Tara wasn’t the least surprised when her employer requested he talk to her privately. It was Sunday afternoon and she was visiting her father, who was as grumpy as ever after receiving the news that heavy farm work was out of the question for the best part of the next two months. Despite Tara’s protests he had apparently told Rob all about her marriage to Ryan and the circumstances surrounding their divorce as an explanation for his dislike for the man who had so skilfully treated his broken bones. Rob had taken on the role of moderator.
‘Dr Dennison wanted to see you personally, but he was called away to a family emergency. He asked me to give his apologies and tell you everything went very well, but he wants you to see a plastic surgeon.’
Rob had patiently explained the reasons to her father, and handed him a referral letter for a Perth specialist who consulted at Bayfield once a fortnight. Fortunately Graham had a deep respect for the experienced GP. Although Tara’s father obviously hadn’t liked what he was hearing, he’d managed to control his temper and agreed to travel to Bayfield as soon as an appointment could be made.
As Rob left the small private room Tara glanced at her mother, who sat holding Graham’s hand. She then shifted her attention to her father.
‘Dr Whelan wants to talk to me. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Okay, Dad?’
Graham nodded and Tara felt his gaze burning into her back as she left the room. She knew her father would never change, but she also knew that if you tried hard enough to penetrate his crusty shell you might find he actually had a heart—a big heart—that was capable of breaking. She didn’t want that to happen again, but she had the feeling if the Fielding family’s dirty washing was aired publicly it would result in considerable pain—and not only for her father.
Rob waited outside the door and directed Tara to the small meeting room at the end of the ward. She wheeled her way along the corridor and into the room. Her companion followed, closed the door and sat down opposite her. He took a deep, sighing breath.
‘I suppose you have an idea of what I want to talk about?’
‘Ryan Dennison…and me…’
‘That’s right.’ Rob Whelan paused and rubbed his forehead, but the creases of his frown remained. ‘You might think it’s none of my business—your personal life before I met you, before I employed you—but I feel if we discuss it now things are less likely to get out of hand.’
‘Things? What things?’ Tara was aware of an increase in her heart-rate and the overpowering need for fresh air. She began to perspire, and could feel the anxiety building inside like a balloon about to burst at any moment.
Rob picked up on her distress.
‘Are you all right, Tara?’ He laid his hand on her forearm but it gave little reassurance, and the more she tried to control her panic, the more out of control she felt.
‘Er…It just feels stuffy in here. I feel hot. Maybe I’ve had too many coffees. And I haven’t had much sleep in the last couple of days.’ She managed a shaky smile. Her history of panic attacks was something else her boss didn’t know about, and she didn’t want him to find out now.
Rob left his seat and opened the window. It took a couple of minutes because the catch was jammed. Tara used the precious time to take some slow, deep, relaxing breaths and focus her attention away from her symptoms. Without any conscious effort she began to think of Ryan, and Rob’s words rattled through her mind.
How had he explained Ryan’s rapid departure after his Saturday morning operating session?
A family emergency?
She’d been preoccupied with her father and his negative attitude to everything and anything but she felt sure that was what Rob had said. Her heart missed a beat as she speculated what it could be. Had something happened to his parents; his ex-wife; his younger sister…or his daughter?
A light breeze brushed her cheeks and the coolness was like an injection of the calm she desperately needed. Suddenly she wanted to know.
Rob came back and sat down, a look of concern on his face.
‘Feel better?’
Tara nodded. ‘You said Ryan left yesterday because of some emergency? I know I’m probably out of line asking, but—’
‘It’s okay. Dr Dennison told me he had to go back at short notice to look after his daughter. He didn’t give me the impression it was a secret, so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me telling you.’
‘His daughter?’
‘Yes. You knew he had a child from his second marriage, didn’t you?’
Tara cleared her throat.
‘Of course. So it wasn’t really an emergency?’
He grinned. ‘I was the one who called it a family emergency.
