Betty, he thought. It had to be Betty who’d organised this whole thing and, as if on cue, she appeared at his elbow.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’
‘You never welcomed me like this,’ he said with a grudging smile, and she smiled back.
‘No, but you didn’t need it. When you arrived we were overjoyed to see you, but you were still sore after Rachel’s death and we knew enough to welcome you gently.’
‘You knew about Rachel’s death before I arrived?’
‘It’s a small town,’ she said simply. ‘Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and if they don’t know it they worry. That’s why it was so amazing that Jerome Hatfield’s been up on the ridge all this time and we didn’t realise it was him.’
‘So the small-town network let you down.’ He gazed out to where Ally was balancing a glass of champagne in one hand, a lamington in the other, and was submitting to someone looping balloons through her earrings. ‘Did you know Ally was a real doctor?’
‘We haven’t seen Ally for nearly twenty years. I know her dad died years back and her mother’s been in and out of mental institutions.’
‘Her mother’s still alive?’
‘As far as I know.’ She hesitated. ‘You know, that’s one of the reasons everyone’s making such a fuss. There are people who feel guilty that we should have done more to help Ally, and also her mother.’
‘Why?’
‘Her mother, Elizabeth, was only fifteen when she got pregnant to Ally’s father,’ Betty told him. ‘Elizabeth’s father-Ally’s grandfather-was rigid with rage. He hauled her into the surgery right here and examined her and he came storming out like he was going to explode. He’d had such plans for her. She was really bright and I can remember he’d told everyone she was going to be the next town doctor. Until that day. I was a junior then, and I remember cowering back, thinking he was going to hit me. Thinking he was going to hit someone. “Get me Saul Newitt on the phone,” he yelled. Saul Newitt was the nearest obstetrician with a…well, with a dubious reputation. “She’s going to have an abortion right now.” But while he was ranting Elizabeth took off. She climbed out a back window and Ally’s dad must have been waiting because they disappeared.’
He flinched. Hell. Poor lonely kid. ‘Did Dr Westruther try to find them?’
‘Oh, of course he did,’ she told him. ‘But they were gone. And maybe they had reason if her father was going to force her to have an abortion. Then when the little one was about four, Elizabeth brought Ally home. You wouldn’t have believed it was the same girl. All the life had gone out of her. The old man didn’t help-he gave her a hard time every minute she was here-and when she disappeared again he didn’t try to find her.’
‘But you knew where she’d gone.’
‘She told someone-Marilyn, I think-in case something happened to the old man. So when Ally’s grandpa died we found her. Only it was too late. Elizabeth was really sick then.’
‘Sick?’
‘Just…empty,’ she said. ‘Ally’s father came and took Ally away but Elizabeth was finished. It was written up in the newspapers when Jerry was arrested. Her mental instability. How Ally had to go into a foster home. It was a really sad story.’ She sighed and then looked determinedly to where a laughing Ally was surrounded by a sea of balloons.
‘But who would have thought she’d end up back here? She must have ended up with really good foster-parents. Paul’s told everyone what happened last night. A qualified doctor as well as a masseuse.’ She grinned and nudged him. ‘You can’t whinge now about her sign.’
He tried a glower to match Ally’s. ‘I can whinge if I want.’
‘Misery.’ She laughed and he was forced to smile as well. But he had to move on. ‘Come and have some champagne,’ she said, and he shook his head.
‘I have patients booked.’
‘They cancelled,’ she told him. ‘Everyone wanted to be at the party.’
‘Great. That’ll make my afternoon frantic.’
‘Do you have to be a grouch?’
‘I guess not.’ He was still watching Ally moving among the townspeople as if they were her family. She looked…happy, he thought, and suddenly he didn’t begrudge her a moment of it. Why should he?
This was nothing to do with him, he told himself. Five days ago he had been the sole doctor in this town, and nothing had changed. He had no right to try and impose a medical career on someone who didn’t want it. Sure, Ally’s path might be incomprehensible, but it was her path and she had the right to follow it.
