On a Starlit Ocean

by Charlotte Nash

  “Yes, he’s the talent around here. Keeps to himself though. Who knows what kind of shenanigans go on up there, with all his ladies. He’s probably coming for something you-know-where as well.”

  Alex thought back to Stella on the plane; when she’d mentioned Helmut, he’d been too preoccupied to register who she meant. He felt the thrill of knowing something about his patients, of being part of their lives. A tight knot that had lodged in his chest eased. For the first time, he thought this might have been the right move after all.

  “All right,” Alex said. “And I understand someone here is a nurse?”

  “Oh. Anna was way back, but she hasn’t really wanted to be involved since … you know.”

  “Any medical experience yourself?”

  “Two healthy children raised to adults,” Sandy said proudly. “That counts, doesn’t it?”

  “Definitely,” Alex said. “Anyone else? Just in case we have a bad day. Doesn’t hurt to have extra hands.”

  “Oh, well there’s Darren. He’s a diver, moved here about a year ago. Prefers to be called Travers. He used to be a medic in the army apparently.”

  Alex’s interest piqued. That could be very useful. “Where does he live?”

  “Rents one of the seaside cabins, down the end of the point. But he’s often away on his boat. Think I saw him this morning, though.”

  A knock came at the practice door.

  “Oooh!” said Sandy. “Now, don’t you do a thing, Dr Bell—”

  “Alex is fine—”

  “—just you sit right here and let me find out who it is.”

  So, Alex sat at the desk, a small smile on his face at the enthusiasm of his part-time receptionist, trying to hear voices through the consult door.

  The next moment, a knock came, as if they hadn’t just been speaking.

  “Doctor, this is Skye Jacobs,” said Sandy formally, giving Alex a significant eyebrow so that only he could see.

  Alex looked around to see a fine-boned woman with dark hair, holding an oversized straw hat. So, this was Dr Jacobs’s daughter. He rose. “Thanks, Sandy. Miss Jacobs,” he said, offering his hand.

  He didn’t miss the once-over she gave him. “Skye,” she said.

  “Alex is fine, if you like.”

  “I won’t keep you,” she said quickly. “I just needed to give you a run down on the power situation. Mum insisted.”

  Alex gestured into his office, and sat down. After a moment, Skye took the patient’s chair. He noticed a flint in her now, some kind of hardness that allowed her to come here in her discomfort when her mother clearly hadn’t.

  “We run generators for the village,” she began. “But unless it’s really hot weather, we often turn them off overnight to save fuel. It’s not that we want to, but with the resort closed we don’t have a more reliable power source. Will it cause you problems with your fridges? I know vaccines are kept cold.”

  “I can ask my employer for a back-up generator.”

  Skye gave him a nod and stood. “All right, then. I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

  She left so quickly Alex didn’t have chance to ask what tonight was. He had begun going through the desk drawers, when another knock came.

  “Doctor, seems you have a patient,” said Sandy, with a grin.

  Alex rose and caught sight of reception where a boy of about twelve with freckles and thin arms stood clutching a huge black dog. The dog’s pink tongue was lolling good-naturedly from the side of his mouth.

  “This is Tim and Monster,” said Sandy.

  “Okay, Tim,” Alex said. “Can Monster stay outside?”

  Tim frowned, and glanced at Sandy, who stage-whispered back to Alex. “I think Monster’s the patient.”

  “Ah, I’m not exactly a vet,” Alex said.

  “He’s limping,” Tim said. “And we’re supposed to go rock-hopping later. Monster’s a born island dog.”

  Alex laughed. “Come on then, Monster,” he said, wincing for Tim as the skinny boy hauled the dog inside the consulting room. Before he followed, Alex leaned in to Sandy.

  “I’d better have some disinfectant for the table afterwards. How many dogs are there on the island?”

  “Three,” Sandy said, dropping her voice. “Not counting the Haven Beast, that is.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do about a separate consulting room for them. Word of this gets out, they’ll all be down here.”

