He shrugged broad shoulders.
‘Stupid, isn’t it? Here I am, supposed to be solving Jenny’s teenage problems and I’ve reverted back to someone little older than she is.’
Huge sigh, then he unfolded his arms and rubbed his free hand across his face.
‘Not that I’ll ever solve Jenny’s problems. She won’t talk to me. All she says is she hates boarding school, full stop.’
‘Have you stopped to think that might be all it is?’
Cal frowned at her.
‘But everyone thinks they hate school—especially boarding school—at some stage of their life. It doesn’t mean the child should just give up. That isn’t how things work.’
Blythe looked at him and smiled, though there seemed to be more sadness than joy in the expression.
‘No, it’s not, is it?’
She studied him for a moment, or maybe she was studying something on the wall beyond his right ear. He turned to see what was there—a muscle chart!
‘But Jenny’s not the problem as far as your attitude is concerned. You are. Are you going to tone things down? Revert to being Dr Nice Guy?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ Cal conceded. Actually, until Blythe had brought it up, he hadn’t realised he’d been letting his feelings show. At least, not that badly.
‘Thanks for pulling me up on it.’
She’d stopped pacing, halting beside the glass-fronted cabinet where Mark kept his reference books.
‘No worries,’ she said, but her voice was so tight and strained he stared at her, seeing more tension in her shoulders and in the arms crossed tightly across her chest.
‘This is bloody stupid!’ he growled, closing the distance between them with one long stride. ‘Look at you—you’re as tightly wound as I am.’
He touched her shoulder.
‘Tell me you don’t feel fire run along your nerves whenever we’re together. Tell me your blood doesn’t pulse faster, your heart rate rise, when we accidentally touch. Tell me that doesn’t happen, and I won’t ravish you with kisses right here and now, Blythe Jones.’
He didn’t give her time to tell him anything, swinging her around and drawing her close against his body, then denying any hope of words with a kiss that carried all his longings and frustration.
But it was her response that really sent him over the edge—the fervour of her kiss, the demands of her tongue, the tremble in her body as she pressed against him.
‘Blythe.’
Her name was no more than a suggestion on his lips, then they were moving towards the examination table, fumbling with clothes, finding contact with each other’s skin and giving in to the demands of their bodies.
‘I can’t believe we just did that,’ Blythe whispered, not much later. She was sitting on the edge of the table but her head was slumped against Cal’s chest. ‘What if Helen or Cheryl had come in? Worse, what if Mrs R. had sent Jenny over to find out why we weren’t at lunch?’
She moved away, her hands scrabbling to rearrange her clothes. Helpful as ever, she then reached out to help his one-handed effort with his trousers.
Cal felt he should stop her—or move away—or say or do something! But his mind had seized up. He’d never been a man who’d let his libido rule his brain—in fact, the very opposite, missing out on any amount of offered sex because his brain was firmly in control.
Until a tall, shapely blonde had made him wrap her in a curtain, and his sex drive had been going haywire ever since.
‘This can’t keep happening,’ the blonde now announced. She’d moved to a position of safety behind the desk and Cal had the oddest notion that if she could have moved further away, perhaps crouched behind Mark’s skeleton, she would have.
‘No.’
Good, she looked startled. Did she think he was going to suggest it became a daily ritual?
‘It’s a most uncomfortable way to conduct an affair and, as you said, Jenny could have walked in.’
The thought made him feel icily cold.
‘I didn’t mean this can’t keep happening, as in a quickie in the office, but the whole thing can’t,’ Blythe said. ‘We’re not having an affair. I’m not into affairs, especially not with colleagues.’
Cal wondered about arguing that he wasn’t much of a colleague at the moment, then realised that wasn’t the crux of the matter.
‘But I thought that’s what you were into. Casual sex.’
He watched colour climb into her cheeks.
‘Yes, well, maybe that’s what I thought I might get into, but what we just did, that’s casual sex, isn’t it? And now I’ve tried it, I don’t think I’m going to take to it. But an affair is more than that—it’s more than casual—and I don’t want that either.’
‘What do you want, Blythe?’
Cal couldn’t believe he’d asked that question. He knew damn well what a woman like Blythe would want. No matter how hard she might deny it to herself, she was made to be a wife and mother. He could picture blonde-haired moppets clustered around her feet, pudgy hands clinging to her skirt.
Then he thought of Grace, pregnant again, and the ice returned to his veins.
If Jenny’s trouble stemmed from a sense of injustice that her mother was having another baby, how much worse would the poor girl feel if her father started breeding again?
His mind had wandered so far that when a whispered ‘I don’t know, Cal’ hit his ears, he had no idea what Blythe meant.
He wanted to leave—to get away so he could attempt to sort through his thoughts—but he couldn’t just walk away.
Not without saying something!
But what to say?
‘Come on, we’re late for lunch.’
The look she shot him out of heavy-lidded brown eyes told him he could have done better, but he knew that himself. He opened the door and walked out, assuming she’d follow.
Blythe stared at where he’d been. Now he was gone, she realised she was hungry, but there was no way she was going up to the house and putting herself in Cal’s proximity again so soon. Her skin still tingled from their quick but, oh, so satisfying love-making, and her mind had taken leave of absence so blankness filled her skull.
