Читать книгу Waves of Temptation - Marion Lennox, Marion Lennox - Страница 10

CHAPTER ONE

SHE HAD THE best job in the world—except right now.

Dr Kelly Eveldene was the physician in charge of the International Surf Pro-Tour. For the last four years she’d been head of the medical team that travelled with the world’s top surfers. She was competent, she was popular, she understood the lingo, and she knew so many of the oldtimer surfers that the job suited her exactly.

There were a couple of downsides. This year the pro tournament had moved to Australia for the world championships. She wasn’t happy about coming to Australia, but Australia was big. The other Eveldenes lived in Sydney and the surf championship was to be held on the Gold Coast in Queensland. Her chances of running into...anybody were minuscule.

She’d done the research now. Henry Eveldene—her ex-father-in-law—was a business tycoon, rich beyond belief, and Eveldene was an uncommon name. Still, surely the presence in the country of a couple of inconspicuous people with similar names wouldn’t come to his attention.

Her other quibble was that Jess was competing this year, his first time out of juniors. He was seventeen years old, surf mad and as skilled as his father before him. She couldn’t hold him back and she didn’t want to try. Her son was awesome. But now, at this level, with the surf so big and Jess trying so hard, she had qualms.

She had qualms right now.

She was in the judging tent on the headland, as she always was during competition. There were paramedics on jet skis close to the beach, ready for anything that happened in the surf. In the event of an accident she’d be on the beach in seconds, ready to take charge as soon as casualties were brought in. If it looked like a head or spinal injury—and after long experience with the surf she could pretty much tell from seeing the impact what to expect—she’d be out there with the paramedics, organising spinal boards from the jet ski, binding open wounds so they didn’t bleed out in the water, even doing resuscitation if it was needed.

The job had its grim moments, but at this professional level she was seldom needed for high drama. What she dealt with mostly were cuts, bruises, rashes and sunburn, plus the chance to combine her medicine with the surfing she loved. It was a great job.

But now Jess was competing and her heart was in her mouth.

He had thirty minutes to show the judges what he could do. The first wave he’d caught had shown promise but had failed to deliver. It hadn’t given him a chance to show his skills. He’d be marked down and he knew it. He hit the shallows, flagged down an official jet ski and was towed straight out again.

Then there was an interminable ten minutes when the swell refused to co-operate, when nothing happened, when he lay on his board in the sun while the clock ticked down, down. Then, finally, magically, a long, low swell built from the north-east, building fast, and Kelly saw her son’s body tense in anticipation.

Please...

She should be impartial. She was an official, for heaven’s sake.

But she wasn’t impartial. She wasn’t a judge. For this moment she wasn’t even Dr Eveldene. She was Jessie’s mother and nothing else mattered.

He’d caught it. The wave was building behind him, swelling with a force that promised a long, cresting ride. The perfect wave? He rode to the lip and crested down, swooped, spun, climbed high again.

But...but...

There was another wave cresting in from the south-east. The surfers called this type of wave a rogue, a swell that cut across the magic wave that had seemed perfect for the best of the rides.

Jess wouldn’t be able to see it, Kelly thought in dismay, but maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe his wave would peak and subside before it was interfered with. And even the waves crashed together, surely he’d done enough now to progress through to the next stage.

But then...

Someone else was on the rogue wave.

The surf had been cleared for the competition. No one had the right to cut across a competitor’s wave. Only the competitors themselves were in the catching zone—everyone else was excluded. But a pod of enthusiastic juniors had set themselves up south of the exclusion zone, lying far out, hoping to get a better view of the surfer pros. This must be one of those kids, finding a huge swell behind him, unable to resist catching it, too much of a rookie—a grommet—to see that it would take him straight into a competition wave.

Uh-oh. Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.

The judges were on their feet. ‘Swing off. Get off,’ the judge beside Kelly roared. His voice went straight into the loudspeaker and out over the beach but the surfers were too far out, too intent on their waves...

Jess was in the green room, the perfect turquoise curve of water. He’d be flying, Kelly knew, awed that he’d caught such a perfect wave at such a time, intent on showing every ounce of skill he possessed. He’d be totally unaware that right behind...

No. Not right behind. The waves thumped into each other with a mighty crest of white foam. The grommet’s surfboard flew as high as his leg rope allowed, straight up and then crashing down.

She couldn’t see Jess. She couldn’t see Jess.

