‘Yum.’

‘You really do enjoy your food.’ He gazed at her in fascination.

‘Hush,’ she said reverentially. ‘I’m eating.’

He did hush, but she was aware that he was watching her as she ate, and there were still questions in his eyes.

Hadn’t she told him enough? For heaven’s sake…

If he asked her more she just might tell him, she thought ruefully. Sitting here in this room, with the hiss of the old kettle on the wood stove in the background as it had been in the background all her childhood. It undermined her defences and left her feeling as if there was nowhere to go.

In desperation she gazed around the room, searching for the personal. Something that would tell her something about this man and take the attention from her. Deflect it to him.

There was a photograph on the mantelpiece. It was of a young woman with deep chestnut curls, a wide smiling face, laughing grey eyes. Lovely.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked, and he turned to look as if he wasn’t sure who might have been photographed and sitting on his mantelpiece. Then he turned back to his steak.

‘That’s my wife.’

She thought about it. She ate a bit more steak.

‘That’s your wife,’ she repeated at last. ‘You mean…as in present tense?’

‘She’s dead. She died six years ago.’

Ally flinched. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

Some people would stop there, Ally thought ruefully, but when had she ever stopped when going on could get her into trouble? It was her life skill.

‘How did she die?’

‘Leukaemia.’

‘Bummer.’

‘As you say.’

‘Was that why you came here?’ she asked. ‘To get away from an old life?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Was she a doctor, too?’

‘She was, as a matter of fact,’ he said, and he glanced back at the photograph again as if reminding himself of who she was. ‘We were married in med school.’

‘And when she died you bolted here.’

‘I wouldn’t have put it like that.’

‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But it’s a good place to bolt to.’

‘If you like hard work.’

‘And you do?’

‘I like the medicine I’m doing,’ he told her. ‘But…’

‘But?’

‘I hate it when I’m in trouble,’ he admitted. ‘I had a woman with a disastrous birth last month. I can’t do obstetrics-with no back-up I send all my mums to the city a couple of weeks before the birth. But Cindy had no intention of going and I couldn’t make her. She went into labour and didn’t call me. By the time she did, she’d been in labour for almost thirty hours and the baby was in dire trouble. I did a forceps delivery but the baby was born flat. An Apgar score of two. Hell, I needed a paediatrician and an anaesthetist and a specialist nursery-and I had nothing. I got the flying squad in-a team of specialists who retrieve babies in trouble in country areas-but it was far too late. She lost the baby.’

There was such anger in his voice. Fury.

‘If you hadn’t been here…’ she said softly.

‘Yeah, I know. If I hadn’t been here then Cindy would have died as well as the baby. But it made me feel foul.’

‘Hey.’ She reached across the table and put her hand over his. It was an involuntary gesture and why she’d made it she didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d had to. ‘You can’t save the world.’

‘No.’ He looked up and managed a smile. ‘I know I can’t. But I can try.’

‘Maybe you could try a massage some time,’ she said, half-smiling, and then as she thought about what she’d said, she thought, Was she nuts? ‘Not with me, of course,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But next time you go to the city. It’s great for stress.’

She knew he wouldn’t. What a stupid thing to say. It sounded like she was drumming up business.

‘That was stupid,’ she whispered. ‘A dopey thing to say. I’m sorry.’ Finally she withdrew her hand and watched as he stared down at where her fingers had been. It was like he was confused.

But before he could respond, the phone on his belt interrupted. Darcy gave her an apologetic nod, then left the table to answer it.

Her foot was starting to throb.

She was bone weary, she thought suddenly. Reaction from the events of the day was setting in with a vengeance.

The dogs were snoozing by the stove and she almost envied them. She did envy them. Move over, guys, she thought as Darcy spoke urgently into his phone behind her. I’m with you.

Darcy’s voice stopped abruptly. She turned and he was reaching for his bag.

She’d lived for years with her grandpa. She knew trouble when she saw it. His car keys were lying on the sink, and she flipped them to him before he started looking for them.

‘Thanks.’ He was already moving. ‘Sorry. I-’

‘You need to go,’ she told him. ‘Just go.’

‘The guy who was arrested with Jerry,’ he snapped as he hauled open the back door. ‘He’s tried to suicide in his police cell. They’re cutting him down now.’


There was nothing to do.

She tried to let her mind go blank. It didn’t work.

