered whether Sheva liked walking, smiling at the recollection of their first encounter. She’d need to wear more than her hot pink gym shorts for a day in the Snowy Mountains.
The wheels touched down with a barely perceptible bump. Roy jumped out as soon as the aircraft was stationary. He dragged out his travel bag.
‘Anxious to get home, eh, Boss?’ Mike walked around the aircraft. Ignoring Roy’s outstretched hand, Mike patted the younger man on his shoulder. ‘Take it easy, Roy. You’ve had a rough few days. Say hello to Edward next time you talk to him, okay?’
Roy nodded. Mike, like everyone else assumed his father, Edward, was on an extended holiday at their farm in rural England, supervising the company and his son from a distance. How long would he be able to keep up the charade?
Roy rolled his bag over to his car parked in the aerodrome garage, and tucked it in the boot of the Range Rover. Jumping in, he waved goodbye to Mike, drove down the mud road to Barry Way, and veered to the left. Parking on the gravel shoulder, he pulled out his mobile.
‘I trust all’s well, Samson?’
Samson sounded his cheery best. ‘Welcome home, Roy. And congratulations on another successful venture. Colin called. The Sydney office is pretty impressed with how quickly you did the job. As for here, all’s under control.’
‘Sam,’ Roy began with some hesitation. ‘Would it be all right if I swung into town for an hour or so?’
The chuckle rumbled from deep in Samson’s chest. ‘Sure. Take your time. Oh, and by the way, drop in and check with the good doctor.’
‘Doctor Sheva. Why?’
‘The same. She called yesterday. Wanted to know how you were. I told her you were away on business. Assured her I had packed your antibiotics. The lady is mighty concerned about you, Roy.’ He chuckled again.
‘She’s just doing her professional duty, Sam. I’ll drop in and check with her.’
‘See you later tonight. Don’t rush.’
It was a short ten minute drive to Jindabyne town centre. There was no traffic on the road, and Roy allowed himself the luxury of driving well below the speed limit.
He crested the hill and Lake Jindabyne stretched out before him, shimmering gold and orange under the slanting rays of the setting sun. Beyond the water, the Kalkite mountain range slumbered in a deep blue-green haze. It was peaceful and tranquil. He stopped the car and sat back, taking in the view and allowing the stress and pressure of the last four days to drift away. Starting the car again, he continued his leisurely drive towards Jindabyne, anticipation replacing exhaustion.
Turning right at the roundabout, he sped up with the traffic on Kosciuszko Road. He passed Happy Possum Gym; its sign at the driveway of the Snowy Mountains Holiday Resort creaked and shuddered in a gust of evening wind. Maybe he should drop in and surprise Sheva during her workout. That would get an interesting response.
No, he didn’t want to start the evening on a sour note. She’d said she lived opposite the medical centre. He would wait for her there.
Roy drove into the Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre and pulled up outside the clinic. He glanced at his watch. It was almost six thirty. He had expected the clinic to be shuttered and locked, but the lights were still on.
Through the open window he saw Sheva, seated across from a man in a worn flannel shirt and ragged khaki trousers. Roy recognised Tom, a vagrant who lived in a decrepit caravan, surviving on odd jobs and handouts. Sheva reached forward and placed her finger tips on the wrist of the calloused cigarette stained hand. Whatever she said to her patient elicited an open mouthed guffaw. Roy flinched, imagining the malodorous breath from the stained and decayed teeth. Sheva smiled and stood up. She shook hands with Tom and handed him a card of tablets.
She would be furious if she noticed his voyeuristic observation. Roy stepped out of the car. Leaning on the hood, he watched Tom shuffle out of the clinic and trudge off down the road to the caravan park. He continued to watch as Sheva made a phone call and the nurse Rosie walked around inside the clinic, shutting the windows and pulling down the blinds.
They stepped out together, laughing at something Sheva said. Rosie saw him and turned to Sheva. Whatever she said made Sheva’s eyes narrow. He was a little too far away to hear Sheva’s response, but with his eyes fixed on her face, he read her lips, ‘I’ll deal with him.’ Rosie smiled and turned to lock and check the door. With a blithe wave to him, Rosie trudged off in the opposite direction.
Pushing away from the car, Roy walked across the road to meet Sheva.
Her smile conflicted with the guarded look in her eyes. ‘Good evening, Roy. I hope this doesn’t mean you need the clinic opened after hours again.’
Roy pushed up the sleeve of his shirt to expose his left forearm, the injury now covered by a length of skin coloured tape. ‘No, I had the wound dressed by my doctor in Canberra. He said it was the best surgical suturing he has ever seen. It’s healed well.’
