A Courageous Doctor

by Alison Roberts

  Joan added little bundles of carrot slivers and green beans tied up in some kind of plant material to their plates and then sat down.

  ‘Who’s Maggie?’

  ‘An old family friend. My mother asked me to put her up for a few days.’

  ‘Oh.’ Joan’s smile reappeared. ‘She’s a friend of your mother’s, then?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Hugo tasted the fish. ‘This is great,’ he enthused. ‘What are those little green things?’

  ‘Capers.’

  ‘Taste bombs, aren’t they?’ Hugo took another mouthful. ‘Wish I could cook like you do.’

  Joan was extracting bones from her fish with surgical precision. ‘What do you mean by “not exactly”?’

  Hugo repressed a sigh. ‘Maggie is like a kid sister, I guess. She was my sister Felicity’s best mate. They were like twins growing up.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’

  ‘I don’t.’ This time the sigh escaped. ‘Not any more. She was killed in a car accident when she was nineteen.’

  ‘Oh…I’m so sorry, Hugh. I didn’t know.’

  ‘No,’ Hugo agreed sombrely. ‘Of course you didn’t. I never talk about her.’

  The silence grew and had the effect of highlighting the distance suddenly apparent between them. Why had Hugo never spoken of such a personal catastrophe? Joan glanced at him several times before speaking again.

  ‘It’ll be nice to see her again, then. Maggie, I mean,’ she finished awkwardly.

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ Hugo said slowly. Maybe it was time to be more open with Joan. The friendship had ticked along at a snail’s pace for so long now. Maybe it was time to test the waters and see if it was ever going to come to anything really meaningful. Time to give more of himself than he’d ever been prepared to with any woman.

  ‘Actually,’ he said quietly, ‘I haven’t seen Maggie since she and Felicity headed off to Europe when they were eighteen. That’s twelve years ago.’

  ‘And the accident happened overseas?’

  ‘In Greece.’ Hugo nodded. ‘They were in a van and it got hit by a bus and rolled over a cliff.’

  ‘And Maggie was driving?’

  ‘No.’ Hugo raised an eyebrow. ‘What makes you think that?’

  Joan frowned. ‘I just got the impression that maybe you blame Maggie for the accident and that’s why you’re not so keen to see her again.’

  ‘Maybe I do,’ Hugo admitted. ‘Felicity should have been off to university when she finished school. She was very bright and she had a passion for history which was what she intended to major in. Taking a year off to go traipsing around Europe seemed like a waste of time. It was Maggie’s idea, of course.’

  ‘Why of course?’

  ‘Because it was always Maggie who had the ideas. Felicity was only too happy to trail in her wake. Anything Maggie thought of doing was wildly exciting but she would never have gone to Europe by herself. She never had that kind of confidence.’

  ‘And has Maggie never even made contact with you since the accident?’ Joan sounded horrified. ‘Surely she realised how devastating it must have been for you?’

  ‘She was pretty devastated herself.’ Hugo had known at the time that keeping his distance had been harsh but it had been the only way he could possibly have coped. ‘She was quite badly hurt in the accident herself so she couldn’t travel back for the funeral. She wrote a couple of times but I never got round to answering and months turned into years and I suppose neither of us would have wanted to revisit that part of our lives.’

  ‘So why did you offer to let her stay with you?’

  ‘I didn’t. My mother offered on my behalf.’ Hugo shook his head as he smiled. ‘She’s another woman who can be rather persuasive.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But never mind. I’m sure I can cope with seeing Maggie. I moved on from all that a long time ago.’ Hugo’s smile was for Joan this time. ‘That’s probably why I never bothered mentioning it to you.’

  ‘I’m glad you have,’ Joan told him. ‘So I guess it’s a good thing that you’re getting this visitor. Let’s just hope she’s not intending to stay for too long.’ She reached for the silver serving spoon. ‘Would you like some more of this trout? It’s not so bad after all, is it?’

  The house was softly lit. Warm, inviting and…empty. Well, almost empty. Maggie grinned at the three dogs who were circling her feet, sniffing suspiciously.