That impact, at that speed...

‘Kelly, go,’ the judge beside her yelled, and she went, but not with professional speed. Faster.

This was no doctor heading out into the waves to see what two surfers had done to themselves.

This was Jessie’s mother and she was terrified.

* * *

‘Matt, you’re needed in Emergency, stat. Leg fracture, limited, intermittent blood supply. If we’re to save the leg we need to move fast.’

It was the end of a lazy Tuesday afternoon. Matt Eveldene, Gold Coast Central Hospital’s orthopaedic surgeon, had had an extraordinarily slack day. The weather was fabulous, the sea was glistening and some of the best surfers in the world were surfing their hearts out three blocks from the hospital.

Matt had strolled across to the esplanade at lunchtime. He’d watched for a little while, admiring their skill but wondering how many of these youngsters were putting their futures at risk while they pushed themselves to their limits. No one else seemed to be thinking that. They were all just entranced with the surfers.

Even his patients seemed to have put their ills on hold today. He’d done a full theatre list this morning, but almost half his afternoon’s outpatient list had cancelled. He’d been considering going home early.

Not now. Beth, the admitting officer in Accident and Emergency, didn’t call him unless there was genuine need. She met him as the lift opened.

‘Two boys,’ Beth told him, falling in beside him, walking fast, using this time to get him up to speed. ‘They’re surfers who hit each other mid-ride. The youngest is a local, fourteen years old, concussion and query broken arm. It’s the other I’m worrying about. Seventeen, American, part of the competition. Compound fracture of the femoral shaft, and I suspect a compromised blood supply. I’ve called Caroline—she’s on her way.’

Caroline Isram was their vascular surgeon but Matt knew she was still in Theatre.

‘He’ll need both your skills if we’re going to save the leg,’ Beth said. ‘Oh, and, Matt?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Coincidence or not? His surname’s Eveldene.’

‘Coincidence. I don’t know any seventeen-year-old surfer.’

* * *

Kelly was seated by the bed in Cubicle Five, holding Jess’s hand. It said a lot for how badly he was hurt that he let her.

He had enough painkillers on board to be making him drowsy but he was still hurting. She was holding his hand tightly, willing him to stay still. The colour of his leg was waxing and waning. She’d done everything she could to align his leg but the blood supply was compromised.

Dear God, let there be skilled surgeons in this hospital. Dear God, hurry.

‘They say the orthopaedic surgeon’s on his way,’ she whispered. ‘The emergency doctor, Beth, says he’s the best in Australia. He’ll set your leg and you’ll be good as new.’ Please.

‘But I’ll miss the championships,’ Jess moaned, refusing to be comforted.

The championships were the least of their problems, Kelly thought grimly. There was a real risk he’d lose a lot more. Please, let this guy be good.

And then the curtains opened and her appalling day got even worse.

* * *

The last time Matt had seen his brother alive Jess had been in drug rehab. He’d looked thin, frightened and totally washed out.

The kid on the trolley when Matt hauled back the curtain was...Jess.

For a moment he couldn’t move. He stared down at the bed and Jessie’s eyes gazed back at him. The kid’s damp hair, sun-bleached, blond and tangled, was spreadeagled on the pillow around him. His green eyes were wide with pain. His nose and his lips showed traces of white zinc, but the freckles underneath were all Jessie’s.

It was all Matt could do not to buckle.

Ghosts didn’t exist.

They must. This was Jessie.

‘This is Mr Eveldene, our chief orthopaedic surgeon,’ Beth was telling the kid brightly. The situation was urgent, they all knew it, but Beth was taking a moment to reassure and to settle the teenager. ‘Matt, this is Jessie Eveldene. He has the same surname as yours, isn’t that a coincidence? Jess is from Hawaii, part of the pro-surf circuit, and he’s seventeen. And this is his mum, Kelly. Kelly’s not your normal spectator mum. She was Jessie’s treating doctor on the beach. She’s established circulation, she’s put the leg in a long leg splint and she’s given initial pain relief.’

He was having trouble hearing. His head was reeling. What were the odds of a kid called Jessie Eveldene turning up in his hospital? What were the odds such a kid would look like Jess?

Sure, this kid was a surfer and all surfers had similar characteristics. Bleached hair. Zinc on their faces. But...but...

The kid’s green eyes were Jessie’s eyes, and they were looking at him as Jess’s had looked that last time.

Make the pain go away.

