Rescue at Cradle Lake

CHAPTER SIX

WHAT followed were two weeks that Ginny would look back on later as surreal. She didn’t know what was happening-only that she had to do what came next.

A search was made for Judith’s family. There was a father in New Zealand who hadn’t seen her for twenty years and who wanted nothing to do with either burying his daughter or taking responsibility for his grandchild. So Judith was buried in the Cradle Lake cemetery. Richard came in a wheelchair, and, on the advice of a child psychiatrist Fergus had organised to see her, Madison came, too. The little girl seemed impassive, and Ginny held her and watched her and thought of what people had said to her after Chris had died, after Toby had died, after her mother had died. And how nothing had helped.

Fergus stood in the background and said nothing at all. There was this feeling between them, Ginny thought hopelessly as the ceremony moved to its conclusion. It was some sort of intangible link that was somehow just…there. Both of them could feel it, she thought, but neither of them wanted it. It was as if both of them were afraid.

She was afraid, she decided, and she was right to be so. Whatever she felt for Fergus, it had to be sternly set aside.

No involvement.

After the funeral Ginny’s back veranda was set up as a hospital ward in miniature. A couple of tradesmen arrived. Refusing payment, they set up a screen that could be pulled back at will. Thus, there could be two rooms. One side was Richard’s. The other was Madison’s.

The child was stoic. That was the simplest way to describe her, Ginny thought as the days went on. There were no tears. No emotion. Nothing. Tears might have been easier to deal with. What terrors lay behind the expressionless, listless façade?

She voiced her concerns to Fergus and he organised the child psychiatrist from the city to make a second trip to see her. The woman sat by Madison’s bed for all of one long afternoon, gently probing, trying to make her talk. At the end the woman wondered whether she should be moved, taken to a specialist unit in Sydney.

That was the first time Richard was moved to anger, surprising them all. ‘She stays here,’ he snapped. ‘This is where she belongs. And push back that damned screen.’

That was a sort of breakthrough. Father and daughter at least seemed aware of each other from then on, although mostly all they did was sleep.

But sometimes Ginny saw Richard watching his daughter with eyes that were sad and yet proud. And when Richard moved, Madison’s gaze followed him every inch of the way.

‘Don’t pressure her,’ the child psychiatrist advised before she left. ‘She needs time to get used to her new surroundings. To her new…’

She faltered then, because no one could imagine Madison would have time to get used to her new father. Even for the psychiatrist this was new territory.

‘It’s not fair on Madison,’ Ginny told Fergus as the second week ended. Fergus had come out to check on Richard’s medication. There was no longer any need for him to treat Madison. The little girl’s feet were almost healed. There was no need for her to still be in bed, but whenever they dressed her, whenever they tried to do anything with her, she passively did what they asked, then returned to her bed as soon as she could. ‘Maybe we should be doing something more active to cheer her up.’

‘The psychiatrist said give her time,’ Fergus told her. ‘And Richard’s her father. He calls the shots.’

Fergus had finished treating Richard at almost the same time as Tony’s wife, Bridget, had arrived to take a shift. They’d been walking back to Fergus’s truck-a bit self-consciously because that was the way Ginny always was around Fergus. Bridget was ‘an occasional nurse when I’m sick of the kids’, and her presence was a welcome relief, easing strain. Now she included herself in their conversation, putting in her oar with customary cheerfulness.

‘Leave them be,’ she advised. ‘Talking can sometimes make it worse with kids. I’m the eldest of eight and that was my motto. If you couldn’t figure out what to do, then do nothing. This is a funny sort of father-daughter relationship but if that’s all they have then I reckon we should leave them to sort it out.’

‘Richard’s not exactly being warm,’ Fergus said thoughtfully as Bridget walked up the steps and left them to it. Ginny wished she hadn’t. Fergus was too close for comfort. Whenever he was here he was too close for comfort, she thought. There was this frisson…

‘Can you blame him?’ she managed. ‘If he gets close to his daughter, she’ll be hurt all over again when he dies.’

‘Yeah,’ Fergus said. He looked as if he’d say something else but then thought better of it. Instead, he stepped away from her a little. Maybe he was feeling this frisson as well? ‘How are Madison’s feet?’

