Читать книгу: «Australia: Handsome Heroes: His Secret Love-Child», страница 3

‘I’ll stay here and monitor the baby,’ Cal told them, still without turning around.

‘Of course,’ Mike said politely. ‘How did I know you were going to say that?’

‘The baby needs monitoring.’

‘Of course he does, Dr Jamieson,’ Mike agreed. He compressed his lips in disapproval and then he turned to Gina. ‘OK. There’s obviously just me being a gentleman, but I’m all yours. Take me or leave me.’

Charles entered the nursery silently, wheeling his chair across the smooth linoleum until he came to rest against the incubator under the overhead lights. Cal was gazing down at the baby and, seeing the look of his face, Charles thought, Uh-oh.

‘Will we lose him?’

Cal turned and stared, almost unseeingly, down at his friend.

‘I don’t know. He has a chance.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Gina’s here.’

‘I heard.’ Charles hesitated. He’d met Gina before, just the once. He’d been astounded by the change the relationship had wrought on his reserved friend, and when it had gone pear-shaped he’d felt ill. Now Mike had given him a quick update on what was happening, and he was even more concerned. He’d suspected Cal’s past would catch up with him sooner or later but, damn, he didn’t want him to be presented with it now.

From a selfish point of view they were too many doctors down already. He couldn’t afford to have another of his staff in emotional crisis.

‘Are you coping?’ he asked, and Cal shrugged.

‘I’m coping. You’ve seen the kid?’

‘I’ve seen the little boy, yes.’

‘Dammit, Charles, he looks like me.’

‘Could you be his father?’

It was a direct question and it jolted Cal. He stared at the question from all sides and there was only one answer.

‘Yeah,’ he said heavily. ‘I could.’

‘And that makes you feel—how?’

‘How do you suppose it makes me feel?’ Cal turned and faced his friend square on. ‘If it’s true…She got pregnant and left? Went back to the States to her husband?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Hell, Charles, I don’t want to think about it. I can’t think. I don’t have time. We need to get this baby viable. He needs urgent surgery and we’re stuck with Gina to do it. No one else has the skills.’

He stared down into the crib and his mouth twisted. ‘We’ll do the best for him, poor little scrap. He’s been abandoned, too. People…they play games. They have kids for all sorts of reasons. Who knows what the reason is behind this little one and who knows what the reason is behind the child who’s out in Mrs Grubb’s kitchen, waiting for his mother to take him home? I can’t face any of it. Just…Let’s stick to medicine. It’s all I know. It’s all I want to know.’

There was a moment’s silence. Move on, Cal willed Charles, and finally he seemed to decide that was all there was to do.

‘Emily will do the anaesthetic,’ Charles said mildly, his voice carefully neutral, not giving away any of the anxiety that someone who knew him well could detect behind his eyes. ‘She’s contacting a paediatric colleague in the city who’ll stay on the phone throughout. Do you want to assist, or will I find someone else?’

‘Who?’ He was the only surgeon, and both of them knew it. But he shrugged. ‘It’s OK. I want to assist.’

‘So you can bear to be in the same room as her?’

‘I thought I loved her,’ Cal said heavily. ‘Once. I was a fool—but sure I can stay in the same room as her. I need to be able to. If that’s really my son…’ His voice trailed off.

‘Well, let’s get on with it,’ Charles said, and there was still heavy anxiety behind his eyes. ‘We need to save this life. For now, Cal, that’s all we can think about.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE was good.

There was no doubting Dr Gina Lopez’s skill. Cal could only watch and wonder.

Not that there was much time for wondering. To operate on a child so young, to insert catheters into such a tiny heart, putting pressure on the faulty valve—that was something that in an adult heart would be tricky but in this pint-sized scrap of humanity seemed impossible.

Emily, the anaesthetist, was at the limits of her capability as well. This procedure should be done by an anaesthetist specialising in paediatrics, but Emily was all they had. She was sweating as she worked, as she monitored the tiny heartbeat, treading the fine line of not enough anaesthetic, or too much and straining this little body past more than it could bear.

