Doctor on Loan Read online

  Which was fine advice, Christie thought crossly as she parked her car and made her way into the cottage, but how did one make one’s heart follow the advice of one’s head. She could tell herself very sensibly that she was mad to even let herself think about the way Hugo felt. The touch of his mouth on hers…The way his eyes held her and caressed her from across the room…She could tell herself it was nonsense to do anything but put it straight out of her mind and get on with her medicine.

  So why did her heart lurch as she opened the front door? Because Hugo was inside.

  He was in bed.

  Of course he was, and it was stupid to feel a stab of disappointment that he was. His door was firmly closed and there was no chink of light underneath.

  What else had she expected? Christie asked herself crossly. He’d had a fun night prawning, he’d kissed her once on the beach, things had become emotional with the old man’s death and he’d kissed her a second time.

  That was it. End of story.

  As soon as this wind eased he’d be off the island, she told herself, and she’d never need to see him again. And she’d go on being Briman Island’s doctor. For ever.

  For ever was a very long time.

  There was a pad on the kitchen bench. More of Hugo’s handwriting. She was starting to recognise it now, and she picked the pad up idly and stared at it. And then stared some more.

  This was curiouser and curiouser.

  Here was her prawn escapade, set down in as much detail as Scrubbit-the-dog’s operation had been. Every last detail was recorded, and it was as detailed as a photograph. He hadn’t left out anything.

  Except the kiss.

  He’d stopped at the prawns. Peeling the prawns…the taste of them. The smell. The firelight and the sun-warmed sand.

  And then merciful blankness.

  Not a spy. But…what?

  Hugo wasn’t asleep.

  He lay in the spare bedroom, his arms linked behind his head and stared up at the darkened ceiling. He heard Christie come in, he heard her pause by his door and then he heard her silence.

  Damn, he’d left his notes on the bench, he thought suddenly as he heard the faint rustle of paper and realised she was reading them. She’d think he was nuts. Still, he wasn’t going to charge out now, because he knew that once he saw her…Once he saw her…That way lay disaster!

  Disaster?

  Yes!

  He didn’t want this, he told himself. It must be the knock on the head that was telling him he wanted to get involved. His life was busy beyond belief. Crazy. He was way behind schedule now—he’d never planned to take a week off for a yachting expedition. He was expected back in Brisbane on Saturday, he was due in New York on Monday and then back at the hospital the following week.

  He’d meant to spend the time on the yacht, sorting things out, and now all he’d done had been to get himself more confused. Hell, the whole next chapter was a nightmare. A jumble of ideas that wouldn’t gel.

  Harry would have to take over from him in Brisbane. He was good enough as an anaesthetist—he could handle an extra week’s work while Hugo did what he needed to in New York.

  And where did Christie fit into all this?

  She didn’t, he told himself ruthlessly. Women? Huh! He’d had enough of women and then some. Since his mother had died women were an expendable item in Hugo’s life. They had to be. There simply wasn’t room to fit one in around the edges.

  But Christie was different.

  Different? Christie was impossible!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHRISTIE didn’t see Hugo again until the next night.

  The islanders must have saved their combined ills until today, she thought wearily, pushing her curls back from her face and taking the last file out to Reception. She’d had one crisis after another. She needed to spend Wednesday at the Koori settlement on the other end of the island, so it was no use trying to shelve work until tomorrow. It had to be done now.

  So she worked as she normally did—hard. She left the cottage before either Stan or Hugo woke, she hadn’t had time for lunch and now she was late for dinner.

  There’d been no time for shopping. It’d have to be eggs on toast, she thought bleakly. Hugo could like it or lump it. It’d be a bit different from last night’s feast but it would have to do.

  At least the wind was dying. Christie came out of the surgery and faced what had been a force ten gale. She found it was still blowing rough but it was definitely easing.

  ‘Heading home to your Hugo?’ Ray, the practice secretary, grinned as he came out and locked up after her. ‘Can we get rid of Dr Stan again tonight?’

  How many of the islanders knew she’d spent last night with Hugo? she wondered. Most of them, at a guess.

  ‘Why would I want to get rid of Grandpa?’

