The Surgeon's Love-Child

by Lilian Darcy

  'We'll start getting you set up, Janine, OK?'

  'Where'd he go?' asked Joe Sheddin, the theatre orderly.

  'Dr Colton? Up to Maternity. His brother's wife is having a baby.'

  'Some drama was happening up there a little while ago,' Joe offered cheerfully.

  'Yes, Helen Colton was having a baby,' Sister Wallace retorted.

  She worked hard at keeping Joe in his place. Candace liked him, though. He wore his royal blue disposable cap like a pirate's head-scarf, low on his forehead, tilted slightly and knotted at the back, and he approached his job with unswerving good humour.

  Cup of tea here or across the road? Candace mused to herself. She had some follow-up to do in the professional rooms she shared with Linda Gardner in the building across the street. No, I won't wait any longer here, she decided. I'll go across. I'm seeing Steve tonight anyway, so I'll hear all about the birth then.

  She took a quick shower and changed, emerging to find Linda there, Steve still not back and everyone getting edgy. Then the heavy plastic swing doors that guarded the entrance to the theatre suite flapped open and there he was.

  Grey-faced. Mouth like a thin chalk line.

  'Steve... ?' Linda began.

  He just shook his head, grabbed some fresh shoe covers, a cap and a mask, all without a word. The phone on the desk in the recovery annexe rang.

  'For you,' Sister Wallace said to Candace.

  It was the receptionist at her rooms. 'Mrs Halligan has cancelled,' Gillian Thompson said. 'But there's a new referral on the waiting list. Shall I fit him in? He'll take longer than Mrs Halligan.'

  'Remind me,' Candace said. 'Who's Mrs Halligan? And can you read me the referral letter?'

  The new patient's medical problems were distracting and important enough to get her out of the hospital, and she spent a difficult afternoon in her rooms, her mind returning to Steve's pale face and his agonised silence every time she had a moment to spare. Finishing at half past four, she went straight home and left a stilted message on his machine.

  'Am I still seeing you tonight? Obviously something's wrong. I'm praying it's not the baby, Steve.'

  Then she cooked Bolognese sauce in case he hadn't eaten, and a chicken and rice soup because cooking the bolognese hadn't taken long enough. Foolish, probably. She didn't even know if he liked chicken soup.

  He came up her front stairs at ten past six. Her heart jumped like a living creature inside her chest when she heard the rhythm of his footsteps on the resonant wooden treads. They went straight into each other's arms.

  'What is it, Steve?'

  'The baby died.'

  'Oh, dear God...'

  'It...he...it was a boy. He was born half an hour before I got there. Everything had been going fine, apparently. Helen didn't want a doctor, and there was no reason for her to have one. The midwife had it all under control. Then, when he was born... He had very severe Down's, and a malformed heart which just...didn't give anyone a chance. I'm thinking, you know, a hot-shot specialist and high-tech equipment but, no, realistically, no. Wouldn't have made any difference. He only lived a few minutes.' His voice cracked. 'Poor Helen and Matt.'

  He buried his face in her hair as if seeking nourishment and physical support.

  'They must be devastated,' she whispered.

  'Her mum brought the older kids in just now, while I was there. I went back as soon as Linda's list was done. I think that helped. The kids, I mean. They took photographs of him with everyone. They had him with them for quite a while. He looked...different, you know?'

  'Yes...'

  'But the twins didn't notice. They kissed him and talked to him and—Oh, God!'

  He broke off and covered his face with his hands. Candace held him against her heart, and they talked about it for a long time. Helen hadn't had any prenatal tests, which was why no problem had been detected.

  'She's a bit of an earth mother, and she's not thirty-five for another few months. There was no huge reason for her to have tests. The odds were in her favour,' Steve said. 'She's strong. Wonderful. They'll get through this.'

  'Did you eat?'

  'No. I mean, breakfast, a bit, but—'

  'Do you want to?'

  'I feel like I should be on hand, but they told me to go. Well, Matt and Helen need some time, just the two of them. The big kids have gone home with Helen's mother. Helen will go home tomorrow. Matt has to get back to work. He's an accountant...'

  'Do you want to eat, Steve?'