Jill, the director of nursing and their most skilled Theatre nurse, was assisting Emily. She was sweating as well.

It was Cal who assisted Gina.

He watched her fingers every step of the way, trying to figure what she was doing, trying to anticipate so there was no delay between her need for a piece of equipment and the time she had it. He was organising, swabbing, waiting for the pauses in her finger movements to reach forward and clear the way for her. Holding things steady. Watching the monitor when she couldn’t, guiding her with his voice, and holding catheters steady when she had to focus on the monitor herself.

Grace, their second nurse, was behind him, and she was anticipating as hard as he was.

There was so much need here. Something about this tiny wrinkled newborn had touched them all.

They needed him to live.

They willed him to live.

All that stood between him and death was Gina.

They were lucky that she was here, Cal thought grimly as he helped her painstakingly introduce her catheters from the groin, monitoring herself every inch of the way. No matter why she’d returned after all these years—she’d been in the right place at the right time and this baby could live because of it.

Maybe.

‘He’s bleeding too much,’ she muttered into the stillness, motioning with her eyes to the catheter entry site. ‘There has to be an underlying problem.’

‘Haemophilia?’ Cal asked, and she shook her head.

‘I don’t think so. It’d be worse. But it’s not right. The cord bled too much and we’re having trouble here. I want tests. A clotting profile, please, including full blood examination, bleeding time and factor eight levels. Fast.’

‘What are we looking for?’

‘I don’t have time to think. You think. Something.’

He went back to sorting tubing, his mind moving into overdrive. Sifting the facts. She was right. The bleeding was far more severe than it should be. They were fighting to maintain blood pressure.

Why?

‘Von Willebrand’s?’ he said cautiously.

Was he right? Von Willebrand’s was a blood disorder that impeded clotting. Like haemophilia, it was genetically linked, passing from parents down to children. It usually wasn’t as life-threatening as haemophilia but it did have to be treated. He watched as Gina frowned even more behind her mask. Her fingers were carefully manoeuvring, she was fully absorbed in what she was doing, but he could see her mind start to sort through the repercussions of his tentative diagnosis.

‘You could be right,’ she said at last. ‘It fits.’

‘I’ll run tests straight away,’ he said. ‘There’s not a lot more we can do about it now, though. And at least it takes away the risks of clotting.’

‘Mmm.’

Silence. The tension was well nigh unbearable. She was measuring the pressures in the right ventricle and the pulmonary artery by placing the catheter tip in each area. It was a tricky procedure in an adult, but in a newborn…

‘My face,’ Gina muttered, and Jill saw her need and stepped forward to wipe sweat beads from above her eyes.

She was good, Cal thought grimly. Good enough?

The work went on. The child’s tiny heart kept beating. Emily was fighting with everything she had. She had a paediatric anaesthetist on the line from the city, and she was working with a headset. Her soft voice asking questions was the only sound as they worked.

Cal had seen this done in adults, but he’d never seen the procedure in one so tiny. As a general surgeon he would never think of doing such a procedure himself. He couldn’t, he acknowledged. Somewhere along the line Gina had acquired skills that could only make him wonder.

Gina was working out diameters now, her eyes moving from fingers to monitor, fingers to monitor, and he could almost see her brain doing the complex calculations as she worked out the next step forward.

She was brilliant. An amazing surgeon.

The mother of his son?

‘Now the wire,’ she said into the stillness, and the sound of her voice almost made him start.

Back to silence.

The balloon valvuloplasty catheter was threaded over the wire, painstakingly positioned so its centre was just at the valve. That was the hard part.

Now came the hardest.

Please…

‘Let’s try,’ Gina said into a silence that was close to unbearable. ‘I think…’

The balloon was inflated, showing on the monitor under fluoroscopy, with Gina watching that it remained centred all the time. The balloon had been manoeuvred right to the valve. Now it was stretching the valve, much as a shoe was stretched by a cobbler, hoping that once the stretching was done the valve would self-correct. The pressures would equalise.