‘They’re fine. But check them yourself.’ She hesitated. They were out of earshot of Richard, Madison or Bridget. The frisson wasn’t going away and she wanted it dealt with. She needed this man as a person-not some gorgeous hunk of a doctor who sent her hormones into overdrive.

‘Fergus, why are you leaving Madison’s medical care completely to me?’ she tried tentatively. ‘Why don’t you go close to her?’ She hesitated but the sudden stillness of his face told her she wasn’t wrong in her guesswork. ‘There’s more than Richard and I who are scared stiff of being involved here. No?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

In truth, she didn’t know what she meant either. It was just a gut reaction to what she saw-the slight hesitation every time he approached Madison’s bed. There was something…

‘Hey, Doc, what about taking Ginny out to dinner?’ It was Bridget, calling from the veranda. ‘She could do with a break and you two look so good together.’

They both took a hasty step in different directions and Bridget grinned.

‘I don’t need-’ Ginny started, but Bridget was on a mission.

‘You don’t need sausages,’ she retorted. ‘Which is all you have here for dinner. Richard likes them, Madison likes them but the last time we had them you hardly touched them. Take her out, Doc.’

‘Would you like to go out?’ Fergus asked.

Would she?

In the last two weeks she hadn’t been housebound. She’d spent time at the hospital, sharing Fergus’s load, immersing herself in the medicine that gave her blessed time out. But that didn’t mean she’d spent any real time with him.

And then there was this scary frisson…

‘The pub’s good on Friday night,’ Bridget was saying, breaking into her train of thought. ‘Take her there, Doc.’

‘I should stay,’ Ginny said, taking another step backward.

‘Why?’ Bridget demanded, and crossed her arms in disapproval.

‘There’s no need for you to be here,’ she told the nurse, trying to sound decisive. ‘You could go home to Tony.’

‘I have two kids at home and an untrained puppy. I’m staying here.’ Bridget grinned. ‘My kids need to bond with their daddy. Tony’s done less than his fair share this week and I’m here to stay.’

‘Bridget’s not going home,’ Fergus said. ‘That was the agreement when we brought Madison here. There’ll be a full-time nurse here all the time.’ He hesitated and she saw the same uncertainty in his eyes. But it seemed he was braver than she was. ‘What about a steak at the pub?’

But what about…? What about…? Ginny looked at him and thought about the tension between them and thought this was a really bad idea. But when she opened her mouth…

‘Fine,’ she said.

What was she saying? Her head was screaming that it wasn’t fine. It was high risk to both of them.

‘Fine,’ said Fergus, and she knew he felt exactly the same way. ‘Let’s go to dinner.’

The eating-out options at Cradle Lake were limited. To the pub. The pub served steak and chips, sausages and chips (bleah), fish and chips or the vegetarian option catering for city types who cruised through the place on Sundays-pasta and chips.

The steak, however, was fantastic, deservedly famous throughout the district. Dorothy, the pub chef, had been cooking steak for fifty years. She cooked their steaks now, then came to the dining-room door to watch her product go down.

The whole pub watched Fergus and Ginny’s steaks go down. The dining room was separated from the rest of the pub by the bar, but from the moment they’d walked in every eye was on them and it stayed on them for the entire meal.

‘You wouldn’t want to be an undercover agent in this place,’ Fergus complained, and Ginny grinned. In truth, she was enjoying her steak very much, and enjoying being away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the house even more.

‘I’m used to it. I was brought up here-remember?’

‘Which is why you didn’t want to come back?’

‘I never said I didn’t want to come back.’

‘You didn’t have to. You look like a deer stuck in headlights.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ he said, and concentrated on his steak again.

‘So how about you?’ she asked as they ploughed through their massive plates. ‘How come you look like a deer caught in headlights as well?’

‘I don’t.’ He glanced up at her, startled, and then caught himself. His expression regained that careful control she was starting to recognise for what it was. A shield.

‘I’m the one who’s afraid of the commitment Madison might mean,’ she said softly. ‘But when you’re forced to be near her I see exactly the same fear. Only worse. At the funeral you acted as if you were afraid of coming close. So what’s happened in your past to drive you here, Dr Reynard?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You know almost everything there is to know about me,’ she went on, suddenly angry. ‘Yet you keep yourself hidden. There’s a child in there somewhere, isn’t there? A tragedy?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Yet my life is your business.’

