She was stumping her way towards him. With the pack she was carrying she was almost as wide as she was high.
‘I’ll go,’ Elsa said quickly but he caught her hand.
‘No. I’m glad this has happened. This is someone I’d like you to meet.’
‘Marc,’ the woman said again as she reached them and she gripped his hand with a ferocity that made him wince. ‘Excellent,’ she boomed. ‘A handover. How long do we have before the plane leaves?’
‘Only minutes,’ he told her, ‘but Elsa can fill you in.’ He turned to Elsa, who was looking faintly stunned. ‘Elsa, this is Stella Harbour—Dr Harbour. Stella, this is Dr McCrae. Elsa, Stella’s a hiking friend of my mother’s. She retired from family medicine a couple of years ago and has been hiking the world since.’
‘And starting to get bored doing it,’ Stella said bluntly. ‘Not that I haven’t seen some amazing places, but Marc’s call seemed a godsend. I’m missing my medicine. Not that it’s a sure thing,’ she said hastily, seeing Elsa’s look of incomprehension. ‘I’m here to hike all over this island, and while I’m doing it I’ll be seeing if there might be a place here for me. A work place, I mean.’
‘What...?’ Elsa managed.
‘He didn’t tell you? No, he said he’d leave it up to me to explain. Now, you don’t have to have me if you don’t want me. Marc was clear on that. He said there might be the possibility of work that’d fluctuate according to need. Not much in the quiet times, but full-on in the peak of the tourist season. Which pretty much suits me beautifully. I don’t depend on work to provide an income. I love this island—Marc’s mum and I hiked here together a couple of times. Peak tourist times are the times when I hate being on the trails anyway and I’d far rather be sewing up cuts and being busy. Anyway, no decision needed yet, my dear. Marc just put it forward as an option, so I thought I’d come over, do a couple of hikes and maybe see if you could make use of me.’
Elsa stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing—and then she turned to Marc. ‘How...?’
‘I thought laterally,’ he said, smiling at the confusion—and hope—he saw on her face. ‘I remembered the host of lady bushwalkers my mother collected around her, thought of their demographic—pretty much all nearing retiring age—so I rang Mum’s best friend.’
‘And Lucy rang round all of us with a medical background—there were a few because you know Marc’s mum was a medical researcher? And when Lucy rang me... Well, it sounds perfect. To live and work here...’
‘I need to go now,’ Marc said apologetically. The boarding call for his flight was getting insistent. ‘Elsa, Stella knows this is an idea only. If you don’t like it then...’
‘Then I get a walking holiday here, and no one’s the worse off,’ Stella added cheerfully. ‘Of you go, dear,’ she told Marc and gave him a gentle push. ‘Back to your cardiology and leave the nuts and bolts of general medicine to us. Byee.’
‘Marc...’ Elsa said helplessly.
‘Do what’s best for you,’ Marc told her. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder, found his balance on his still-plastered leg and looked at her for one last time. ‘Goodbye, Elsa.’
‘Marc,’ she said again, and then, before he could anticipate what she intended, she reached up and cupped his face and tugged it down to hers.
And kissed him. Fiercely. Possessively.
And then she let him go with a gasp that turned into something that was suspiciously like a sob.
But it was cut off. She put a hand to her face as if to hide her emotions, and when her hand dropped again she had herself under control.
‘Goodbye, Marc,’ she said and somehow she managed it without so much as a tremor. ‘Thank you and farewell.’
* * *
He sat on the plane, looking out on the island receding in the distance below and felt blank. Empty. Done.
His leg ached. Everything ached.
Work was piling up in Sydney. He had interns starting on Monday. He had a paper to present at a conference in New York at the beginning of next month. He had a meeting this week with researchers investigating a new drug that promised to reduce blood pressure without the current side-effects.
His diary also showed a party next Saturday that sounded amazing—Grant Thurgood’s fortieth would surely be the social event of the season. Grant was a cardiologist at the top of his game, his wife was a socialite extraordinaire and the money and effort they’d thrown at this event would take their guests’ collective breath away.
He tried to imagine Elsa throwing such a party, and couldn’t. He tried to imagine Elsa living in that milieu, and couldn’t.
Unbidden, his hands moved to his face. To his mouth. As if he could still taste her.
Elsa.
He glanced down at the island beneath him. Somewhere down there Elsa would be talking to Stella, planning a future. Without him.
That was okay. It had to be. Solitude had been pretty much drilled into him from childhood, and it was the easy retreat now.
Life would move on, he told himself. No matter what Elsa decided, it was hardly his business now. He’d thought of marriage when he’d suggested she move to Sydney, but honestly...would he be any good at it?
Elsa would be good at it, he thought. Loving was her specialty, but she surely deserved better than him.
But the pressure from that kiss was still with him and it wouldn’t leave. Maybe solitude wasn’t so appealing.
But maybe... nothing. Was he still thinking about marriage? If she couldn’t leave the island it was impossible to go down that road unless he joined her, abandoned his career, became a part-time generalist.