If it didn’t happen, then the build-up of pressure could mean instant heart failure—instant death.

This was no time for panic. The procedure called for infinite patience.

The balloon was inflated once. Twice. Three times the valve was stretched.

‘Enough,’ Gina said, and Cal heard exhaustion in her voice.

But she couldn’t stop now. She had to check the pressures again. If the pressures weren’t equalised the whole thing would have to be repeated, using balloons of different lengths and diameters, and this tiny heart was under so much strain anyway…

The catheters were reinserted, once more measuring the pressures in the right ventricle and the pulmonary artery.

Please.

The figures…

‘Hey,’ Jill said in a tiny tremulous voice that didn’t sound the least bit like the efficient director of nursing they all knew—and, if truth be told, they often feared. ‘We have liftoff. Isn’t that right, Houston?’

‘I…Maybe,’ Gina said. She glanced up at her anaesthetist. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think maybe you’ve done it,’ Emily said in a voice that was none too steady. ‘Oh, Gina, that was fantastic.’

‘Fantastic? It’s a miracle,’ Gina whispered. ‘If we have indeed won. He’s not out of the woods yet.’

He wasn’t. They all knew that. To operate on such a tiny baby was asking for post-op complications. Indeed, there might well be complications already. He’d stopped breathing that afternoon. He’d had a birth in circumstances that were appalling. And now maybe he was facing a new threat. Von Willebrand’s?

For him to pull through…

‘He’ll make it,’ Cal said, and he wasn’t sure why he knew or how he knew, it was just definite, absolute knowledge. ‘I know he will. You’ve done it, Gina.’

‘Thank God for that, then,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not as sure as you as to the outcome here, but he has every chance. Maybe…maybe for once in this country I’ve done something right.’

Three hundred miles away the girl lay beneath her bedcovers and shivered. It was hot out here—so hot—and for her family to afford air-conditioning was unthinkable. But despite the heat, she couldn’t stop shivering.

Her baby…

Dead.

‘Sweetheart?’ It was her mother, knocking on her door for what must be the sixth time since they’d got home from the rodeo. ‘Are you OK?’

She sounded worried. That was a laugh. When had her mother ever worried about her?

‘Go away.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got my period. I feel sick. Go away.’

Her mother hesitated and Megan could hear the fear in her voice. ‘You’re not well enough to feed the poddy calves, then?’

‘No. Go away.’

‘But your father…’

She roused herself—or she tried to—but the tiredness washing over her body was overwhelming.

‘I know Dad’s sick,’ she whispered, loudly enough for her mother to hear through the battered farmhouse door. ‘I know you’ve got too much to do to manage. But, Mum, I can’t. I just can’t. For tonight you’ll just have to manage without me.’

When she’d done all she could do, Gina stepped away from the table. Her face said it all. Her eyes were drained, her expression slack with exhaustion. She’d called on every resource she had, and then some.

‘Can I leave it to you now?’ she asked, unsteadily into the stillness. ‘I’ll be outside. Call me on the PA if you need me. I won’t go away. But I need…some air.’

‘You deserve some air,’ Emily said warmly. ‘You even deserve something a bit stronger, like a stiff drink or a cigar. Off you go, Dr Lopez. Cal and I will take it from here. But thank God you were here.’

‘Thank you,’ Gina whispered, and with a last, uncertain glance down at the table she started to move away.

Then she paused. Her finger dropped for a fleeting moment to trace the tiny cheekbone, to just touch…

‘Fight, little one,’ she whispered. ‘Fight.’

And then she was gone.

‘That’s one amazing doctor,’ Emily said as she left, and Cal could only agree.

‘Yeah.’

‘Charles said you knew her five years back.’ Em was still concentrating but she had room to cast a curious glance at her friend. ‘He’s saying she’s your lady-rat.’

