A Very Precious Gift

by Meredith Webber

  ‘I thought you were doing the ward round,’ he said to Phoebe, speaking coldly into the air somewhere above her head.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ she said, and ducked past him, more anxious to escape him than to hear an explanation of Sheree’s remark.

  ‘So they’re finally letting you out of that shoe-box down there.’ Malcolm Graham, the senior oncologist at Southern Cross, greeted Phoebe with a smile. ‘You know Geoff Kerr and Fran Neibling?’

  Phoebe nodded and smiled at the two doctors who worked on the oncology ward. She’d met them the first time she’d visited melanoma patients and now saw them often on her regular visits to the ward.

  ‘We’ve talked to Mrs Stubbings and Jackie, and surgeons will operate on the lung later this week,’ Malcolm explained to Phoebe. ‘She’ll continue radiation on the brain tumour, and start chemo for the lung as soon as she’s well enough.’

  ‘What’s shown up on the latest scan?’ Phoebe asked, as Malcolm showed no sign of beginning the round. Probably waiting for the visitors.

  ‘Nothing new as yet,’ Fran told her, but her tone of voice confirmed Phoebe’s own fears. New tumours could be growing anywhere in Jackie’s body.

  ‘After her, we’ll visit Mrs Warren and then Peter Carter last of all,’ Malcolm said, covering the three melanoma patients currently receiving treatment in the hospital.

  Phoebe felt a jolt of excitement in her chest. Peter Carter was their test case, a scientist who’d agreed to try the radical new ‘vaccine’. Other hospitals in other places were working on similar projects, but Peter was their first and if he continued to improve then it was possible, if conventional methods of treatment failed for Jackie, she, too, could be treated in this way.

  Two men in beautifully cut suits approached.

  ‘Ha! Our guests,’ Malcolm murmured, stepping forward to shake hands with both men.

  ‘Bill Cotter and Professor Brad Moss,’ Malcolm said, then introduced his staff.

  It made them a big bunch to be moving from room to room in the hospital, so Phoebe hung back, there to answer questions if required but otherwise trying to keep out of the way.

  ‘So, you’re a specialist dermatologist?’ Bill said, when they’d gathered in the doctors’ room for a post-round discussion, and he’d settled into a chair next to hers.

  ‘Not yet, she’s not,’ Malcolm replied for her. ‘But she’s representing our skin cancer unit this morning. You met Nick David, who heads the unit, when he was over in the States. He’ll join us for lunch and you’ll see him again this evening.’

  The conversation moved on to the new treatment, and Peter Carter’s progress, but Phoebe, although she was glad to hear of the continuing decrease in tumour size since Peter had been vaccinated with cells developed from his own tumour, only half listened. Puzzling instead over Malcolm’s first remark.

  Not yet she’s not!

  It was the second time in as many days that someone had mentioned the possibility—or even probability—of her specialising. A decision she had not yet made, and probably never would make. Not when GP work still seemed to her to promise more long-term fulfilment.

  By lunchtime Phoebe was back in the unit. A murmur of voices from Nick’s office suggested he was in, but had company and, as the reception area was empty Phoebe assumed it was Sheree in with him.

  So she was surprised when the door opened and Jess came out.

  She greeted Phoebe with delight.

  ‘Are you busy or would you like to have lunch with me?’ she asked. ‘Nick’s turned me down. Says he has more important fish to fry. You’re not needed until the afternoon skin clinic, are you?’

  Phoebe found herself saying, no, she wasn’t needed until later, and, yes, she’d go to lunch, though with a reluctance it was hard to define. Much as she knew she should tell Jess why Nick was showing an interest in her, the reluctance had spread to that as well.

  She followed Jess as they wove their way through staff and visitors towards the canteen, admiring the woman’s slim back, her blonde hair, her air of utter confidence.

  Definitely a Nick-type woman!

  So when they’d finally settled at a table, healthy lunches in front of them, and Jess said, ‘I suppose either Nick or Sheree have told you about my abortive love affair with Charles,’ Phoebe nearly fell off her chair.

  ‘Your what with who?’ she demanded.

  ‘Whom,’ Jess corrected gently, a small, self-mocking smile playing around her lips. ‘Charles, that’s with whom! Stupid wasn’t it, to fall in love with a man who’s still so obsessed with his ex-wife?’

  She sighed and gazed off into the space, which gave Phoebe time to collect her scattered wits.

  Scattered wits, and misbehaving body parts—she was coming to pieces both mentally and physically.

  Think about Charles, not trivia. About Jess and Charles.

