Marion Lennox - The Doctor & the Runaway Heiress

‘Standing here’s good.’

‘It’s a great spot to be,’ he said softly. ‘And the surf’s waiting.’

Then, before she guessed what he intended, he lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with his forefinger. It was a feather touch. It was a touch of caring, or maybe a salute of farewell-and why it had the power to send a shudder through the length of her body she had no idea.

She stepped back, startled, and his smile grew rueful.

‘Pippa, I’m not a shark,’ he said. ‘I’m just me, the guy at the end of the rope. Just me saying goodbye, good luck, God speed.’

And with that he raised his hand in a gesture that seemed almost mocking-and turned and headed back to his surf, back to a life she had no part in.

If he’d stayed on the beach one moment longer he would have kissed her.

He’d wanted, quite desperately, to kiss her. She’d looked lost.

No matter how strong she’d been-walking away from the appalling Roger, managing not to drown, helping with Amy, all of those things required strength-he still had the impression she was flailing.

She was nothing to do with him. She was a woman he’d pulled out of the water.

Like Marguerite?

He’d met Marguerite on a beach in the South of France. Of course. She had been there as it seemed she was always there, working on her tan. Wealthy, English, idle.

On a scholarship at university in London, he’d been on summer break, the first he’d ever had where he hadn’t needed to work to pay for next term’s living. His roommate had known someone who wouldn’t mind putting them up. The South of France had sounded fantastic to a kid who’d once lived rough on the streets of Sydney.

He’d bumped into Marguerite on the second day in the water, literally bumped when she’d deliberately swum into his surfboard. She’d faked being hurt, and giggled when he’d carried her from the water. She’d watched him surf, admired, flirted, asked him where he came from, asked her to teach her to surf-and suddenly things had seemed serious. On her side as well as his.

The first time he met her parents he knew he was hopelessly out of his class, but he didn’t care. For Marguerite didn’t care either, openly scorning her parents’ disapproval. For five weeks she lay in his arms, she held him and she told him he was her idea of heaven. For a boy who’d never been held the sensation was insidious in its sweetness. She melted against him, and the rest of the world disappeared.

Then reality. The end of summer. He returned to university and the relationship was over. For weeks he phoned her every day, but a maid always took his calls. Marguerite was ‘unavailable’.

Finally her mother answered, annoyed his calls were interfering with her maid’s work.

‘You were my daughter’s summer plaything,’ she drawled. ‘A surfer. Australian. Amusing. She has other things to focus on now.’

He thought she was lying, but when he insisted she finally put Marguerite on. Her mother was right. It was over.

‘Oh, Riley, leave it. How boring. You were fun for summer, nothing more. You helped me drive Mummy and Daddy crazy, and it’s worked. They still want to send me to finishing school. Can you imagine?’ She chuckled then, but there was no warmth in her laughter. There was even a touch of cruelty. ‘I do believe they’re about to be even more annoyed with me, but they won’t know until it’s too late, and I’ll enjoy that very much. So thank you and goodbye. But don’t ring again, there’s a lamb. It’s over.’

She’d become pregnant to rebel? To prove some crazy point over her parents?

And Pippa?

Pippa was rebelling against her family as well-like Marguerite?

Don’t judge a woman by Marguerite.

No, he told himself harshly. Don’t judge at all and don’t get close. He’d seen enough of his attempts at family, his attempts at love, to know it wasn’t for him.

So why did he want to kiss Pippa?

He didn’t. A man’d be a fool.

A man needed to surf instead, or find someone else to rescue.

Someone who wasn’t Pippa.

She wandered back to the hotel, lay on the sun lounger on the balcony, and gazed out to sea.

Thinking.

‘I get the feeling you’ve been drifting. Maybe you could use this time to figure what you want. What’s good for you.’

And…

‘We’re permanently short-staffed.’

The idea of staying had taken seed and was growing.

To be part of a hospital community doing such good…

‘It’s romantic nonsense,’ she told herself. ‘Yes, you should go back to nursing but you know your old hospital will give you your job back.’

But to live here…

She could make herself a permanent home. A home without the ties, the guilt, the associations of a family who disapproved of her, who’d never cease expecting her to be something she wasn’t.

She could buy a house. Something small overlooking the sea.