‘Leave it, Em.’ Dammit, he couldn’t think of what else to say. And it was none of her business.

Since when did privacy considerations ever stop anyone in this place sticking their nose in anyone else’s business? It certainly didn’t stop Em now.

‘Charles says there’s a little boy.’

‘Leave it, Emily,’ Cal snapped again—harder—and Emily had the temerity to grin.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is he yours?’ Grace asked from behind them, and Cal groaned.

‘Look, this is my business.’

‘Hey, we’re your housemates,’ Emily told him. ‘And Mike says there’s something really funny going on. He’s laying odds on this being your son—but no one’s taking bets until we’ve seen him. So tell us, Cal. Save us our betting money. Is it true?’

They were still working, but the atmosphere in the room had lightened by about a thousand per cent. Something about a tiny heartbeat that was steady and growing stronger by the minute was making even such a serious subject sound frivolous.

‘You might as well tell us. You know we share all your dearest concerns,’ Emily told him, and Grace choked.

‘That’s another way of saying we have a right to stick our nose into whatever we like.’

‘I don’t know how you do it, Cal.’ For once Jill was also smiling, the nursing director’s tight personality unbending a little in the face of this shared triumph. ‘Having all your concerns shared. Ten medicos living in the same house…’

‘Eight as of Tuesday,’ Grace reminded her, and Emily winced.

‘Thanks very much.’

‘He was a creep, Em, and you know it,’ Grace retorted. ‘I refuse to concede that you can possibly mourn the guy.’

‘I’ll mourn anyone I like.’

‘Why don’t you have an affair with Cal?’

‘Cal’s got an affair,’ Emily retorted. ‘As of now.’ She managed a smile. ‘Actually, an affair and a bit. A bit about three feet high. So concentrate on Cal’s love life. Leave mine alone.’

‘OK,’ Grace said obligingly. ‘If you insist. And Cal’s affair is fascinating. A woman and a son arriving out of nowhere, when we all thought he was a fusty old bachelor…’

‘Thanks a lot,’ Cal managed, and even Jill chuckled.

‘But here he is, with a son…’

‘Is he really your son?’ Jill asked, wondering, and Cal groaned.

‘Jill, at least you can keep out of what’s not your business.’

‘We love you, Cal,’ Emily said solidly. ‘Get used to it.’

‘I don’t think I ever will.’

‘It’s called living,’ Em told him, and she turned from the monitor to look down at her little patient. ‘Something this little man is about to do. Oh, well done, us. Now all we need to do is find you a mummy and a daddy.’

‘And find out whether Cal’s a daddy, too,’ Grace said mischievously.

‘Enough.’ Jill had been jolted out of clinical efficiency but her flashes of humour never lasted long. There was levity in her operating Theatre and levity was to be squashed. ‘Back to work.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ they said in unison.

Where was Gina? All Cal wanted to do was to find her, and he couldn’t.

There were myriad things to do before he was finished. Blood tests to order. Harry Blake to be contacted—the police sergeant who’d be in charge of trying to find the mother. A mass of paperwork that had to be done—now. ‘Because this case will hit the national press unless I’m mistaken, and I want everything done right,’ Charles had growled.

Charles himself wheeled into Theatre at the end and stared down at the little one in concern.

‘Do we have any clue who the mother could be?’

‘None at all,’ Cal told him. ‘We’re sifting through obs and gynae records now, looking at who’s pregnant in the area.’

‘One of our tribal people? Maybe some kid who’s got herself pregnant out of tribal boundaries?’

‘Take a longer look, Charles. I’m guessing this baby’s all white. Mum and Dad both.’

‘Surely we have pregnancy records.’

‘Unless it was someone who’s itinerant. Someone who came for the day.’

They stared at the baby for a moment longer, searching for answers.

There were none.

