Читать книгу A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle - Barbara Hannay - Страница 11

GUS downed a Scotch from the minibar, then ordered a room service meal. Promptly, a box of Singapore noodles arrived and he ate lounging on the bed, watching National Rugby League live on TV. The Roosters were playing the Dragons and normally he’d be riveted, not wanting to miss one tackle or pass.

Tonight he was too restless to pay attention. The best he could hope was that the charging footballers and the voices of the commentators would provide a familiar and reassuring background to his rioting thoughts.

He was out of luck.

Before the game reached half-time, he set his meal aside, grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. Pushing the sliding glass doors open, he went out onto the balcony and looked out at the shimmering stretch of dark water.

Breathing deeply, he told himself that he had to let go of his anger. Anger wasn’t going to help Nick. The only way he could help the boy was to give him his kidney, although at this stage even that wasn’t guaranteed.

The boy might die.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it off by concentrating on the positives of this situation. He was in a position to volunteer his help. He was fit and healthy and in the right blood group and he would donate the organ gladly. From what he’d heard about these transplants, there was every chance they’d have a good result.

He just wished he could let go of the hurt he felt whenever he thought about the eleven and a half years that Nick had been on this earth.

In many ways he felt as if he’d been living a lie. Not only had he married another woman, but he’d spent those years working hard to help people in Africa, to give them better lives. He’d even managed to feel noble at times, but all the while, here in Australia, he’d had a son he’d done nothing for.

There could be no doubt that the boy was his. Freya wouldn’t have come looking for him otherwise.

But it was so hard to accept that he’d made his girlfriend pregnant and then she’d chosen not to tell him.

It was even harder to accept the reasons Freya had given him for keeping her pregnancy secret—that she’d felt unworthy, or a nuisance, or just plain unsuitable for him.

Looking at it another way, he’d been deemed unworthy for a role most men expected as their right.

Thoughts churning, Gus stared at the harbour. In total contrast to his turmoil, the water was still and calm, reflecting the smooth silvery path of the moon. His thoughts zapped back to Africa, to the many nights he’d sat on the veranda of his Eritrean hut with Monique, his wife, eating traditional flatbread and spicy beef or chicken, while looking out at this very same moon.

He wondered what Monique would have thought about his situation.

Actually, he knew exactly how she’d have reacted. As a doctor with a fierce social conscience, she would have expected him to donate a kidney without question. She would have supported the transplant, if she’d still been alive and married to him. Monique was a pragmatist and his illegitimate son from a previous girlfriend wouldn’t have fazed her. She’d had a realistic, unromantic attitude to relationships.

Once, he would have said that Monique and Freya were polar opposites. His wife had been a practical scientist and aid worker, while his first girlfriend was a romantic and dreamy artist. After tonight, he wasn’t so sure. Freya, the romantic artist, had made a very hard-headed decision twelve years ago.

A heavy sigh escaped Gus as he looked at the rocks where he’d sat earlier tonight with her.

Freya, the siren.

There’d always been an element of enchantment in his attraction to her, and it seemed she still had the power to cast a spell over him. This evening, sitting on those rocks, listening to her explanations in her soft, musical voice, he’d almost fallen under her spell again.

He’d become enchanted by visual details he’d almost forgotten—the way she held her head, the neat curl of her ear, the way she smiled without showing her slightly crooked front tooth. Hers was a natural beauty that no amount of fashion sense or make-up could achieve, and she’d always had a kind of fantasy mermaid aura.

There were no salon-induced streaks or highlights in her long silky hair and her clothing was utterly simple—a slimfitting plain sleeveless shift in a hue that matched her eyes—somewhere between misty-green and blue.

Her only jewellery had been an elegant string of cut glass beads, again in blues and greens, which she wore around one slim tanned ankle.

Gus remembered that she’d always worn anklets when she was young and this evening, despite his anger and shock, he’d found this one disturbingly attractive. He’d felt the same helpless stirrings of attraction he’d felt at eighteen, and he’d seen a look in her eyes that had sent his blood pounding. He’d almost been willing to forgive her for not telling him about Nick.