Focus on medicine, he told himself harshly. This wasn’t his older brother. This was a kid with a compromised blood supply. He flipped the sheet over the leg cradle and it was all he could do not to wince. The undamaged foot was colourless. He touched the ankle, searching for a pulse. Intermittent. Dangerously weak.

‘We took X-rays on the way in,’ Beth told him. ‘Comminuted fracture. That means there’s more than one break across the leg,’ she said, for Jessie’s benefit. ‘Matt, he needs your skill.’

He did. The leg was a mess. The compound fracture had been roughly splinted into position but he could see how it had shattered. Splinters of bone were protruding from the broken skin.

‘Blood flow was compromised on impact,’ Beth said softly. ‘Luckily Jess has one awesome mum. It seems Kelly was on duty as surf doctor. She went out on a jet ski and got Jess’s leg aligned almost before they reached the shore. The time completely without blood couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.’

So it was possible he’d keep his leg. Thanks to this woman.

He glanced at her again.

Kelly?

It was impossible to reconcile this woman with the Kelly he’d met so briefly all those years ago. This couldn’t possibly be her.

But then her eyes met his. Behind her eyes he saw pain and distress, but also...a hint of steel.

Kelly. A woman he’d blamed...

‘Well done,’ he said briefly, because that was all he could think of to say. Then he turned back to the boy. If they had a chance of keeping this leg, he had to move fast. ‘Beth, we need an ultrasound, right away. Tell Caroline this is priority. This blood flow seems fragile. Jess...’ He had to force himself to say the name. ‘Jess, you’ve made a dog’s breakfast of this leg.’

‘Dog’s breakfast?’ Jess queried cautiously.

‘Dog’s breakfast,’ Matt repeated, and summoned a grin. ‘Sorry, I forgot you were a foreigner.’ Gruesome humour often helped when treating teens, and he needed it now. The anaesthetist needed Jess settled—and he needed to settle himself. ‘It’s slang. A working dog’s breakfast is usually a mess of leftovers. That’s what this looks like.’

‘Ugh,’ Jess said, and Matt firmed his grin.

‘Exactly. We need to pin it back together and make sure enough blood gets through to your toes. That means surgery, straight away.’

The kid’s sense of humour had been caught despite the pain. ‘Cool...cool description,’ he said bravely. ‘Do you reckon someone could take a picture so I can put it on Facebook? My mates will think “dog’s breakfast” is sick.’

‘Sure,’ Beth said easily. She’d stepped back to snap orders into her phone but she resurfaced to smile. Beth had teenage boys of her own. Priority one, Facebook. Priority two, fixing a leg. She waved her phone. ‘I’ll snap it now if that’s okay with your mum. But then it’s Theatre to make you beautiful again.’

‘If your mother agrees,’ Matt said.

Jess’s mother. Kelly. Doctor in charge at the world surf championships.

Kelly Eveldene. The undernourished waif curled up in a funeral director’s parlour eighteen years ago?

The images didn’t mesh and Matt didn’t have time to get his head around it. The boy’s leg was dreadfully fractured, the blood supply had already been compromised and any minute a sliver of bone could compromise it again. Or shift and slice into an artery.

‘You have my permission,’ Kelly said, her voice not quite steady. ‘If it’s okay with you, Jessie?’

What kind of mother referred to her kid for such a decision? But Kelly really was deferring. She had hold of her son’s hand, waiting for his decision.

Jessie. This was doing his head in.

Maybe he should pull away; haul in a colleague. Could he be impersonal?

Of course he could. He had to be. To refer to another surgeon would mean a two-hour transfer to Brisbane.

No. Once he was in Theatre this would be an intricate jigsaw of shattered bone and nothing else would matter. He could ignore personal confusion. He could be professional.

‘Matt, Jessie’s mother is Dr Kelly Eveldene,’ Beth was saying. ‘She’s an emergency physician trained in Hawaii.’

‘Mr Eveldene and I have met before,’ the woman said, and Matt’s world grew even more confused.

‘So it’s not a coincidence?’ Beth said. ‘Matt...’

Enough. Talking had to stop. History had to take a back seat. These toes were too cool.

‘Jess, we need to get you to surgery now,’ he told the boy. There was no way to sugar-coat this. ‘Your leg’s kinking at an angle that’s threatening to cut off blood supply. Caroline Isram is our vascular surgeon and she’s on her way. Together we have every chance of fixing this. Do we have your permission to operate? And your mother’s?’