  Ray smiled. He was an ex-fisherman who’d lost a hand, setting nets. He’d turned into the doctors’ receptionist twenty years back and he now ruled the practice as if it was personally his.

  ‘You deserve a bit of a love life, girl,’ he said softly. ‘It’s a hard slog by yourself.’

  Oh, for heaven’s sake…‘This hardly has the potential for a love life,’ she retorted. ‘No matter how much the gossipmongers want it to be. He’s heading home to Brisbane just as soon as the wind dies.’

  ‘Is he?’ Ray’s eyebrows arched and Christie paused. She knew Ray well enough by now to know when he was big with news.

  ‘What do you know that I don’t?’ she demanded.

  ‘Idle gossip,’ he said—and grinned again. And so did she.

  ‘Go on, then. Out with it. Passing on idle gossip is included in your job description. You know I can’t practise medicine on this island without it.’

  She couldn’t either. The number of times she’d just ‘happened’ to drop by when someone had been in trouble—because of what Ray had told her—was beyond counting.

  ‘It’s just that the mainland plane’s preparing to return to the island on Thursday,’ Ray said. ‘The weather forecast says this lot of weather’ ll have passed by then. Your Dr Tallent saw Lisa at the booking office this morning but, instead of buying a ticket for him to head home, it seems he’s bought another ticket for someone else to come here.’

  ‘Someone else?’

  ‘That’s all I know,’ Ray said, holding his hands up to show they were empty of any more information. ‘Me, I know nothing.’ The grin flashed out again. ‘Mind, it’s not for want of trying. He’s bought an adult return ticket in the name of Tallent, and that’s all I know. That’s all Lisa knows. It could be for anyone.’

  So, if he was bringing someone else here…Hmm. Where did he intend putting up this bearer of an ‘adult return ticket in the name of Tallent’?

  The guest bed was a double, but he couldn’t assume that someone else could stay in Grandpa’s cottage, Christie thought. It wasn’t exactly a huge double bed. Whoever shared it would have to be close.

  Good grief, maybe he was married!

  Maybe she shouldn’t care.

  ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot,’ Christie told herself, stomping up the track to the cottage. It was hard work against the wind but she didn’t care—in fact, she almost relished it. It gave her frustration an outlet. ‘You know nothing.

  ‘He could have told me what he planned.’ She was talking to herself into the wind. If anyone saw her they’d assume she was nuts, but it was seven at night, the islanders were at their dinner and the windswept track was safely deserted.

  She was free to talk to herself as much as she liked. So…

  ‘He’s hardly seen you,’ she reminded herself. ‘He’ll have told Grandpa that he’s bringing someone else, and of course, Grandpa will have agreed. An extra visitor? he’ll think. Great! So Dr Tallent will be sitting in my kitchen, waiting for me to come and feed him, discussing this extra visitor with Grandpa. And where am I going to find the money out of housekeeping? Drat the man!

  ‘If it’s a woman…

&nbs
p; ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ She gave herself an angry shake. This was nothing to do with her. And maybe Ray had it wrong—or maybe the return ticket was for a mainland boat-builder to assess his boat, she thought suddenly, and Lisa might have forgotten to mention the extra single ticket he’d bought for himself.

  That made sense, she decided. It must be a boat-builder. Hugo wouldn’t entrust his father’s precious yacht to island carpenters. He’d organise its repair and then he’d be leaving.

  Good! she told herself bitterly. Life could then get back to normal!

  Hugo was still in her kitchen, but he wasn’t waiting to be fed. Christie opened the door, took one sniff and knew this was something special. There was the rich aroma of different herbs, amazing herbs—herbs she’d never smelled before. It smelled like…

  ‘Curry,’ she said faintly before the door was fully open. ‘There’s a curry in my kitchen!’

  ‘Well guessed.’ Hugo was standing by the stove. He turned to greet her and his smile enveloped all of her, from the tip of her toes to her flushed-from-the-wind cheeks. ‘Great detective work, Dr Flemming. What sort?’

  ‘What sort of curry?’ She stopped dead and blinked in astonishment. Grandpa was sitting at the kitchen table, chopping something green she didn’t recognise. The old doctor smiled a welcome at her and then went back to chopping, his good hand working with surgical precision.