And what I’ve told you is all I know. Sorry. But we’re getting off track. I wanted to talk to you about how you feel about Dr Dennison working in Keysdale. I gather it’s not general knowledge in the town that you were husband and wife and…well…with your father’s attitude, I need to make sure what happened in the past isn’t going to affect your work in any way.’
‘Oh.’ She understood where her boss was coming from but wasn’t sure how to answer. The presence of Ryan in her life after an absence of almost eight years had certainly scrambled her emotions, but she hoped she’d be able to make sense of what was happening and that it wouldn’t interfere with her work. Of course it all depended on how quickly the gossip spread through the close-knit town once the connection was made between Ryan and her accident. She was prepared to brace herself for the worst. She still hadn’t answered Rob’s question.
‘I can’t think of any reason it should.’ A little white lie wouldn’t do any harm, she thought as she bravely continued, ‘I no longer have strong feelings, either negative or positive, towards Ryan Dennison, so my work wouldn’t be affected. After all, we’ll probably rarely see each other. I assure you, you have no reason to be concerned.’
‘And if history turns into gossip?’
‘I think we should deal with that if it happens,’ Tara replied, more confidently than she felt.
Rob Whelan smiled and briefly laid his hand on hers.
‘Good, that’s settled, then. I’ll let you go back to see your father.’
* * *
Although fitting the early-morning milking into her already full routine was a challenge for Tara, it at least stopped her from thinking about Ryan. In fact she had little time to think about anything other than work on the farm, her time at the clinic and her efforts to placate her father’s frustration at being so helpless.
It was a week to the day since Graham’s accident and he’d been discharged from hospital the previous morning—on the condition he limited his activities to simply walking with crutches and carrying out the twice daily exercises the physio had recommended. He’d also been provided with a list of things he wasn’t allowed to do, and Jane had been given the unenviable job of supervising him.
As if she didn’t have enough to do.
Of course he grumbled about everything, despite the fact his co-operation would expedite his recovery. Fortunately one bright light shone out of the gloom. The plastic surgeon was happy with the wound on Graham’s leg and pronounced that a skin graft wasn’t necessary. If kept meticulously clean and free of infection the wound should heal naturally, he’d said.
Tara shifted her thoughts to the working day ahead as her mother followed her out to her car. She’d negotiated with Rob Whelan to start her clinic sessions an hour later and finish later, but even with the extra hour, and the help of the dairyman on the days she worked, she still battled to get ready for work on time.
‘Have you got a busy day today?’ Tara’s mother asked wearily as she moved the wheelchair ready to put in the back of the car.
‘Close to fully booked when I last checked before I left on Wednesday.’
Tara sighed.
She loved her work, but the strain of extra duties on the farm, her father’s grumpiness, her mother’s self-sacrificial patience and the messy business of her past relationshi
p with Ryan Dennison threatening to come out in the open for public dissection added another dimension to her ever-present weariness.
‘So you’ll probably be home late?’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. If there was any way I could take time off, I would. But with Lindley on maternity leave and the new registrar not starting until next month I feel I’d let the team down.’
‘I know. I’m not complaining. Dr Whelan and Ryan have shown endless patience with your dad, so I have nothing but praise for them. And I know how important your work is for you.’
Yes, it was. Her mother was right. Not only was her job satisfying but it got her out of the house, away from the farm; it gave her a sense of self-worth in an environment in which she at least had some degree of control.
Tara smiled and nodded agreement.
‘I’ll see you this evening.’ She paused a moment. ‘And don’t let Dad get you down.’
Her mother frowned. ‘He’s getting under my feet already and it’s only his second day home. But we’ll survive. We’ve coped with a lot worse than this.’
Tara reached out through the window, grasped her mother’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze before she drove slowly off, Jane’s words echoing in her mind.
We’ve coped with a lot worse than this.
