by Amy Andrews
‘Connie,’ said Madeline, breaking into the monologue. ‘How about I write you a referral to the new natural therapist who’s opening next door? He’s a homeopath. He doesn’t open till tomorrow but I reckon I can get you an appointment first thing.’
‘Could you? Oh, that would be marvellous.’
‘I’ll talk to him this afternoon. Veronica will ring you with the appointment time,’ she said as she wrote out the referral letter on her personalised stationery.
She refrained from being unprofessional. Madeline knew full well that the majority of patients opened their letters and read them. But she smiled slightly as she thought about the endless possibilities. A hex on your house, Marcus, she thought as she signed the letter.
Marcus was locking up about five when he saw Madeline, briefcase in hand, coming out of her gate. She gave him a quick wave and walked away in the other direction. Perfect—he was heading that way, too. He grinned to himself at how prim she looked in her navy pinstripe suit, her hair tied in her regulation nape-knot, and wondered as he watched the sway of her hips whether she was wearing lacy lingerie beneath or the cotton underwear he had seen her in the previous day.
‘Who’s that, Uncle Marcus?’
The boyish voice of his nephew intruded on his fantasy. Marcus looked down at Connor, whom he’d picked up from school earlier and brought back to the practice as a favour to Nell, who didn’t knock off until six. He’d helped him with his homework and then Connor had helped him, unpacking boxes like he did it for a living. Of course, using the skate park as a carrot had helped.
‘Her name’s Maddy. She’s a doctor next door.’
‘Is she your girlfriend?’
Marcus laughed. Only in his dreams! ‘No. Why?’
Connor shrugged. ‘You were looking at her kind of funny,’ he said. ‘And she’s really pretty.’
Marcus nodded. His nephew must have got that keen eye from him. ‘Yes, Connor, that she is,’ he said.
‘Can I ride the board to the park?’ Connor asked, throwing it down on the ground and pushing it backwards and forwards with a foot.
‘OK, but stay close and don’t go too fast. Remember you’re going downhill slightly. If you break your arm your mother will kill me.’ His nephew laughed at him as he did up the chin strap on his helmet and checked his knee and elbow pads. Yeah. Bulletproof.
Madeline had heard the skateboard approach and she hadn’t needed to turn around to know it was Marcus. She was fast gaining a real sixth sense where he was concerned. She braced herself for his presence and found herself wishing he’d get thrown off on one of the many cracks in the aged footpath just to avoid having to look at him after last night. Honestly—a grown man riding a skateboard deserved to fall on his butt!
But the board swished straight past her and the boy riding it gave her a cheeky grin. He was familiar and she realised it was Marcus’s nephew. When Marcus did catch her up a moment later, she jumped.
‘How are you feeling today, Maddy?’
‘Fine,’ she said, not bothering to stop or even acknowledge him as her heart thundered madly. She knew she should thank him again for his help but, given the way the night had ended and the things he had made her feel and the subsequent dreams, the less conversation about the previous day the better.
‘Finished for the day?’
‘Yup,’ she said, again refusing to look at him.
‘Can I walk with you?’
No, you can’t. She shrugged. ‘It’s a public pavement. Your nephew?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Hey, Connor,’ he called to the boy a few metres ahead of them. ‘Come here and meet Maddy.’
Connor braked and with some fancy footwork flipped the board up into his hand and tucked it under his arm.
‘Hi,’ said Connor, as he approached.
‘Connor, this is Maddy.’
‘Hi,’ said Madeline, gritting her teeth to not correct Marcus in front of the boy. He was very cute, his uniform shirt untucked, and Madeline got a glimpse of Marcus at six.
‘That’s a pretty name,’ he said.
Madeline blinked. She always forgot how candid children could be. ‘Actually, my full name is Madeline.’
Connor thought for a bit. ‘Oh. Maddy is much prettier.’