Finally, he turned to face her.

Kelly Eveldene had been a half-starved drug addict who’d been with his brother when he’d died. This was not Kelly Eveldene. This was a competent-looking woman, five feet six or seven tall, clear, grey eyes, clear skin, shiny chestnut curls caught back in a casual wispy knot, quality jeans, crisp white T-shirt and an official surf tour lanyard on a cord round her neck saying, ‘Dr Kelly Eveldene. Pro Surf Medical Director.’

Mr Eveldene and I have met before.

‘Are you a long-lost relative?’ Jess asked, almost shyly. ‘I mean, Eveldene’s not that common a name.’

‘I think I must be,’ Matt said, purposely not meeting Kelly’s eyes. ‘But we can figure that out after the operation. If you agree to the procedure.’

‘Dr Beth says you’re good.’

‘I’m good.’ No place here for false modesty.

‘And you’ll fix my leg so I can keep surfing?’

Something wrenched in him at that. Suddenly he heard Jess, long ago, yelling at his father over the breakfast table. ‘All I want to do is surf. Don’t you understand?’ And then saw Jessie arriving home from school that night, and finding his board in the backyard, hacked into a thousand pieces.

But now wasn’t the time for remembering. Now wasn’t the time to be even a fraction as judgmental as his father had been.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, holding Jessie’s gaze even though it felt like it was tearing him apart to do so. ‘Jess, I won’t lie to you—this is a really bad break, but if you let us operate now I think you’ll have every chance of hanging ten or whatever you do for as long as you want.’

‘Thank you,’ Jess said simply, and squeezed his mother’s hand. ‘Go for it. But take a picture for Facebook first.’

* * *

She’d been a doctor now for nine years, but she’d never sat on this side of the theatre doors. She’d never known how hard the waiting would be. Her Jess was on the operating table, his future in the hands of one Matt Eveldene.

Kelly had trained in emergency medicine but surfing had been her childhood, so when she’d qualified, she’d returned. Her surfing friends were those who’d supported her when she’d needed them most, so it was natural that she be drawn back to their world. She’d seen enough wipe-outs to know how much a doctor at the scene could help. Even before she’d qualified she’d been pushing to have a permanent doctor at the professional championships, and aiming for that position after qualification had seemed a natural fit.

But she’d spent time in hospitals in training, and she’d assisted time and time again when bad things had happened to surfers. She knew first-hand that doctors weren’t miracle workers.

So now she was staring at the doors, willing them to open. It had been more than three hours. Surely soon...

How would Jess cope if he was left with residual weakness? Or with losing his leg entirely? It didn’t bear thinking about. Surfing wasn’t his whole life but it was enough. It’d break his heart.

And Matt Eveldene was operating. What bad fairy was responsible for him being orthopaedic surgeon at the very place Jess had had his accident? Wasn’t he supposed to still be in Sydney with his appalling family? If she’d known he was here she would never have come.

Had she broken her promise by being here?

You keep yourself out of our lives, now and for ever.

She’d cashed the cheque and that had meant acceptance of his terms. The cheque had been Jessie’s insurance, though. Her husband’s insurance. Surely a promise couldn’t negate that.

The cheque had saved her life. No, she thought savagely. Her Jess had saved her life. Her husband. Her lovely, sun-bleached surfer who’d picked her up when she’d been at rock bottom, who’d held her, who’d made her feel safe for the first time. Who’d had demons of his own but who’d faced them with courage and with honour.

‘We’ll get through this together, babe,’ he’d told her. ‘The crap hand you’ve been dealt...my black dog... We’ll face them both down.’

But the black dog had been too big, too savage, and in the end she hadn’t been able to love him enough to keep it at bay. The night he’d died...

Enough. Don’t go there. In a few minutes she’d have to face his brother, and maybe she would have to go there again, but only briefly, only as long as it took to explain that she hadn’t broken her promise deliberately. She and Jess would move out of his life as soon as possible, and they’d never return.

* * *

It took the combined skill of Matt Eveldene, a vascular surgeon, an anaesthetist and a team of four skilled nurses to save Jessie’s leg.

‘Whoever treated it on the beach knew what they were doing,’ Caroline muttered. Gold Coast Central’s vascular surgeon was in her late fifties, grim and dour at the best of times. Praise was not lightly given. ‘This artery’s been so badly damaged I have no idea how blood was getting through.’