Did she mean the dreadful experience of Tara’s birth, when Jane had nearly lost her precious daughter? Tara’s mother had only told the story once—probably because it was so painful for her to remember that with the complicated delivery of her first baby she’d sacrificed the chance to have any more children. Or was she referring to the anguish, pain and grief her parents had endured after her accident? Did she mean the loss of a future, loss of the rose-coloured dream she’d had for her only child? Jane had had more than her fair share of suffering and disappointment.
But there was no point in dwelling on a past she couldn’t change. All Tara could do was play the cards she had left in the best possible way.
Tara slid a pop-rock CD from the early noughties into the player and turned the volume up loud, but the music didn’t have the effect she wanted. Rather than filling her mind with pleasant thoughts of vicarious love, hope and fantasy, it just brought back memories. Ryan had given the disc to her. She’d lost count of the times she and Ryan had slow-danced to the caressing monotone throb of the female lead singer’s voice. The number of times that seductive, rhythmic intimacy had led to…
She jabbed the off button with her index finger and accelerated down the narrow country road in silence. When she arrived at Keysdale Medical Clinic she had her emotions back in order. Grabbing her mobile phone from her pocket she dialled the familiar number.
‘Hi, it’s Tara,’ she said brightly. ‘Can you come out and help me with my chair?’
* * *
Pippa Morgan.
The teenager’s name had been added to the end of Tara’s morning consulting list in the space which was reserved for ‘book on the day’ patients: those who were not seriously ill but who had problems that needed dealing with urgently. Tara wondered if Ryan would be prepared to offer advice if the girl’s problem was related to her arthritis. She decided she’d give him a quick call before his morning got too hectic.
She dialled the number of the specialist clinic and waited for several rings before the message on his answer-machine kicked in. Tara recognised the voice of Liz the receptionist stating that the rooms were unattended until one p.m. and to leave a message or ring the hospital number if it was an emergency.
Strange.
The previous week Ryan had started at eight-thirty. But there was most likely a simple explanation. Maybe he’d been called to an emergency; perhaps he’d reorganised his operating times; or he could be sick. There’d been a particularly virulent flu going around Keysdale the past few weeks, and doctors, especially out-of-towners, weren’t immune to illness. She glanced at her watch and noticed it was after ten. She was already running late and decided she didn’t have time to dwell on why Ryan had taken the morning off. In fact it was none of her business. If it turned out she needed his advice, she’d ring later.
Her morning consulting went smoothly, and she was only running half an hour late when she called her last patient in at one o’clock.
‘Pippa, come in.’ Tara smiled at the young woman and beckoned her to proceed down the corridor. Although she was walking unaided, Pippa’s body tensed every time she put weight on her right leg and her limp was more pronounced than Tara remembered from when she’d seen her patient about a month ago.
When they reached the consulting room Pippa went in and sat down slowly. It looked as if every movement aggravated her pain, but Tara vowed to remain cheerful and positive. There was always a bright side, no matter how bad things seemed to be, she reminded herself. Tara had been in the same place Pippa was in now, and had survived without someone who knew what it was like to show the way.
‘Good to see you on your feet.’ Tara offered an encouraging smile. ‘But it looks like you’re struggling. What can I do to help?’
‘I’ve run out of my painkillers. Sorry to bother you with something like this, but I was booked to see the new specialist today and I thought he might prescribe something different.’
‘You had an appointment to see Dr Dennison?’ Tara’s curiosity was aroused.
‘That’s right. But Liz rang yesterday and said Dr Dennison wasn’t coming in this week at all. The earliest she could make another appointment was three weeks away. I couldn’t wait until then.’
‘No, of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to wait a couple of days, let alone weeks. You did the right thing.’
Pippa grimaced as she repositioned herself on the chair.
‘Is the pain still mainly in your hips?’
‘Yes, though I’m still getting stiffness in my hands. Probably something to do with the cold mornings we’ve had lately.’
