by Becky Wicks
It can’t be...
Dr Forster handed him a microphone. Sara scanned his muscled six-foot-three frame as his presence immediately dominated not just the stage, but the entire deck of the ship. It was really him. Why? And why did he have to look so good?
She couldn’t help but stare. From where she was standing he looked exactly as he had the night she’d left him in his giant family home that doubled as the Breckenridge Practice in Edinburgh. She hadn’t heard from him since—not that she blamed him for that entirely. She’d never thought she’d see him again.
She considered sneaking away from the orientation, but Esme still had hold of her hand. Besides, the second Fraser’s thick, unmistakably Scottish accent filled the air with its sticky heat, her legs turned to jelly. God, she had loved this man. Just the sound of his voice brought it all rushing back.
‘Thank you so much, ladies and gents,’ he said with gravelly familiarity, towering over Dr Forster in spite of her own height, and sweeping a big hand through his mane of thick black hair.
Sara could picture his eyes too, up close, and the honest blue of them she’d been happy to swim in for hours. She swallowed as the deck seemed to close in on her.
‘I’m privileged to be able to join you on this special adventure. I know that for some of you this is the first time you’ll have been on a ship—am I right? Who’s never been on a ship before?’
To Sara’s surprise, Esme released her grip on her and raised her hand tentatively. Her throat dried up as Fraser’s eyes travelled to her daughter and then landed right on her. A tiny trail of perspiration began its descent down her lower back. She raised her hand at him slowly, in greeting. He did the same—like a Martian making contact with another planet. A flicker of a smile crossed his lips.
‘Well, it looks like we’re going to have some fun on this cruise,’ he said, after a pause.
Sara wasn’t entirely sure if he was still talking to Esme, or to her. She was picturing his lips now, too. The way they’d used to seem to melt against hers.
She hadn’t read the staff list. She kicked herself. She’d had every intention of running her eyes over it, along with the plethora of other information she’d been sent, but Esme had been in a panic over a missing shoe when it had arrived in her inbox and she’d been side-tracked.
‘Let me tell you: this weather is a tad nicer than it is in Edinburgh right now. I hope you won’t be too horrified if this pale white Scottish skin turns as red as a lobster’s!’
Esme giggled at Fraser’s words, as did most of the crowd. Sara just felt hot and bothered. She was back in that huge Scottish house now, standing stunned on the stairs, hearing his father tell Fraser what he really thought about their six-month relationship, hearing Fraser do nothing to defend it—or her. They hadn’t known she’d been listening.
Fraser was still talking, introducing the other staff—introducing her. ‘Please also welcome Sara Cohen, one of our excellent dialysis nurses.’
She tried not to flinch as everyone turned to her and applauded, while Esme leaned into her shyly, clutching her camera. Annoyance was quickly overriding shock.
How dared he rock up here, on her adventure, six years after he’d let her go? OK, so she’d chosen to end their relationship herself that night, after overhearing their little family conversation. But if she hadn’t done it Fraser would only have done it himself. She’d simply been saving him the bother and herself the heartbreak.
She hadn’t needed any more heartbreak back then. Her mother had just died and her father had completely fallen apart. She’d been exhausted from taking care of him, all whilst dealing with her own grief. She’d been at Fraser’s place for the weekend to cry in his arms, to let someone take care of her for a while. And then...
‘Now, I’m sure you’re all excited to get going and see what’s planned for you. I’ll hand you over to our events co-ordinator to tell you more.’
Fraser still had the audience enchanted.
‘I’m looking forward to getting to know some of you over the next few weeks—although, let’s be honest here, most people seem to have a better time on this ship if they never get to see me at all, if you know what I mean!’
Jess took Esme’s other hand. ‘Ready to meet the other kids?’ she asked her daughter cheerily.
Sara dropped a kiss on Esme’s cheek. Her heart was thudding as they walked away. A guy with a topknot called Tony was already on the stage, talking of tropical island walks and buffet lunches. And Fraser was heading straight through the crowd towards her.
She turned quickly towards the exit. She needed space to think. Maybe she and Esme could transfer ships. There was another one leaving in a few days’ time; perhaps they could switch and avoid this. It was the last thing she needed—dredging up her painful past in the middle of the ocean, with no escape.
‘Sara Cohen! Come on—don’t walk away from me, lass.’
Fraser’s voice was a powerful lasso, stopping her in her tracks. She closed her eyes as her hand found the smooth cool steel of the door handle. So surreal.
‘After all this time,’ he said, putting a big hand to her shoulder and causing goosebumps to flare on her hot skin. ‘Weren’t you even going to say hello?’
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHAT ARE YOU doing here?’
‘You didn’t know I’d be on board?’ He ran his eyes over her green dress, noting the way it nipped in at her slender waist. She’d barely put on a pound. In fact, maybe she’d even lost weight. Her bronzed cheekbones were sharper than he remembered. Perhaps her hair was shorter...
She bit her lip. He still remembered the feel of his tongue running along that lip.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said. ‘Please, Fraser, not here.’
She turned from him quickly again, pulled the door open and headed down the top floor corridor of the ship.