It was none of his business.
It didn’t make him feel any better, though. He stood and watched her and suddenly he was washed with a surge of loneliness-of longing-a feeling so strong that it matched those he’d experienced in the first awful months after Rachel died. Six long years ago.
What the hell was he thinking of? He shook himself, pushing away sensations he didn’t understand.
‘I’ll do the house calls I couldn’t fit in last night,’ he told Betty, and she cast him a strange look.
‘OK, but be back by eleven.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve booked you from eleven,’ she told him with exaggerated patience. ‘We don’t want to keep A-anyone waiting.’
Darcy did four house calls in two hours-all to patients who weren’t far from the hospital. He couldn’t go far because of Marilyn’s needs.
So he saw one influenza-well, head cold really, but if Rosie Lenmon wanted to insist it was influenza, he wouldn’t argue. He saw two elderly patients for routine checks and Bert Prine with quinsy. He admitted Bert to hospital, gave him intravenous antibiotics, analgesia and a lecture on not getting his affected throat seen to earlier-and then did a quick check on all his patients while he was there.
Everything was great. Marilyn was soundly asleep, which was what she desperately needed. The medical notes were written up for her transfer to Melbourne. She’d received such a fright that when she’d woken first thing this morning, she’d agreed without a single argument to whatever Darcy had suggested. Soon her daughter would arrive to accompany her on the Med-Flight-Transfer-and see she didn’t change her mind.
Kevin also was asleep. He was heavily sedated. He needed psychiatric help, Darcy thought, looking down at the little man in concern. As soon as his throat settled he’d talk him through the options.
Not yet. For now, sleep was the only answer. Sleep and food and kindness.
Maybe that was the only cure.
His last concern was Jody, and Jody was asleep as well. Margaret was sitting by her daughter’s bedside, eating a lamington that had been provided by the street-party revellers. When Darcy glanced around the door she looked as if she was in heaven. Darcy didn’t disturb her. It’d be a cruel thing, to interrupt a woman’s first association with a lamington in years.
The helicopter arrived then, landing behind the hospital, and Marilyn’s daughter arrived as well. The next half-hour was busy with organising the transfer. Finally as the doctors on board took over Marilyn’s care, he stood back to bid Sue the best of luck.
‘I wish I had time to thank Ally,’ Sue told him. ‘I came as fast as I could. But I need to go with Mum. You will thank her for me?’
‘Of course I will.’ He hesitated. It wasn’t the time or the place but… ‘You knew Ally when you were kids?’
‘We were best friends. She used to love coming to our place. Mum and Dad wanted to care for her when her grandpa died but then that creep of a father came to get her. Both her parents were living with that Jerry creature.’ She hesitated. ‘I can’t believe he’s turned up here after all these years. Mum rang me about him last night and I’ve been wondering whether the fuss pushed her into heart failure. She was so upset when Ally was put into foster care.’
‘Did you keep in touch with Ally?’
She shrugged, watching the paramedics lifting her mother’s stretcher into position. ‘We tried,’ she told him. ‘The first time Jerry was arrested
, Ally was put into a foster home. Mum and Dad tried to see if we could have her but Social Services insisted on keeping all the kids from the commune together.’
‘Sue?’
The doctor on board was calling. Her mother was ready and Ally’s problems had to be put aside. She gave Darcy a rueful smile and then hugged him. ‘Thank you for giving me Mum back,’ she said simply.
‘Thank Ally.’
‘Hug Ally for me, too,’ she told him. ‘She needs all the hugs she can get.’
That was the end of Darcy’s medical imperatives. He walked back to his consulting rooms feeling as if he ought to be pleased, but he was vaguely uneasy. Why? The revellers had gone. He could get back to normal.
From now on he could ignore Ally, he told himself, medical qualifications or not.
She needs all the hugs she can get.
His dogs were trotting by his side. ‘Maybe I’ll lend her you guys,’ he told them.