‘That’s different. Your brother-’

‘Is your patient. Yes. But I’m not your patient. It doesn’t stop you poking your nose in. Not that I’m not grateful,’ she said hurriedly, as he looked up from his steak. ‘You know I am. I’ve really appreciated the work you’ve given me over the last couple of weeks-and the freedom. But it’s feeling really lopsided. I’m feeling like I’m wandering in a void and part of that is your fault.’

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Gee, thanks.’

‘You know what I mean,’ she said softly, and met his gaze directly over the table. She’d been trying not to think this for two weeks but it had been there, like it or not, and suddenly it had to be brought out into the open. ‘You feel it, too, don’t you? This thing…’

‘You mean I want to jump you,’ he said, and the ears on the other side of the bar almost stretched to where they were sitting. ‘Is that the thing you mean?’

‘I might not have put it quite like that.’ She hesitated and then she smiled, tension easing. ‘Do you? Want to jump me?’

‘Yes,’ he said promptly. ‘You want to jump me, too?’

‘Fergus…’

‘They taught me at medical school to say it like it is,’ he said, suddenly cheerful, attacking his steak again with zeal. ‘Never prevaricate. If you need to tell bad news then spit it out ’cos otherwise the patient will guess anyway and won’t thank you for quibbling.’

‘So is this bad news,’ she said, after a moment’s stunned pause. ‘That you want to jump me.’

‘Depends on lots of things,’ he told her.

‘Like?’

‘Like I’m not in the market for a permanent relationship.’

‘You think I am?’

‘I know you’re not,’ he said, his voice softening so that for the first time she was sure the audience on the other side of the bar couldn’t hear. ‘Relationships have been beaten out of you the hard way.’

‘So how about you?’ She placed her knife and fork together over at least half her steak, and at the door Dorothy sighed her disappointment.

Fergus devoured the last mouthful of his steak, hesitated and looked thoughtfully at Ginny’s unfinished plate. ‘Go right ahead,’ she told him, and Dorothy brightened again.

Fergus switched plates in one smooth slide and kept right on eating.

‘That doesn’t let you off answering the question,’ she said. ‘If I were to agree to being…jumped…’

‘Gee, that’s romantic.’

‘I’m not sure how else we can put it,’ she said. ‘A relationship with no involvement.’

‘Let’s not call it anything.’

‘Fine, but I need to know the background,’ she retorted. ‘You’ve been married?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Who to?’

‘Katrina.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘She’s a professor of pathology at a very large hospital in-’

‘Katrina Newry,’ she interrupted, awed. ‘I’ve heard of her.’

‘The world’s heard of Katrina.’

‘So what went wrong?’

‘It’s-’

‘Only my business if you want to jump me,’ she agreed equitably. ‘Which you’ve just agreed you want to do. But I don’t go to bed with strangers.’

There was a hushed ripple from the other side of the bar and Ginny thought, Gee the acoustics in here are good. Or terrible, depending on what angle you wanted to look at them from.

‘Can this wait until I finish my steak?’ Fergus asked, and she knew he’d realised the same thing.

‘Fine. Only it’s my steak. I’ll have coffee while I wait.’

‘You don’t want pudding?’

‘After a steak that hangs over every side of the plate? You have to be kidding.’

‘I never kid.’

‘I don’t want pudding,’ she retorted. ‘I want history.’

‘You-’

‘Just shut up and eat,’ she told him kindly. ‘And then shut up and talk.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You know what I mean.’

So he finished his steak, they both had coffee and then they walked outside. Fergus had driven them there in his truck-cum-ambulance-it was parked in the car park-but the night was lovely and, of course, the pub had been built to face the lake. There was a track leading down to a spit of land where you could watch the moonlight glimmering on the lake below. Lovers’ walk, the locals called it, and Ginny knew every person in the pub would be watching as they turned away from the car park and headed down the track.

It seemed Fergus knew it, too. ‘You realise your reputation is shot,’ Fergus said morosely. ‘Even if we turn and head up to the car park now, they’ll assume we were just very, very fast.’

‘I’m not fussed about my reputation in this town,’ she retorted. ‘It’s the least of my worries.’

‘Because after Richard dies you’ll never come here again.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Life was pretty bleak here?’

‘What do you think?’

