‘I might need to rethink my position that massage isn’t medicine,’ he told her. ‘I can think of at least a dozen people in the district who could really benefit from this, and there’s many, many more who’ll love it.’

She raised her brows as if she was politely incredulous.

‘Come out with me tonight and talk about it,’ he urged, but her look of polite incredulity didn’t change.

‘I don’t date clients.’

‘Ally-’

‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, and her smile was rigidly formal. It was strained, he thought, and decided that maybe she wasn’t as much in control as she made out to be. But their conversation was over.

‘Good afternoon,’ she told him, in a voice that was as rigidly impersonal as that of a receptionist in any mainstream medical centre.

‘I need to check your foot.’

‘My foot’s fine.’

And before he could respond, she’d retreated, closing the door behind her.

‘Hey, Doc…’

There was a call from next door. He turned to find Harold Pipping waving to him from the door of his own consulting room.

‘Hey, Doc, I gotta appointment at two but I came early,’ the old fisherman told him. ‘I thought… I got an ingrown toenail and I figured if I came early you might have time to cut it off.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

HOW was a girl supposed to go back to work after that?

Thankfully, Ally’s training had been comprehensive and thorough-so thorough that she was able to turn herself onto autopilot without much trouble. Thankfully also, the four massages that had been booked for the afternoon were all for healthy adults. The head of the Rotary Club, Fred, was first in line. Then his wife, Myrtle. Following on was Elaine, the local pharmacist-who closed her pharmacy for an hour to get her massage-and finally Hilda, the head teacher of the local primary school, who came at the end of her day’s teaching.

She was being assessed, Ally decided as she petrissaged Hilda’s leathery skin. These four were a representative sample of the town’s elders, and she knew that if she made them happy it was tantamount to having a certificate saying, ‘Dr Ally is respectable.’

She was incredibly grateful, but as she eased their knots of tension, warmed their muscles and made them relax so deeply that sleep that night was almost assured, her mind kept wandering to Darcy.

To the feel of him. To his smile. To the look of confusion in his eyes as he’d asked her out and she’d refused.

He’d looked confused.

Did he realise what he did to her? she wondered. And decided he couldn’t. He mustn’t. She was here with a goal, and that goal certainly didn’t involve the local doctor. To give up all she’d given up, and then calmly walk into a relationship with a doctor who practised medicine in this town-who lived in her grandfather’s house… No.

Should she have even come back here? Who knew? But as she bade an effusive Hilda goodbye, having first booked her another appointment for the same time next week, she knew the reception she was getting was mostly because of her background. People were eager to help, and they’d be eager to help her mother as well.

She bit her lip. How long?

Maybe not so long. She counted her takings and thought maybe it wouldn’t be very long at all before she could rent somewhere decent and hire someone during the day for the times when her mother couldn’t be alone.

She walked upstairs, conscious of the fact that she was bone weary. Five long massages in an afternoon was probably one too many, but the thought of how much she’d earned more than made up for aching muscles.

At least she had food. The revellers of the morning had left plates of leftovers. Betty had offered to throw them out and Ally had said-with dignity-that she’d dispose of them herself.

Which was just what she was doing, she thought, collapsing into her window chair and wrapping herself around a cold sausage roll. It wasn’t great but it was food and it was free.

The phone rang.

‘Go away,’ she told it, but it kept ringing. Maybe it was someone wanting an appointment so she heaved herself out of her chair-with a groan-and answered.

‘Ally.’

‘Darcy.’ She was straight into defence mode and he heard it.

‘There’s no need to put up the armour.’

‘Isn’t there?’

‘No. I saw your light go out downstairs.’

‘It happens,’ she said cautiously. ‘At the end of the day I turn my light off. I bet you do, too.’

‘So, have you rethought dinner?’

She eyed the receiver. She eyed her sausage roll-and took another bite. Three fast chews and it was down.

‘I’ve eaten,’ she told him.

‘You’ve eaten dinner?’

‘Yep.’

‘Your light only went out three minutes ago.’

‘I’m a fast eater. Good night, Darcy.’

‘This is crazy. There’s a great little place around the headland-part of the Nautilus Resort. They have a five-star menu.’