She studied his forearm, and raised her eyes to meet his. ‘You came,’ she ran her eyes over his sky blue raw silk shirt open at the neck, Armani wool trousers and bespoke leather shoes. Her eyes fixed on his gold Piaget watch— ‘straight here from Canberra to give me a medical update?’ She bit her bottom lip, sending Roy’s blood pressure up.
‘I left for business the day after you visited the farm. I realised I didn’t say thank you, so here I am to express my gratitude and ask if you would like to have dinner with me.’ He glanced around at Nuggets Crossing Shopping Centre. ‘Or maybe coffee?’
Anxiety and apprehension flashed across her face. She hesitated before replying, ‘I am tired. I’m famished t
oo. I’ve been at the clinic all day and haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.’ She contemplated for a few seconds. ‘Would you like to come over to my place and I’ll fix us something? I have chicken and salad in the fridge.’ She glanced across the road at a little cedar cottage with the gable roof and dormer windows.
‘I would be delighted to have dinner with you, Sheva, but I don’t want to be a bother. Maybe we could get something delivered.’
Sheva rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Take away food in Jindabyne? You have a choice between Ronnie’s Pizza and Wu’s fried rice. She pointed to the tired looking shop fronts. Oh, there’s Raj’s Curries, but I definitely would not recommend it. The Brasserie at Banjo Patterson’s is good. I don’t go there often, though. When I do, I end up running an informal clinic over veal schnitzel.’
She crossed the road, stopped at the front door of her house and looked back.
‘Coming?’ She pulled out a bunch of keys, and proceeded to unlock the front door.
She had newly installed double locks; a little excessive for security in Jindabyne, Roy thought. He held the door open and she walked in ahead of him.
Sheva dumped her shoulder bag on the wooden centre table and kicked off her shoes. ‘I’m so tired. I’ve been on my feet all day.’ She arched her body and shook out her arms and hands. Stretching on tiptoe, she lifted and twirled her ankles, one by one.
Her feet and ankles, like her hands, were slim and strong. The toes were painted a rose pink. Roy had a vision of holding her feet on his lap: massaging her heel and hearing her whimper of satisfaction. He pulled himself back from the fantasy of what he would do with those rosy toes. ‘I’ll let you fix dinner for me today, Sheva, on one condition.’
‘What?’’
‘You fly with me to Canberra one evening soon for a proper dinner.’
She spun round to stare at him. ‘Fly? As in— as in your own plane?’
Roy nodded. ‘My Cessna 210. I use it for business. It’s at Jindabyne aerodrome. I flew in from Canberra on it today.’
‘A lovely invitation, thank you,’ she called over her shoulder as she padded her way barefoot across the slate floor to the attached kitchen. He heard the sound of running water. ‘I’ll start the coffee. I need to run up and get out of my work clothes.’
Roy followed her to the kitchen. ‘Go ahead. I’ll make the coffee.’
‘Thank you.’ She brushed past him and ran light-footed up the stairs. ‘Mugs are in the cupboard over the coffee machine. I take mine black, no sugar,’ she called.
She hadn’t responded to his invitation for dinner in Canberra.
It was a small and cosy kitchen. The solid timber dining table and the four chairs around it were hand crafted, as was the hutch dresser, which was pushed against one wall. There wasn’t a single family photograph anywhere in the room, just as there hadn’t been any in the sitting room.
Roy picked up two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with the freshly brewed coffee. He topped his with milk from the fridge and carried both mugs to the dining table.
Two medical journals lay on the table. Both dated December 2008. He picked up one that read “Neuromuscular Disorders”. It fell open at an article titled “Being the lifeline: The parent experience of caring for a child with neuromuscular disorder”. Phrases in the article were underlined and highlighted. Roy glanced at the other journal, “Musculoskeletal Surgery”.
It wasn’t what he would have expected a country GP to be reading.
He turned the journals over. The address labels on the back cover had been cut out.
Dr Sheva Singh was hiding something.
Chapter 22
He heard Sheva’s footsteps on the wooden staircase. Positioning the journals as they had been on the table, Roy picked up the two mugs of coffee and went into the lounge.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting. A hot shower is a must for me after a day with so many patients.’
She had changed from her black trousers and white blouse into a blue cotton sleeveless dress. It clung to her body and flowed over her hips to just above her knees. Her damp hair clung in a black-brown cap of curls, but she had taken the time for mascara and lipstick.
She picked up her coffee and took a sip. With a contented sigh, she continued into the kitchen. On her way, she picked up the journals from the dining table and shoved them into the drawer of the hutch.
He followed her. ‘Anything I can do?’
She picked up a hair tie from the window ledge and pulled her hair back from her face in a short ponytail.
‘You look good with your hair loose.’
‘You don’t want a hair in your grilled chicken.’