He followed her and caught her arm gently. ‘Sara, come on.’ He forced his voice to remain calm. ‘Can we go somewhere and talk?’
A look of discomfort verging on pain flashed across her features before she pulled away from him. ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ she said, standing against the wall in the corridor. ‘But I’m here with my daughter and I’m here to work. This is just...’ She folded her arms. Then she closed her eyes, appearing unnerved by his proximity. ‘This is just not what I was expecting.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He stepped closer anyway, on the anchor-patterned carpet, till his feet were almost touching hers. ‘I thought you knew I’d be here,’ he said honestly. ‘I assumed you’d have seen the list of medical staff and would have called me, or not taken the job if you had a real problem with it.’
He could smell her perfume—different from the one he remembered. It was like an extra layer to her he’d never known, and it served to widen the gap that had clearly grown between them over the years.
‘How would I have called you?’ she challenged him. ‘I don’t have your number any more.’
‘I never changed it. You also know where I work. Remember? It’s the house you walked out of with no credible explanation?’
Flecks of amber flickered around her pupils, launching him straight back to those nights when he’d spent for ever just lying in bed next to her, observing the colours in her eyes.
‘Well, maybe I would have tried calling you if I’d known what was coming,’ she said. ‘But for now I suppose I should just try and transfer ships. If you’ll excuse me?’
She continued towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. He followed her. He hadn’t expected that. ‘Cohen, we need to talk about this like adults.’
‘Why?’
Her arms were still folded as she waited for the elevator. She scanned his tall frame as she dug her own nails into her flesh, exhaling a harried sigh.
‘Fraser, seriously, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be running the
Breckenridge Practice in Edinburgh?’
‘Things change.’ He lowered his voice. This wasn’t the place to explain about that.
A voice called out behind him. ‘Watch out, mister!’
‘Sorry, man!’ Fraser had almost caused a deck hand to crash into them. The young lad was carrying a heavy crate of what looked like fruit towards them.
Pulling Sara against the wall with him, to make room, Fraser covered her hand with his against the smooth wooden wall and squeezed it tight.
‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he found himself saying. ‘I like your hair like that.’
He swore he felt her shiver. For a second he saw a glimmer of the old her, the way she’d been before she’d taken it upon herself to end things just six months after they’d started something really good. The last time they’d exchanged any words at all she’d been just twenty-five, and he twenty-six.
‘Let’s go somewhere and clear the air,’ he said, seizing his chance as the elevator doors opened. ‘Sara, you never really let me have my say back then. I understand you were grieving for your mother, but a lot was going on and—’
‘A lot is going on now,’ she said.
Her walls were back up, clearly.
‘Listen, I’m getting my stuff, then I’m going to see if Esme and I can be put on another cruise. This is beyond unprofessional Fraser. What makes you think you can trap me on a ship and tell me you’ve missed me, and expect me to just—’
‘Trap you on a ship?’ He smiled in spite of it all. The door shut behind them. The deckhand pressed the button reading ‘Deck Four’ with his elbow, still holding the crate. ‘I would never trap you anywhere, Sara. I let you go six years ago, didn’t I?’
She chewed on her cheek, looking at the floor. ‘We let each other go, Fraser. The past is the past and it’s where it should stay. I have Esme to think about now.’
‘I never even knew you had a daughter.’
‘She was a surprise for me, too.’
He frowned internally at this new information. ‘I’m so sorry—about the dialysis, I mean.’
‘We don’t need your pity.’
‘That’s not what I...’ He shut his mouth, seeing she was clearly uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as the deck hand, now staring at his crate. What a tragedy for the family, though—as if Sara losing her mother hadn’t been tragic enough.
Sara had been inconsolable after her mother had died. It had been extremely sudden. Cancer, stage three, terminal. After it had happened he’d flown to London to be with her. He’d skipped classes and his duties to stay beside her, then he’d invited her back to Scotland.
His father had been less than impressed.
He’d been under so much pressure back then, to help his parents secure the future of the practice. Remodelling had been needed, and new equipment, more staff. They’d needed money—his money, from the family trust fund.
He’d been juggling extra studies with extra work for his father, in order to qualify faster, when Sara had ended their relationship out of nowhere, citing the need to focus on her own family back in London. When she’d left him it had hit him like an avalanche.
The elevator doors were flung open. The deck hand shuffled off with his crate, without a word.
‘Stop following me,’ Sara huffed as he followed her down the corridor. She swiped her ID, which doubled as a key card, and went to shut the cabin door after herself.
He was ready for it. He wedged a foot in the door to stop it closing. ‘Have you thought about Esme upstairs, all excited about this trip, while you’re down here thinking about leaving? ‘We have a job to do, here, Cohen.’
‘Have I thought about Esme? She is all I think about!’
He regretted his words. ‘I’m sorry. I just... God, woman, just let me in.’
She tutted loudly as she moved from blocking the door, and he squeezed into the cabin after her.
Looking around, he let out a small laugh that he stifled before she got even more annoyed. ‘This is where they put you?’
‘Why? Where did they put you?’ Sara looked confused now, forgetting her anger for a second.
