Mediterranean Rescue

by Laura MacDonald

  When the noise and shaking of the earthquake subsided, Dominic spoke, his voice carrying authority as he assumed leadership

  “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go outside.”

  They had only just begun to move when there came another earth-shattering roar, much louder this time, and as the building shook and shuddered again, wooden rafters and great chunks of masonry came crashing down in front of them.

  As Claire screamed, Dominic pulled her into his arms and, throwing her to the floor, shielded her with his body as hell itself seemed to unleash around them and stone, wood and plaster crashed to the ground….

  Dear Reader,

  One of my favorite, most romantic places of all time is Italy, and I recently felt a very strong urge to set a book there. At the same time I wanted to write a story involving a dramatic disaster that would stretch medical services to their limit. The dilemma was which book to write first—then I decided there was no reason why I shouldn’t combine the two: a devastating earthquake that hits the Italian town of Assisi!

  But of course I also needed an unforgettable love story, so I brought Dominic and Claire together. I hope you enjoy the results as much as I enjoyed writing the story.

  With very best wishes,

  Laura MacDonald

  Mediterranean Rescue

  Laura MacDonald

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘YOU need to throw another, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Shielding her eyes from the hot Italian sun, Claire looked up into the face of the man who stood at her side.

  ‘A coin in the fountain,’ he explained. ‘You’ve thrown your one for luck but you need to throw another to ensure your return to Rome.’

  ‘Really?’ Claire peered down into the clear green water to where her coin was indistinguishable from the many others that lay on the bottom.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said firmly, then, as she glanced up at him again, he added, ‘Always assuming, of course, that you would want to return.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said quickly, ‘yes, of course. Who wouldn’t?’ she added.

  ‘Yes, quite.’ The man lowered himself to sit beside her on the stone wall surrounding the magnificent Trevi fountain. ‘Although, I suppose,’ he went on after a moment, ‘there might well be some who would have had their fill the first time of ancient buildings, monuments and churches, to say nothing of the insanity of the drivers and the price of a cup of coffee.’

  ‘Oh, I think I could overlook those things,’ Claire replied lightly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they are more than compensated for by others—the splendour of it all…’ She waved one slender hand in the direction of the gushing water as it poured from the open mouths of stone gargoyles. ‘The atmosphere, the sunshine…Oh, and the ice cream—that’s just out of this world and I don’t care how much it costs.’

  ‘In that case, I would say a second coin is essential,’ he replied solemnly.

  ‘Right.’ Standing up, Claire unzipped her shoulder-bag, which she wore across her body, having been warned about pickpockets, rummaged inside, opened her purse and took out a coin. ‘I’d better do this properly,’ she said. Turning so that she stood with her back to the fountain, she threw the coin over her shoulder into the water where it joined the hundreds of others. ‘There,’ she said, looking down at the man, ‘that’s done. But what about you?’ she added on a sudden impulse.

  ‘What about me?’ He raised eyebrows as dark as his hair, and his eyes widened. They were very expressive eyes, she noticed, brown and with a depth of intensity in their gaze that seemed to suggest he could read her thoughts. The idea threw her slightly and she found herself averting her gaze as she pursued her question.

  ‘Well, have you thrown your coin or coins? Or maybe you have so much luck in your life already you do not feel in need of more, and perhaps the noise and the traffic has got to you so much you have no desire to return?’

  She saw his features relax slightly into the semblance of a smile. ‘Not at all,’ he said. He stood up. ‘I threw my coins, both of them, before you came along.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘so you, too, wish to return.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Like you say, who wouldn’t?’ He paused and, turning, lifted his head and took a deep breath as if inhaling the very essence of Rome. Claire noticed that his hair, which at first had appeared straight, had a rather disconcerting tendency to curl at the nape of his neck. She wasn’t sure why she should find it disconcerting but it somehow made him appear vulnerable. He wore a dark blue T-shirt and faded denims and Claire was aware of powerful muscles that rippled across his shoulders. He remained silent after that and Claire didn’t really know what else to say. She wasn’t in the habit of speaking to strangers, even English ones in a foreign country, although strictly speaking he wasn’t a complete stranger.

  Reinforcing her theory that he might be able to read her thoughts, he suddenly spoke again. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘we are staying at the same hotel.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘I believe we are.’ She spoke lightly, casually as if it was of little consequence, but she had seen him at the hotel, of course she had. In the foyer the first time she couldn’t have failed to notice him for together with his dark classical good looks he stood several inches above everyone else. Their eyes had met, their gazes holding for a fraction longer than was deemed seemly before looking quickly away. Then they had both then looked again as if each had recognised the other only to realise they hadn’t known each other, and in the brief ensuing moment of confusion to look away for the second time. And after that, she had been only too aware of him—in the hotel dining room or foyer. And yesterday, on the guided tour that had been arranged by the hotel, she had been only too conscious of his presence as together with a dozen or so other English guests they had dutifully trailed behind their Italian guide as he had conducted them around St Peter’s and parts of the Vatican state.