  'Hmm?'

  'Let's eat, then go for a walk or something.' She was worried about how pale he still was, and if he hadn't eaten since breakfast...

  He focused at last, let go of her, let out a huge sigh. 'Yeah... Yes, OK. Yes.'

  'There's home-made chicken soup, or spaghetti Bolognese, or both.'

  'You cooked?'

  'I thought— You know— I knew something was wrong. Wanted to...' she spread her hands '...make chicken soup for you.'

  'That's nice.' He smiled at last. 'I'll have chicken soup. Not all that hungry.'

  After they'd eaten and talked some more, they both needed some air. Candace wasn't planning to leave Steve alone tonight until he asked her to.

  The beach, in the darkness, felt good. They both left their shoes at home and just strode along the sand to the headland, with the incoming tide teasing at their bare feet. Didn't say much. Not until they rounded the headland and went even further, to reach a tiny curve of sheltered beach.

  Steve stopped and looked at it. It was deserted, lit faintly by moonlight, out of sight of any houses, with vistas stretching on down the coast, wild and beautiful.

  'Do you know what?' he said, his, tone grim and hungry and restless. 'I'm going to go for a swim.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Steve began to pull his shirt over his head before Candace could even reply. The ocean scared her a little at night, despite the way the moon silvered the white foam so prettily.

  'I'm coming, too.' The words broke from her lips before she could think twice about saying them.

  He turned back to her and grinned. 'I hoped you would.'

  He peeled down his baggy shorts, taking his underwear with them.

  'Oh, like that?'

  'Or we'll have to walk back wet,' he pointed out. 'And we haven't got towels.'

  'True.'

  'A couple of other advantages I can think of as well...'

  He watched her as she slipped her sea-blue washable silk shell blouse over her head, unfastened her gauzy sarong and unclipped a black lace bra. Their clothing littered the sand, and she felt a flutter of vulnerability. About her nakedness. About his gaze.

  It soon disappeared. He took her hand and pulled her towards the water. The waves were gentle tonight, like sheets of silver fabric slipping in and out. It was cold at first, but Steve wouldn't let her take things slowly.

  He ran, still dragging on her hand, and she knew he needed the release of a sudden plunge so she went with him until she lost her footing at waist depth.

  They jumped and dived, undulating like dolphins, floated on their backs, trod water, let the waves sweep them closer to shore and then waded out again, past their thighs. Hardly spoke at all. It must have been ten minutes or more before he took her in his arms, his face dark and serious.

  'Thank you,' he said. 'I needed you tonight.'

  He pulled her close, so that she could feel the sea-chilled wall of his chest against her breasts and, a moment later, his mouth on hers. Her response was as immediate and powerful as ever. As they kissed, her hands curved on his hips and slid back to his taut behind, anchoring his growing arousal against her. He groaned, dragged his mouth from hers and buried his face in her neck.

  She arched her back convulsively, her body openly begging for the touch of his lips on her throat and her nipples. The ocean washed around them, contrasting the coolness of its caress with their own increasing heat.

  'Can we go home?' he muttered at last.

  'That far?' Her ar
ms were wrapped around his neck now. 'The dry sand is only a few metres away. No one's here. We could find a hollow between those small dunes...'

  Candace was shocked at the words the moment she'd uttered them. She had never conceived of anything so impulsive, impatient and wild.

  Steve's hands trembled as his arms wrapped tightly around her once more. 'Oh, lord, Candace, I'd love to,' he breathed, warming her neck. 'I'd love to!'

  They clung to each other as they stumbled up the sand, stopping several times to kiss, each time with greater need. The low dunes just ahead seemed expressly shaped for what they wanted.

  'Wait until we're dry,' Steve said wickedly, and kept her on her feet, driving her rapidly mad with longing as he caressed her.

  Finally, they sank into the cupped hand of the hollow and pushed each other over the edge of explosive release within minutes.

  The sand was cool. A little scratchy, too, a little sticky.

  It didn't seem to matter. They lay there, listening to the ocean, listening to the beat of each other's hearts.

  'I've never done this before,' Steve said.

