Читать книгу The Doctor's Outback Baby - Carol Marinelli, Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

BECAUSE it didn’t matter any more, because it mattered not a jot how well she did her make-up or how well her fine red hair behaved, tonight of all nights everything worked.

The subtle blonde foils Clara had reluctantly agreed to at Anna the hairdresser’s insistence lifted her short, practical hairstyle into a pretty gamine crop, accentuating her clear blue eyes and high freckled cheekbones. She hadn’t used the green foundation, though. She’d had it in her drawer for weeks, had bought it on an occasional trip to town, won over by the sophisticated shop assistant who’d sworn it would neutralise even the deepest blush.

Oh, and how she would have blushed.

Blinking back a fresh crop of tears, Clara tried to beat back the image of finally telling Kell how she felt. How she’d planned to take him outside, away from Abby, away from the prying eyes of the locals, and tell him that he wasn’t or ever had been just a friend…

Shaking her head firmly, Clara took a deep breath, refusing to go down that track, refusing to indulge herself in wasted dreams. Instead, she eyed herself critically in the mirror, pleased despite herself with her efforts. Even the rather shakily applied mascara and neutral lipstick for once didn’t look like a little girl had practised with her mother’s make-up. The antithesis of vain, she didn’t even possess a full-length mirror, so the only way to view her dress was by standing precariously on the toilet lid, which, Clara realised, didn’t really give the full effect when your head was chopped off from view.

Oh, lord!

Swallowing nervously, she stared at the sleek black-stockinged legs that seemed to go on for ever, a massive expanse of unfamiliar thigh slimmed down by the high heels she was wearing, but even the occasional appearance of her legs didn’t jolt her as much as the sight of her breasts, jacked up in a strapless bra, wriggling and jumping in excitement at their first taste of freedom from her practical sports bra.

It was too much, way, way too much! Everyone would fall off their chairs laughing when she walked in.

Glancing at her watch, Clara bit back a surge of panic. It was already ten past seven, she was supposed to be setting up the food table now, the band would be waiting for their pay cheque before they started and if she didn’t go now…

Picking up a massive tray of egg and chutney sandwiches, Clara headed for the door, then changed her mind midway. Dumping the tray in the hallway, she dashed back into her bedroom and drenched herself in perfume, then ran around the house in a manic frenzy, trying to remove every lingering trace of the beastly three dozen eggs she’d hard-boiled before heading outside and walking down the high street towards the barn and wondering why the hell she’d even bothered.

She’d be coming home alone.

Nobody laughed.

Oh, there were a few whistles and cat calls when she walked in, blushing furiously and wishing she wasn’t carrying a pile of sandwiches so she could hitch down her dress a bit, and a couple of the guys slapped her on the back as if they were bringing up her wind and reminded Clara that if she had any trouble tonight she only had to ask.

As if she’d run into any trouble, Clara sighed, adding her tray to the heaving table. As if she was going to have to beat off a stream of admirers with a stick.

‘You look fabulous, Clara!’ Shelly made a beeline for her. ‘Your dress is divine, you look just wonderful.’

‘So do you.’ Clara smiled. ‘Where’s Ross?’

‘I was about to ask you the same. He “popped” over to the clinic an hour ago. You didn’t see the Flying Doctors’ plane there when you went past by any chance?’

Clara shook her head. ‘He’s probably just writing up the transfer letter. Bill’s case is pretty complicated.’ The frown on Shelly’s face told Clara she wasn’t appeased. ‘He’ll be here soon. Anyway, the night’s still young, the band’s booked until one—speaking of which, I’d better go and pay them.’

‘Well, hurry back,’ Shelly whispered loudly. ‘There’s no Ross, no Kell and no Abby. Even Timothy hasn’t made his way over. Apart from me and the kids, our table’s the emptiest one in the barn.’

She would have hurried back—in fact, Clara would have loved to have sat down and had a glass of punch or champagne, but instead Hamo, Jim and Mitch all decided to get their duty dances out of the way early and the next twenty minutes or so were spent being twirled around the floor by various colours of checked shirts as the band sang about shearing sheep, billy tea and all the things Australians held dear after a few cans of beer. Arriving back at the table, her face flushed, giggling at one of Hamo’s more lewd jokes, her smile instantly faded as several strained faces turned to greet her.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Ross said too brightly.

