‘But…it didn’t work?’

‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Of course it didn’t. It was a child’s dream. It was my grandfather’s horrid legacy and it backfired.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘Mum came to live with me,’ she said drearily, as if it was old history that had long lost interest through retelling. ‘Yeah, I was a hot-shot medical intern. I worked hard and I earned more than enough to keep us both and it was all supposed to be good. But I couldn’t get close to her. She’d look at me like she was seeing something else. She sat in my gorgeous apartment, day after day, and she did nothing. She just sat. Like she was already dead. And then…’

She faltered, but somehow she forced herself to go on.

‘I passed my obstetric exam,’ she told him. ‘By that time I was starting to treat her as part of the furniture. I was hardly trying to reach her any more. Anyway, the night of my exam results, I came home jubilant, bringing champagne and lobster and chocolates. The guy I was dating came with me. He was a neurosurgeon and I was an obstetrician. Two fantastic success stories. Still Mum just sat there. Just…looking. And that night…’ Her voice hushed almost to a whisper. ‘That night she attempted suicide.’

‘Ally…’ He made a move toward her but she flinched. As if she was afraid. He stilled. He mustn’t push. He mustn’t. This was far too important.

‘She left a note.’ Ally swallowed and stared down at her hands. ‘She said that I had a life now, just like Grandpa’s, and she was proud of me. But my life had nothing to do with her. Nothing had anything to do with her. I was a success and I didn’t need her. I’d never needed her. She’d stuffed everything.’

‘Hell, Ally.’

‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she whispered. ‘All the reasons I’d done medicine… Suddenly they didn’t mean anything. She took an overdose of aspirin-hardly an inspired choice for a suicide. She went into kidney failure and for a week I thought I’d lost her. My boyfriend told me if she lived then I should walk away. Get her committed back to that awful place she’d been in. It would have been so easy. But I sat through that awful week and I thought of all the people who’d walked away from her in the past. And I couldn’t.’

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ he said gently, and she flashed a suspicious look at him as if she thought he was humouring a child. But she continued, her voice full of remembered pain.

‘Anyway… One of the nurses in the birth unit I was working in was a trained massage therapist,’ she told him. ‘I used to watch her rubbing the babies and massaging the mothers who were traumatised by the births and couldn’t sleep. Liselle did her massages in her own time, but she loved doing them and so did the mothers and babies. When I’d been sitting in Intensive Care for three days, waiting to see if Mum would live, Liselle came to see me. I was exhausted past reason. So she just sat there, and she rubbed my hands and my shoulders and I felt myself relax. It gave me a tiny time out, but I so needed it. It was like a window out of a nightmare. And then I went in and I gently massaged Mum’s face and neck-and she opened her eyes and she smiled at me. It was the best moment.’

‘But…’ He was trying to understand. ‘Your medicine…’

‘My medicine wasn’t as important as my mother,’ she told him. ‘I took myself out and bought a massage book and I sat with her and I tried to reach her through touch. All the pills she was taking were useless. Touch reached her when nothing else would.’

‘Medicine-’

‘Oh, medicine works,’ she told him, with a flash of something that might almost be humour. ‘I’m not saying you’re not needed, Dr Rochester. There’s not a lot of call for massage when you’re treating squashed fingers or obstructed labour. But for me, for now, massage works. Over the last couple of years I’ve sold everything I could to keep us afloat, and I’ve been back to college, learning massage as a professional.’ She smiled then, a faint half-smile that was suddenly almost embarrassed.

‘This time it was different,’ she told him. ‘It was something I could talk to my mother about. I came home every night and we discussed what was happening. I practised on her. Do you know how good that felt? It was wonderful. And the miracle is that she started learning, too. Just a little. Slowly. I practised on her and she practised on me. And by the time I qualified as a full remedial therapist, she had a certificate as well. She’s a relaxation masseuse. Qualified. It may not seem very much to you, but I can’t tell you…’ Her voice broke. ‘I can’t tell you…’

She didn’t have to tell him anything. He gazed at her face, and he saw a mixed-up combination of happiness and uncertainty and hope. Hope for a future she was working desperately hard to embrace.

No. She didn’t need to tell him anything, he thought. He already knew.

He was falling in love.

Wrong.

He’d fallen in love.

When had it happened? He didn’t know. He only knew that it had.