  Sandy gave him a grin. “There’s a storeroom we’re not using out back. That’ll be perfect.”

  And then she was off, leaving Alex with Tim and Monster.

  Monster had managed to lodge the end of a fishhook deep between the pads of his foot. So Alex, figuring the principles had to be the same, drew up some local anaesthetic and laid out a minor surgical kit. For his own part, Tim was fascinated, and especially impressed when Alex put the tiny surgical drape over Monster’s foot. And the dog, despite his devilish appearance, sat calmly and unmoved, only giving Alex a reproachful stare when the needle went in.

  “Monster’s got a sixth sense,” Tim said, as Alex worked.

  “That so?”

  “Yep. He knows when the ghost is going to appear.”

  “The ghost?”

  “On the Leap.”

  “Oh, I see,” Alex said, trying to concentrate.

  Ten minutes and a small incision later, Alex had removed the fish hook, cleaned the wound and fashioned a dressing that he didn’t think would last, given the interest with which Monster was sniffing the bandage.

  “I think you should bring him back tomorrow and let me look at it again,” Alex said, while googling – on the island’s slow and intermittent internet connection – to find out if Monster would need a tetanus shot.

  Soon, a return appointment was fixed and Monster had bounded out with unlimited energy, dragging Tim with him.

  “How shall we write that in the accounts?” asked Sandy.

  Alex shrugged. “Gratis. Dogs don’t have Medicare numbers anyway.”

  After that, Sandy showed him to the rear of the surgery, where his room was set up, complete with a queen bed and air-conditioner.

  “I put your bag in here. This used to be for the visiting docs, or if someone had to stay overnight. I’ll leave you to get settled.”

  “Wait – Skye said something about seeing me tonight. What’s that about?”

  “Oh, there’s a big meeting about the resort’s future at the hall, and we’re putting on a dinner afterwards. Be a good place to meet people. You should come down. And have an explore around before then.”

  “Okay.”

  Sandy paused on her way to the door. “Just be careful heading up Bella’s Leap. The tracks are a bit overgrown.”

  “Bella’s Leap? Is that what Tim was talking about?”

  “The cliff at the end of the main beach – can’t miss it,” she called as she left.

  After she was gone, Alex listened to the gentle brush of low hanging gum tree leaves on the roof. He paced back into the clinic, straightening the consulting room, throwing out the paper drapes Monster had sat on and wiping down everything with Chlorhexidine. He checked stocks. Tested a jelly bean. Okay, two jellybeans. Then he slipped out the back door.

  Breeze whispered in the sheoaks, and there was a rhythmic shush of waves on the beach. Alex followed the sounds of wind and water across the path, past the bakery and into the dunes. At the crest, he faced the curve of perfect blue ocean that pulled into to the horizon, holding the moored boats and the distant knobs of the smaller Haven islands. Calm. Tranquil. Those would have been the words on the glossy brochure.

  Further around the bay he could see the rocky cliff rising high over the water. So, that was Bella’s Leap, the same cliff he’d seen from the air, with the waves breaking over its rocks. From here, it didn’t look too threatening.

  He blew out a breath. He could do this, even if his first patient had been a dog. But he was also aware how alone he was, how far from a mainland hospital
. No ambulance. Just him. So, Alex turned away from Bella’s Leap and went to look for Travers the medic.

  Chapter 3

  The sun was going down, dragging streaks of pink and purple into the sea as Erin checked her watch that evening. From the deck of her yacht, she could see the coloured lights around the village hall peeking above the other buildings, could smell the food cooking in the air. She didn’t really want to go, but she’d eaten too many frozen and dehydrated meals in the last months to pass up Sandy’s stroganoff pies. She’d told Tristan she would come. It wasn’t fair not to follow through, and she would have to look for work soon anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. Would it?

  She padded down the jetty, her deck shoes soundless on the boards, two seagulls eyeing her hopefully. She wondered if she’d have a different reception from the town.

  Skye was manning the door as she arrived, handing out lucky prize tickets. She spotted Erin sidling through the shadows, waiting for a queue to clear.