He nodded, then caught her hand as they made their way along the track. It was a simple gesture-boy-girl contact-but it felt good. Dangerously good, Ginny thought. Because she didn’t want a relationship and this was teetering remarkably close to feeling…

Close.

Dumb. She didn’t do close. Neither did he, apparently.

She needed to find out his reasons. Maybe they could reinforce hers.

‘You turn away from Madison like you’re in pain,’ she said softly into the stillness of the night, and she felt the sudden tension in the link between their fingers. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t-’

‘I’m right. There was a child, wasn’t there?’

‘I-’

‘Tell me about her.’ They’d reached the spit now. There was a seat-a vast gum tree that had fallen sixty years before. The locals had sheared off the rough bark so it lay now as a huge bench seat almost twenty feet long.

They were the only lov- The only people here tonight. Below lay the lake, and around them lay the entire valley, swathed in moonlight. Up above, there were still people in the pub but the acoustics of the valley meant that sound rose, didn’t fall. They were swathed in silence and in moonlight.

There was nothing to stop secrets being told here. Except reluctance.

Fergus pulled his hand away but it was Ginny who held on as they sat, sensing that if she was gaining strength from this contact then so would he.

‘A daughter?’ she asked softly, guessing, and he nodded.

‘Molly.’

‘Is she with her mother?’

‘She’s dead.’ It was said with flat vehemence, almost shocking in the beauty of the night.

‘Oh, Fergus…’

‘You’re sorry? Everyone’s sorry.’ He pulled his hand from hers, and raked long fingers through his hair in a gesture of weariness. ‘That was uncalled for,’ he told her. ‘I apologise. Of course you’re sorry and it’s not that I mind, but…’

‘I do know,’ she whispered. ‘When Toby died, and then Chris, and then my mum… I thought if anyone else said sorry… When did she die?’

‘Three months ago.’

‘So recently?’ She flinched. ‘Why? How?’

‘Molly had Down’s syndrome. She had a congenital heart defect. We knew from birth that she had a limited time.’

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

‘You didn’t need to be loaded with that,’ he said at last, and she flinched.

‘I walk around in my own little ball of misery and don’t see others. I should see. I’m sorry I didn’t sense this before.’

‘You cope with what you need to cope with,’ he said gently. ‘It’s called triage. You only have so much capacity and that has to be channelled where it’s most needed. There’s no point being sad for me.’ He smiled then and rose, looking down at her with almost a challenge. ‘And it’s not all sad,’ he said. ‘Molly had a great life, even if it was short.’

‘And…your wife?’

His face stilled. Hardened. ‘Remember I told you it is possible to be detached? Katrina took one look at her baby and detached. She didn’t want to be a part of Molly’s life. She walked away. Cut ties. More fool her. If she knew what she missed out on…’

‘But it’s still awful,’ Ginny said hesitantly. ‘When you look at Madison…’

‘Then I see Molly,’ he agreed. ‘Or I see what Molly might have been, if there’d been just one more chromosome.’

‘And you’re in Cradle Lake because?’

‘The hospital where I worked… Molly attended day care there. We lived in a hospital apartment, and when I worked at weekends Molly was there with me. The nursing staff-everyone-loved her almost as much as I did. When Molly died, it was like the whole hospital went into mourning. In the end I needed to get away from everyone else’s grief as well as my own.’

‘So you’ve been flung straight into my tragedy.’

‘I’m not in anyone’s tragedy,’ he said roughly. ‘I’m on the outside, looking in. Which is how I’m facing the world from here on. Which is how I suggest you face it.’

‘But Madison…’

‘Ginny, there are wonderful potential parents out there who are aching to have a little girl like Madison. You know as well as I do how hard it is to find a child to adopt. You also know that you, as her guardian when Richard dies, will have a say in choosing those parents and you’ll have rights to access as she grows up. When Richard dies, you can step away. You know you can. You can live your own life.’

‘I don’t think-’

‘You can,’ he said, softly but strongly. He reached forward suddenly and seized her hands, tugging her to her feet. Standing so she was right before him and he was looking down at her in the moonlight. ‘You’re a woman of strength, Ginny Viental, and you can use your strength to keep yourself independent.’

‘Right. So standing here now, with you holding my hands, looking at me like this, that’d be independent.’

