She’d walked away but spun back to add, ‘Probably into something as old and ill-fitting as these pyjamas. I doubt any of my Glasgow clothes will cope with going out in the tinnie, but as all my old clothes—well, the ones Mum didn’t throw at me that day—are still in my bedroom, I’m sure I’ll be able to find something.’
She reappeared in shorts, her long legs pale from a Scottish winter, and a T-shirt that definitely was a little too small.
Not that he should be noticing the way her breasts pushed against it!
He was ordered into the middle seat, and those long, pale legs pushed the little boat out into deeper water, Alex swinging into it as soon as they were far enough out to lower the motor, then they were chugging away, the light breeze from their movement pushing her hair back from her face as she lifted it to the sun and smiled with what looked like sheer joy.
‘How could I have stayed away from this for so long?’ she asked, expertly avoiding a youth on a jet ski and taking them closer to shore, to where a gap suddenly appeared in the mangroves.
She moved the tiller gently and they eased into a deep green cave, sunlight filtering through the mangrove branches meeting over their heads.
‘It’s like another world,’ she whispered, and he had to agree. Beneath the boat the water was dark green and very mysterious, while the weird shapes and tangles of mangrove roots suggested hiding places or homes for elves and fairies.
‘Dad bought me a little tinnie when I was five. It had a very simple motor, only one half horsepower so I could use it without a licence, and this was my very favourite place.’
Will felt a now familiar squelch of his heart. How was it that this particular woman could touch him as she did? It wasn’t part of the attraction business, strong though that was. It was different, strange but wonderful at the same time.
He gave up on the puzzle and simply enjoyed the beauty and the solitude, the quiet broken only by the humming of bees and the twitter of an occasional bird…
CHAPTER THREE
‘BEST WE GET BACK,’ Alex said, when they’d drifted across the shadowy water to the end of the inlet. She glanced over at him. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, why Intensive Care?’
Will turned from his fascination with the mangroves and smiled at her. ‘Too stupid to decide which specialty?’
‘I doubt that very much,’ Alex replied, although she wondered if it had been a stupid question. His wife had been in a coma—he’d have spent a lot of time in Intensive Care…
Hoping to cover her insensitivity, she rushed into speech.
‘Have you any of Brian Lane’s patients in there? I could shower and change into respectable clothes and come with you.’
Shower with Will in the house?
‘Or better still meet you at the hospital. Dad’s car will be in the garage.’
He didn’t reply, though frown lines appeared on his forehead as he studied her.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he said. ‘Even if you intended starting with Brian immediately, you wouldn’t be expected in before Monday. Have a rest, relax, enjoy being close to your river again.’
Alex turned the boat back into the main river, heading for home. She could hardly tell Will that she didn’t want to be alone in the house, because it was more than that. For some reason, although for years she’d not only enjoyed but had treasured her own company, right now she was—
Afraid of it?
Not exactly.
More afraid of how she’d react to it in these totally different circumstances and without the father she’d come home to get to know.
You’ve already proved to him what a wimp you are, asking him to walk through the rooms with you, so don’t make it worse. You’re better than that! Stronger! she told herself.
‘You’re right,’ she said out loud, ‘especially as there’s so much to do here. And I don’t officially start with Brian’s group for another fortnight. I thought I’d need that long at home with Dad while he got over the op.’
Did her voice quaver that Will reached out and touched her knee?
Whatever! The touch reminded her of all the reasons she shouldn’t be spending more time with Will. A man with a child needed stability in his life—or in the child’s life at least. How could she, with her record of broken relationships, provide that?
‘I’m only a phone call away,’ he was saying. ‘If you need anything, anything at all, give me a call. My home and mobile numbers are with the papers I left in your living room. Seriously, Alex, I want you to know I’m here for you if ever you need a hand.’
Did that sound pathetic? Will wondered, sitting back and studying the woman who was steering the little tinnie up onto the beach outside her father’s house.
He helped her slide the boat onto the trailer and wheel it back up into place beneath the house.
No excuse now for lingering, although every cell in his body was suggesting lingering wasn’t all it wanted from this woman.
‘Well, I’ll be off, but do yell if you need me,’ he said, as Alex busied herself taking the fuel tank out of the boat and storing it away.
She finished the task and came to stand beside him.
‘You could live to regret that offer,’ she said, a smile lighting up her eyes, although her face seemed sombre. ‘You’re probably the only person in town willing to talk to me.’
‘You can’t mean that!’ he said. ‘All that business was fifteen years ago—more like twenty, in fact—who’d remember?’
Now the smile touched her lips but not convincingly.
‘Only all my parents’ friends. It’s worse now Dad has died. The talk will be I came home to grab whatever he’s left behind.’
‘But your own friends, surely there’d be someone—’
‘Who didn’t blame me for the sainted Mr Spencer being exposed for what he was? I was at a church school—all my friends were from the school. Once the jury said not guilty I was branded as a whore who slept around and used Mr Spencer as a scapegoat when things got difficult.’
‘But—’
The smile had gone, replaced by a look of such weariness he wanted to hold her in his arms and comfort her as he would have one of the twins.