  ‘It’s OK, guys. I’m not a burglar and I’ve got permission, see?’ She waved the note she had taken down from the front door. ‘This says I can make myself at home, the blue bedroom’s mine, there’s soup on the stove and you lot don’t bite.’ She held out her hand to one of the rangy black and white dogs, who backed away warily.

  Maggie smiled ruefully. ‘I hope your owner’s a bit friendlier than you are. Or is he the one who bites?’

  Pretending she was not miffed by the wall of canine suspicion, Maggie quickly explored the house. The main room was not huge but it felt spacious due to its open-plan design, leading at one end to the kitchen and dining area and opening to a television den at the other end. French doors to the verandah were draped against the chill of the night but Maggie could imagine the view on an early summer’s morning, watching the sun rise over the lake. The bedrooms also had French doors opening to the long verandah and Maggie had already spotted the casual wicker furniture on the wide outdoor extension to the house. Service areas, including two bathrooms and a laundry, were on the side of the house away from the lake but basically the dwelling was single-room width, built on the lake’s edge like a holiday cottage.

  It seemed ancient. The wide, wooden floorboards had the rich patina of age and matched hardwood beams latticed the plaster ceilings of most of the rooms. The bathrooms and kitchen were up to date, however, and the old coal range that was keeping some delicious-smelling soup hot looked as though it had been kept purely for its aesthetic value. Furnishings appeared to have been chosen for comfort rather than style and the huge leather chair beside the woodburner looked as inviting as the soup smelt.

  Maggie was tired. She had started the long drive down from the ferry terminal at Picton yesterday and had stopped overnight in Christchurch. She thought she’d paced the journey well but the interruption of dealing with that accident had drained any remaining energy. She pulled only the bare essentials of her possessions from her car to put in the spare bedroom with the pale, blue walls and darker blue bed covering, and then went to explore more thoroughly what the kitchen had to offer. A loaf of bread topped a wooden board beside the stove and Maggie helped herself to a thick slice, breaking off a piece of crust to nibble as she hunted for a suitable mug to ladle soup into. She noticed the eyes then. Four of them, with another two lurking a little further back. She grinned.

  ‘Oh…I’m not so bad now that I’m holding food, is that the story?’

  A tail thumped. Then another. Maggie could have sworn the dogs exchanged vaguely embarrassed glances before sidling closer. Maggie held out what was left of the crust. ‘So, who’s going to be brave enough to go first, then?’

  She hoped Hugo wasn’t a big eater. If he’d intended that loaf of bread for his breakfast he might be annoyed to find that Maggie had shared so much of it with his pets as she’d bribed them into friendship.

  ‘Mind you, we don’t have to tell him, do we?’ Maggie put the empty soup mug down on top of the pile of medical journals covering the table beside the chair. She curled her legs up so that she could lean more comfortably into the lovely old leather cushions. She scratched the set of ears that stood out from the rest by having one black and one white. The dog closed its eyes wearily.

  ‘Come on, then.’ Maggie drew her legs into a tighter ball and patted the space she had created on the chair beside her. ‘You look like you need a rest as much as I do.’

  It was later than Hugo had intended by the time he headed home but he hadn’t expected to have to spend his evening making amends. He still wasn’t quite sure what he
had been trying to atone for. His lateness, initially, but then what? Not Joan’s suspicions about him having a female house guest. He had no reason to feel guilty about that. It was more likely to have been the revelation of how little they really knew each other that had made him feel so guilty.

  Hugo suspected he had spent the last three hours or so trying to do something about his lack of involvement in the relationship. Trying to let Joan know that he hadn’t been simply stringing her along for reasons of personal convenience. He had even kissed her with more enthusiasm than usual, too, but the lack of any overwhelming ambition to take her to bed still hadn’t changed. It had been Joan who had decreed that they take things slowly but a year was a bit ridiculous in anyone’s book, wasn’t it? And why hadn’t he felt inspired to do something about it?