Then she’d dropped her bombshell about the boy’s illness and he’d understood that this meeting was not a voluntary move to reunite father and son. It was simply a search for an organ donor and, without that desperate need, Freya might never have told him.

Suddenly, there’d been so much anger raging inside him he doubted he could ever forgive her.

Should he try?

Wasn’t it too much to ask?

A cloud arrived quickly, covering the moon, and the silver path on the water vanished. Wrapped in darkness, Gus felt unbearably lonely. Alienated. Angry. So angry it blazed like a bushfire in his gut.

But tangled up with the anger was niggling guilt.

If only he’d been more perceptive on that day Freya had come to him. Why hadn’t he realised how insecure she’d felt? And, when she’d stopped answering his mail, why hadn’t he gone back to Sugar Bay to demand a response?

Instead, he’d listened to his mates, who’d embraced the plenty more fish in the ocean philosophy, and he’d let his relationship with his schoolboy crush fizzle out.

The weight of those choices wrenched a groan from Gus. But it was too late for regrets and, no matter where the blame lay, the one person who mattered now was his son.

He had to make sure that Nick didn’t suffer because of his anger. Hell, he could remember what it was like to be eleven going on twelve, all the frustrations, the hopes, the energy and the awkwardness. And he hadn’t been facing the prospect of kidney failure.

That thought sent a cold chill snaking over his skin. Sickening desperation gripped him and he prayed that he was a suitable donor. But then he reasoned that, if all went well and he was a match for Nick, he and Freya and their son would find themselves caught up in an even deeper whirlpool of emotions.

So it made sense from the outset to have a very clear plan of how he would negotiate the pitfalls.

Watching the moon shimmer faintly from behind the cloud, he made a decision. He would do whatever was in his power to help his son, but he would maintain a clear emotional distance from the boy’s mother. He had to accept that he would always find Freya attractive. Spending time with her, being close to her would be sweet torture, but he mustn’t contemplate revisiting temptation.

The last thing their boy needed now was the distraction of estranged parents trying to recapture their youth.

Gus had made all kinds of wrong assumptions about Freya when they were young, and this time he wanted no confusion. He was always prepared to admit his mistakes, but he prided himself on never making the same mistake twice.

Normally, Freya didn’t mind dining alone.

Although she’d had several almost-serious boyfriends, she was well and truly used to being seen in public without an escort. This evening, however, when the waitress in the hotel’s bistro showed her to a table for two, then removed the extra place setting, Freya felt unusually conspicuous.

It was ridiculous, but she felt as if everyone in the room could guess that she’d invited a man to dine with her and he’d turned her down.

But, in all honesty, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Gus had declined her invitation.

She knew she should be relieved. She’d won Gus’s cooperation but he was going to keep his distance, which meant she would be spared any unnecessary complications. It was, really, the best possible outcome.

Too bad for her that seeing Gus again had stirred up all sorts of longings and heartaches. Too bad that she kept remembering the warmth of his hands, and the deep rumble of his voice, and the exact shape of his curvy, kissable mouth. It was especially too bad that she could still remember from all those years ago the bone-melting fabulousness of his lips on hers.

She was a fool to think about that now. It would be the worst kind of madness to start falling for Gus again. Surely she’d learned, once and for all, that she wasn’t his type.

Her unsuitability had been a painful discovery when she’d visited Gus at university. This evening he’d confirmed it when he told her that the woman he’d loved and chosen as his wife had been a doctor, not just any doctor, but a brave, unselfish, generous woman who worked with the Médecins Sans Frontières. Freya knew she could never live up to such high standards. Not even close.

She had no choice but to squash her romantic memories and to bury them deep, just as she had years and years ago, before Nick was born.

The waitress came back to take Freya’s order, but she’d been so lost in the past she hadn’t even looked at the menu. Now she gave it a hasty skim-read and ordered grilled coral trout and a garden salad and, because she needed to relax, she also asked for a glass of wine, a Clare Valley Riesling.

Alone again, she sent a text message to Nick reassuring him that she would be home by tomorrow night. She sent her love but she didn’t mention the F word.

Father.

When she’d flown to Darwin, she’d merely told Nick she was meeting a ‘potential donor.’ At this point, she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle the next huge step of telling Nick about Gus Wilder.