After Rachel had died, he’d thought it could never happen again-and maybe it hadn’t. Because what he was feeling for Ally was a far, far different thing than the emotions he’d felt for Rachel.

Different but the same?

Two wonderful women. Two wonderful loves.

One who’d died six long years ago, and one who was gloriously, wonderfully alive.

And this was Ally. Ally, who’d pitted herself against the world and who was still fighting. Who stood there looking bereft and defiant and filthy and workworn and exhausted-and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The most beautiful woman in the world.

Ally.

What he really wanted to do was to walk forward and take her into his arms. Right now. The sensation was almost overpowering and he had to physically haul himself back. She wasn’t ready. He knew she wasn’t ready.

‘How’s your mother now?’ he asked, carefully, as if he might break something infinitely precious.

‘She’s with friends. But she’s happy. She’s cut right back on her medication. She smiles. She’s cooking a little. She’s seeing massage clients.’

‘My friend told me that she’s changed unbelievably.’

‘Your friend?’

‘Harry Rubenstein at Lawry Hospital.’

Her eyes lit. ‘You talked to Harry?’

‘Harry’s a friend from way back. I tracked your mum through the institution records and they said she’d been discharged into Harry’s care.’

‘Harry’s been wonderful,’ she told him. ‘It was Harry who suggested we might come back here. My mother was happy here once, and Harry thought it might help her even more.’

‘Did Harry advise you to give up medicine?’ he asked incredulously, and she shook her head.

‘Of course he didn’t. But I figured it out for myself. Like someone slapping you over the face with a wet fish-finally you get the obvious. Sure, make my mother better by recreating my grandfather. By flaunting what she could have been in her face. I don’t think so.’

‘You’re never your grandfather.’

‘I tried to be.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, that’s my story. It’s why I’m here. My mother’s being cared for by friends for the first few weeks while I get myself settled.’

‘Until you can offer your mother stability again.’

‘Harry told you that?’ Her anger flashed out. ‘He takes a lot on himself.’

‘He’s no longer your mother’s treating psychiatrist,’ Darcy said gently. ‘But he cares about you both. Deeply. And I don’t blame him.’ He hesitated. ‘Can we go somewhere to talk?’

‘No.’ She swallowed and he saw another flash of fear behind her eyes. What was she afraid of? Him? The thought was almost unbearable. ‘These people need you to stay here,’ she told him.

‘I-’

‘If you have something to say, say it now. Here.’

‘I told you. I’ve found you somewhere to live. I’ve found everyone a place to live.’

Silence. The tap was dripping behind her-a steady plink, plink. It was starting to worry him.

Or maybe…it wasn’t the tap that was worrying him. He didn’t know how the hell to start. He didn’t understand her fear.

He had to say what she needed to know.

‘You knew that Jerry’s father owned much of the land around here?’ he said at last.

She nodded. Still distrustful.

‘I’ve been asking questions of the locals this afternoon,’ he told her. ‘It seems the old man still owns property.’

‘The land on the ridge.’

‘More. There’s a farm on the promontory before you get to the lighthouse. There’s a manager on it and it’s where the Hatfields used to stay when they came to town. It’s run as a dairy farm-it could be really productive, but the word is that it was being kept for Jerry in case he ever wanted a respectable living.’

‘Why didn’t Jerry take his people there?’ Ally asked, puzzled. ‘Instead of up to the ridge.’

‘Jerry’s been hiding. He was even hiding from his father. The old man’s so angry I suspect if he’d known what Jerry was doing he would have turned his son in to the police himself.’

‘How do you know this?’ She was holding herself rigid, Darcy thought. She still looked as if she was about to run.

‘I talked to him,’ Darcy told her. ‘I went out and spoke to the manager who’s about a hundred, and he phoned old man Hatfield who’s about a hundred and ten.’

‘But…why?’

‘I want that farm for these people,’ Darcy told her, and she gasped.

‘You’re kidding.’ And then, as she thought about it: ‘He’d never agree. All old man Hatfield cares about is profit.’

‘He cares about his name. According to the police, he helped Jerry escape overseas and he’s helped him relocate at other times. Now…’

‘Now what?’

‘Now he’s deeply ashamed. The farm’s neglected. The rates haven’t been paid. My suggestion-with the backing of the local councillors-is that the farm be signed over to the joint ownership of the people of Jerry’s community, on the understanding that they don’t press any charges against him.’