  “There you are,” she said, marching over. “Mum’s in the kitchen with Sandy and the rest of the committee. You can help me with these tickets.”

  So instead of being able to disappear inside, Erin found herself handing out tickets and flyers for the upcoming dance to the villagers, many of whom were as familiar to her as Skye was.

  “Erin? Oh my god!” seemed the standard reaction, followed by hand-holding and statements of how good it was to see her. No one seemed grudging, not to her face. Only, after they’d moved inside, Erin knew they were turning back for a second look, and whispering. At least many of the kids were too young to remember her. Most of them looked puzzled until she explained she was Skye’s sister. One kid with freckles and a huge black dog – complete with bandaged paw and a cone around his neck – offered his hand to shake. But Erin was glad when she could tug the ticket stubs off their staple and drop them in the bucket.

  “That’s it then,” she said.

  “Not so fast.” Skye caught her arm. “Here comes the new doctor.”

  Erin spied two men approaching the hall along the wooden boardwalk. They were about the same height, but the one on the left was bulkier, and walked with a slight limp. Erin had no trouble recognising him as Travers, the smart-mouth diver she’d met on Saturday morning. The one on the right, though, he was athletic with an easy unhurried stride. When they reached the end of the path and fell under the hall’s spotlight, this man looked right at her. Erin glimpsed a gale in the depths of his eyes that stopped her cold. She blinked and that impression of him was gone, but not his attention. His gaze lingered on her as though he didn’t have a choice. Erin read it as a challenge: this was the man who’d come to replace her father.

  “That’s Alex Bell,” Skye began. “The new—”

  Erin shook Skye off. “I really don’t need this.”

  She shot through the door into the back of the hall, and leaned against the shiplap. It was still the same canary yellow she remembered painting as a teenager. Over her shoulder, she could hear the men chatting to Skye, who was trying to push extra raffle tickets on them.

  A warm hand closed on her arm, and she jumped.

  “Erin, I am sorry, I scare you.”

  At once, Erin’s chest flooded with relief. “Helmut!”

  The painter was just as she remembered him: sun-bleached hair in a nest of curls, beard streaked with Prussian blue and cerulean. Erin had spent many afternoons camped out on the floor of his studio, wrestling with school work and he’d always provided a refuge. Stella had helped with maths. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.

  “But of course. I can always keep selling paintings, but if no one cares about this island, the value ...” He made a diving thumbs-down.

  Erin leaned in. “Do you have a clue what this is about?”

  “None. But I have an odd feeling, here.” He rubbed his round belly with the hand that was missing its little finger.

  “I hate waiting,” Erin grumbled. “I don’t even see Tris—”

  But then, Tristan was there. Erin spotted him at the side of the stage, speaking to Greta, the safari tent park owner. They’d rolled in a portable microphone on a trolley, the hall’s rickety lectern coaxed onto the flat spot on the stage, on the far right. Tristan strode past it, grabbing the microphone with the confidence of a rock star, and sat on the edge of the stage. Having shed his jacket, and in a delicate blue shirt, he seemed boyish and inviting. A hush blew through the crowd.

  “Friends.” Tristan grinned. “I love that I can say that. It’s not often I get to sit in front of people I hold so dear, to talk about something so exciting. As most of you know, I grew up a few houses that way.”

  He pointed north, into the heart of the island, going on for a while about how he’d loved growing up here, how he missed his own father, who was now in Sydney for health reasons. Erin tapped her foot, waiting for him to get to the point. She didn’t like listening to the liquid confidence of his voice.

  “We all know,” Tristan finally said, “how much difference the resort makes in the life of the village. We like our community small, but the resort means reliable power, better food supply, and customers in our businesses. We know this is paradise, but we want to share it.”

  He gave the room a long pause. Erin looked about, impatient, but found no one else fidgeting.