  Today she hadn’t seen him at breakfast and she had left the hotel early and alone to browse at her own pace suddenly very conscious and somewhat down-hearted that she was alone in this beautiful and most romantic of cities. She was only too aware that he was the sort of man she would once have been deeply attracted to just as she also knew that he had been attracted to her, and where once she might have been pleased at the prospect, might have welcomed it, pursued it, even if it might have led only to a holiday romance—there was no question of that for now there was another consideration in her life.

  ‘Through there…’ he suddenly lifted one hand, indicating a road facing the fountain ‘…there’s a nice little street café. Do you fancy joining me for a cappuccino?’

  She shouldn’t, she knew that, just as she knew this attraction between herself and this stranger was definitely not something to be pursued or encouraged. It was something to be nipped in the bud before it had a chance to even start.

  ‘I’d love to,’ she heard herself say.

  The café was on one corner of a sun-drenched piazza and they found a table beneath a green-and-white-striped umbrella in the shade of a plane tree.

  ‘It seems hotter than ever today,’ said Claire, after a waiter had taken their order and disappeared inside the café.

  ‘It is,’ her companion agreed. ‘In fact, it feels like we could be in for a storm.’

  ‘Do you think so?’
Claire frowned and peered up at the sky, lifting her sunglasses to gauge the depth of its colour. ‘I can’t see any stormclouds and the sky is as blue as it could possibly be.’

  ‘It’s just something in the atmosphere.’ He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. ‘But let’s not worry about it for now. I would say if we are to have a storm it’s some way off.’ He paused and, leaning back in his chair, tilted his head to one side and looked keenly at her. In that moment it was as if he took in every detail of her appearance, from her long honey-blonde hair and hazel eyes to her creamy skin already touched by the sun. ‘I think it’s time we introduced ourselves,’ he said at last. ‘I’m Dominic Hansford.’ Leaning forward again, he held out his right hand, half-rising out of his chair.

  ‘Claire Schofield.’ His outstretched hand took hers in a firm grip that was surprisingly cool given the heat of the day.

  ‘So what brings you to Rome?’ he asked as he resumed his seat.

  ‘It’s somewhere I’ve always meant to visit,’ she replied, ‘but somehow never got around to.’ She paused. ‘What about you?’

  ‘The same really.’ He nodded. ‘The thing is, I’ve travelled all over the world but I never really got to see Europe so I’m trying to remedy that now. You’re travelling alone.’ It was more of a statement of the obvious than a question, but he nevertheless raised his dark eyebrows.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I was due to come with somebody but they had to cry off at the last minute so rather than waste the ticket I decided to come alone. How about you?’ she added almost as an afterthought.

  ‘Oh, I invariably travel alone.’ He turned, swivelling in his chair as the waiter arrived bearing a tray with two steaming cups of cappuccino. Claire found herself studying him afresh—the chiselled features, the firm line of his jaw and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. When he glanced back at her after the waiter had departed, she hurriedly looked away. ‘I find I get to see more that way,’ he added.

  ‘You say you’ve travelled a lot—where exactly?’ Suddenly she was intensely curious to know just where his travels had taken him and why.

  ‘Oh, Thailand, Afghanistan, India,’ he said, ‘and more recently South America—Chile and Peru.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ she replied with a little sigh as gently she stirred her cappuccino, watching the swirls of chocolate settle into the froth.

  ‘It was,’ he agreed, ‘or at least parts of it were. Sometimes it was pretty gruelling.’

  ‘So was this business or pleasure?’ She took a sip of her drink, licking the froth from her top lip with the tip of her tongue.

  ‘Mainly work, I’m afraid.’ Lifting his own cup, he took a mouthful.

  ‘I rather thought it might be.’ She nodded. ‘So what is it that you do?’

  Dominic didn’t answer immediately and Claire got the impression he was almost reluctant to reply. Then, after carefully placing his cup back in its saucer, he said, ‘I’m a doctor.’

  For some reason she wasn’t surprised. There was something about him that suggested both the sensitivity and the strength of character necessary to be a doctor. What did surprise her, however, was the extent of his foreign travel, which seemed to have little in common with the GPs of her acquaintance. ‘So how come you get to travel so much?’ she asked. ‘Most doctors I know don’t seem to go much farther than the annual family camping trip to the South of France.’

  ‘Know many doctors, do you?’ There was amusement in the dark eyes now.

  ‘Probably more than most,’ she replied, then, aware of his quick, curious glance, added, ‘I’m a nurse.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and the single word seemed to confirm some preconceived theory of his. ‘I felt we had something in common.’ He paused, took another mouthful of his coffee then, leaning back in his chair again, said, ‘So where do you nurse?’