‘I guess we have to leave that to Harry,’ Charles said reluctantly, spinning his chair in a one-eighty-degree turn and shrugging as he talked of handing things over to the police. ‘I hate not knowing as much as you do. Harry’s just rung in to say they’re searching the area and I’ll tell him to increase the manpower. To think there’s a kid out there who’s only hours from giving birth…’

‘And she may be suffering from von Willebrand’s disease,’ Cal told him, outlining his concerns.

Charles’s face stilled. ‘So she’s likely to be bleeding. She could be in huge trouble.

‘Von Willebrand’s could be inherited from the father. If indeed I’m right. It’s only that the baby’s bleeding too much, too fast. I’m only guessing the diagnosis here.’

‘Then keep on guessing,’ Charles said heavily, ‘Guess as much as you can and as fast as you can. I want her found.’

‘Right.’ Cal hesitated. ‘Do we move him down to Brisbane?’

‘Not yet,’ Charles said heavily. ‘I’m calling in Hamish from leave. If the mother’s found I want this little one right here, where she has the best chance of bonding with him—or making any decision she needs to make. It’s a risk, but if I can persuade Gina to stay then it’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’

Cal nodded. Hamish, Crocodile Creek’s paediatrician, was out game fishing but it should be possible to call him back. If this base had both a paediatrician and a cardiologist, then it was reasonable to leave this little one here. Good, even.

But would Gina stay?’

‘Charles, I also need to find Gina.’

‘Sure you do, Charles agreed. ‘Get these tests organised, talk to Harry and then go find her. She’s over at the house, out on the veranda.’

Of course. Charles knew where everyone was, all the time.

‘I’ll go, then.’

‘You do that.’

She was alone.

Cal walked out the back door of the doctors’ residence and Gina was sitting on the back step, staring out over the sea.

The old hospital used now as doctors’ quarters and the new state-of-the-art Remote Rescue base were built on a bluff overlooking Crocodile Cove—a wide, sandy beach with gentle waves washing in and out of the gently sloping shallows. In the foreground lay the Agnes Wetherby Memorial Garden. The garden was fantastic—a mass of tropical plants such as the delicately perfumed orchids, creamy, heady frangipani, crotons with their vividly coloured leaves, and more. A wide natural rockpool lay off centre surrounded by giant ferns, and from the veranda Cal could hear the soft croak of tree frogs enjoying its lush dampness.

Beyond the garden was the rock-strewn slope leading down to the beach—thick grassland dotted with moonflowers, their fat leaves looking just like butterfly wings. The sunlight glinted through the garden, the soft wind shifting the dappled shade. It was beautiful.

Gina was beautiful.

He’d thought that the first time he’d seen her, and nothing had changed. Not a thing.

She wasn’t dressed to attract. She never had. Now, in faded jeans, a stained T-shirt that was truly horrible, battered sneakers…

Yep, she was beautiful.

He walked over, sat down beside her and stared out over the sea, as if trying to see what she was seeing. This was a beautiful setting.

‘Sorry.’ She winced and moved sideways. ‘It’s been too big a day. The rodeo. The baby. Surgery. I…I need to find a shower.’

‘You definitely need to find a shower,’ he told her. ‘But it was blood gained in a battle worth fighting. Well done.’

‘Thanks.’

They stared some more at the sea. Trying to figure out where to start. Where was he supposed to start? Surely it was up to her. To do this to him…

She kept her silence. Seemingly it was up to him.

‘Would you like to tell me,’ he said finally into the stillness, ‘just what is going on?’

‘We may just have saved a baby.’

‘Gina…’

‘Sorry.’

‘Is CJ…mine?’

She glanced at him then—and then looked away as if she couldn’t bear to see him. Which was maybe exactly how he’d expect her to feel.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

More silence.

‘Hell,’ he said at last, and she nodded as if that was no more than she’d expected.

‘I guess it is.’

There was anger building now, an anger so overwhelming it was all he could do to stay still, not to stand up and crash his fist into the veranda pole, not to yell…

Yelling would achieve nothing. He had to stay calm.