They wagged their tails, as if in total agreement, and he felt a stupid, irrational surge of something that surely couldn’t be jealousy? Could it?
Jealous that she’d hug his dogs? He was going out of his mind.
Betty was waiting for him. She was sitting at reception and she had her arms folded, like she was guarding the entrance against unwanted intruders. She patted the dogs and pointed to their baskets, waiting until they’d obeyed the woman who was clearly more their boss than their designated master, and then she turned her attention back to Darcy.
‘You’re not wanted here,’ she told him.
‘As far as I know, this is where I’m expected to be,’ he said dryly, tossing his bag into the corner and reaching for his normal pile of patient notes. They weren’t there. ‘It’s eleven o’clock. I have appointments.’
‘You have an appointment,’ she corrected him. ‘One appointment. Singular.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Next door.’ She smiled at his look of bemusement. ‘It’s the town’s surprise. We talked about who was going to have first go. Gloria sneaked in while no one was looking, but we decided that Ally’s first real patient should be someone special. And after last night there was no question. So the town’s people have clubbed together and we’ve paid for Ally’s first massage. We’ve given it to you.’
He gazed at her as if he couldn’t see her. ‘To me,’ he said stupidly.
‘Now, don’t you dare tell us you won’t accept it,’ she said, making her voice severe. Which didn’t quite match her mischievous twinkle. ‘Even people who could barely afford it put twenty cents toward this. It’s the town’s gift to both of you. An hour and a half’s massage. No one’s booked here until two. Off you go next door, and don’t come back until you’re so relaxed you’re horizontal.’
‘You have to be kidding.’
‘I’m not kidding. Ally’s waiting.’
‘I’m not going to have a massage with Ally.’
‘Then half the town will have their feelings hurt and Ally won’t have a first client. Do you want that to happen?’
‘No, but-’
‘You’re afraid.’
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘Then what are you waiting for?’ she demanded. ‘Do you want to be known as a stubborn, cantankerous old stick-in-the-mud who’s refusing to admit that there might be some advantage in holistic remedies? Or are you going to accept this gift?’
‘You don’t think there might be some middle ground?’ he asked cautiously, and she shook her head.
‘Nope.’ She grinned. ‘There’s not. A dozen people have decided their medical problems aren’t so urgent that they can’t wait until after your massage, Dr Rochester. Now, if you intend to sit here and sulk…’
‘I’m not sulking.’
‘No,’ she told him, and rose from her desk and started to push him out the door. ‘You’re going next door. Ally’s waiting. Off you go. Right now!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY hadn’t told Ally.
Stunned, Darcy was propelled by the insistent Betty up Ally’s front steps and through her front door.
‘Here’s your first client,’ Betty called up the stairs. She grinned at Darcy, then disappeared, slamming the door after her.
Ally appeared at the head of the stairs-and stopped.
‘You.’
He couldn’t think of a thing to say. Nothing.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘It seems,’ he managed, almost apologetically, ‘that I’m your first client.’ But he was having trouble saying anything.
Until now he’d only seen Ally in jeans. She was still casually dressed, but she’d changed. She was wearing baggy, three-quarter-length trousers, an oversized sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up, and bare feet. Her hair was twisted into a casual knot. Her freckles were subdued with a tiny application of make-up, and her lips were painted the same soft pink as her sweatshirt.
She looked gorgeous.
He was staring.
‘What?’ she said crossly, as she hauled herself together and came on down. ‘Have I got a blob on my nose?’
He shook himself, trying to shed this overwhelming feeling of unreality. ‘Sorry. I was staring.’
‘I know you were,’ she said cautiously, as if she might be humouring a lunatic. ‘That’s why I was asking. So if I haven’t got a blob on my nose…’ She sighed and gave up. ‘OK. Let’s not go there. But for a moment I thought you said you were my first client.’
‘I am.’
She thought about it and finally she nodded. With caution. The lunatic approach obviously still had appeal.
‘You’re supposed to be working,’ she told him.