‘Where’s Abby?’

‘The Flying Doctors came,’ Kell replied, without looking up. ‘They needed a doctor escort.’

‘Why?’ Clara asked immediately. The Flying Doctors were exactly that, and Bill wasn’t that sick at the moment. She couldn’t think of one possible reason why Abby would have needed to go. ‘Who was the doctor?’

‘Hall Jells. He just thought it would be safer if the clinic provided an escort,’ Ross responded, without meeting her eyes, and from the pained look Shelly was flashing at her Clara decided not to pursue it, instead taking a glass of champagne from Bruce, the local pilot who was doubling as a waiter, and trying to ignore just how divine Kell looked tonight.

‘So this is where all the action is.’ The appearance of Timothy lifted the mood somewhat. Everyone fell on him as if he were a long-lost friend, obviously grateful for the diversion, and Clara found herself frowning. She felt as if she’d turned on her favourite soap only to realise she’d missed an important episode. Everyone was talking normally, smiling and cheerful, but something wasn’t right.

Something was definitely going on.

‘I fell asleep,’ Timothy explained needlessly, and, choosing the chair next to Clara’s, he sat down and gave her the benefit of a very nice smile. ‘It was supposed to be a fifteen-minute power nap.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But that was about four hours ago.’

‘Well, I’m glad you made it.’ It was merely a polite comment, just as she would have given to any newcomer, but Timothy caught her eye and suddenly the massive barn seemed to shrink.

‘Really?’ Timothy asked, as if it really mattered.

Taking a nervous sip of her champagne, Clara held it in her mouth for a second or two before swallowing, wishing she had used that blessed green foundation after all.

‘Really,’ she said finally, the admission surprising even herself.

Clean-shaven and freshly showered, Timothy was pretty easy on the eye, but it wasn’t just his undeniable good looks that were working their charm here. There was something about his smile that told Clara it was just for her.

‘You look wonderful,’ Timothy said very slowly and very deliberately, and for all the world he sounded as if he really meant it. ‘Your hair looks nice, different.’ Green eyes raked over her and Clara could feel her pulse flickering in her neck as he scrutinised her slowly.

‘I—I had foils,’ she stammered. ‘Just a couple…’

‘I’ve no idea what foils are.’ Timothy grinned.

‘A few blonde tips.’

Timothy nodded. ‘Looks great, although I love red hair.’

‘That’s because you haven’t got red hair,’ Clara countered, blushing ever deeper. And even though the conversation flowed easily, even though they were only talking about foils and hair and oversleeping, she felt as if she were caught in a rip, seemingly following the tide of a normal conversation as a throbbing undercurrent pulled her in an opposite, unfamiliar and definitely dangerous direction.

‘I’ll go and get another round. Clara, do you want to give me a hand?’ Kell asked, standing up. Instead of falling over her chair to help him as was usually the case, for the first time in living memory, Kell actually had to repeat himself as she laughed at something Timothy had said. ‘Clara, do you want to give me a hand with the drinks?’

‘I’m fine.’ Clara smiled, deliberately missing the point, gesturing to her half-full glass as Kell shrugged and turned to go.

‘I’ll help!’ Matthew jumped up, determined to impress his big buddy Kell. ‘We can play—’

‘Hide and seek,’ Kell groaned, but his face broke into a smile as he took little Matthew’s hand. ‘We’ll have one more game of hide and seek and then I’ll get that beer.’

‘How about that dance?’ Timothy pushed, but Clara shook her head, turning briefly to check Kell really was out of earshot.

‘How about someone telling me what’s going on,’ Clara said sharply to her friends gathered around the table. ‘Why on earth has Abby gone to Adelaide as a doctor escort?’

‘Tell her, Ross,’ Shelly choked, her voice unusually angry. ‘Tell Clara the mess you’ve made of things.’