But that thought was rejected almost before it was formed. He didn’t have the empathy, the skills, to be a really good family doctor. A month of such medicine had left him in awe of what Elsa did, but he’d also accepted she had a skill set that was just as important as any cardiology techniques he’d learned. He’d go crazy, watching Elsa seamlessly do what he couldn’t. He had to have a challenge.
A challenge... The word seemed to hang.
From up here he could see all the islands, the six that made up the Birding group. He’d seen patients from the outer isles while he’d been at Gannet. He’d even visited a couple, with their remote medical clinics run by capable nurses.
Six islands.
They were Elsa’s responsibility. Not his.
Why did it seem as if they were his?
He’d booked a double seat so he could stretch his leg. That meant he was undisturbed, so now he sat back and closed his eyes. Forcing his mind to go blank was a technique he used when he was struggling to find a solution to a fraught medical dilemma—clear all preconceived ideas and start from scratch.
This was surely a dilemma. He needed his technique now.
And suddenly it worked. His mind switched into overdrive and fragments were shooting at him like brightly lit arrows from all sides.
Six islands.
A career that was challenging.
Stella and her mountain climbing and part-time medicine.
Part-time doctors.
A jigsaw that could be put together?
Maybe.
The jumble was coalescing into a whole that was making him feel dizzy.
‘It’ll never work,’ he said out loud, and the flight attendant was suddenly at his side, looking concerned. She was being super helpful to someone she obviously saw as disabled.
‘Sir? Is there something wrong?’
She was middle-aged, friendly, reminding him of Maggie. She smiled encouragingly, and amazingly he found himself talking.
‘Just a problem I’m trying to solve.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ The plane was half empty. Clearly she had time to chat.
‘I don’t think anything’s wrong,’ he said slowly. �
��Except... I might just need to toss my job.’
‘Oh, but surely your leg will get better.’ She still sounded worried. ‘This is the only plane that services Gannet so we know all about you. You were trapped underground. That must have been an awful experience, but surely your life can get back to normal now.’
‘But maybe it wasn’t being trapped that stopped me feeling normal.’ He was feeling as confused as she was looking. ‘Maybe it was being rescued.’
‘I gather it was Dr McCrae who found you,’ the woman said, and smiled encouragingly. ‘She has quite a reputation among the islanders. She’d have kept you safe if anyone could. The islanders think she’s wonderful.’
‘She is indeed,’ Marc said softly.
‘Well, take care of yourself, sir.’ Duty done, she left to check on the other passengers and Marc was left with his circling thoughts. Which centred now around Elsa.
He let his mind drift back to that time of being trapped with Elsa. Her warmth. Her humour. The feeling that he was safe with her.
And then later... The way she’d melted into him as he’d kissed her. The feeling that he’d found his way home.
Home?
Home was Sydney. Home was a demanding clinical life, his research, cutting-edge medicine, friends who felt the same as he did.
As a lone kid of wealthy but dysfunctional parents, his studies and his career had become his refuge. They were still his pole stars. His career and his research were the most important thing, and everything else fitted around the edges.
What if home was the pole star?
‘You need two pole stars,’ he said out loud. He’d read that in an astronomy encyclopaedia his father had given him when he was seven.
Earth’s pole stars are Polaris, a magnitude two star aligned approximately with its northern axis, and Polaris Australis, a much dimmer star...
The book had been a birthday gift when he was seven. His parents had been shouting at each other before he’d even unwrapped it, and afterwards they’d been rigidly formal, bidding him goodnight with their anger still obvious.
He’d buried himself in the pole stars. Two pole stars used for navigation for thousands of years.
Pole stars guiding him home. There was that word again.
Home.
Elsa.
He was thinking laterally now. His father’s gift of the astronomy book made him think of Elsa’s gifts. Her carefully nurtured geraniums. Gifts given with love.
And now he was remembering again the line that had come into his head as he’d held her and kissed her.
To have and to hold.
He couldn’t hold her. What sort of arrogance had made him demand that? He wanted to hold Elsa, but she wouldn’t be held just because that was what he wanted.
He wanted to have, but Elsa needed to have as well. She wanted her island. She needed her island.
And there suddenly was his idea, his light bulb moment. His astounding plan.
He thought of his salary. His inherited wealth. His skills, his contacts, his resources. If he couldn’t do it, no one could.
It might be impossible, but his light bulb plan was coalescing by the second.
‘I won’t know unless I try,’ he said out loud. He saw the passenger across the aisle eye him with caution, and he grinned. Maybe the guy thought he was nuts and maybe he was. What he was hoping for probably made no sense at all.
‘It’s politics and funding and feet on the ground,’ he muttered. ‘And realistically... It’ll take at least a year to organise, if it’s even possible.’
A year without Elsa? He wanted to turn the plane around now, share his idea with her, tug her into his arms.
To have and to hold? No. Because if it failed, or if he failed... It wasn’t fair to either of them.
‘A year,’ he told himself. A year to change. A whole dammed year.
‘You can contact her. Phone her. Go visit her. Be a friend.’
A friend. Friend with benefits?
‘As if that’s likely to happen. What if she meets someone else? What if she hooks up with that Tony guy?