  At least she hadn’t been the only one who’d mistaken sympathy for something stronger!

  But was that relevant?

  Of course not.

  ‘You’re not saying much,’ Jess said, and Phoebe tried to rein in the random thoughts—to find an appropriate response.

  ‘You and Charles?’ she muttered, which wasn’t as appropriate as it might have been. ‘No,’ she added lamely. ‘No one had told me!’

  Which diverted her thoughts even further. No one—namely Nick—had told her. He must have known, the moment Jess had come back, that the pretence—the making-Charles-jealous act—was unnecessary.

  New anger built! Just wait, Nick David. Just you wait!

  ‘And I really thought I was over him and it was safe to come back but, seeing him again, and seeing how unhappy Anne still makes him, it’s just as bad as ever.’

  Phoebe concentrated on what Jess was saying. She’d deal with Nick later. Jess was smiling wanly at her, inviting comment or advice.

  ‘Do you love him?’ Phoebe asked the obvious question, and Jess’s smile faded.

  ‘Yes, I do. Stupid, isn’t it?’

  Join the club as far as stupidity is concerned, Phoebe thought bitterly, although fortunately, now she consider it, she’d never quite got to loving him. She’d been more in love with the idea of Charles, with his seriousness and apparent stability. With his resemblance to her youthful image of the ideal man!

  To Jess she said, ‘Then you have to do something about it. Have you considered talking to Anne? Finding out if there’s any hope of the pair of them getting back together? I mean, if she actually wants him back, there’s probably no future for you, but if she tells you there’s no way, then all you have to do is convince Charles it’s over and you’re the one for him.’

  Her inner self laughed hollowly as she recited things she’d considered doing herself. At least she hadn’t suggested Jess try to make Charles jealous!

  An image of the physical violence she’d like to inflict on Nick David rose in the wake of that thought. He’d encouraged her to believe she could make Charles jealous, and used that excuse to kiss her into total confusion.

  Why?

  For laughs?

  ‘I suppose I could do that,’ Jess was saying dubiously, and Phoebe had to rein in her tumultuous thoughts and concentrate on here and now. ‘What do you think about trying to make him jealous? If Nick’s free, and you said there’s nothing going on between you, perhaps he’d be willing to pretend to be interested in me!’

  A scrunch of something that couldn’t possibly be jealousy tightened Phoebe’s stomach muscles.

  ‘What a good idea,’ she said lamely. ‘But what would Nick’s current girlfriend, whoever she might be, think of it?’

  To Phoebe’s surprise, Jess laughed.

  Heartily!

  ‘Nick’s current girlfriend?’ She chortled. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been fooled by his harem of lovely blondes? Window-dressing, that’s what he calls them. He reckons a gorgeous woman on his arm improves the donations he receives by several thousand dollars a time. I’ve even stood in on occasion, when none of
the women he knows were available.’

  Phoebe absorbed this information with mixed emotions. There was relief in there, but the anger which had been growing since Jess’s confession still simmered, and the idea of Nick using women in such a way turned up the heat.

  Unfortunately, it also aroused her curiosity.

  ‘But if they’re just window dressing what about his love life? Are you saying a man like Nick doesn’t have one?’

  Jess grinned at her.

  ‘Unbelievable, isn’t it? Not that he’s my type—unfortunately—but it’s true. He claims he hasn’t the time to give to a long-term relationship but I sometimes wonder if it’s just that he hasn’t met the right woman. As for sex, I’ve no idea what kind of arrangement he has with the women he dates, whether there’s sex involved or not. There probably is, with a man like Nick, but I do know he believes it’s not fair to any woman to get too involved while he’s so focussed on work.’

  Phoebe absorbed this blunt appraisal of Nick’s love life with astonishment. She’d been so busy herself, getting through her studies, that she had to go back to her teenage years to remember discussing anyone’s sex life, presumed or otherwise.

  Fortunately, Jess had turned the conversation back to Charles and was happily describing how close and intimate they’d been, in between his forays to rescue Anne from some dilemma. Heat of a different kind rose to Phoebe’s cheeks and, as she hoped her embarrassment wasn’t too noticeable, she realised why she hadn’t been part of these conversations for so long.

  She’d had nothing to contribute!

  Not a thing!

  Once she’d got past a few teenage fumbles in the cramped confines of small student cars, her practical experience of sex had been nil, though medical studies had given her a wealth of theoretical knowledge.

  While as far as Charles was concerned, a goodnight kiss on the cheek, or an occasional peck on the lips, was as far as her relationship had progressed.