Clara almost spilt her drink in surprise. Never in all the time she’s known Shelly and Ross had they been anything other than devoted to each other. She’d never heard so much as a cross word pass between them and now here they were practically rowing at the table in front of everyone. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, and Clara stared from one to the other with her mouth gaping open.

‘Come on, Ross!’ Timothy grinned eagerly and then shut up when every one turned and shushed him.

‘Abby’s gone,’ Ross started slowly, as Clara’s mouth dropped ever further. ‘She’s leaving tonight with the Flying Doctors. She found out Kell was going to propose and she simply couldn’t face it. She didn’t want to leave like this, but on the other hand she didn’t know how to say goodbye.’

‘Does Kell know?’ Clara’s voice was barely a croak. She wished she’d used the green foundation now. Her face must surely be as red as a beetroot as she struggled with the news, relief flooding her veins intermingled with a horrible surge of guilt as she glanced over to the bar where Kell stood.

‘No!’ It was Shelly speaking now, the bitterness in her voice clearly evident. ‘Ross is going to tell him that little gem later, once the ball’s over, though I’m sure he knows something’s up. The poor guy’s walking around with an engagement ring in his pocket and he doesn’t even know that Abby’s bolted!’ She turned her teary face to her husband. ‘Well, you can leave me out of it, Ross. I just can’t bear to see his face when you tell him what you’ve done.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ Ross said through gritted teeth. ‘You were the one who had to go and spill the beans to Abby. If you’d just stayed out of it we wouldn’t be in this mess.’

‘So it’s my fault now.’

‘It isn’t anyone’s fault,’ Ross relented, putting a hand over Shelly’s. ‘It’s just the way things have turned out. Abby didn’t want to hurt Kell when she said no. She was beside herself and she didn’t know what else to do.’

‘But why?’ Clara asked, utterly bemused that anyone could run out on Kell. ‘Why would she leave when he was going to propose and everything?’

‘She just couldn’t deal with it,’ Ross said, tightlipped. ‘She belongs in the city—’

‘He’s coming back,’ Timothy interrupted, ‘so now might be a good time to change the subject.’

An awful silence followed as every one struggled to come up with something, until the baleful eyes that had silenced Timothy earlier begged him for help as Kell returned with a tray of beers.

‘We have pints in England!’ Timothy started, and Clara groaned into her wine at his dreadful efforts at conversation, but, as it turned out, Timothy was spot on. A lengthy discussion ensued between Kell and Timothy on the merits of pints versus schooners, warm versus icy cold and the alcohol content of either, giving the collective table enough time to exhale their held breaths and at least look as if a bombshell hadn’t been dropped.

It was a great evening.

People often wonder what committees do, how one little ball could take so many months of preparation. But all their work, all the painstaking attention to detail paid off a hundredfold as midnight struck and the lights dimmed a further notch, the bush music slowing to love ballads matching the mellower mood of the crowd.

‘What’s going on, Clara?’ Kell mumbled into his beer. ‘The Flying Doctors wouldn’t have needed an escort for Bill—you know that as well as I do. I’ve been trying to get you on your own all night to find out what’s happening. Please, Clara, I need to know.’

Blinking rapidly, trying to choose her words carefully, Clara put a tentative hand across the table, opening her mouth to speak and praying she’d say the right thing.

‘Time for that dance, I think.’ Never had Timothy’s timing been more appalling. Turning her angry eyes to him, she shook her head.

‘Not now, Timothy,’ she said, the irritation in her voice evident. Couldn’t he see this was a private conversation?

‘No excuses,’ Timothy responded cheerfully, pulling her reluctantly to her feet as Clara turned and gave an apologetic shrug to Kell.

‘Hold on a second.’ Making her way back to the table, ignoring Timothy’s obvious impatience, she met Kell’s eyes. ‘I’ll speak to you outside after this dance.’

‘What was that about?’ Timothy asked once they were on the dance floor.

‘Nothing.’ Clara shrugged, grateful the dance floor was so packed and she could bury her flaming cheeks in Timothy’s chest. She really was a useless liar.