Yep, definitely a chip off the old block, thought Marcus as he chuckled and then ruffled his nephew’s hair.
Madeline shot him a disparaging look. ‘Is your uncle teaching you how to ride?’ she asked Connor.
‘Nah, I already know how to do that. He’s teaching me to do tricks. Oops.’ He clapped a hand over his mouth and looked stricken. ‘I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.’
‘Don’t worry, Connor. Your secret is safe with me,’ she said, and smiled at him reassuringly.
He looked at his uncle uncertainly. ‘Sorry, Uncle Marcus.’
Marcus laughed. ‘It’s OK, mate. Go on, get on your board.’
They watched Connor ride ahead a bit. Madeline turned to Marcus and pinned him with a ‘please, explain’ look. ‘Let me guess, he’s not supposed to tell his mother, right?’
‘He wants to learn and I’m teaching him. He’s a boy, he needs to be wild. Nell’s a little too protective.’
Madeline shook her head at him and strode off, briskly this time, but he caught her up easily with his long-legged stride. ‘You know he’s going to blab, right? Sooner or later?’
‘Yup.’
‘And what happens then?’
He shrugged. ‘She’ll come round. She’s just a product of our home life. We grew up kind of insecure. She wants to keep him safe from everything.’
He fell in beside her and they walked for a few seconds. ‘So, I guess we’ll be neighbours as of tomorrow.’
She knew it, yet still the idea was hard to get used to. She glanced at him and he smiled at her and she wished she hadn’t. There was an easiness about him that was dangerous. Not evil or sinister, just a threat to her sensibilities. He knew he was sexy. He didn’t flaunt it but it was there in every move, every nuance. He had a confidence about him that was breathtaking.
‘Oh, goody, skater boy in a suit. It’ll be worth it just for that,’she quipped, giving his grunge look a disparaging once-over.
He laughed and she felt like she’d just been dipped in a vat of warm sweet molasses.
‘A suit? Me? Hate to disappoint but these are my work clothes.’
Madeline stopped and stared at his fashionably faded long shorts with ragged edging and frayed pockets and his trendy purple striped shirt, unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. Her eyes lingered at the tantalising glimpse of smooth chest.
She stared at him incredulously. ‘This is what you wear to work?’
‘Well, I do usually button my shirt.’ He grinned.
She shook her head and started walking again. ‘Are you sure you left Melbourne under your own steam? You weren’t run out, by any chance?’
He laughed and it felt as though he was licking the molasses from her skin.
‘I was a little unconventional for Melbourne,’he admitted. ‘Just another reason I moved north.’
Madeline stopped at the light and they waited for it while Connor pushed the button continuously.
The lights changed and they stepped onto the road.
‘The other being Connor?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘And the weather. It’s hard to skate in layers and I love to surf…but I’m getting too old for Victorian sea temperatures. Way too cold.’ He shivered, thinking about it. ‘Here I can do both all year round. In next to nothing.’
She looked at him again and at his open shirt, trying to block out the images his words were conjuring up in her head. She did not want to go there.
‘Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place,’ she managed eventually.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said lightly.
She felt the full force of his gaze and his lazy smile and his dimples and she forgot how to breathe for a moment. ‘So, any other r
easons for the big move?’ she asked, to force herself to breathe again.
He thought about it for a moment. ‘My ex,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not amicable between you and your ex, then?’ she asked, latching onto a topic that would hopefully wipe his sexy smile off his sexy lips.
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Phase of the moon?’
He was frowning now. That was good. ‘Never a dull moment, huh?’
‘Oh, it’s not too bad, really,’ he said. ‘A couple of blips along the way. Let’s just say moving away was a good thing. For both of us. It was more than time to cut the umbilical cord.’ And if he’d only done it earlier, the impulsive event on the eve of his departure might never have happened.
Madeline heard the wistful note to his voice and forgot about the traffic and the other people around them. He sounded vulnerable and she walked on, hyper-aware of Marcus’s arm as it occasionally brushed hers, lost for something to say.