If only there was a way to tell him gently without the inevitable excitement and unrealistic hope. She knew from bitter experience that meetings with fathers could be hazardous.

Freya was brisk and businesslike next morning when she phoned Gus. ‘I have the doctors’ phone numbers and addresses ready for you.’

‘Thank you.’ He sounded equally businesslike. ‘Why don’t we meet in the hotel’s coffee bar?’

‘I’ll see you there in five.’

She’d tidied her room in case Gus planned to drop by, but the coffee bar was a sensible alternative—neutral ground, in line with his aim to retain a discreet distance.

She knew she shouldn’t have checked her appearance in the mirror—it didn’t matter what she looked like—but she did check. Twice. Once to apply concealer to the purple shadows beneath her eyes. The second time to give her hair a final run through with a comb and to add a touch of bronze lip gloss.

When she saw Gus, she noted guiltily that he also had telltale dark smudges under his eyes. And there were creases bracketing his mouth that she hadn’t noticed yesterday. Even the bones in his face were more sharply defined. Clearly, his night had been as restless and sleep-deprived as hers.

Gus didn’t waste time with pleasantries. As soon as they’d ordered their coffees, he got straight down to business. ‘Do you have those contact details?’

Last night, she’d listed everything he needed. Now she retrieved the sheet of paper from her purse and handed it over.

He read the page without comment, then folded it and slipped it inside his wallet. When he looked up again, she was surprised to see the faintest hint of warmth in his dark brown eyes. ‘Your handwriting hasn’t changed. It’s still the curliest, loopiest script I’ve ever seen.’

Freya risked a brief smile. ‘I’m an artist. What do you expect?’

‘So you’ve kept the art up? I’ve often wondered if you continued with your plans to study painting.’

The word often made Freya’s heart flutter. Had Gus really thought about her often?

She tried not to let it matter. ‘I’ve studied in dribs and drabs. A part-time course here, an evening class there.’

‘It must have been difficult with a baby.’

‘I managed. I still paint.’

Their coffees arrived—a soy cappuccino for Freya and a long black for Gus.

As Gus picked up his cup, he asked, super-casually, ‘Does Nick have any artistic flair?’

‘Oh, no.’ With a nervous smile, she selected a slim packet of raw sugar from a bowl of assorted sweeteners, tore off the end and tipped half of the crystals into her coffee. ‘Nick’s sporty and brainy.’

Avoiding the intense flash in Gus’s eyes, she began to stir the sugar. ‘He’s good at maths and science and football.’ Her face grew hot. ‘Like you.’

She looked up then and wished she hadn’t. The stark pain in Gus’s face made her heart thud painfully.

Don’t look like that, Gus.

Last night, as she’d tossed and turned, she’d assured herself that it was possible to get through this without becoming too emotionally entangled with him. But was she fooling herself? He’d merely asked one simple question and now she was struggling, on the brink of tears. And she suspected that Gus was too.

Their situation was so delicate and complicated. They shared a son whose life was in danger, and they shared a past that still harboured a host of buried emotions.

Freya’s wounds were twelve years old and she’d thought they were well and truly protected by thick layers of scar tissue, but the smallest prod proved they were still tender. Gus’s wounds, on the other hand, were new and raw and clearly painful.

‘About the medical tests,’ she said quickly, sensing an urgent need to steer their conversation into safer, more practical waters. ‘I’m pretty sure you can have them done in Darwin. The hospital can send the results on so, with luck, you shouldn’t have too much disruption to your building project.’

Gus dismissed this with a wave of his hand. He frowned. ‘What have you told Nick about…about his father?’

‘I…I said you were someone I knew when I was young.’

‘Does he know my name?’

Freya shook her head and a pulse in her throat began to beat frantically. ‘I said you were a…a good man…that you’d spent a lot of time overseas.’ Her fingers twisted the half-empty sugar sachet. ‘He did ask once, ages ago before he got sick, if he was ever going to meet you. I said it would be better to wait till he’s grown up.’

‘For God’s sake, Freya. Why?’

Unable to meet the blazing challenge in his eyes, she looked away. ‘I knew you were in Africa, and I couldn’t go chasing after you there. I did look up what was involved and it was terribly complicated.’