  He was too tired to worry about it now and it was irritating to feel like he had something else he would need to make amends for when he went into his own home. Maggie had probably felt unwelcome, arriving to an empty house with an impersonal note taped to the door. But she wasn’t welcome, was she? Maggie Johnston carried with her too many reminders of things Hugo had done his best to move on from. The thought of stirring parts of his soul best left to lie in peace was disturbing. It had been tough enough telling Joan the bare facts. Hugo realised then that that was the reason he had spent so long in Joan’s company tonight. He would have denied it strongly but he had been nervous about going home.

  What was he going to find? A Mack truck filling the woolshed? An older but still stroppy female who might make demands on the strength of their past association? Trouble had always followed Maggie like a boisterous puppy, ready to leap unexpectedly and over-enthusiastically into prominence but never causing major damage. At least, not until that ill-fated trip overseas. Hugo shook his head. There was no point revisiting any of that again until he had to.

  And maybe Maggie had changed. There was no vast truck parked in his woolshed. Just a very ordinary, small Toyota hatchback. And his house looked perfectly peaceful. Quiet. Too quiet, maybe. Where were the dogs? Had Maggie given up waiting for him to come home and taken herself off to bed? Hugo let himself into the house carefully so as not to disturb his guest if she was asleep. He clicked the front door shut quietly and trod softly across the short hallway to enter the living room. Then, two steps into the room, he stopped.

  Maggie was asleep. Curled up in his big, leather chair. Two dogs lay guarding her feet, including Tuck—the dog who accepted no stranger but now had his nose resting on the chair’s cushion. And Lass, who was so shy it had taken Hugo weeks to win her trust, was actually on the chair with Maggie, coiled into a ball that fitted neatly behind Maggie’s knees. The gaze she bestowed on Hugo was frankly guilty and the white-tipped tail waved apologetically.

  It was the movement of the dog that woke Maggie. She blinked in confusion for a long moment as Hugo stared back at her but then her face came alive, the smile extending to a delighted grin as she scrambled to her feet, scattering reluctant dogs.

  ‘Hugo!’

  And with the sound of her voice myriad memories rushed at him. He could hear two voices. Young girls of about eight or nine. Teasing him as he arrived home from school.

  ‘Hugo!’

  ‘No, you go!’

  ‘No! Hugo!’

  He could hear the echo of giggles but he could also remember the welcome that had lain beneath the teasing. Who else had ever been that pleased to see him? Had lain in wait to tease him unmercifully but had also sought him out to share something new and exciting or seek assistance when, once again, they had landed themselves in some kind of trouble?

  Only Maggie and Felicity, that was who. And now it was just Maggie, but the pleasure of seeing him was there in her eyes and it was just the same. Hugo had to breathe in past the painful constriction his throat was experiencing.

  ‘Oh, Maggie,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’ And to his astonishment, he found the words were true.

  He held out his arms and then, to his consternation, Maggie’s grin faded and gold-flecked hazel eyes sparkled with gathering tears. But then Maggie was in his arms and Hugo was being hugged with breathtaking enthusiasm and he was aware of nothing but the feeling that a huge chunk of his life that he had believed had gone for ever had just—miraculously—been given back to him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘SHE’S gorgeous.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Hugo was trying not to allow his attention to waver but it was proving difficult.

  ‘What did you say her name was?’

  ‘Maggie Johnston.’ Hugo raised his gaze from the patient file on the desk in front of him with a small sigh.

  ‘And she’s a paramedic?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Hugo found himself smiling as he remembered Maggie’s delight in discovering that he had expected her to arrive driving a truck.

  ‘It was probably my mother’s fault that she got it wrong. She still calls me an ambulance driver despite me explaining in great detail that ambulance officers actually do a lot more than just drive.’ Hugo had forgotten that half thoughtful, half mischievous gleam that Maggie’s eyes were so good at producing. ‘I wouldn’t mind trying a big truck one day, mind you. Could be fun!’

  Maggie was having fun now by the sound of it. Unfortunately, the area used to wash ambulances down was right outside the window of the office that Hugo and his companion, visiting cardiology specialist Donald Hamilton, were using. Maggie had just missed soaking Jason Locke with the high-pressure hose she was holding. Probably intentionally, judging by her shriek of laughter as Jason threatened to retaliate with a soggy mop.

  Donald was grinning now, or was it more of a leer? ‘Looks like she’s having fun.’