‘Even my friends who believed it was Mr Spencer thought it was my fault—I must have led him on, that kind of thing. To most of them, to a lot of people, the man was a saint.’
She gave a tiny shrug—a bare lift of the shoulders—and tried another smile, this one so pathetic he did take her in his arms and hold her close, a hug, nothing more…
Although—
‘So why stay here, now your father’s gone?’
She eased out of his arms and looked, not at him but out across the river.
‘It is my home,’ she whispered, ‘and the river is in my heart. I did no wrong, so why should I be driven away from what I love?’
Will heard the strength back in her voice, saw it in the now upright stance, and felt like clapping. She had guts, the kid he’d known all that time ago—the kid who had grown into this beautiful woman and brought such confusion into his life the instant he’d set eyes on her again.
‘I’ll talk to you later,’ he said, knowing he had to get away and sort out the confusion. He’d go home—where he should be—and play with Charlotte.
Now!
* * *
He was surprised by how early it was when he arrived home. Charlotte was up but still in her pyjamas, the cereal she’d had for breakfast sprinkled liberally down her top.
‘She’s all yours,’ his mother said, but when she held out her arms to give Charlotte a hug, although the little girl was only going through an ever-open door to another part of the house, Will saw the love between the two of them and was reassured that his mother wasn’t regretting her offer.
‘I can’t stay long, Daddy,’ Charlotte told him as he peeled off her pyjamas. ‘Nani and I are going to a party later.’
‘A party?’
Vague memories stirred in his head bu
t so much had happened since late yesterday afternoon he couldn’t catch the right one.
‘It’s on the fridge,’ Charlotte told him, dashing naked to the refrigerator to pull off a garish party invitation. ‘Chloe’s party!’
Answers clicked into place. Chloe was the granddaughter of his mother’s best friend and the two children played together often.
‘Nani and me bought her a present—we bought her a fairy doll that flies. Can I have one too, Daddy?’
He lifted his daughter, tucked her under one arm and carried her shrieking to the bathroom for a quick wash and a good teeth clean.
‘Maybe for your birthday,’ he said, wondering just what kind of toy a fairy that flew might be. He’d have to check it out.
She ran ahead of him into her bedroom, and, watching the small, naked form, he felt a heart-crunching sense of love mingled with the fear that he knew all parents must feel—fear that something bad might happen to her.
‘Are we going to the park?’ she asked, sitting on the floor pulling on her undies. ‘Or the beach?’
‘Which would you like?’ he asked, although he knew the answer. She’d just discovered she could swing on the monkey bars at the park, although he held a little of her weight as she shifted from hand to hand, and was ready to catch her at any moment.
‘Okay, park,’ he agreed, when she gave the expected answer, ‘but do you need two skirts?’
It was an argument he wasn’t going to win. The daughter he’d thought of as a tomboy for her first three years had suddenly gone girly and now wore frilly skirts, the frillier the better, one on top of another.
Then came the serious business of choosing a top. She delved through her drawers in search of the one with the most spangles on it.
He said a silent prayer of thanks that his mother kept Charlotte’s ‘good’ clothes in her unit, so would be able to sort an outfit for the party.
But pushing her on the swing, altering the words of a monkey song he’d learned at kindergarten to ‘when Charlotte Ke-ent has a swing’ with her pointing her toes to the air instead of a monkey tail around a branch, he usually felt a sense of contentment.
Charlotte loved the swing and insisted on the song, but, unfortunately, pushing a swing, even while singing, was a mindless operation, and his mind drifted to Alex’s return into the ambit of his life.
Common sense said back away, he had Charlotte to consider, but Alex was already so isolated he couldn’t do that.
He could be there for her while she settled in and made new friends, then ease away.
Ease away—that was a laugh.
‘Daddy, it’s a magpie.’
He realised from Charlotte’s tone it wasn’t the first time she’d pointed the bird out to him, so he shut the door on the part of his brain already too overloaded with Alex and concentrated on his daughter, moving from swings to the slippery slide and finally the monkey bars.
* * *
Will had hurried away, striding up the side of the house as if all the furies in hell had been chasing him. Alex had watched him go, bemused by his sudden departure, but at the same time glad he’d gone so she could sit down somewhere quiet and try to work out exactly what emotion Will Kent had awoken in her body.
And now she thought about it, that was something she had to do alone.
The phone was ringing as she walked back into the house, and her immediate reaction was to ignore it, but she’d been a doctor too long to ignore a ringing phone, so she lifted the receiver and said her name, hoping she sounded more positive than she felt.
‘Anthony Mitchell here…’ The caller hesitated and Alex realised he wasn’t sure how to address her. ‘I’m the dean of medicine at Heritage University. I want to offer my sincere condolences on your father’s death.’
Slightly surprised, Alex thanked him, and was wondering just why he might be phoning when he continued.
‘I’m not sure if you’ve been told but he donated his body to the university. I’d like to call in and see you some time to discuss your father’s generous gift and to explain how we go about things. I realise this is a very tough time for you, but—’
Alex could hear the embarrassment in the man’s voice and guessed he wanted to see her as soon as possible.