‘Because it really wouldn’t be very sensible to tell Kell tonight.’

Startled, she looked up, surprised that he knew her secret.

‘It would probably sound better coming from Ross.’

Relief flooded her veins, pleased that he didn’t know her ulterior motives, but her relief was short-lived, turning instead into anger. She damned well wasn’t about to take advice from Timothy, he hadn’t even been in Tennengarrah a night yet. As if he knew what was best for Kell!

‘Just leave it, Timothy,’ she snapped. ‘You don’t know all that’s gone on.’

‘Keep your hair on.’

Rolling her eyes, Clara prayed the music would stop. OK, he was good-looking, funny at times and, yes, she admitted reluctantly he was a great dancer, but she hadn’t heard the saying ‘keep your hair on’ since high school and she certainly wasn’t going to let this overgrown teenager thwart her one stab at happiness tonight.

Abby had gone. Kell was devastated.

Why shouldn’t he hear the news from someone who cared?

‘Looks like they’ve made up,’ Timothy commented as Ross and Shelly floated by. Shelly’s eyes closed as she rested her head on Ross’s shoulder, a dreamy smile on her face as they drifted along out of time with the music.

‘It’s the first time I’ve heard a cross word between them,’ Clara admitted. ‘Mind you, Shelly was pretty excited about tonight, she wants the world to be as happy in love as she is.’

‘That’s a nice thing to want.’

Clara didn’t respond. Instead, she leant against Timothy, letting him lead, and perhaps for the first time that night she actually relaxed and enjoyed the fruits of the nine months of preparation that the ball had taken as she ambled along in time with the music, just enjoying the moment, enjoying the heavy throb of the bass and even revelling for a moment in the delicious spicy spell of his aftershave.

Timothy really was a good dancer, she thought almost reluctantly as the music stopped and they stood apart.

‘I love this song.’ Timothy smiled as the band started up again. ‘Can I persuade you to join me for a second dance?’

Clara hesitated. She loved this song, too, and if truth be known she’d actually enjoyed dancing with Timothy. It hadn’t been awkward like it was with some of the guys, hadn’t been the duty dance every man in Tennengarrah felt compelled to have with the trusty Clara. Timothy had actually made her feel like a woman, not some annoying little sister, but she’d promised to meet Kell.

‘Better not,’ Clara said, the reluctance in her voice surprising even herself. ‘But thanks, that was nice.’

Making her way across the room, she longed to dart into the toilet, desperate to check that she looked OK, to be sure she looked her best for the most difficult conversation of her life.

Gulping the night air into her lungs, she stared out into the darkness. The throb of music coming from the barn sounded a mile away as she stared up at the twinkling stars and begged for inspiration, her heart rate rising alarmingly as she heard heavy footsteps. Turning expectantly, forcing a smile, she stared into the darkness as he approached, not quite ready but determined not to miss her moment.

‘Timothy!’ The shock in her voice was evident. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Getting some fresh air.’ He shrugged. ‘The same as you.’

Clara raked her mind. She didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to be obvious, and she definitely didn’t want to explain to Timothy why it was so important he left right now, but really he was leaving her with very little choice.

‘Please, Timothy,’ she started, her eyes turning frantically to the barn, her ears straining at the sound of approaching footsteps that she knew this time were definitely Kell’s. ‘I really need you to go.’

‘Why?’

‘I just do,’ Clara whispered loudly. ‘I really need to be on my own right now.’

‘No, you don’t.’

Aghast, she watched as he folded his arms and eyed her thoughtfully.

‘In fact, I’d say the best thing you could do right now is get yourself inside and have that other dance with me.’

‘Timothy, please, you don’t understand…’ she begged.

‘Oh, but I do,’ Timothy replied, and for the first time since she’d met him his voice was serious and there wasn’t a glimmer of humour in his green eyes. ‘You like Kell, don’t you?’

‘Of course I like Kell,’ Clara spluttered. ‘I’ve known him for—’

‘I don’t mean as a friend, Clara. You like Kell and you’re hoping that when you tell him about Abby, he’s going to realise just how much he actually likes you!’