‘But, hey, I don’t want to put you off,’ he said after a long pause in the conversation. ‘Just because marriage wasn’t for me doesn’t mean that it won’t work out for you and what’s his-name.’
‘Simon,’ she said automatically, as she put one foot in front of the other.
‘Of course, while distance is good for exes, it kind of sucks for couples.’
‘Yes, thank you, Marcus. I do believe I’ve already heard your theory on that. Have you forgotten we live in the same city?’
‘Doesn’t matter if you live in the same apartment if you never see each other,’ he said.
‘We’re fine. Really.’
The smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her eyes but she sure sounded convinced so who was he to question? He’d certainly made a screw-up of his own marriage so what qualifications did he have to judge how other people conducted their relationships? Different strokes for different folks.
He realised as he kept a close eye on Connor that despite only knowing her for three days she’d got to him—more than just physically. He’d seen more of Maddy emotionally than he’d seen of most women he’d known for months, even years.
He’d seen her furious—spitting chips, her eyes glittering angrily at him. Deeply sad when she’d talked about her sister. Sassy when she’d been teasing him about his hocus-pocus. Professional when he’d help her resuscitate Mrs Sanders. And then fragile and vulnerable when he had massaged her feet and neck to ease the grip of her migraine.
He cared about what happened to her. The thought of her wasting away in a relationship with an absentee partner was awful. And although there was a line between them that decent guys just didn’t cross, he realised he wanted her for himself. Oh, hell! Just what he needed—to develop an obsession with an engaged woman!
Madeline looked over at him and saw the slight chink in his smile and felt guilty. She was pretending that all was well with her and Simon and, no doubt, rekindling bad memories of his failed marriage. Had she rubbed salt into his wounds? She touched his elbow lightly. ‘I’m sure there’s someone else out there, Marcus. Just for you.’
‘Oh, God! I hope not,’ he said as he continued walking.
Madeline heard the vehemence in his voice. Boy, his ex had sure done a number on his head. ‘You shouldn’t let one bad experience put you off,’ she persisted, catching him up.
‘Oh, yes. Yes, I should,’ he said.
‘But—’
‘Maddy,’ he cut in, ‘it’s OK. I like it this way. I date. I have fun. I keep it light. No promises. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
It sounded horrible and she stifled a gasp. At least she knew now what an involvement with him would mean, should she be stupid enough to ever contemplate it. Just because the man had given her a fever that no amount of paracetamol would cure, it didn’t mean they were compatible.
‘So what? It’s just sex? Just flings?’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘I could never get involved with someone like you. What about commitment? Love?’
‘Been there, done that. Paid the lawyers and all I got was a lousy T-shirt.’
She looked at him sharply and saw he was laughing at her. ‘I don’t think this is very funny.’
Marcus smothered his mirth. ‘Sorry.’ He held up his hand. ‘Look, I have a skewed view. I know that. My mother has three divorces to her name, my hardly-ever-there father two and me one. I have two sisters that are divorced and one who’s a single mother. Not good odds. But, hey, I’m sure you and Simon are going to be blissfully happy.’
Why did he make it sound so silly? So quaint? His criticism of Simon came back to her and she was severely ticked by his casual attitude to something that deserved more than that.
She stopped walking, suddenly not wanting his negativity anywhere near her. She veered off to the side of the footpath and held up her hand at a passing taxi.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’m tired of this conversation and I don’t want to walk with you any more.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘So I’m getting a taxi.’
The cab on the opposite side of the road indicated it was turning around for her.
‘Very mature,’ he said.
She could hear the smile in his voice but refused to look back at his open shirt and his damn six-pack. ‘I thought so.’
The cab pulled up and Madeline waved at Connor as she opened the door, throwing over her shoulder, ‘Oh, Marcus, talking about mature, I’m sending you a patient called Connie first thing in the morning. Does that suit?’