‘I could see you today,’ she said, to save him further discomfort. ‘Do you want me to come to you, or what?’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t ask that of you. I’ll come to you. Say half an hour?’
Half an hour to find some respectable clothes, have a shower—
‘That would be fine,’ she heard herself say.
A few polite farewells, and the conversation was done.
Alex closed her eyes and breathed deeply. This was good, it’s getting back to normal, she told herself, heading up the stairs to rifle through her suitcases for something suitable for entertaining the dean!
* * *
Her first impression was that deans hadn’t looked like that when she’d been at university. Or maybe her being younger had made them look older.
Walking up the path was a tall, fair-haired, fortyish man in pale chinos, a dark blue T-shirt and sandals.
Closer up he was definitely unlike any dean she’d ever seen. Alex had a quiet bet with herself that more young women than young men would enrol in medicine simply to be taught by him.
‘Anthony Mitchell,’ the dean with a distinct resemblance to a Greek god said, offering his hand. ‘Actually, it’s Tony—much easier.’
Alex took the offered hand and introduced herself, also using the shortened version of her name.
‘Come through, I’ve tea or coffee, or a cold drink if you’d prefer. We’ll sit out on the deck, if that’s okay with you.’
‘More than okay,’ Tony replied. ‘I live in an apartment overlooking the ocean but I’ve often wondered about these houses along the river. Wow!’
They’d reached the deck, and his exclamation of appreciation made Alex warm to him.
‘The view’s so peaceful in spite of all the activity on the river,’ he said. ‘I bet you used to sit out here for hours as a kid.’
Alex smiled at his enthusiasm.
‘More like out there, looking back,’ she said. ‘I had a tinnie from the time I was five. I grew up on the river.’
She was about to ask what she could get him when Buddy joined the party, his shrieking ‘Where’s Bruce’ startling the visitor, who stepped back in surprise.
‘Sorry,’ Alex said. ‘That’s Buddy. He’s a little uncontrolled and before you ask, no, we never knew where he got the name Bruce or who Bruce might have been, let alone where he is at any given time.’
Tony laughed and held out his hand to the bird, who studied it for a while, before choosing to perch on the railing.
At least Buddy had broken any awkwardness, and now, when Alex offered a drink, Tony settled on coffee, also offering to help.
‘No, sit and admire the view,’ Alex told him, mostly because she didn’t want a stranger in the kitchen when she was still, in some ways, trying to find her own way around it.
The coffee was easy and instinct took her to the big pantry and the pile of cake tins always kept on the middle shelf.
Only one remained, but when Alex lifted it she felt the weight.
Could it be?
She opened the tin to find, as she’d half expected, the treacly aroma of Anzac biscuits wafting out at her.
Swallowing hard, she put some biscuits on a plate, put milk and sugar, small plates and napkins on a tray, and carried it out to set it on the table in front of the dean.
Tony!
Returning with the coffeepot, she found him munching on a biscuit.
‘Home-made Anzacs, I thought you’d just got back from overseas.’
Another swallow, and a quick sniff back of tears, hopefully unnoticed as Buddy swooped to take a biscuit from the plate.
‘My mother was the baker in the family—cakes, slices, biscuits—but my dad always made the Anzacs. He said because hi
s father was a dinkum Anzac who had landed at Gallipoli, he was the only one entitled to make the biscuits. He must have made these before he went into hospital.’
Sniffing and swallowing was no longer enough and Alex excused herself, heading for the house so she could wipe away the evidence of the completely unexpected emotion she was feeling.
But Tony was up before her, sliding an arm around her shoulders.
‘I’m sorry—it’s far too soon to be having to tackle stuff like this. Some guy at the hospital told me the sooner I got it over and done with the better, but I can go away and come back another day. Have you someone to stay with you? A friend?’
A friend?
It was a logical question for how could someone who’d grown up in this town come home to no one?
Although there was Caitlin…
If she was still around…
‘I’ll be fine,’ Alex assured her visitor, easing away from his solid, comforting body. ‘It’s silly because I’ve been, well, separated, I suppose you’d say, from my family for nearly twenty years, then something like my dad’s Anzac biscuits make me cry. But I’m okay now. Sit down and have your coffee and another biscuit, and tell me what I need to do to finalise things for the university.’
She’d thought she’d sounded very together, but Tony was eyeing her somewhat dubiously, although he did sit and sip at his coffee.
‘If you’re sure you’re up to it,’ he said.
‘I am,’ Alex said firmly, but was nearly overwhelmed again when Buddy flew to sit on her shoulder.
She had one friend.
Two, if she could find Caitlin, her childhood best friend.
Three, if she counted Will.
But maybe she shouldn’t count Will.
Tony was talking about the river and a group at the university—mainly medical-school staff—who’d formed a kayaking club and had fortnightly outings on the river, and once a month a trip away to some other river to try the rapids or paddle across estuaries.
‘You’d be more than welcome to join,’ he said, and as Alex was about to reply that she didn’t have a kayak—and didn’t have very good balance in the ones she’d tried—she realised it was a good way to meet people socially.
The One Man to Heal Her Page 5