‘So.’ He stared out to sea some more, not looking at her, not wanting to look at her. ‘So I got used.’

‘I—What do you mean?’

‘You and your husband used me as a sperm donor.’

‘Cal, it wasn’t like that.’ She turned to him, her face puckering in distress. ‘It wasn’t. I need to tell you…’

‘That’s what it seems like to me,’ he said savagely. ‘You come out here, you say you love me, you con me into taking you to bed—’

Her breath drew in, shocked, stunned. ‘Cal, I never did. I wouldn’t.’

‘And then you leave. You just leave.’ His anger was clearly apparent in his voice and there was no way he could disguise it. ‘You just disappear.’

‘I wrote.’

‘Yeah, and told me that your husband—who I’d thought was no longer in the picture—needed you and you were going back to him. You wouldn’t answer questions. Nothing. And when I tried to phone you—when I eventually found you through your hospital—you wouldn’t talk to me.’

‘I couldn’t answer questions,’ she told him. ‘I just couldn’t.’ Her voice trailed away. ‘I couldn’t bear to.’

‘You couldn’t bear to tell me you’d used me?’

‘Please, don’t, Cal,’ she whispered. ‘It wasn’t like that. You know it wasn’t. What we had was amazing.’

‘Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?’ he said heavily into the stillness. ‘Mind-blowing. It was sex. Was that all it was? Great sex, Gina, followed by pregnancy, and then back to your husband so you can play happy families?’

‘You’re not going to let me explain?’

‘Mom?’ The voice came from behind them. CJ. The little boy stood in the doorway behind the screen door, looking from his mother to Cal and back again. ‘Mrs Grubb said you’ve finished saving the baby. Have you?’

‘Yes, we have, CJ,’ she told him, visibly gathering her wits. As he came through the door she held out a hand to tug him close. Then she gestured to Cal, took a deep breath and performed introductions. ‘CJ, this is Cal. CJ, this is the very special Australian friend I’ve been telling you for about all these years. The man I hoped we’d get to visit while we were over here.’

‘The man with my name?’ CJ asked, and Gina nodded.

‘That’s right.’

‘Hi.’ CJ put out his hand, man to man. ‘I’m Callum James Michelton. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

Callum James.

CJ.

Cal swallowed. His hand was still being gripped so he shook the child’s hand with due solemnity and then released it.

‘My mom says you’re the best doctor in the world,’ CJ told him. ‘And she says you can juggle better than anyone she knows.’

It was hard, getting his voice to work. Cal swallowed again and tried harder. ‘Your mom told you that?’

‘She told me lots about you. She says you’re terrific.’ CJ eyed Cal cautiously, as if he was prepared to give his mother the benefit of the doubt for a while but Cal just might have to prove himself. ‘You’ve got the same colour hair as I have.’

‘Is it the same colour as your dad’s?’ Stupid question. Stupid, stupid question, and he felt Gina flinch, but he’d asked it and now he had to wait for an answer.

‘My dad’s dead,’ CJ told him. ‘He was in a wheelchair and he had black hair and a big scar down the side of his face.’ He sighed. ‘My dad watched TV with me and he read me stories but then he got so sick that he died. I miss him a lot and a lot.’

‘I…I see.’

He didn’t see. There were so many unanswered questions.

‘Are we talking about Paul here?’ he asked—feeling his way—and Gina nodded.

‘That’s right. Paul.’

‘So when you said your marriage was over…’

‘CJ, do you think you could bring me out a glass of water?’ Gina asked, and there was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘Would Mrs Grubb give you one for me?’

‘Sure,’ CJ told her. ‘We’ve made choc-chip cookies with twice the number of choc chips in the recipe ’cos Mrs Grubb let me tip and I spilt them. They’re warm.’ He turned to Cal. ‘Would you like one, sir?’

‘Yes, please,’ Cal managed. ‘Um…call me Cal.’