  ‘In a large group practice near Guildford in Surrey, it’s called the Hargreaves Centre—you may have heard of it.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I believe I have—wasn’t it founded by Hargreaves of fertility treatment fame?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘Charles Hargreaves. He was father of Richard Hargreaves, who is the present senior partner of the practice.’

  ‘How long have you been there?’

  ‘Only a couple of years. Before that I was in hospital work—mainly psychiatric and rehabilitation.’

  ‘Are you happy in general practice?’

  ‘Yes, reasonably.’ She considered for a moment. ‘I assist in general clinics but I’ve also been taking part recently in stress-management counselling.’ She paused. ‘It’s unbelievable how many conditions arise from stress and anxiety,’ she added.

  ‘I can imagine.’ He nodded. ‘A friend of mine has recently had to give up practice entirely because of a stress-related condition.’

  ‘We are having to find a locum for one of our partners who is being forced to take a sabbatical because he is completely stressed out.’ Claire paused then, aware of the heat of the sun, which was beginning to burn her shoulders around the thin straps of the white sundress she wore, stood up and eased her chair further into the shade. ‘So what is your field?’ she asked as she sat down again.

  ‘I’ve been working with various charities,’ he replied, ‘mainly children’s charities—Save the Children, Médecins Sans Frontières, Voluntary Service Overseas, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Do you mean in war zones?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Sometimes, yes. We go in as a team after some conflict or sometimes after a disaster or famine. Whatever it is, there are always children caught up in it.’ He sighed. ‘It is our job to treat their medical needs and at the same time, if it is at all possible, to bring back some semblance of normality into their shattered lives.’

  ‘It must be rewarding work,’ she said slowly.

  ‘In some instances, yes, it is,’ he agreed, ‘but at other times you have to guard against being totally overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what is being attempted. We have to remember that many of the children we treat may have been orphaned and may have lost siblings and other members of their families, some have been badly injured or maimed and others are desperately sick with little hope of recovery.’

  ‘So are you between assignments at the moment?’

  ‘My last posting was in South America, where we were coping with the aftermath of flooding,’ he replied.

  ‘And I suppose next you wait to see where you are needed?’

  ‘Actually I’ve been taking a break from overseas work,’ he admitted. ‘After South America I returned to Warwickshire because my father is ill. I have been doing temporary locum work at the local hospital in Accident and Emergency.’

  ‘Any plans to return abroad?’ she asked with interest.

  ‘Eventually, but not immediately.’ Dominic appeared to consider. ‘I’m enjoying the slower pace of life,’ he went on after a moment, ‘and it’s been nice to be able to spend a bit of time with my father.’

  ‘And now you’re in Rome on holiday.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, lifting his face to the sun, ‘now I’m in Rome.’

  Claire remained silent, considering all he had told her. His work sounded fascinating and she longed to know more, but a glance at his face revealed that his eyes were closed and somehow she felt unable to question him further, as if by closing his eyes he was dissuading any further conversation about his work.

  They sat in companionable silence while the bustle of the busy piazza went on around them. Just as Claire was wondering what to say next, it was Dominic who broke the silence. ‘Are you going on this excursion tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘What excursion?’ She frowned.

  ‘To Assisi,’ he replied, ‘and apparently stopping at a village and a monastery en route whose names escape me.’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything about that,’ said Claire.

  ‘The rep came into the dining room after breakfast and announced it,’ he went on. ‘I think
you may have already left.’

  ‘I must have done,’ she replied, ‘I certainly don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure it won’t be too late to put your name down when we get back,’ he said, ‘always supposing, of course, that you want to go.’

  ‘Yes, I would like to go,’ said Claire slowly. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Assisi. Was there much interest?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I got the impression most of the other guests wanted to go.’ Pushing his chair back, he stood up. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘why don’t we wander back now and see if we can put your name down?’

  ‘All right.’ Claire also rose to her feet, picking up her bag and slipping the strap over her head again before taking out her purse to pay for her coffee.

  ‘Please,’ said Dominic, ‘let me get these.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Claire a moment later as he joined her on the pavement after settling the bill.

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ He smiled. He had a lovely smile, revealing even, very white teeth.

  Together they made their way through the maze of narrow streets to the hotel where Claire found she was able to add her name to the list for the following day’s excursion.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Dominic as she turned away from the hotel’s reception desk.

  ‘Oh, I think a quick dip in the pool, lunch, then a siesta,’ Claire replied, wondering even as she spoke what she would say if he asked if she would join him for lunch. She needn’t have worried, however, for at that moment they were joined by two other English guests who were staying at the hotel and whose acquaintance Claire had already made.

  ‘Oh, Claire, there you are,’ said the woman. ‘We’ve been looking for you.’ Melanie Frazer, dark-haired, vivacious and trendy, was a fashion buyer for a well-known high-street chain store and was touring Italy with her partner, Peter Hamilton, a quantity surveyor. ‘We thought you would probably want to go on the Assisi trip,’ Melanie went on, ‘but we weren’t sure so we didn’t put your name down.’