Roy didn’t enlighten her on how much he would happily tolerate a handful of hair with his chicken for the pleasure of watching her hair bounce when she talked. Or maybe the opportunity to run his fingers through her hair, the way she had just done.
Soon the smell of chicken cooking swirled around the kitchen.
Roy’s stomach rumbled. ‘Wow, it smells amazing.’
‘It’s in the marinade. A mixture of hot-spice, ginger and turmeric. Ancient Sri Lankan recipe. My grandmother taught me to cook when I was a teenager. The mixture of spices is supposed to be good for your heart and energising at the end of a hard day’s work.’ She pointed to the fridge. ‘Can you get the salad out, please? It’s on the top shelf in a glass bowl.’
Roy took the salad out of the fridge. He raised the edge of the wrap covering it and sniffed. ‘This smells great too. What have you put in here?’
She placed the braised chicken breasts on individual plates and poured the residual sauce over them. ‘Just some vegies, fresh mint and yoghurt, with a dash of ginger and honey. Of course, we don’t eat anything without a touch of curry.’
‘I can’t wait to taste it.’
‘Sorry, I don’t have any wine’. Sheva placed glasses of water by the plates. She gestured to the salad. ‘The spice combination of yoghurt, honey and ginger is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. But don’t worry—’ her lips lifted in a smile— ‘it’s just a folk tale.’
With the way he was feeling right now, an aphrodisiac was the last thing he needed. A cold shower would be rather more appropriate.
‘I picked up the recipe for the salad dressing from my grandmother too,’ she continued. ‘I am—was her only granddaughter. She passed away six years ago. She taught me what she believed a girl needed to know before she went into an arranged marriage. Finding a good man and learning how to keep him happy was all important to her and women of her generation.’ She rolled her eyes and looked away through the window into the darkening garden.
‘How interesting, you are the second woman within the last two months who has talked to me about arranged marriage as a family obligation. Is it still common? Are you expected to comply?’
She stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. ‘In our part of the world, every girl, especially if you are born into a conservative family, like I am, is brought up with the skills to be a wife and mother, and expected to agree to an arranged marriage. These days, however, professionals like myself have a choice.’
‘Would you agree to an arranged marriage?’
‘As you said, there are family obligations, but I will do what is right for me.’
He leant across the table and looked into her eyes. ‘Would you consider it right for you to date an Anglo man?’
‘I’ve no time for dates here. I am far too busy.’
Her perfume, warm, spicy and floral drifted over to him. He glanced at her neck, seeing a thin gold chain and a small cross nestled in her cleavage. Roy blinked, he was hallucinating. There was no chain and cross on Sheva’s neck. Annie and Sheva were morphing into one in his weary, sleep deprived brain.
Sheva raised her fingers to her neck, as if to touch a pendent that wasn’t there, and point
ed to the chicken. ‘Come, let’s eat while the chicken is still warm.’
They sat opposite each other at the table. Sheva bent her head and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Grace before dinner. It swung his mind back to a time when as a little boy, he and his parents had sat around their dining table in their cottage in Sydney. Holding hands while his father recited a blessing over the meal his mother had cooked. The last time he had said thanks before a meal was when, as a teenager, he had spent a year at the boarding school in Newington College, while his parents were on their world tour. It was also a very long time since his mother had bothered to cook anything.
He brought his thoughts back to the moment. To the woman sitting opposite him.
The chicken practically melted in his mouth. The flavours were an explosion of delight on his taste buds and olfactory nerve endings. ‘This is truly delicious. Next time—’ he gestured to the glasses of water— ‘I’ll bring the wine. A white would be best. I’d go for a sparkling Blanc de Noirs with your spicy cooking.
Her fingers tightened on the cutlery. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Her voice was soft and controlled. ‘You mentioned about meeting again. I told you, I have no time for dates.’
‘Why, Sheva?’ he pushed. ‘You just said you would do what is right for you.’
She raised her eyes from the plate. ‘True, but right now, developing a relationship is not the right choice for my life.’
‘Sheva, I’m inviting you for dinner, maybe a bushwalk up Mount Kosciuszko. Just some healthy entertainment for a Snowy summer, not a long term commitment.’
Her eyes skidded away from his. She looked uncertain, even anxious. The feelings of sexual pull and desire faded. Instead, he felt an overwhelming urge to care for her; to pick her up, and hold her on his lap. Tell her he would help her fight the demons that made her lips quiver and eyes cloud with emotion; to hide out in a one-horse town, under the guise of a country doctor.
Instinct told him he had to take it slowly with Sheva. Earn her trust. The feelings surprised him. He had always thought of himself as a pursuer and enjoyer, even a user, but never a protector of women.
Snowy Summer Page 13