‘It appears I’m not,’ he said, a shade grimly. ‘My patients have organised that no one’s sick for the next couple of hours.’
‘Your patients?’
‘The town,’ he told her. ‘The town has donated a massage. To me. Apparently I’m to be your first customer. What you did last night in saving Marilyn has flown round the town and everyone’s fascinated. And grateful.’
‘But…you…’
‘They’re also grateful to me,’ he said, trying not to sigh. ‘It’s the way it is in the country. I get given things.’
‘What sort of things?’
He hesitated. But the tension had to be overcome somehow. Why not try talking?
‘When Rachel died I went overseas,’ he told her. ‘One of the airlines I flew with gave away tiny bottles of some sort of blue liqueur. The bottle caught my fancy. I started looking out for miniature bottles, and when I set up here I organised a dozen or so in a wall frame.’
‘So?’ she said, still with that cautious edge.
‘So my patients knew I was interested in collecting little liqueur bottles,’ he told her, digging his hands deep into his pockets and trying not to sound stupid. ‘As of the last count I have two thousand, three hundred and twenty-five bottles, and that’s not counting the ones that have come in this week.’
She gazed at him in astonishment, and her face creased into a delighted smile of recognition.
‘They used to give Grandpa fish,’ she told him. ‘We lost count of the fishermen who couldn’t afford to pay and brought fish instead. Grandpa and I had a burial ground out the back of the hospital. One day someone will dig it up and wonder what sort of ancient tribe wasted so many fish. Grandpa sneaked heaps into the hospital kitchens, but even hospital patients get sick of fish.’
He grinned.
The tension between them dissipated. A little.
‘So they’ve given you me to massage,’ he told her. ‘Instead of liqueur. And instead of fish.’
The tension zoomed back.
‘Um…what are we going to do?’ she asked.
‘I’m booked for a massage.’
‘Do you want a massage?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever had a massage?’
‘No.’
‘Then how do you know you don’t want one?’
‘I guess…’
‘They’ll ask,’ she told him. ‘If you were given it as a collective present, you’ll be asked. Boy, were Grandpa and I grilled about our fish. Which one was the tastier? Do you like barracuda better than flathead? What are you going to say about my massage?’
‘It was a very nice massage?’
‘That’s pathetic. You could say that about fish.’
‘Then you tell me what to say.’
‘Nope.’ She pushed her sleeves higher with a determined little shove. ‘There’s only one thing to be done.’
‘No.’
‘If you don’t,’ she told him, ‘then I’m going to be honest. When asked, I’ll tell them that Dr Darcy Rochester was too shy to have a massage.’
‘I’m not too shy.’
‘Too chicken?’
‘And I’m not afraid.’
‘Then what? Do you disapprove of the profession so much you won’t even try?’
‘I don’t disapprove.’
‘That’s what it looks like from here.’ She tapped her foot. ‘You know, it really doesn’t hurt.’
‘I…’
‘And I’ll bet you’re tense as all get-out. I can practically see the tension from here.’
‘I’m not tense!’
‘Yeah, and I suppose you’re raising your voice because you always raise your voice.’
‘Look-’
‘The way I see it,’ she told him, ‘is that people will be watching. The locals saw you come in this door five minutes ago and they’ll expect you to leave in a little over an hour looking nicely relaxed, as if you’ve had a really good massage. So the options are that you can stalk out right now, hurting people’s feelings in the process. You can sit here like a dummy for an hour and a half-and I’m warning you I don’t even have any magazines for you to kill time with. Or you can have a massage. Why don’t you want a massage?’ she asked. ‘Are you scared I’ll jump you?’
His eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘No, I…’
‘I’m a professional,’ she told him. ‘I’m a registered massage therapist. I can be struck off for behaving unethically, and jumping you is definitely unethical. Besides…’ She grinned. ‘Strange as it seems, I’m not even tempted. So are you going to accept a massage or are you going to look a gift horse in the mouth?’
The Doctor’s Special Touch Page 11