‘Yes, sir. I mean Cal. I’ll be an aeroplane. I haven’t been an aeroplane all day.’ He was off, zooming along the veranda, arms outstretched.

‘CJ,’ his mother called, and he stopped in mid-flight.

‘Yeah?’

‘This is a hospital and some sick patients might be going to sleep. Do you think you could be a silent glider instead of an aeroplane?’

‘Sure, I can.’ CJ put his lips firmly together. ‘Shh,’ he ordered himself, ‘If you make one loud noise up here, you’ll scare the eagles.’

And off he glided, kitchenwards.

Cal was left staring after him.

‘Great kid,’ he said at last—cautiously—and Gina nodded.

‘Yeah. He takes after his daddy.’

‘Paul…’

‘You.’

He sighed. The anger had gone now. All that was left was an ineffable weariness. A knowledge that somehow he’d been used and somehow this child had been born and there’d been four years of a child growing in his image that he’d known nothing about.

‘Tell me,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘In a nutshell?’

‘Take your time.’ His voice was heavy. He hardly wanted to know himself. If she didn’t want to tell him…

But it seemed she did.

‘Some of it you know,’ she said, her voice distant now, as if repeating a learned-by-heart story. ‘I told you the bare facts when we first met. That I’d been married and that I was separated.’

‘But—’

‘Just let me tell it, Cal,’ she whispered, and he stared at her for a long minute, and then nodded.

‘I’m listening.’

‘Big of you.’

‘Gina…’

‘I married Paul when I was eighteen,’ she told him, and there was a blankness about her voice now that hadn’t been there before. ‘He was the boy next door, the kid I’d grown up with. We decided to marry when we were twelve. We went through med school together, we were best of friends—and then suddenly he just seemed to fall apart. There’d been huge pressure on him from his parents to become a doctor. To marry. To be successful in their eyes. Maybe I was stupid for not seeing how much pressure he was under.’

‘You weren’t sympathetic toward him when you were here,’ he said, and she nodded.

‘No. I was young and I was hurt. We’d made it as doctors, we had the world at our feet and suddenly he didn’t want any part of our life together. He wanted to find himself, he said, and off he went. And to be honest it wasn’t until I decided to come here…until I met you…that I realised that he was right. We’d been kids, playing at being grown-ups. We’d married for the wrong reasons.’

‘So?’ He wasn’t going to get sucked into the emotional bit here, he thought. He couldn’t afford to.

‘So then I fell for you,’ she said softly. ‘And I got pregnant.’

He closed his eyes, trying to think back to all that time ago. But it didn’t make sense. He’d never been stupid. He of all people knew the risks. ‘How can you have got pregnant? We took precautions.’

‘Are you saying I’m lying?’ Anger flashed out then, bordering on fury. ‘Do you think I planned the pregnancy?’

‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Well, think what you like,’ she snapped. ‘But I didn’t plan it. I was on the Pill. I knew how much you didn’t want children, and I was hardly in a position to want them either. So we were careful. But I guess there’s truth in the saying that the only sure contraceptive is two brick walls with air space between. Whatever we used didn’t work. Anyway, I couldn’t believe it. I discovered I was pregnant when you were upcountry on a medical evacuation flight. You were gone. I was down in Townsville, staring at a positive pregnancy test. Thinking I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t.’

His eyes opened at that and he met her look head on. Challenging. ‘Why the hell not?’

‘What would you have said?’ she whispered. ‘Be honest, Cal. How would you have reacted?’

‘How do I know?’

‘Well, I know,’ she said drearily. ‘You’d said it over and over to me. You didn’t want family. Your family life was the pits. You never wanted commitment. Sure, what we had was special and we both knew it, but it wasn’t enough to make you want marriage. Or children. The thought appalled you. You said it over and over. It was like a warning. Love me despite it—and I did. I was willing to accept you on your terms. But then I fell pregnant. I sat there staring at the test strip and I thought, I can’t get rid of this baby. Maybe I did my growing up right there. I wanted this baby. I wanted our baby.’