‘I can be independent and still want to kiss you.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Sure,’ he said, and if there was a trace of defiance in his tone, both of them ignored it.

Because…maybe both of them knew it was impossible. Or at the least risky.

But there was suddenly no way that kiss wasn’t going to happen.

He was so big, Ginny thought. So male. So…gentle? Gentle was the wrong word, but it was all she had. He stood looking down at her, smiling quizzically in the moonlight, and it was as if for the first time in her life someone knew her. Someone could see what was underneath the carefully cultivated layers.

But she didn’t feel exposed, because what lay under those layers, the fears and the void of loss, were the same for both of them. This man shared something she’d thought was hers alone.

Trust. The word entered her subconscious and stayed there.

She could trust him because he knew her. And that trust…

Its sweetness was almost a siren song. She gazed up into his face and he looked back and his eyes were gently asking if he could take the next step…

The next step in trust?

To kiss.

She smiled back at him, albeit a shaky smile, a smile full of uncertainty but a smile for all that.

He kissed her.

And her world changed, just like that.

Ginny had dated before. Of course she had. She was almost thirty and she was no innocent. She’d carefully held herself at arm’s length when it came to letting her heart get involved but she enjoyed a great social life.

But she’d never felt…

What?

She didn’t know. It was some indefinable factor, but it slammed into her with such force that it shook her to the core. The moment Fergus’s mouth met hers, it was different in a way she could never have imagined. Could never have dreamt of.

Her heart stopped beating.

What a dumb thought. Of course it didn’t stop. She was a sensible person. She was a doctor. This was the stuff of romance novels. A kiss changing things…

She made to pull back and he released her, his eyes searching her face in the moonlight.

‘You don’t want this?’

‘I… Yes, I do,’ she whispered. ‘Or I think I do. But I don’t do relationships.’ Her voice was almost fearful.

‘Of course you don’t. Wise girl. Neither do I. But kissing…’

‘You know as well as I do that this isn’t going to stop at kissing.’

He stilled. There was a moment’s pause-a regroup. This was the time for them both to pull away. But his hands were holding hers and the feel of his mouth was still on her lips. The taste of him. How could she pull away?

‘You’re a really desirable woman,’ he said, and there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice now. ‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you.’

‘But you don’t do relationships.’

‘No.’ Still there was that uncertainty and it scared her.

‘You promise,’ she said, and her voice was urgent.

The smile came back into his voice then-and into his eyes. They crinkled at the edges, the laughter lurking behind. A big, gentle man who took on the troubles of the world…

‘You’re saying we can make love as long as I agree to take off like a cad at first light.’

‘There’s a lot to be said for cads,’ she whispered, and managed to smile back.

‘No strings,’ he murmured.

‘N-no strings.’

‘You’re sure?’

She looked at his face in the moonlight and she felt fear. A sensible woman would retreat right now, she thought. But…

But she’d suddenly had it with being a sensible woman. Life was suddenly far too bleak. The future was suddenly far too scary. Heaven knew what would happen tomorrow-she certainly didn’t.

They’d both seen too much grey, she thought, and if she was suddenly defiant rather than sensible, who could blame her? The night was still and warm. This man was right before her. Back at home lay…

No. Don’t think of that. She could see from Fergus’s eyes that he was feeling exactly what she was. He needed this night and so did she.

And she’d take it. No matter how stupid. No matter how dumb.

‘I don’t suppose,’ she whispered, ‘that you have a condom at hand?’

There was a moment’s hush. The laughter faded and then sprang back again.

‘Can you doubt it? I’m a doctor. Up in my truck I have a doctor’s bag with almost a fully equipped pharmacy inside it. Ginny, are you sure?’

‘That means we have to go via your truck, right?’

‘Um…yeah.’ His hands pulled her into him, holding her close. ‘There’s probably all sorts of creepy-crawlies here anyway. Snakes and stuff.’

‘Probably,’ she agreed equitably. ‘And snakes-and stuff-are decidedly unsexy. I know a better place.’

‘There you are then,’ He grinned. ‘I have a condom, you have a place-what more do we want?’

‘Each other,’ she whispered. ‘For tonight. But just for tonight, Fergus.’

‘Just for tonight,’ he agreed. ‘No strings. But, Ginny…’

‘Mmm?’

‘For tonight I’m going to love you.’