Her shocked expression only confirmed his diagnosis.

‘You’re looking at a guy whose best friend was the captain of the rugby team,’ he offered by way of explanation. ‘I’ve spent more time than I care to remember watching other people’s relationships flourish from the sidelines of my beer glass.’

‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ Clara insisted. Kell was practically on top of them. Any moment now he’d see them together and she needed to be alone for this.

‘I don’t think so,’ Timothy responded, moving forward. ‘Now, I’m going to apologise in advance for what I’m about to do, and though you probably won’t realise it now, though you’re probably going to hate me for it, I’m about to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’

‘What on earth—?’

She didn’t get to finish, didn’t get to say another word. Suddenly a hot wedge of flesh was pressing against her, pinning her up against the barn wall as she struggled furiously, her automatic scream hushed by the weight of his lips, her arms clamped against his chest with absolutely no room for manoeuvre.

Yet for all the shock, for all the adrenaline pumping through her veins, fear didn’t enter into it. She knew Timothy’s infuriating intentions, knew the sight of her stockinged legs hadn’t catapulted him into a sexual frenzy. This was a duty kiss, she realised as she wrestled to get away, a duty kiss of the worst possible magnitude. And worse, far worse, despite struggling like a cat being dipped in water, despite her internal fury at her misdirected assailant, for the tiniest second, for a smidgen of time so small it was barely there, the fighting stopped, the resistance in her slipping away as other, rather more disturbing thoughts flitted into her mind.

Irrational thoughts that really shouldn’t be given any credence…

The tangy aftershave that had assailed her on the dance floor, stronger now at such close proximity, his heavy ragged breathing as his chest moved against hers, the feel of her breasts pushed against the cool cotton of his shirt, and the faint tang of whisky as his lips moved against hers.

‘Clara?’ She could hear Kell’s voice in the darkness, hear him closing in on them, and she made a last agonised struggle to escape. But Timothy was having none of it, his grip tightening on her more, if that was possible, as Kell approached.

‘Oh!’ She heard the surprise in Kell’s voice, the muffled cough as he backed away. ‘Sorry, guys.’

Only when Kell had gone, only when he was sure they were alone did Timothy pull away, his arms on the wall either side of her now like a temporary cage as he met her furious, glittering eyes.

‘How dare you?’ she started, her voice breathless, legs trembling with fury and something else that she would have died before admitting to. A great kisser he might be but she certainly wasn’t going to let this over-inflated, pompous Englishman know that two minutes up close and personal with him had had the slightest effect in the romance stakes. She was furious.

That was all.

‘How dare you?’ she repeated, her voice a touch stronger now but no match for Timothy who broke in before she could even get started.

‘Tonight’s not the night, Clara. It’s better coming from Ross.’

She shook her head incredulously, straightening up but still no match for his height even in her stilettos. ‘How would you know? You haven’t even been here a full day and you think you know what Kell needs. What, is it better coming from a guy? Better that a doctor breaks the news?’

Timothy shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing was stopping Clara now. Her voice finally found, she let it rip.

‘Ross has only been here a year. I’ve known Kell all my life, so I don’t need Ross to tell me when I can and can’t talk to a friend, and I most certainly don’t need to hear it from you. He has every right to know, every right to hear it—’

‘I agree.’

‘You do?’ Confused, her voice stalled momentarily, the fire dying in her voice as she turned her questioning eyes to him.

‘Of course he should know about Abby, but that’s all. You can deny it all you like, but I’m sure there was more you were going to tell him and kissing you was the only thing I could think of to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’ Her burning anger was replaced with scorching shame, the glittering, defiant eyes sparkling with embarrassed tears as Timothy carried on gently, even smoothing a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear as she stood there, mortified.

‘And if you told Kell you loved him, that’s exactly what it would have been.’

‘Hey, Clara, is everything all right?’

Hamo’s none-too-dulcet tones made them both jump, Clara because she wasn’t expecting it and Timothy because from the look on Hamo’s face anything other than a positive reply wasn’t going to be pretty.