Gus looked shocked.

Freya shrugged. ‘I…I guess I was waiting for the right time. But then we went through the experience of meeting my father, and it was a disaster.’

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s just say it was a bitter disappointment. Very upsetting for all of us.’

Gus let out his breath on a slow huff. ‘OK…so…I take it Nick doesn’t know you’re meeting me now?’

She shook her head.

His jaw tightened. ‘Do you have a photo of him?’

‘A photo? Oh…um…I…’ Freya gulped, swamped by a tidal wave of embarrassment.

‘I’d like to see what my son looks like.’

Good grief. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a photo? She didn’t even carry one in her purse.

She was rarely separated from Nick. His school was just around the corner from her gallery and she hardly ever left the Bay, so she’d never felt the need to carry her son’s photo. And, coming here, she’d been so stressed, so focused—her mind was a one-way track.

Saving Nick’s life filled her every waking thought.

From over the rim of his coffee cup, Gus was watching her discomfort with a stern lack of sympathy. ‘No photo?’

‘No…I’m sorry.’ How could she have been so thoughtless? ‘I’ll get photos for you, Gus. Of course, you must have photos. Absolutely. I’ll scan the whole album and send them by email just as soon as I get back.’

‘When are you flying back to the Bay?’

‘This afternoon.’

Gus placed his coffee cup carefully on its saucer and, with his mouth set in a grim line, he leaned forward, arms folded, elbows on the table.

To Freya, the pose made his shoulders look incredibly wide and somehow threatening.

‘I’d like to come too,’ he said.

Thud. This was so not something she’d bargained for. Not today. Not so soon.

‘I’m sure you understand that I want to meet my son.’ Gus spoke with the quiet but no-nonsense determination he probably used to push aid projects past obstructionist Third World governments.

‘You mean you’d like to fly back to the Bay today?’

‘Yes…Why not?’

We’re not ready. I’m not ready. ‘I…I thought you were in the middle of a very important building project.’

‘I am, but there’s a window of opportunity. The designs are finished, the materials have been ordered and there’s another engineer supervising the foundations. So I phoned the site and the elders are happy to shoulder more responsibility for a limited time.’

‘Oh, I…see.’

Freya had known from the start that eventually Gus would want to meet Nick, and their meeting would be emotional and wonderful—but terribly complicated. She hadn’t dreamed, though, that Gus would want to come back to the Bay with her straight away. She needed time to prepare Nick, to warn him.

She couldn’t help remembering her own brief encounter four years ago with her male parent—she shied away from thinking of Sean Hickey as her father… Meeting him hadn’t been worth it. Nick had learned then, at the age of seven, that happy reunions were also potential disasters.

Gus would be different, almost certainly. But so soon?

Freya found herself grasping at straws. ‘There probably won’t be any plane seats available at such late notice.’

‘There are seats.’ A faint smile played on Gus’s face, making attractive creases around his eyes.

‘You’ve already checked?’

He pulled a very smart state-of-the-art phone from his pocket.

‘I suppose that has Internet connection,’ she said faintly.

‘Yes. It’s so easy.’

In other words, Gus was five steps ahead of her.

‘Well…that’s…wonderful.’ Freya forced enthusiasm into her voice. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t so terribly difficult. There had been a time when this possibility had been her secret dream, and she’d longed for Gus Wilder to come back to the Bay. The only problem was that in her fantasy he’d claimed her as well as Nick. He’d been incredibly understanding and considerate, and her secret hadn’t been an issue between them.

In her fantasy, Gus had fallen in love with her again and he’d adored Nick and in no time they’d been married and formed a perfect little family.

How pathetic that dream seemed now. Thank heavens she’d come to her senses.

Gus was frowning. ‘You don’t object to my seeing the boy, do you?’

‘No-o-o, of course not.’ Not in theory.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. ‘But you look worried. Is there a problem?’

Freya shook her head. ‘No. No problem. Not if we’re careful.’

‘I want to help Nick any way I can, Freya.’ He watched her for another beat or two, then said quietly, ‘I promise I won’t rush in and do anything rash.’

Yes. She would make sure of that.