  ‘Maggie always has fun.’ Hugo was unaware of his proprietorial tone or the faint edge of envy. Why was it that he had never discovered that happy knack of fitting in so well and so instantly somewhere new? Of making friends that easily? Of finding things, no matter how trivial, to be amused by? He’d never been distracted from a consultation before by people who were enjoying a chore like cleaning a vehicle, for heaven’s sake.

  ‘Does she now?’ Donald’s expression was definitely in the leer category now and his obvious interest in Maggie was suddenly irritating. Hugo cleared his throat.

  ‘Charlie Barker,’ he reminded Donald somewhat curtly.

  ‘Ah…yes. I saw him today, didn’t I? Nice chap.’

  ‘Seventy-two-year-old,’ Hugo nodded. ‘Triple vessel disease. First infarct three years ago.’ He opened the file. ‘I think you did his cardiac catheter investigation and the angioplasty yourself.’

  Donald glanced at the report, a map of the major arteries of the heart with shaded segments showing the abnormalities discovered and treated. ‘Yep. The LAD and circumflex were quite markedly narrowed, although the infarct was relatively minor.’ He turned a page. ‘Three stents altogether. I ballooned this segment on the right coronary as well. He did very well. Almost normal cardiac output and he was pain-free on follow-up for…let’s see…’ Pages fluttered as Donald looked for the outpatient clinic notes.

  ‘He was free of angina for eighteen months,’ Hugo agreed. Charlie had, in fact, had a great year after recovering from the scare the heart attack had given him. One of Hugo’s first patients after starting work in the area, the semi-retired builder had quickly become a favourite. When Hugo had bought his property, Charlie had insisted on helping him plan and then carry out his conversion of the old shearers’ quarters. He had come to know Charlie, and his wife Betty, very well over the course of that year and he was very fond of them both. After nearly fifty years together, the couple were still virtually inseparable and the Barkers confirmed Hugo’s faith that marriage could be a wonderful institution if you were lucky enough to find the right person.

  ‘His blood pressure’s under good control. The lipid profile still looks good and the rhythm’s stable.’

  ‘His angina isn’t. He’s getting pain more oft
en with less provocation and the GTN is less effective.’

  ‘He’s on the waiting list for bypass surgery.’

  ‘He’s been on the list for nearly two years now. His condition’s deteriorating.’

  ‘I know.’ Donald sighed wearily. ‘And I’m sorry but there’s not much I can do about that. The waiting list keeps growing. Every time we get another acute patient it cuts the numbers we can take from the list. It’s an ongoing battle. We’re doing our best to increase funding so we can put more cases through. Can he afford to go private?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll put his score up and see if we can move him up the list. I can’t promise anything, though, Hugo. You know that.’

  Hugo nodded. Both men were silent for a moment and Donald’s gaze travelled back to the window. The ambulance was moving back into the garage now but Hugo knew the cardiologist’s attention had returned to one of its crew. He closed Charlie’s file.

  ‘Have you got time for a coffee before your flight back to Dunedin?’

  Donald checked his watch. ‘No. I’d better head back across the road to the airport.’

  ‘I’ll walk over with you.’ Hugo stood up as well. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

  An opportunity to put in another plug on Charlie Barker’s behalf would also be welcome but Hugo was distracted by the route Donald chose. Had it been intentional to pass so close to the ambulance station garage? The glance he gave Hugo as their path coincided with that of Maggie and Jason confirmed that the opportunity had definitely been on Donald’s agenda. Hugo found himself forced to oblige by providing introductions.

  ‘Maggie? This is Donald Hamilton, one of our visiting specialists. He’s a cardiologist from Dunedin. Donald, meet Maggie Johnston, our new paramedic.’

  ‘Hi.’ Maggie’s smile was genuinely friendly and she didn’t hesitate in holding her hand out to be shaken. Hugo’s eyes narrowed slightly. Had it been Donald’s idea to extend the handshake quite that long? And did he have to look at Maggie with such blatant admiration? He took a look at Dr Hamilton from an entirely new perspective. The cardiologist was probably in his early forties. Far too old for Maggie.