He bit his tongue. It probably wasn’t the best time to tell her that he’d been given a double suite all to himself. He had a leather couch, a balcony, a mini-bar and a TV, complete with a shelf full of DVDs. One of them was Titanic. He couldn’t imagine anyone watching Titanic on a cruise ship...
Sara was gathering up items from the tiny bathroom to put in her suitcase. ‘Wow... OK, Cohen, you’re serious.’
‘Stop calling me that.’
‘I always call you that—it’s your name, isn’t it? Unless you’re married.’ He feigned indifference. Anton had told him she was single—as far as he knew, at least.
‘I’m not married,’ she confirmed quickly. ‘I never was. Esme’s father is long gone.’
He saw her cast a glance to his finger—checking for a ring, perhaps?
‘I’ve been too busy to date much, never mind get married. The practice takes a lot of work,’ he explained.
‘I’m sure it does. It always did.’
Her dig stung.
‘Don’t you think it will look a wee bit strange to our patients if one of their trusted dialysis nurses disembarks before we’ve even gone anywhere?’ he pointed out. ‘You’ve come a long way for this, Sara. You both have.’
Sara ignored him, though she’d started packing more slowly already. She knew she had no intention of leaving—not really. She was just feeling put on the spot, out of her depth.
‘So, how long has Esme been on dialysis?’ He lowered himself onto the single bed and noticed two knitting needles and a ball of red wool sticking out of the case before she pulled a sweater on top of them.
‘Too long. She was eight months old when she got E. coli. It got worse and turned into HUS.’
‘Haemolytic uremic syndrome?’ He was well aware of how such a disease could destroy the kidneys.
‘She’s on the transplant list but there’s never been a match for her. I tell her it’s because she’s special—which she is. She’s so special that none of her family can help her with a new kidney.’
The tone of her voice made him reach a hand to her arm again, briefly. ‘That must be tough, Sara.’
She studied his long fingers. ‘It’s OK. We live with Dad and he helps out at home. We have things under control...most of the time. So where exactly is your cabin, hotshot?’
She clearly wanted to change the subject. ‘Hotshot?’ he said out loud. Sara was pretty hot too, from what he remembered.
They’d met in Edinburgh, where she’d been in training for an advanced nursing degree. At the time he’d been in and out of St Enid’s hospital, in his last year of a three-year residency, and he’d noticed her at first because of her knitting. Sara Cohen had knitted whenever she’d had a spare moment. Baby clothes, she’d told him later, on their first date, for the kids on the children’s ward.
He’d only really taken notice of her that time in the treatment room, when she’d done some tests on him ahead of a marathon he’d been about to run. He recalled it again now—that day the sparks had first flown—and couldn’t help smiling ruefully.
‘My cabin’s up on the second deck,’ he told her, picturing them both in his bed as he said it. He couldn’t help it.
The Tannoy cut in.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be leaving port in approximately fifteen minutes. Please do join us on the top deck for your welcome drink and to wave goodbye to land for a couple of days. We wish you all a safe and happy journey!’
‘I have to go.’ Sara dragged her suitcase off the bed, narrowly missing his foot with it.
Fraser took it from her hands with ease. ‘Give me a break, Cohen. You know you don’t really want to go.’
‘I told you to stop calling me that
.’
She flung the cabin door open and heaved the suitcase from his hands, hauling it out into the corridor. She made it to the elevator again, panting, and pressed the button.
Part of him was impressed. ‘You’re seriously going to get off this ship? In front of everyone up there?’ he asked in the elevator. The mirrors reflected an infinite number of Saras. He didn’t miss her looking at him, though.
‘Yes, Fraser, that is exactly what I’m going to do.’
‘I can’t wait to see this.’ He could tell she thought she’d gone too far with her dramatics to back down now. As stubborn as ever.
Back on deck, he held his hand up to stop a porter rushing to help her. Esme wandered over to them. She was holding a camcorder. He noticed her catheter now, the pink of her cheeks.
‘Well, hello again, you.’ He bent down to her height, held out his hand. ‘We never officially met.’
The kid had Sara’s eyes—almond-shaped pools filled with questions. What kind of father would abandon his kid? He didn’t know the full story, of course, but he couldn’t imagine it was a happy one.
‘Are you having fun?’ he asked her.
‘Kind of. What’s my mum doing?’
Sara was trying her hardest to stop three men from pulling in a walkway that led down to the pier. Someone blew a whistle. People were waving goodbye to others below.
‘Your mum’s just processing some new information. She’ll be fine. I see we have the ship’s film-maker on board already. Have you got any good stuff yet, Miss Spielberg?’
She giggled. ‘Some.’
‘Maybe we can take you behind the scenes sometime? Show you the kitchens and the bridge?’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Yes, please! Can I get some film of you?’
‘Only if you capture my good side. Which side do you think that is?’ He turned his head from side to side, pulling different faces as he did so, and Esme giggled again, her whole face lighting up.
From the corner of his eye he saw Sara watching them. He stood straighter and took Esme’s little hand as the ship juddered. It was too late for her to make her exit.