  “But we also know,” he went on, dropping his voice, “how hard these last years have been. We’ve been made promises by new owners, only to see it sold again and again. Well, no more. When the opportunity came, I thought, that’s what I want Drummond Enterprises to do next. I want to come home, and do something right. So I bought it.”

  A cheer went up, though everyone already knew this much.

  “Funny, how he says we,” Helmut complained softly. “When he hasn’t lived here this many years.”

  Erin, knowing anyone could level the same criticism at her, said nothing.

  Tristan went on. “I know you’re being patient with me, that what you really came for is to know what comes next.”

  Erin checked her watch.

  “You’ll have to forgive me – I’ve had to keep the plans quiet for a while. But now I can confirm the rumour I’m sure you’ve all heard. Yes, I’m reopening the resort.”

  A murmur stole through the crowd, heads nodding at the confirmation of what they’d hoped.

  “But that’s not all,” Tristan said. “We all know resorts face difficulties, and I don’t want ours to be in the same situation again. So, I’ve made bigger plans. Bolder plans. Not only will the resort reopen, but I’m making it a hub for the region, the home of the new Great Haven Regatta!”

  Erin felt an electric jolt. What?

  “That’s right,” Tristan was saying. “Haven Resort will be centre-stage for an international yacht race series, of the highest calibre. Our waters are famous for their tricks – golf has Carnoustie and Pebble Beach. Well, sailing will have Great Haven. Right now, the top racing boats are heading north for Hamilton Race Week. But our sponsorship will be world class, the prize money unignorable. They’ll all want to stop here first. It will be the premier onshore event of the year.”

  The hall was suddenly consumed with excited chatter. Erin watched Tristan with an open mouth, hardly believing what she’d heard. How could this be possible? The resort was far from ready to open; such an event had to be a year away at best. If he was offering her a racing crew position, the work was a long way off. This was all a colossal waste of time.

  Tristan let the buzz go on for a few minutes, then began taking questions. Most people wanted to know about the resort. It would take nine months, he said, and directed people to the brochures for drawings. Amid the questions, he looked up and found Erin’s eyes at the back of the room. A smile creased his lips, which she didn’t return.

  “You know, I’ve been talking a long time,” he said. “And I don’t know about you, but the smell from the kitchen is driving me mad. I’ve stacks of prospectuses here. I’m going t
o step away, let you read, have a great meal, and then we’ll come back to questions afterwards.”

  “Clever,” murmured Helmet. “Everyone will be much happier when fed.”

  Erin grunted, but Tristan was now giving her a beckoning nod towards backstage.

  She apologised to Helmut. She was going to give Tristan a serve for wasting her time.

  She found him in the heavy red curtains to the side of the stage where the air smelled of sandalwood and dust. The smell reminded her of long-ago times when they’d snuck up here to kiss, the velvet curtains brushing on her skin.

  “Erin,” he said.

  He tried to take her hand, but she dodged him. “Is this what you wanted me to stay for?” she said. “Come and crew a racing boat for you next year sometime, if you ever get this regatta up and running?”

  “You’re angry,” he said, but he had a sparkle in his eye, as if he remembered past fights with her fondly.

  “Damn right,” she said, finally meeting his eyes, needing to see his reaction. “I waited two days for this nothing-show. You could have told me on the phone.”

  “Erin.” He reached for her hand again, a softness in his voice. This time, she let him, not liking the way her breath caught at his touch. “I couldn’t tell you all the details because they weren’t settled. And crew for me? You give yourself too little credit.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve watched your career, every day since you left. You’re far better than crew. You’ve raced in every blue-ribbon course around the world. And more, you’re an island local. We still need to do a lot of work, organising, attracting sponsorship, but we’re going to run pilot races soon. And when it comes time for the big event, I want you on one of my boats. Wearing my colours,” he added, more softly.

  Erin couldn’t speak for a long minute. She could hear the desire in his voice, and it mixed up all the things he was saying. Made her want to trust him, just because they had a history. She had to remember that their relationship was long over, and he was talking about business. That she’d heard enough empty promises from big-talking wealthy men to be cautious.