She went back to doing what she was doing, arterial grafting, slow, meticulous work that meant all the difference between the leg functioning again or not. Matt was working as her assistant right now, removing shattered slivers of bone, waiting until the blood supply was fully established before he moved in to restore the leg’s strength and function.

If Caroline got it right, if he could managed to fuse the leg to give it the right length, if there’d not been too much tissue damage, then the kid might...

Not the kid. Jessie.

The thought did his head in.

‘I think we’re fine here,’ Caroline growled. ‘Decent colour. Decent pulse. He’s all yours, Matt.’

But as Matt moved in to take control he knew it was no such thing.

This kid wasn’t his at all.

* * *

The doors swung open and Matt Eveldene was in front of her. He looked professional, a surgeon in theatre scrubs, hauling down his mask, pushing his cap wearily from his thatch of thick, black hair. How did he have black hair when Jessie’s had been almost blond? Kelly wondered absent-mindedly. He was bigger than Jess, too. Stronger boned, somehow...harsher, but she could still see the resemblance. As she could see the resemblance to her son.

This man was Jessie’s uncle. Family?

No. Her family was her son. No one else in the world qualified.

‘It went well,’ he said curtly from the door, and she felt her blood rush away from her face. She’d half risen but now she sat again, hard. He looked at her for a moment and then came across to sit beside her. Doctor deciding to treat her as a mother? Okay, she thought. She could deal with this, and surely it was better than last time. Better than brother treating her as a drug-addicted whore.

The operation had gone well. She should ask more. She couldn’t.

There was only silence.

There was no one else in the small theatre waiting room. Only this man and her.

There were so many emotions running rampant in her mind that she didn’t have a clue what to do with them.

‘Define...define “well”,’ she managed, and was inordinately proud of herself that she’d managed that.

‘Caroline had to graft to repair the artery,’ he told her. ‘But she’s happy with the result. We have steady pulse, normal flow. Then I’ve used a titanium rod. You know about intramedullary nailing? There wasn’t enough bone structure left to repair any other way. But the breaks were above the knee and below the hip—well clear—so we’ve been able to use just the one rod and no plates. He has a couple of nasty gashes—well, you saw them. Because the bone fragments broke the skin we need to be extra-cautious about infection. Also Caroline’s wary of clotting. He’ll spend maybe a week in hospital until we’re sure the blood flow stays steady. After that, rest and rehabilitation in a controlled environment where we know he can’t do further damage. You know this’ll be a long haul.’

‘It’ll break his heart,’ Kelly whispered. ‘It’s going to be six months before he’s back on a surfboard.’

‘Six months is hardly a lifetime,’ Matt said, maybe more harshly than he should have. ‘He’ll have some interesting scars but long term nothing a surfer won’t brag about. Depending on his growth—at seventeen there may or may not be growth to come—we may need to organise an extension down the track but the rod itself can be extended. Unless he grows a foot he should be fine.’

So he’d still be able to surf. She hadn’t realised quite how frightened she’d been. She felt her body sag. Matt made a move as if to put a hand on her shoulder—and then he pulled away.

He would have touched her if she’d been a normal parent, she thought. He would have offered comfort.

Not to her.

It didn’t matter. He’d done what she’d most needed him to do and that was enough.

She made to rise, but his hand did come out then, did touch her shoulder, but it wasn’t comfort he was giving. He was pressing her down. Insisting she stay.

‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘I believe I deserve an explanation.’

She stilled. Deserve. Deserve!

‘In what universe could you possibly deserve anything from me?’ she managed.

‘Jessie has a son!’

‘So?’

‘So my brother has fathered a child. My parents are grandparents. Don’t you think we deserved to know?’

‘I’m remembering a conversation,’ she snapped, and the lethargy and shock of the last few hours were suddenly on the back burner. Words thrown at her over eighteen years ago were still vividly remembered. ‘How could I not remember? Make no contact with your parents. Do not write. Never tell your mother Jess and I were married. Keep myself out of your lives, now and for ever. You said there were a hundred reasons why I should never contact you. You didn’t give me one exception.’

‘If you’d told me you were pregnant—’

‘As I recall,’ she managed, and it hurt to get the words out, ‘you didn’t want to know one single thing about me. Everything about me repelled you—I could see it on your face.’

‘You were a drug addict.’