She walked out through the deserted reception room and raided the biscuit tin in the tearoom, munching on something very bland while she tried to get her brain working again.
‘Blythe? Are you still here?’
Jenny’s voice, calling from outside. With a burst of gratitude Blythe realised Helen and Cheryl had, as they always did, locked the outer doors when they’d left for lunch. Cal would have used his key to come in, but Jenny had been safe from witnessing their uninhibited behaviour.
‘I’m coming,’ she called, and walked back out to let Jenny in through the main entrance. ‘Hi. You want an appointment? Professional visit? Or is it social?’
Jenny had been polite to her, but had never sought her out, so Blythe was intrigued enough to be able to put aside what she and the youngster’s father had just been up to.
‘Sort of social and sort of professional,’ Jenny told her with a shy smile that made her look more like her father.
Cal shy?
Blythe shook her head to get him away.
‘You know you were telling Dad about the girl called Carly, and talking to her out by the river. I wondered…’
She hesitated, and Blythe stayed very still, knowing Jen could tip either way right now.
‘Wondered if you’d take me out there. To see the river. Maybe talk.’
Grey eyes with dark rims looked helplessly at her.
‘Of course. When? This afternoon? I finish at three because there’s evening surgery. Would that suit you?’
Jenny nodded then, to Blythe’s surprise, she spread her arms and gave Blythe a quick hug.
‘Thanks!’ she said, and turned away, then looked back to say, ‘You won’t tell Dad?’
Blythe smiled at her.
‘No way! It’s a girl thing. I only told your dad a
bit about Carly because I’ll be leaving here soon and I wanted him to keep an eye on her. Maybe find someone else for her to talk to.’
Jenny gave a satisfied nod and trotted off, long, gazelle-like legs taking her in swift strides back to the house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY drove out to the river in an awkward silence. From time to time Blythe pointed to something—swimming pool, skateboard park—and Jenny nodded and peered dutifully through the car window at whatever was indicated.
Then they pulled into the small park and stopped in the shade. Blythe turned off the engine and looked at Jenny.
‘We can sit here or on the grass by the river. Carly and I sat out there.’
Jenny opened the car door and led the way.
‘The river’s so dirty,’ she said when Blythe joined her. ‘I wouldn’t like to swim in it. We can swim in the river at Mount Spec but Chris won’t let us because of crocodiles.’
Blythe shuddered at the thought.
‘I don’t blame him,’ she said, and Jenny laughed.
‘Dad doesn’t understand about school,’ she said, picking up a stick and breaking it into little pieces. ‘He says there are times in life when we have to do things we don’t want to do, and that’s that.’
‘Well, there are,’ Blythe said, careful not to cast Cal as the baddie. ‘But there are times when it’s right to not do things we don’t want to do. That’s especially true when we’re growing up and other kids might want us to, say, smoke a cigarette or try a drug. Then you definitely don’t have to do something you don’t want to do.’
‘It’s kind of like that at school,’ Jenny said, piling the broken bits of stick on a rock and choosing another one to break. ‘Not cigarettes or drugs, of course, it’s far too strict for that kind of stuff, but there are these girls who are kind of leaders. Everyone wants to be their friend, and I was, but they think it’s nerdy to study for exams and to do well, and I want to be a doctor like Dad when I grow up and so I have to do well in exams, but when you’re nerdy they tease you.’
The explanation came out in such a rush it took a few seconds for Blythe to take it all in.
‘Aren’t there other girls who like to study? Who want to do well? Couldn’t you be friends with the nerdy girls?’
The look of horror on Jenny’s face was enough answer.
‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘That would be way too gross! Besides, the nerdy girls are all day girls.’
Blythe understood the distinction. Being a boarder didn’t stop you being friends with day girls but you had less out-of-school time to get to know them, so generally the boarders stuck together.
Jenny continued to talk, the conversation giving Blythe further insights. Though a number of the boarders were girls like Jenny, from outback properties, and another group were from Asian countries, the rest—Jenny’s friends—were from wealthy local families, the girls boarding either because they were in trouble at home and their parents thought the stricter confines of boarding school might sort them out, or because their parents travelled a lot and it was easier to have the girls board full time.
‘Poor kids!’ Blythe said, and Jenny agreed.
‘I know,’ she said, with a maturity beyond her years. ‘At least I know Mum and Dad and Chris have sent me there because it’s best for me, not to get rid of me, but it’s awful, Blythe, it really, really is.’
She began to cry, sniffling miserably into a scrunched-up handkerchief she produced from the pocket of her shorts.
‘Hey, we’ll work it out,’ Blythe told her, putting her arm around the thin shoulders and drawing the slim body closer. ‘For a start, we can find out about the local high school here. I know your dad worries that you’d be on your own too much if you stay with him to go to school, but if you think you’d like to stay I’m sure he could organise something.’
Blythe thought for a moment, then added, ‘I don’t suppose Sam hates school as much as you do. If he did, he could come and live with his father too, and the two of you would be OK on your own if Cal was called out.’