Tara thought of how chilly it had been in the milking shed the last few mornings and gave an involuntary shiver.
‘I mentioned last time about warm water, didn’t I?’
Pippa laughed. ‘Mum won’t let me forget it. She reckons you’re a genius. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t shared with her.’
‘You mean you have no excuse for not washing the dishes in the morning now?’
‘You guessed it.’ She paused, and then continued with a serious face. ‘Having my hands in warm water for ten minutes or so in the morning really helps.’ The smile returned. ‘But Mum says the downside is that she’s had to postpone getting the dishwasher Dad promised a few months ago.’
Tara admired the teenager’s positive attitude and never-ending courage. It was one thing to cope with limited mobility, but to be in near constant pain…Well, Pippa deserved all the help she could get.
‘What time of day is the worst for you?’
‘Probably the evenings—especially on the days I travel to uni.’
Tara made a minor change to Pippa’s prescription for analgesia and printed it out.
‘I’ve increased the quantity you get each month, so you can take an extra one or two tablets of the short-acting painkiller if you need it.’
‘Thanks.’ Pippa took the prescription, folded it and put it in the pocket of her jeans.
‘Is there anything else you need?’
‘No, and I really appreciate you seeing me at short notice. Thanks again.’ She made a move to get out of her chair and struggled to stand, but once she was on her feet her movement was freer. She walked slowly to the doorway and when she reached the door paused and turned.
‘Is Dr Dennison a good surgeon?’ she said with a slight smile.
‘Excellent. One of the best. If you need an operation you’d be in safe hands.’
‘Good.’ Pippa’s smile turned into a grin. ‘I’ve heard he’s drop-dead gorgeous, and single as well.’
Tara smiled. ‘Just what the doctor ordered,’ she said quietly as Pippa set off slowly down the corridor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE previous week had turned out to be a disaster for Ryan. Organising childcare at short notice had not been as easy as he’d hoped. And Shannay was no help at all. Once she’d made the decision to hand over responsibility for Bethany to him, her sole focus of attention had seemed to be on Sydney and her exciting future as a flight attendant. Ryan couldn’t help wondering how long her enthusiasm would last—especially when she discovered that, as well as the veneer of glamour and limitless free travel, there was actual work involved. At least their daughter wouldn’t be subjected to yet another series of disruptions, though.
Would she?
Not if he could possibly help it.
But as the week drew to a close the odds seemed to be stacked steeply against him.
All he needed was a nanny who was prepared to do the odd hours he was requesting, including around-the-clock care while he was away. He also wanted someone who would be available at short notice when he was summoned to the hospital on the nights and weekends he was on call. The ideal situation would be a live-in nanny who had no weekend or evening commitments and a non-existent social life on the weekends.
But such a person didn’t seem to exist.
Was he asking the impossible?
Then a totally unexpected notion popped into his over-stressed mind. He tried to dismiss it, but it kept bouncing back.
What he needed was…a wife!
A totally preposterous idea. Where on earth had the thought come from?
He’d tried marriage—twice—and had proved he was no good at it. He’d been rejected by his first wife because she couldn’t even envisage continuing to live with him after what he’d done. And Shannay…He’d been blinded by her charisma and infatuation and not realised they’d been too different to sustain any kind of long-term relationship.
No, he definitely didn’t need a wife. He was going to do the best he could and give everything he had to make sure Bethany had stability in her life as well as an abundance of love.
He could do that.
As a single dad.
But, despite all the rational reasons he shouldn’t, he still burned a candle for Tara, and wondered if she’d been telling the entire truth when she’d revealed she was pleased he had remarried and had a child. She would make a wonderful mother, and it was a tragedy she seemed to be denying herself the experience because of her physical problems. He felt sure there’d be a way to overcome them. He held the old-fashioned belief that loving parents in a stable home was the most important thing in bringing up children.
The Doctor, His Daughter and Me Page 9