She could have said no, could have burst into tears and landed Timothy right in it, but instead she forced a bright voice as the heavy weight approached. ‘Everything’s fine, Hamo.’

‘You’re sure?’ he checked, eyeing Timothy in anything other than a friendly fashion. ‘Because if you need anything you only have to give us a call.’

‘I’m fine, Hamo, really.’

They both stood in strained silence as Hamo shrugged and wandered back to the barn.

‘Thanks.’ Timothy’s smile was one of pure relief, but it changed midway when he caught sight of Clara’s face.

If she’d been angry before she was furious now, the brief pause enough to reinflate her sails. Pushing his arms away, she faced him angrily.

‘I didn’t do it to save your skin,’ she snapped. ‘The fact is I hate violence or perhaps more to the point no doubt I’d have been the one who ended up suturing you and stuck in the obs ward for the next forty-eight hours feeding you through a straw.’

‘So we both got lucky.’ Timothy grinned, totally unfazed by her anger. ‘Can we go back to being friends now?’

‘We never were friends,’ Clara retorted. ‘I’d hardly even class you as a brief acquaintance.’

‘Oh, and I suppose you go around kissing all your brief acquaintances like that?’

His humour, if you could call it that, was so appalling Clara could scarcely believe the tiny laugh that escaped her lips, but somewhere in mid-laugh it changed to a sob, and as a tell-tale tear worked its way out Timothy politely pretended not to notice.

‘Is there somewhere we can sit down? Preferably on something that isn’t made of hay, or I’ll be sneezing all night.’ She was in no position to answer, tears were choking her now, and when Timothy took her by the hand and led her to a wooden bench she followed him without resistance, sitting on the edge and digging in her bag for a tissue.

‘You’re supposed to have a silk handkerchief,’ Clara sniffed, producing a huge ream of toilet paper.

‘I dropped it when I heard Hamo coming.’

They sat in silence for a moment or two, Timothy looking up at the endless stars, one hand loosely over the back of the bench behind her as Clara wept quietly on, blowing her nose and wishing he’d just go away then changing her mind when his hand reached for her shoulder and pulled her in. He let her cry without words, just patting her shoulder and waiting patiently till she’d reached the gulping stage before finally she spoke.

‘How did you know I liked him in that way? Is it that obvious?’

‘Only to me.’ She felt him shrug beneath her cheek. ‘I know I’m good-looking and everything, I know women swoon whenever I approach.’ He laughed and caught her wrist when she playfully thumped his chest. ‘But when you dropped those notes I knew it wasn’t because of my devilish charm. I figured Shelly had said something to upset you, and when I heard about Kell and Abby getting engaged, well, it seemed to fit.

‘I know you don’t believe me, I know you think I’m interfering, but it really would have been a bad move to tell him.’

‘Maybe not,’ she argued. ‘Maybe if he—’

‘Clara.’ Timothy pulled her face up. Cupping her chin with his hand, he gazed into her tear-filled eyes. ‘You look adorable tonight, Kell’s had too much to drink and once he finds out that Abby’s done a runner he’s going to be devastated. It doesn’t take Einstein to work out where it would all end up.’

Clara blinked back at him, her forehead furrowing, positive his lips were twitching as he stared back at her.

‘Bed,’ Timothy said patiently.

‘Maybe that’s what I wanted,’ Clara said defiantly, but Timothy just shook his head, any hint of a laugh fading as he stared back at her.

‘No, it isn’t, Clara. You think that’s what you wanted, but you know deep down that you’d have hated yourself in the morning. And worse, far worse, you’d have lost Kell as a friend.’

‘How do you know?’ The anger was back in her voice now. Pushing his hand away, she stood up, half expecting him to grab her, to pull her back beside him, but Timothy sat unmoved. ‘Maybe bed’s exactly where I wanted it to end up. And if you hadn’t decided to play the moral majority maybe bed’s where I’d be heading right now. And I tell you this much, Timothy, right now it sounds like a far better option than this!’

‘Go on, then, go back in there, go and tell him how you’re feeling, but half a bottle of wine and a broken heart really doesn’t put you in the best position to make rational decisions. Take it from someone who knows.’