She took a deep breath, fighting for control. ‘Really?’ she asked, managing to keep her voice steady. ‘Is that right? A drug addict? You figured that out all by yourself. On what evidence?’

He paused, raking his long, surgeon’s fingers through his thatch of wavy, black hair. The gesture bought him some time and it made Kelly pause. Her anger faded, just a little.

The present flooded back. This man had saved her son’s leg. Maybe she needed to cut him some slack.

But it seemed slack wasn’t necessary. He’d gone past some personal boundary and was drawing back.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I made...I made assumptions when Jess died. I know now that at least some of them were wrong.’

Her anger had faded to bitterness. ‘You got the autopsy report, huh?’

‘You need to realise the last time I saw Jessie alive he was in drug rehab.’

‘That was years before he died.’

‘He told you about it?’

‘Jess was my husband,’ she snapped. ‘Of course he told me.’

‘You were seventeen!’

‘And needy. Jess was twenty-four and needy. We clung to each other.’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, but I don’t have to listen to this. You never wanted to know about me before, and you don’t now. Thank you very much for saving my son’s leg. I guess I’ll see you over the next few days while he’s in hospital but I’ll steer clear as much as I can. I need to go back to our hotel and get Jess’s things, but I want to see him first. Is he awake?’

‘Give him a while. We put him pretty deeply under.’ He raked his hair again, looking as if he was searching for something to say. Anything. And finally it came.

‘You weren’t on drugs?’

‘You know,’ she said, quite mildly, ‘years ago I wanted to hit you. I was too exhausted to hit you then, too emotionally overwrought, too wrecked. Now I’m finding I want to hit you all over again. If it wasn’t for what you’ve just done for Jess, I would.’

‘You looked—’

‘I looked like my husband had just died.’ Her voice grew softer, dangerously so. ‘I was seventeen. I was twelve weeks pregnant and I’d sat by Jess’s bedside for twenty-four hours while he lost his fight to live. Then I’d sat in the waiting room at the funeral home, waiting for you, hour upon endless hour, because I thought that it’d be his father who’d come to get him and I didn’t think a message to contact me would work. I couldn’t risk missing him. And then you walked in instead, and I thought, yes, Matt’s come in his father’s stead and it’ll be okay, because Jess had told me how much he loved you. All I asked was for what Jess wanted, but you walked all over me, as if I was a piece of pond scum. And now...now you’re still telling me I looked like a drug addict?’

There was a long silence. She didn’t know where to go with this. She’d bottled up these emotions for years and she’d never thought she’d get a chance to say them.

Somewhere in Sydney, in a family vault, lay Jess’s ashes. She’d failed the only thing Jess had ever asked of her. She hadn’t stood up to his family.

She should hate this man. Maybe she did, but he was looking shocked and sick, and she felt...she felt...

Like she couldn’t afford to feel.

‘I’ll grab Jess’s things and bring them back,’ she said, deciding brisk and efficient was the way to go. ‘It’s only ten minutes’ walk to the hotel. I should be back before he’s properly awake. The rest of the surfers will be worried, too. There are a lot of people who love my Jess—practically family. Thank you for your help this afternoon, Matt Eveldene, but goodbye. I don’t think there’s single thing left that we need to talk about.’

* * *

There was. She knew there was. She walked down the hill from the hospital to the string of beachside hotels where most of the surfers were staying and she knew this wouldn’t end here.

Why did Jess look so much like his father? Why had she called him Jess?

Why had she kept her husband’s name?

‘Because it was all I had of him,’ she said out loud, and in truth she loved it that her son was called Jessie, she loved that he loved surfing, she loved that when she looked at him she could see his father.

But not if it meant...loss?

Her husband had told her about his family, his father in particular. ‘He controls everything, Kelly. It’s his way or no way. He loathed my surfing. He loathed everything that gave me pleasure, and when I got sick he labelled me a weakling. Depression? Snap out of it, he told me, over and over. Pull yourself together. I couldn’t cope. That’s why I hit the drugs that first time.’

She knew as much as she ever wanted to know about Jessie’s father—but he’d also told her about his brother, Matt.

‘He’s the only good thing about my family, Kell. If anything ever happens to me, go to him. He’ll help you.’

Well, he had helped her, Kelly thought grimly. She thought of the insurance cheque. It had been tossed at her in anger but she owed everything to it.