He eyed her suspiciously and liked how her eyes glittered and her cheeks glowed. ‘She’s a mess, isn’t she?’
She laughed. ‘Well, you’re the one with the crystal ball—you tell me.’ And she slid into the taxi and shut the door.
‘Did you make her mad, Uncle Marcus?’ asked Connor, coming to a sliding stop beside him.
Marcus winced. ‘I think so…’
‘She’ll never be your girlfriend if you make her mad, Uncle Marcus.’
Great. Dating tips from a six-year-old. He smiled down at Connor and they watched Maddy’s taxi disappear from sight.
He knew two things. One, he loved a challenge. And, two, Madeline Harrington, as unavailable as she was, was completely and utterly delicious.
CHAPTER FIVE
MARCUS had half an hour before the arrival of his first-ever patient in his new practice. He could smell the nose-hair stripping aroma of paint, built up to near toxic levels from the offices being shut up all night, and he quickly opened all the windows. He placed an incense stick on the front counter and lit it to help disperse the chemical odour.
He wandered into his office and approved of how it looked. It was tranquil, the neutral wall colour had the slightest hint of green and natural light filled the room from the skylight he’d had installed in the ceiling. On two walls he had a sequential series of framed paintings. The scenes depicted a rainforest at different times of the day. Marcus loved their restful quality.
On the wall where his desk was positioned he had his framed qualifications because, more often than not in his line of work, people demanded to see them. He smiled, thinking about it—no one ever asked their GPs for their qualifications! On the fourth wall there was a variety of different charts. One was a map of the iris for iridology purposes, another the foot for reflexology, and the last one mapped the human chakras.
Many of his conventional medical colleagues who grudgingly accepted his homeopathic beliefs balked at the mention of chakras or zones of energy within the body. As a university-trained medical doctor he knew that such ideas didn’t have any foundation in Western medicine. But he also knew that illness was multi-factorial and that everything needed to be taken into account, including the metaphysical.
He sat at his desk in his swivel chair and turned it until he was facing the shut cupboard behind him. He opened the doors and pulled out one of three wide shallow sliding drawers and looked with great pleasure at the rows and rows of little bro
wn remedy bottles. He picked up a couple, ran his finger over the labels, replaced them and shut the doors.
He pushed away from the desk and went into the room next door, which he had set aside as his massage room. He was a fully qualified masseur with certificates in remedial, deep tissue and sports massage, as well as specialising in Bowen therapy.
The massage table was in the centre of the room. An old-fashioned dresser that he had bought at an antique store was at the far end and held all his towels and equipment such as essential oils, CD player and CDs. The walls were the same soothing colour and the ceiling had a rainforest mural painted on it, the central skylight representing the sun and its life-sustaining energy.
He was pleased. It felt much more like his own place than his office in Melbourne ever had. He had inherited that, along with the client list from a retiring colleague, and because it had been part of an office complex with strict limitations on alterations and was already a really successful practice, Marcus hadn’t felt able to put too personal a stamp on it.
But here—it was all his and the thought made him proud as he walked out to the reception area. It looked like any other doctor’s reception with one exception—no secretary. Unless he became exceptionally busy, Marcus planned on doing the reception stuff himself.
Consultations were usually lengthy so it wasn’t as if he had to juggle a hundred patients a day. In fact, ten patients a day was his upper limit. And in between clients he could use the state-of-the-art computer system on the desk to update client information and note their progress.
A few fat squishy leather lounges, sourced from op-shops, gave it a retro feel and the wall art was modern but restful. There was a variety of magazines, from alternative health glossies through to the tabloid press. And a large wooden toy box full of things to occupy little hands.
On one of the walls there was a wire rack that boasted a variety of informative pamphlets concerning common illnesses and homeopathic remedies. These were put out by various natural therapy bodies and held lots of good common-sense advice.