She eyed another congealed sausage roll. ‘I’m eating five-star food right now.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope. I’m eating premium beef in a crisp wrap of melt-in-the-mouth pastry.’ She looked at the ketchup container in the middle of the plate where sausage rolls had been dunked this morning. The sauce had bits of broken sausage roll floating in its murky depths.

She lifted another roll and dunked.

‘With gourmet sauce on the side,’ she told him. ‘It’s magnificent.’

‘You cooked that in three minutes?’

‘Not only am I the world’s best masseuse,’ she said modestly, ‘but I cook a mean five-star dinner.’

‘Want to share?’

‘Cook your own.’

‘I shared mine last night.’

Enough. This was getting way too familiar for comfort. And way too…enticing?

‘Leave it, Darcy,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want to take this relationship any further than the professional.’

‘Professional colleagues share meals.’

‘Not these two,’ she told him, and put down the phone before he could say another word. She crossed back to the window and looked out-just to see if the lights were on in the surgery next door. They weren’t. But Darcy was leaning against his car. He had his cell phone in his hand and he was looking up at her window.

When he saw her he smiled.

She hauled down the blind like he was as assassin. Drat the man, what was he doing?

He was unequalising her equilibrium, she told herself crossly. She had her future mapped and it was going to work. It had to work. Without Darcy.

‘Have another gourmet beef roll in crispy pastry with fine jus on the side,’ she told herself crossly. She dunked her cold sausage roll in ketchup again, slid down onto her bed and decided she’d sulk for the rest of the night. There was nothing else to do.


Sulking was all very well, but it wasn’t exactly time-consuming.

For the last few nights-ever since she’d arrived in town-Ally had worked feverishly to get her rooms in order. Now her rooms were in order.

What was left to do?

She should have gone to the library and found herself a book, she thought. Where was television when you needed it?

She had three massage manuals and nothing else.

Massage manuals palled after a while.

Darcy must be long gone. She risked another glance out the window. His car was no longer there. His surgery was in darkness.

Good. Great.

It was eight at night. She could just…

What? Go to the pub?

She could go down to the refuge, she thought suddenly. She hadn’t seen any of the commune people all day. They’d be totally disorientated. For years they’d have been doing exactly what Jerry ordered, and now the future was theirs to do with as they wished. The concept would be terrifying.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see whether any of them would like a gentle shoulder and neck massage before they slept. Maybe she could even talk to them about Jerry.

It wasn’t her business, she told herself, but, then, it was she who’d pulled the rug from under them. She’d been the catalyst in Jerry’s arrest.

Jerry was still in town. She’d spoken briefly to the police sergeant that morning. With outstanding warrants in three Australian states, plus one outstanding warrant in the U.S., there was some discussion as to where to take him. It had been decided he was to stay in Tambrine Creek until it was sorted.

For the people in the refuge, the fact that Jerry was still so near would be even more disorientating, she thought, remembering the chaos when she’d been twelve and the arrests had started for the first time.

She remembered her mother’s reaction. Her tearing, aching sense of loyalty to someone who deserved none of it. Her distress that had spiralled downward.

Ouch. Don’t go there, she told herself. Think of something else.

Do something.

She could just walk down to the refuge, she told herself. It wouldn’t hurt. Five minutes. Just poke your nose in and make sure everything’s OK, then get yourself back to minding your own business.


She’d expected the marine refuge to be peaceful. There’d been welfare officers and reporters with them all day, she knew. They’d be exhausted. They might even be in bed.

She entered-and was met by turmoil.

There was a little girl retching on the kitchenette floor. Marigold? She’d been discharged from hospital only hours ago, she thought, stunned. Darcy had released Marigold and David into their mothers’ care.

A little boy was writhing and moaning on the couch by the window. Penny was bending over him. From the bedroom came the high, thin wail of another child in distress.

What on earth was happening?

Triage. Marigold was sobbing and retching and crumpling to the floor and she was four years old. That was where Ally went first.

She lifted the child to the sink, though by the look of the floor it was hardly worth it. Marigold retched until she could retch no more, then slumped backward into her arms.