  'No?' She lifted herself onto her elbows, her face betraying her surprise as she leaned over his body and looked into his eyes.

  'Why, have you?' he asked.

  'No, I haven't, but...that's different. I've only lived near this beach for ten days.'

  'Implying that I've lost a lifetime of opportunity?'

  'No, I'm glad it was a first for you, too, Steve,' she replied almost shyly. 'Very glad. Because it was...'

  'Incredible, wasn't it?' He sounded shy about it, too.

  'Mmm, incredible.'

  'Totally...' He kissed her softly, caressed her a little, then dragged his hands reluctantly from her body. 'Twice, though, would be a bit too sandy.'

  'Mmm, I think so.'

  He sat up, grabbed her hand and began to stand. 'Let's get our— Ah, shoot!'

  'What?' She followed his gaze towards the water, just in time to see the faint dark shape of a piece of clothing sweep up the beach on the lacy edge of a wave and come to rest on the sand. 'Oh, no! Our clothes!'

  'Tide's coming in,' he agreed. He had already started down the beach. 'I can see one, two...only two things. Hell, I hope one of them's my shorts, because my keys are in the pocket!'

  He broke into a run, seized the sandy, sodden garment, then lunged for another one several yards off. 'My keys are still there, and this is your skirt.'

  'Surely we can find the rest if we look,' she said. 'My bra, and—'

  'Hang on.' He lunged for another dark shape in the water, and pulled up a skein of seaweed.

  'Well, I'm not wearing that!'

  Suddenly, they were both laughing.

  'This is so crazy!' he said.

  'Keep looking!'

  'I think you'd look pretty good in seaweed.'

  'Yeah, right!' she drawled.

  'Seriously, like a mermaid. Your hair is rippling all down your back. Knot that sarong at your waist like a mermaid's tail, and—'

  'OK, so where does the seaweed go?'

  'Across your breasts, draped like a scarf and offering tantalising glimpses of—'

  'Keep looking, Steve!'

  But it was no use. They looked, stooped down and felt around in the moving water for several more minutes, found two more bunches of seaweed but nothing made of fabric, and finally accepted that the rest of their clothing was lost to the depths of the Pacific.

  'Could be worse,' Steve pointed out.

  'Could be,' she agreed cautiously. 'You'll be quite decent, for a man. Easier for men!'

  'And my mermaid fantasy will come true.'

  'Read my lips. I am not wearing the seaweed!'

  'Spoilsport! OK, let's see what we can do instead.'

  He took the gauzy sarong, squeezed out as much water as he could and wrapped the clinging garment around her, knotting it above her breasts. His knuckles grazed Candace's cold-hardened nipples through the wet fabric as he completed the task. The garment clung like a second skin and hid little.

  'Steve, I can't...!'

  'No choice, sweetheart.'

  'What am I going to do?'

  'You mean, what am I going to do? Put my arms around you to keep you warm. One around your shoulders, like this, and one across your body, like this, and even if we do meet an unexpected crowd of midnight life-savers or something, no one will see a thing...'

  My heaven, if Todd could see me now! she thought, as they wandered past the dark, rocky headland together and back to a deserted Taylor's Beach. Walking in a wet, near-transparent sarong along a beach late at night with my handsome lover's body shielding and warming mine, after we've pleasured each other in the dunes beneath the moonlight.

  I wish he could see it! Oh, damn, I wish he could see me right now! came the bitter inner realisation.

  All those things he accused me of in the weeks before he finally left. That I was stale. Not that our marriage was stale, but me. That I was stifling him, boring him, dragging him down, making him feel old, so that the whole thing became my fault and it was clear he didn't even want to try and save what we once had. What I thought we once had.

  Well, I'm not 'stale'. It wasn't just me, and my fault, and if he could see this now... Oh, if he could see it...

  'There, you see,' Steve said softly, holding her close in his arms just outside her front door. The wet fabric had chilled her, despite the shelter he had given her, and she shivered. 'Quite safe. No one saw a thing, and I got to hold you against me all that way.'

  'Mmm, it was nice,' she agreed.

  'Much better than nice.'

  'Do you...uh...want to come in?' She bent down and got her key out from beneath a flower-pot.