  Grandpa? Cooking!

  ‘You can’t get more than one sort of curry on this island,’ she said cautiously, taking in the scene before her in disbelief. ‘Curry curry?’

  ‘Curry curry!’ Hugo gave a snort of derision and went back to stirring. ‘For heaven’s sake! Don’t you frequent curry-houses? Anyone would think you live on a tropical island, Dr Flemming.’

  ‘Anyone would be right,’ she retorted. ‘A tropical island ruled by Doris the store-keeper. Doris’s sole curry ingredient is no-name-curry-powder, as she says any other type contains garlic. Which makes one unsociable.’

  ‘Only to non-garlic eaters.’ Hugo grinned. ‘So you and I and Stan are all going to eat garlic tonight. Heaps and heaps of garlic.’

  She put her hands on her hips, trying not to laugh. ‘And what about my patients tomorrow?’

  ‘Tell’em if they don’t like your garlic then they can find themselves another doctor,’ Hugo told her firmly. ‘But I wouldn’t worry. By now most of the island knows what we’re eating.’

  ‘Most…’

  ‘We had an ingredient hunt,’ Stan told her. By the look on his face he was enjoying himself hugely. ‘Hugo decided he’d like to cook a curry, so we downloaded recipes from the internet and then went on a curry hunt.’

  ‘Your grandpa knows what’s in every islander’s back yard,’ Hugo told her. Honestly, they were like two kids with a new toy, desperate to show it off. If they’d had tails, they’d both have been wagging them!

  ‘Phyllis Hay grows garlic to protect her roses from aphids,’ Stan interjected. ‘Mary and Bob Harvey have been boasting about their herb garden for years—not that they ever use any—so we got a heap from them. Including this coriander.’ He held a piece high—a feathery green frond with root attached. ‘Look at this. It smells so much even I can get a whiff, and my nose has hardly been working since the stroke. And old Tom Bangarrana grows ginger and chillis.’

  ‘You’ve been planning dinner all day,’ Christie said, stunned, but Hugo shook his head.

  ‘Nope. This morning Stan and I went all over the boat, figuring out what had to be done.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Stan and I… As if Grandpa could crawl all over a damaged boat.

  But Stan hadn’t been idle. ‘I introduced Hugo to the best boat-builder on the island,’ Stan told her. ‘Old Alf Willis is just aching to get his hands on it.’

  Christie frowned, taking this in. ‘I’d forgotten Alf was a boat-builder.’

  ‘Most people have,’ Stan said sadly. ‘The fishermen get those modern fibreglass hulls from the mainland now. But Sandpiper is timber-hulled. She’s a beautiful piece of work—or she will be when Alf gets his hands on her.’

  ‘You’d trust your boat to Alf?’ she asked, and Hugo raised his brows.

  ‘Shouldn’t I?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She was having trouble taking this on board, but the more she thought about it the more delighted she felt. Alf was an elderly man with a nagging wife and almost terminal depression. She couldn’t think of a better tonic for him than the repair of a beautiful boat.

  ‘My father’s flying in on Thursday to make the final decision,’ Hugo told her. ‘But I think it’ll work out really well.’

  ‘Oh.’ So that was the extra ticket. His father…She tried to glower. ‘So where’s he staying?’

  ‘Next door. I’ve rented it.’

  That set her back. She stared and Hugo chuckled.

  ‘Oh, dear. You weren’t getting your knickers in a knot about me landing extra people on you, were you, Dr Flemming?’

  ‘I…No.’ But it was exactly what she’d thought. She couldn’t stop her colour rising.

  And he saw. This man could read her mind!

  ‘Dear, dear. All that spleen vented for nothing.’

  ‘I did not vent my spleen!’

  ‘I watched you come up the path.’ He motioned to the window. ‘You were venting your spleen like anything. I bet someone told you my father was coming and you put two and two together and felt put upon.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You did.’ He smiled then, the lazy, gentle smile that had her heart doing handsprings. ‘I guess I should have warned you. The whole island puts upon you. You wouldn’t know that I’d be any different.’