More destruction. She’d had Jerry arrested and someone had decided to suicide because of it.

No. He’d have been suicidal anyway, she told herself, turning on taps so violently the water splashed up and onto the floor.

The memories were overwhelming. Her father…

By the time Jerry had been arrested when she’d been twelve, her father had had no self-esteem at all. He’d drifted away, a ghost with no hope of regaining any shred of life. He’d died soon after and she’d hated the thought that she’d caused it.

‘This isn’t your fault,’ she whispered into the washing-up water. ‘He brought it on all of them and you’ve done your best to set them free. If it’s too late…’

She was crying, she realised, tears dripping into the suds and she gave her cheeks an angry swipe. Jekyll came over and sniffed her ankles and she gave up on the washing-up and sat down to hug him.

‘I’m definitely getting a dog.’

The phone rang.

It’d be the ambulance boys, seeing if Darcy was on his way, Ally thought, or the policeman panicking and saying hurry up. Either way there was nothing to be gained by answering it. Darcy should be there by now.

The ringing stopped. Another ringing took its place.

It was a different tone.

She struggled to her feet and checked the phone. It was the fixed line that was ringing now, the instrument on the wall by the door. The first ring must have been to Darcy’s cell phone-which was lying on the kitchen table.

He’d dropped his cell phone as he’d run.

No matter. He was on his way.

But…

He should be there by now, she thought. His car had screamed out of the driveway and it was only five or six blocks to the police station. He’d be there, trying desperately to resuscitate the suicide.

So who was ringing?

She lifted the phone like it was a loaded gun, and a woman’s hysterical voice sounded down the line. ‘Dr Rochester, thank God. Marilyn Lewis has arrested. Intensive Care. Now!’

The phone went dead.

This wasn’t a good moment.

Ally let the receiver drop.

Marilyn Lewis.

She remembered Marilyn. Once upon a time Marilyn had run the general store, and there had always been a lolly for Ally.

Ally’s childhood friend, Sue, was Marilyn’s daughter. Ally had lost touch with the family, but she remembered them with deep affection. Marilyn making scones after school. Marilyn hugging her when her grandpa had been particularly cold. Marilyn tucking her into bed with Sue when Grandpa had been called out at night.

After all these years, to meet again like this.

There was no choice. After all her agonising there was no choice at all.

Ally dropped the dishcloth and, sore foot or not, she started to run.


What met her was chaos.

There were two nurses on duty, and clearly both of them were panicking. One, a middle-aged woman, was standing by a bed with a stethoscope-a great help that was-and a younger male was trying to hook up a cardiac monitor. His fingers seemed nerveless, and he looked up as she entered with something akin to desperation.

‘Dr R…’ His voice trailed off. ‘You’re not…’

Of course she wasn’t Dr Rochester. But she was already in the room, edging aside the nurse with the stethoscope and doing a fast visual assessment. Marilyn looked ashen, and there was no movement. Her eyes were wide and she was staring straight upward, seeing nothing.

‘How long?’ she snapped, and the male nurse fought to answer.

‘Four…five minutes. Leonie was watching her but she went to the bathroom. I was on supper break. I just stepped out.’

‘History of heart condition?’

‘Yes. Two…two minor heart attacks and angina. Heart pain tonight.’

Why the hell wasn’t the monitor attached, then? ‘Get that monitor working-fast.’ She glanced around the room. It was tiny-Tambrine Creek’s answer to Intensive Care was a far cry from a big city hospital’s set-up-but there was everything she needed.

But first…

‘Marilyn,’ she said strongly, taking the older woman’s shoulders and giving her an urgent shake. ‘Marilyn, can you hear me?’ It was a remote hope that this was a temporary loss of consciousness that she could snap out of, but patients had woken before, and Marilyn wouldn’t thank her for broken ribs if this wasn’t a cardiac arrest.

There was no response.

Airway.

She rolled Marilyn onto her side, not waiting for one of the nurses to help her. The older nurse was actually wringing her hands. Of all the useless actions. But she didn’t have time to complain.

What she was doing now was almost intuitive, drilled into her over and over again. ABC. Airways. Breathing. Circulation.

Her mouth was clear. Her tongue wasn’t blocking her throat. Airway fine.

Breathing.

She put her hand on Marilyn’s breast. Her chest wasn’t moving.