  'I won't,' he said soberly. 'I'm going to drop in at the hospital, have a talk to the night sister in Maternity and hear how Helen's been doing. Matt will be at home now, probably. He would have wanted to help Helen's mother with Jake and the girls. If Helen's still awake I might sit with her for a bit, too, if she wants some company.'

  Candace nodded silently and Steve made a gesture of helplessness. It was clear that he wished there was more he could do.

  'You're close to Matt, aren't you?' she observed softly.

  'To Helen and Matt,' he agreed. 'Especially since our parents died. But...you know...Aussie males.'

  'I'm beginning to...'

  'We're not— We don't talk to each other about the real stuff much. I was all prepared to go in there today and punch him in the arm and make some stupid joke about breaking out the cigars. With this, all I can think of is being there, giving them some of my time.'

  'That's more important than words, Steve. I'd offer to come with you, only I'm sure she doesn't need any more strangers.'

  She opened the front door and stepped inside.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, he murmured, 'Let me kiss you one more time?'

  And she couldn't help leaning forward to meet the brush of his lips. 'Tell Helen and Matt that my thoughts and prayers are with them.'

  'I will.' He nodded. 'Night, Candee.'

  'Night, Steve.'

  In the shower a few minutes later, washing off the sand and salt, she felt exhausted and churned up inside. Happy, confused, sad about Steve's tiny nephew, physically sated yet miles from sleep.

  Miles from sleep. She went to bed at eleven-thirty, was still awake at one, then finally dropped into a dark, heavy slumber a little later, only to be shattered into wakefulness again by the sound of the phone when her bedside alarm read 2.05.

  Her first thought was Steve, then Helen, the baby, the beach, their missing clothes... Finally, reality crystallised into focus as she recognised her daughter's voice.

  'Mom? You sound like you were asleep!'

  'I was,' she croaked. 'It's two in the morning here.'

  'No, it isn't! It's supposed to be six in the evening. Grammy and I worked it out.'

  'Oh, you're at Grammy's?'

  'Yeah, and she said the time in
Australia was sixteen hours behind.'

  Typical of Elaine West, founder of West Interiors, one of the most successful interior design firms in Massachusetts. It wouldn't occur to her that Boston could be behind anyone in anything.

  'We're sixteen hours ahead here, honey,' Candace sighed. 'I promise you, it's two in the morning. How come you're at Grammy's on a school day?' Mom usually saved Maddy's frequent overnight visits for weekends.

  'Dad said I could cut classes today. He dropped me off on the way to the hospital. Brittany's had the baby, a week early. Six o'clock this morning. Dad just called, and he wanted me to let you know. Everything went perfect, yada, yada. Weighed eight and a half pounds, and they've named him Luke.'

  'You don't sound too thrilled,' Candace said cautiously.

  'Oh, I will be when I see him.' Maddy's prediction was blithe. 'I'll go nuts over him. My baby brother! But I mean, like, it's kind of complicated, you know? Brittany...just kills me most of the time.'

  There was an uneasy pause, then Maddy retreated quickly to safer ground. 'I'm real sorry I woke you up, Mom.'

  'It doesn't matter.' Candace made a huge effort. 'Tell me how everything else is going.'

  They talked for ten minutes, then Elaine came on the line to threaten, 'I'm not buying a gift for that baby! I'll send flowers and a card on your behalf—since I know you'll feel it's the right thing.'

  'It is the right thing, Mom. Like it or not, this is Maddy's brother.'

  'You're right. It is,' Elaine agreed. 'You're too generous for your own good. I've brought you up very well.' The contradiction between these two adjacent statements didn't seem to trouble her.

  'You know, I'm surprisingly fond of you, you strange creature,' Candace interposed, after a short laugh.

  'But I will not send a gift of my own!'

  'No one is saying you have to, Mother.'

  'No, well, in case you were planning on telling me I had to, I'm getting in first and telling you I'm not!'

  'Thank you for your support.'

  'Are you handling it, darling?'

  'Yes, I'm—' Candace broke off to control a jerky breath. 'I'm handling it. Something—'

  She stopped again.

  Something else happened today. Another baby was born, and didn't live.