‘So Jess might have been wrong about him being a nice guy, but he’s had his uses,’ she told herself. ‘Now forget about him. You have enough to worry about without past history. For instance, the surf tour’s moving on. You’ll need to take leave. You’ll need a place to stay, and you’ll need to figure a way to stop Jess’s heart from breaking when he learns that he’s no longer part of the surf circuit.’

* * *

He felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer.

Matt walked up to the hospital rooftop, to the cafeteria area that looked out over the ocean. He leant on the rail overlooking the amazing view, trying to let the enormity of what had just happened sink in.

Jessie had a son. Somehow, his brother wasn’t dead.

Okay, that was a crazy thing to think but right now that was how it seemed. He knew if he phoned his mother—‘You have a grandson. He’s named Jess and he looks just like our Jessie’—his mother would be on the next plane. She’d broken her heart when Jess had died, and she’d never got over it. Always a doormat to her bully of a husband, she’d faded into silent misery. Matt worried about her, but not enough to stay in Sydney, not enough to stay near his father.

Should he tell his mother? He must. But if he told his mother, his father would know, too. There was the rub. Could you fight for custody of a seventeen-year-old boy? No, Matt thought, but knowing his father, he’d try. Or, worse, he’d let loose the anger he still carried toward his older son and unleash it on Kelly and his grandson.

The thought of his father bullying Kelly...

As he’d bullied her...

He thought back to the appalling funeral parlour scene and he felt ill.

He’d been a kid himself, a student. The call had come late at night; Jess had had a fall and died. Yes, it seemed to be suicide. His body was at a Hawaiian funeral home and a woman calling herself his wife was making the arrangements.

His father had exploded with grief and rage. ‘Stupid, idiotic, surfer hop-head. You needn’t think I’m heading off to that place to see him. You do it, boy. Go and get him, bring him home so his mother can bury him and there’s an end to it.’

‘They say he’s married?’

‘He’s been off his head for years. If there’s a marriage get it annulled. We have more than enough evidence to say he was mentally incapable. And don’t tell your mother. Just fix it.’

But Jess had never been mentally incapable. The depression that had dogged him since adolescence had been an illness, the same way cancer was an illness. Underneath the depression and, yes, the drugs when he’d been using, he’d still been Jess, the gentle, soft-spoken big brother Matt had loved.

He might have known he’d have married a woman of spirit.

But a seventeen-year-old?

He’d judged her back then because of her appearance and obvious desperation, but things were making horrible sense now.

All apart from the age. Surely seventeen was underage for marriage in Hawaii? They’d have needed special permission.

Had they done it because Kelly had been pregnant?

These were questions Matt should have asked years ago, not now.

The questions had been there, though. He’d flown home with Jessie’s body and the questions had rested unanswered in the back of his mind. The image of a girl curled in utter misery, of a cheque floating to the floor, of a desperation he’d done nothing to assuage, these images had stayed with him. The questions had nagged while he’d qualified as a doctor, while he’d got himself away from his domineering father, while he’d attempted his own marriage... While he’d come to terms with life, as Jessie never had. Just as Kelly had obviously come to terms with her life.

He remembered his relief when he’d found the cheque had been cashed. Now I don’t need to feel guilty, he’d told himself. But the questions had stayed.

They had been answered now—almost. She’d used the cheque, but to what purpose?

To train herself in medicine?

To raise another surfer like Jess?

If his father found out... To have a grandson addicted to surfing...

Better not to tell him. Better to leave things as they were, just get this kid well and on his way.

But he looked so much like Jess...

So? He’d be in hospital for a week or so and then an outpatient for longer with rehab. He’d see him a lot. He had to get used to it.

And his mother?

Her image haunted him. In truth, her image had haunted him for years and now there was this new image juxtapositioned on the old.

Should the new image make the haunting go away?

A surf doctor. What sort of doctor was that?

What sort of woman was that?

A woman with spirit.

How could he know that?

He just...knew. There was that about her, an indefinable strength. A beauty that was far more than skin deep.

Beauty? He raked his hair again, thinking he wasn’t making sense. He was too tired, too shocked to take it in. He needed to go home.

At the thought of his home he felt his tension ease. Home, the place he’d built with effort and with love. Home with his dogs and his books.

His house was the only place where he was at peace. His home mattered. He’d learned early and learned hard; people only complicated that peace.

He needed to go home now and put this woman and her son out of his head.

He needed to be alone.