She stood for a moment, torn with indecision, knowing Timothy to be right yet praying he was wrong.

‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ Timothy ventured, sensing weakness. ‘We’ve all had our hearts stomped on.’

‘Please.’ Clara flashed a tear-filled glare at him. ‘What would a good-looking doctor know about a broken heart?’

‘Plenty.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve only been a good-looking doctor for a year, remember. Eighteen months ago I fell hook, line and sinker for one of the RNs on a surgical ward, and when I say I was besotted by her I mean I was seriously besotted. I had the ring picked out before I’d even plucked up the courage to ask her on a date. She was seriously stunning. The only trouble was, I was working as a nurse’s aide…’

‘You were a nurse’s aide?’

‘I had to pay my bills. Anyway it was good experience, taught me how to actually speak to patients, which is something even the best medical schools don’t even touch. Anyway, Rhonda never even glanced in my direction, not even once, until we were at a party. You know the type—a load of doctors, nurses and med students and way too much booze and suddenly she was all over me.’ He gave a cheeky grin. ‘It was the best night of my life. I’ll spare you the details, but I’m sure you get the picture. She was on an early shift and I told her I’d see her later that day at work and we’d go out for dinner, maybe go and see a band or something.’

‘Sounds nice,’ Clara commented.

‘It would have been,’ Timothy agreed. ‘Only, when she saw me on the ward the next day in my nurse’s aide uniform her face dropped a mile and she told me that she couldn’t possibly meet me later, that something had come up. And that was that.’

‘She dumped you for that?’

Timothy winced and nodded. ‘Of course, I should have told her I was really a medical student, that one day she’d get the doctor she so clearly wanted.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

Timothy shrugged. ‘Too much false pride, I guess. I wanted her to want me for me.’

‘Fair enough.’

After a moment’s thought she sat down beside him.

‘The story doesn’t end there, though.’ His arm slid behind her in what should have comforting brotherly sort of way but suddenly Clara was having terrible trouble breathing. ‘There’s going to be a huge postscript.’

When Clara didn’t respond he carried on regardless. ‘After I finish here I’m going to do my diving course and I’m going to walk back onto that surgical ward with a white coat on, tanned as brown as a conker, and…’

‘And what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Timothy frowned. ‘The fantasy gets a bit hazy there. Either we’ll walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after, or I’ll be terribly cruel and pretend I don’t even remember her name and totally ignore her relentless advances. I haven’t quite worked the ending out yet, but when I do I’ll let you know.’

‘Revenge is a dish best eaten cold,’ Clara said with more than a trace of bitterness, smiling when she saw Timothy’s startled expression.

‘It’s an Arabic saying,’ she explained. ‘I have the same sort of fantasies, I think it’s because I watch too many soaps.’

‘What’s your favourite?’

‘My favourite soap or my favourite fantasy?’ Clara sighed. ‘OK, you asked for it. I dream that maybe one day Kell will wake up and realise how much he adores me, realise that he simply can’t live without me, and when he tells me I’ll just shrug and say he’s too late, that I’ve moved on, that…’ Her voice trailed off, the tears starting again as she realised the futility behind so many wasted dreams.

‘What do I do now, Timothy?’ The indecision in her voice was so alien that for a moment there even she didn’t recognise it. She was a bush nurse, for heaven’s sake, used to thinking on her feet, used to making life-and-death decisions completely unaided, but right here, right now she’d never felt more unsure in her life.

‘Go home,’ Timothy said gently.

‘I can’t.’ Clara shook her head. As appealing as his suggestion was, there were a million and one jobs to be done tonight and most had Clara’s name on them. ‘There are the chairs to be stacked, the barn to be—’

‘You’d have left it for Kell,’ Timothy pointed out, ‘so why not let someone else do it?’ He had her hand now and was leading her away from the barn, away from Kell and a half a life’s worth of dreams. And after only a moment’s hesitation, after only a tiny glance backwards, Clara realised, to her own amazement, that she was meekly walking away with Timothy taking the lead.