Home. It was a concept so amazing she couldn’t believe it had taken her until now to think of it. Maybe she’d never been in a place where the call had been this great until now. Like a siren song. Home.

She could put up wallpaper. Plant tomatoes. Do… whatever people did with homes.

Do it, she told herself. Now, before you change your mind.

And then she forced herself to repeat the question that had been hovering… well, maybe from the time she’d been hauled out of the sea.

Am I doing it because of Riley?

Don’t be ridiculous. Her sensible self was ready with all the justification in the world. You’re doing it because of you. It’s time you settled, got yourself somewhere permanent. And Riley’s hardly in the hospital.

He is sometimes.

There was a reason doctor/patient relationships were banned, she thought. Was she suffering a bad case of hero worship?

How could she be friends with Riley? The relationship would be skewed from the start.

‘So what?’ she muttered. ‘I can avoid him. Is hero worship enough to stop me applying for a job, making a home in the best place in the world?’

Yes. Sleep a bit more. Think about it.

I can’t drift, she told herself.

Give yourself another day.

Yes, but that’s all, she decided. One more day of drifting and then…

Then move forward.

Toward Riley?

No, she told herself harshly. Toward a home. Nothing more.

RILEY enjoyed Thursdays. He liked the flights to the Outback settlements. Today he was scheduled for a clinic at Dry Gum Creek and Dry Gum was one of his favourites. It was Amy’s home. It was also the home of Sister Joyce, possibly the fiercest senior nurse in the state. He loved her to bits. He pushed open the door to the Flight-Aid office feeling good, and found Harry sitting at his desk, with news.

‘No Cordelia,’ he said morosely. ‘Her head cold’s worse and her German shepherd’s in labour.’

They stared at each other, knowing each was thinking the same thing. Cordelia was a first-rate flight nurse but she was in her sixties, her health wasn’t great and her dogs were growing more important than her work.

‘We can go without her,’ Harry ventured. Working without a third crew member was fine unless there needed to be an evacuation. There wasn’t an evacuation due today-they were simply taking Amy home and doing a routine clinic.

But there was always a chance that a routine clinic would turn into an evacuation. Crews of two were dicey.

They had no choice.

‘There’s a note for you to go see Coral.’ Harry said, shoving himself off the desk. ‘Take-off in ten minutes?’

‘I’ll check what Coral wants first,’ Riley said. Their nurse-administrator was good. She usually let them be-that she’d contacted them today meant trouble.

More trouble than a missing crew member?

‘Are you sure?’ Coral was short and almost as wide as she was tall. She was sitting on the far side of her desk, looking at Pippa’s CV like it was gold. ‘You really want to work here?’

‘I’m not sure if I can get a work visa.’

‘I’ll have you a work visa in the time it takes my secretary to make you a coffee. You’re a midwife?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘But don’t say anything,’ Coral begged. ‘I’m reading this thinking I’m shutting up about two of your post-grad skills. I could have me a war if this gets out. The surgeons will want you. Intensive Care will want you. I want you. When would you like to start?’

‘I need to find somewhere to live. I’d like to find a house but it might take time.’

‘We have a house for med staff. Four bedrooms and a view to die for. You can move in this morning.’

‘My hotel’s paid until Sunday.’

Coral nodded, reflective. ‘You are still getting over your ordeal,’ she conceded. ‘Riley’ll say you should rest.’

‘I’m rested.’

‘Your chest okay?’

‘I’ve been given the all-clear.’

‘Hmm.’ The middle-aged administrator gazed speculatively at Pippa. ‘How about we break you in gently with a training day-give you an overview of what services we offer outside the hospital?’

‘I’d love that.’ She surely would. Her lone honeymoon wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

‘Well,’ Coral said, glancing with approval at Pippa’s jeans and T-shirt, ‘you’re even dressed for it.’

‘I’m not,’ Pippa said, alarmed. ‘I came with resort wear. I bought these jeans yesterday. I’ll need to buy serviceable clothes if I’m to nurse here.’

‘For where you’re going, jeans are great,’ Coral said, beaming. ‘Just wait until I tell Riley.’

Coral’s door was open. She was drinking coffee with someone. That someone had her back to the door but she turned as she heard him approach.

Pippa.

What was there in that to take a man’s breath away? Nothing at all. She’d probably come here to thank them. Something formal.