Jenny laughed.
‘Poor Dad!’ she said. ‘He doesn’t know what to do with one kid at his place—he’d never manage two. He really should have got married again and had more kids so he learned about them. And he wouldn’t have been so lonely then either. And probably not so crabby. And it would be neat, having babies in the family.’
Blythe, niggled by the thought of Cal being married, was about to point out—coolly—that babies grew up when Jenny continued.
‘But what you said—about Sam—well, he absolutely loves boarding school. He loves being with other boys and fighting and pushing each other and playing rugby. It’s different for him because he’ll go home to work at Mount Spec when he finishes so he doesn’t need to be a nerd.’
‘No,’ Blythe said, understanding that this made all the difference.
She thought about things for a while, then said, ‘If you want to do medicine, you will need a really high score in your final year of high school, then you’ll have a three-year degree course at university—most people do science for pre-med—then a four-year medical course. It’s a long haul, Jenny.’
The dark head nodded vigorously.
‘I know that,’ she said, ‘but it’s what I really, really want to do.’
‘Well, it’s up to your father, of course, but even if he agrees to you staying here to go to high school, you might find a country high school can’t offer you the subjects you need in your last two years to get the score you want. You might have to go to boarding school then.’
Mutiny tightened the girl’s lips, but then she relaxed.
‘That’s three years away and if it happens, I could go to some other boarding school, couldn’t I?’
‘I suppose so,’ Blythe said. She felt exhausted, drained by the worry she’d felt all afternoon since Jenny had asked to speak to her.
‘Great!’ Jenny announced, standing up and heading back towards the car. ‘So, you’ll talk to Dad?’
‘I’ll talk to your father? I thought you didn’t want me to tell him! And why me?’ Blythe spluttered, scrambling to her feet and following the girl. ‘You managed to tell me all of this, why can’t you tell him? Believe me, he’d far rather hear it from you than from me.’
Jenny turned towards her and the eerily familiar grey eyes looked directly into hers.
‘I’ve tried to tell him, but it’s like he’s got a block somewhere and the words just won’t go around it. I talked to Mrs R. about it and she said you’d be able to explain it all, and that he listens to you.’
She grinned at Blythe.
‘Mrs R. said it would be the best thing in the world if he married you. I don’t suppose you’d like to marry him, would you?’
‘I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer,’ Blythe said, and swept around the back of the car, spoiling the effect slightly by tripping over a stick on the way.
Like to marry him? Of course she’d like to marry him! Marrying him would be like—well, she couldn’t think what it would be like, but…
She jabbed the keys into the ignition, switched on the engine and backed out of the park.
Common sense intervened. Marry him? When she’d known the man—was it less than a month?
And probably fell in love with him that night by the fire when he’d insisted on holding her and had told her stories of the bush…
Love! What rubbish!
That was common sense again, scoffing and reminding her about David and what happened when love went sour.
‘Can we drive past the high school? Would you come with me to have a look over it if Dad agrees? With him, too, of course, but you’d know better if it was OK. It’s a long time since Dad went to school.’
Blythe found herself agreeing—after all, it was a harmless enough request.
Then she realised the implications. Visiting the school would come after Cal agreed—if he did—which would come after she herself talked to hi
m—if she did…
They arrived back at the house and she parked the car.
‘You will do it—talk to him?’ Jenny pleaded, and Blythe sighed.
‘I’ve got evening surgery tonight,’ she reminded the young girl, ‘and there won’t be time before that.’
‘Afterwards?’
A vague memory of her own teenage years—of pestering her mother, going on and on like water dripping on stone—came back to Blythe and she knew Jenny would keep asking until she got the answer she wanted.
‘OK,’ Blythe told her, though the very last thing she wanted was a tête-à-tête with Cal. She’d do it in the kitchen, where there was a lot of light.
* * *
He was sitting on the veranda—where there was no light at all apart from the dangerous kind supplied by moon and stars—when Blythe returned from the surgery.
‘Can I talk to you?’ she said. She didn’t realise until he responded with ‘Wow, twice in one day!’ that she’d said the same thing earlier.
Remembering what had happened at the last ‘talk’ made her blush, but she continued resolutely past him.
‘In the kitchen,’ she said, and expected him to follow. But it was Jenny who entered, from the living room, where the music blasting from the television reminded Blythe that there was more to having a teenager in the house than she’d considered.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Jenny whispered. ‘Are you going to talk to him now?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Blythe told her, her aggravation with the situation adding just a little acid to the words.
‘You might be better doing it on the veranda,’ Jenny suggested. ‘I’ve got the TV going in here.’
‘Oh, really?’ Blythe said, but as Jenny picked up a packet of chocolate biscuits and headed back towards the noise, Blythe realised sarcasm was wasted on the young.
She walked reluctantly back to the veranda.
‘I thought once you heard the noise in there you’d decide out here was better,’ Cal said, and she could have belted him across the head for being so smug.
Then a wave of exhaustion—more emotional than physical—washed over her and she sank down into one of the comfortable canvas chairs and lifted her legs to rest them against one of the long arms provided for that purpose.
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