‘It’s a risk.’ He struggled with the thought, but common sense had to prevail. ‘If this is real, if she feels like I do...’ He sighed. ‘Back off, Pierce, and get your ducks in order first. She’s worth fighting for. She’s worth risking all. Prove to yourself that you love her enough to wait.’
Love... There was the biggie. Could he really love?
‘If you love her then you’ll do what it takes,’ he told himself. ‘Fight for what she wants, not for what you want. Starting now.’
But still he hesitated, staring out of the window as if he could still see the islands. The urge to turn around and head back to her was overwhelming. Maybe he could do this from Gannet?
He knew he couldn’t. He needed to be in Sydney. He needed to be networking, politicking, fighting for something more important than both of them.
‘And if I tell her my plan and it fails, then I’ll break her heart,’ he said out loud. ‘But by next Christmas...’
Eleven months. Was it possible?
He turned from the window and flicked open the memo function on his phone to write the first hopeful outline. He was suddenly a man with a purpose. A man with a woman worth fighting for.
‘If Elsa can produce a black geranium then surely I can produce a dream,’ he vowed. ‘But dreams aren’t real...
‘And neither’s Santa Claus,’ he told himself. ‘But by next Christmas... It’s the season of miracles after all, so at least I can try.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Christmas Day, eleven months later:
MARC STARED DOWN at the mountainous Birding Isles, set in a ring against the sparkling sapphire sea, and felt an overwhelming sense of peace.
Last time he’d come here he’d brought a simple day pack. Today he had three bags of gear in the cargo hold. Most of it was medical equipment which would stay here regardless of today’s outcome. Some of it was personal.
Some of it was the baggage of a man who hoped he was coming home.
Nothing was settled. He should be apprehensive and part of him was, but there was also a core within him that felt complete.
These last eleven months had been long and fraught. He’d worked desperately hard to achieve what he’d be presenting to the islanders today. It had been an enormous challenge, and there were challenges yet to come.
But underneath... As the months had worn on, as the ‘friendship’ calls to Elsa had grown longer, as he’d had to summon an almost superhuman effort to hold his emotions in check during her one visit to Sydney in July... As he’d fought with his desire to drop everything he was working for and go to her, any doubt of how he felt had fallen away.
He loved this woman with all his heart, and he’d do whatever it took to win her. He hoped today that he was providing enough, but if it didn’t succeed...
‘Then I’ll figure some other way to be with her,’ he said to himself. ‘On her terms. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
They were circling now, coming in to land. The landing gear settled into place with a gentle thump. The runway loomed ahead, and then they were down.
He was back on Gannet Island.
And the last barriers to his carefully guarded heart seemed to fall away right there and then. Years of solitude, of isolation, of carefully constructed independence faded to nothing.
His heart was in the hands of one slip of a red-haired doctor.
It had to be right.
He was home.
* * *
It was a great Christmas Day—as far as Christmas Days went. There’d been no emergencies, no unexpected illnesses. The hospital was quiet. Grandpa was looking good. Elsa had planned her Christmas gifts with love and care. The island’s cooks had cooked up a storm. The hall was looked great, the dec
orations superb. It was crowded, full of laughter, friendship and Christmas cheer.
Then why was she so flat?
So sad.
It was Ghosts of Christmas Past, she told herself, and struggled to act happy, even if something inside her felt like lead. She watched Eileen O’Hara unwrap dozens of balls of leftover wool collected from knitters all around the island during the year, squirreled away for just this moment. Eileen’s crocheted rugs were legendary but she struggled to afford wool. As her parcel opened she burst into tears and then beamed her happiness. Around her the islanders whooped at her delight and Elsa thought that this was the most important thing in the world. Community.
Not self.
Not Elsa, who still felt as if a gaping hole had been ripped open inside her and would never be filled.
Except by Marc. And that could never happen.
She’d been in contact with him during the year. He’d phoned, often, but only as a friend.
In July, Robert had needed a check-up and Elsa had gone with him to the mainland. To Sydney Central. They’d stayed for only one night, but Robert had gone to sleep early and Elsa had had dinner with Marc.
She’d felt almost light-headed, jubilant with the all-clear her grandfather’s check-up had produced, but totally thrown by the Marc who’d picked her up at their hotel and taken her to a gorgeous restaurant overlooking Sydney Harbour.
It had been a different Marc. This was where he was meant to be, she’d thought. He’d looked a million dollars, a surgeon at the top of his game.
And he was her friend. He was only her friend.
‘How’s it going, working with Stella?’ he’d asked.
‘It’s so good, Marc,’ she’d told him. ‘I still don’t know how you conjured her up, but we work brilliantly together. Plus she plays chess with Grandpa almost every night and sometimes she even beats him. We’re so happy, thanks to you.’
‘But you? Are you happy?’
‘I have everything I want,’ she’d said, a little too firmly. ‘A healthy Grandpa. A colleague I adore. A fantastic medical set-up for the island. I can’t ask for more. Now, tell me about you. I read one of your research papers in Cutting-Edge Medical last month. Wow...’
Mistletoe Kiss with the Heart Doctor Page 16