  He took her breath away. He just had to stand—and look—and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Different! Of course he was different. He was…Hugo!

  ‘I…’ She finally found her voice, but it was with a huge effort and both men were watching her. Hugo with sympathy. Stan with blatant curiosity. He hadn’t seen his granddaughter act like this before. Her face was colouring and fading like traffic lights.

  ‘Are you and your father both staying next door?’ she asked, and tried hard to sound like it wasn’t important.

  ‘I’ll just stay to settle Dad in,’ he said. His expression tightened. He had a way of stopping questions in their tracks, did Hugo Tallent, and she couldn’t go further. After all, it was none of her business—was it?

  ‘How…how on earth did you rent next door?’ she finally managed.

  ‘You know it’s been empty since Doris’s folks died,’ Stan told her, still eyeing his granddaughter with speculative interest. ‘She hates the thought of selling it, but it’s still furnished, and the thought of Dr Tallent’s dad staying there…’

  ‘She’s never agreed!’

  ‘Our Hugo oozes charm when he wants something.’ Stan chuckled. ‘You should have seen him. You’d have thought Doris was twenty-five instead of sixty, and she was blushing like a schoolgirl as she agreed to give the place a dust and make up the beds.’ He chuckled again. ‘You watch it, miss,’ he warned his granddaughter. ‘What Hugo wants, Hugo gets. Now, about this curry…’

  The curry was wonderful, but anything would have tasted wonderful tonight. When was the last time someone had cooked for her? Christie thought. Not since she’d come to the island. The sensation was so novel that bread and dripping would have tasted great. As it was, the curry was fantastic, as was the fragrant rice and the chapatis and the dhal that went with it.

  And the company…

  ‘Marry me,’ she said as she ate her last mouthful. She looked over the table at Hugo and she smiled. ‘Marry me immediately. I’ve died and gone to heaven.’

  It had been meant flippantly. Sort of. It had been meant as a joke.

  But Hugo didn’t smile. Instead, the laughter behind his eyes faded and the look he gave her made a tremor run straight down her spine.

  ‘There’s a few things we need to work on yet, love, before we go dow
n that road,’ he told her gently, and then, as she gasped and stared, he shook his head.

  ‘Give it time, Christie, love. Give us all time.’

  What could she say after that? Nothing, she thought. It was best ignored. It had been a flippant comment on her part—hadn’t it? And it must surely have been the same on his. She cleared the table, she washed and Hugo wiped, and Hugo and Stan chatted, but she stayed silent. She was weary but it wasn’t weariness that was holding her tongue.

  Finally she could stand it no longer. How the men could simply chat while there was so much tension in the room she didn’t know…

  There were still things to be done. She had to get out of the cottage right now.

  ‘I’ll leave you for a bit,’ she told them, cutting across their conversation in a way that was almost rude. In truth, she’d barely registered what they were talking about.

  Hugo stopped talking and raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to go out again?’

  ‘I promised Mandy I’d take Scrubbit home,’ she said. ‘Mandy’s parents won’t bring the car out to take a dog home, and I don’t want her carrying him that far. He’s best not jolted.’

  She hesitated and forced herself to meet Hugo’s eyes. There was something that needed to be said, and this wasn’t about her. He looked gravely questioning. The laughter seemed to have gone.

  ‘I…I assume you’ve talked to Mandy’s parents. About what you promised?’

  ‘I tried today but they weren’t in.’ Hugo turned to Stan. ‘So I guess this is a good opportunity. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go with Christie.’

  ‘You do that, boy.’ Once again Stan chuckled. ‘And take your time,’ he added. ‘If you park on the headland, you can see all over the estuary. It’s where I used to take Christie’s grandmother, and it’s a very useful spot.’

  ‘For what, sir?’ Hugo couldn’t help himself, Christie thought as laughter sprang back into his eyes. Honestly, the man was incorrigible.

  ‘If you don’t know by now, then I’m not the man to be telling you,’ Stan retorted. ‘Nor are you the man I think you are, Hugo Tallent. Now, get out of here, the pair of you, and leave an old man to remember what the headland could be on a night like this.’