  She pasted an expression she hoped looked knowledgeable on her face, and behind this mask gave serious thought to her virginity. No doubt it had arisen, originally, from hang-ups over her father’s behaviour but, until today, it had never bothered her. Now Jess was speaking to her, woman to woman, expecting Phoebe to understand what she was saying—to answer questions about sexual intimacy she’d never experienced.

  A couple of bland, meaningless phrases seemed to suffice, for Jess kept talking, extolling Charles’s expertise as a lover. It caused a momentary pang in the region of Phoebe’s heart to realise Charles had never cared enough for her to go beyond those few sedate kisses.

  Or had he guessed at her inexperience and decided she wasn’t a good candidate for sex?

  ‘Though I reckon Nick would know a trick or two,’ Jess was saying, when Phoebe tuned in again. ‘Not that I’d ever be unfaithful to Charles, if he ever gets rid of Anne, but I think we women are entitled to a little experimentation, don’t you?’

  All Phoebe could manage this time was a strangled sound, then, gathering herself together yet again, she muttered something about being late for the clinic and dashed from the room.

  But Jess’s words remained with her, and alongside the anger she felt towards Nick for not telling her of Jess’s and Charles’s relationship was the early bud of an idea—a plan!

  With a capital P?

  Given her physical reactions to Nick’s kisses, and Jess’s opinion of his prowess in that field, wouldn’t he make the perfect partner for her sexual initiation?

  What’s more, she’d be striking a blow for womankind. She would use him the way he apparently used women—as playthings to be discarded.

  It could also have the added benefit of getting him right out of her system. Rebuild the immunity she seemed to be losing.

  ‘So, who’s doing what and with whom this afternoon?’ Nick asked as she walked into her shared office to find both him and Charles with the secretary.

  Fiery heat surged into Phoebe’s cheeks as the words took on a meaning Nick would never guess at. She wondered just how red she’d gone. Especially when Sheree said, ‘You’re looking flushed. Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘I hurried back from lunch,’ she said, but the speculative gleam in Nick’s eyes suggested he was replaying his question in his mind. She forgot The Plan and reminded herself she was angry with him. Though why he’d suggested the jealousy charade kept niggling in her mind…

  ‘I’ve a pile of reports to get out to referring doctors,’ Charles said. ‘Then Jess is coming in to see if she can upgrade the density detecting capabilities of the computer program.’

  He looked at Nick, ignoring Phoebe.

  ‘So if you or Phoebe can take the clinic…’

  Nick glanced towards their junior colleague. Something was going on in that pretty head. Had she guessed the truth about Charles and Jess? And, if so, was she upset about it?

  ‘Charles will be here as back-up, so will you take it, Phoebe?’ he asked. ‘It’s all regulars coming in for checkups. There might be a few lesions to be burnt off, but there shouldn’t be anything major.’

  She nodded, but it was a distracted movement, doing little more than shift the thick dark tresses momentarily. There was certainly something bothering her.

  Perhaps he should get over his stupid reluctance to tell her about Charles’s previous relationship.

  ‘Is no one going to ask where I’ll be?’ he said, bringing his mind firmly back to work-related matters.

  Sheree chuckled.

  ‘As if we need to ask,’ she teased him. ‘Peter’s getting his next lot of treated cells. If you’re far from his bedside for the next few days, we’ll all be very surprised.’

  ‘Well, prepare to be surprised,’ he retorted. ‘Phoebe and I have a date tonight, don’t we, sweetheart?’

  He turned towards Phoebe as he added the endearment and was surprised by her reaction. If looks could have killed, he’d be lying dead on the floor.

  Was it the ‘sweetheart’ that had upset her?

  But surely that was how he was supposed to be behaving?

  Had she forgotten the making-Charles-jealous idea?

  Which, of course, was the only reason he’d used it.

  Wasn’t it?

  He made a general farewell noise and left the room, furious with himself for getting embroiled in such a foolish enterprise, particularly within a work unit as small as theirs.

  Yet, as he walked through the hospital to the lab where Peter’s tumour cells had been cultured, he realised he didn’t want to pull out of the scheme—didn’t want to not have an excuse to see more of Phoebe, if that made sense.

  Not a lot of sense, the logical part of his mind responded. But, then, nothing much did these days.

  Phoebe worked through the afternoon, patient after patient arriving to have superficial lesions checked or burnt off their legs, faces, chests, backs or arms.

  ‘Ouch! That really stings,’ an older man who’d spent a lifetime working outdoors in a singlet and shorts complained when Phoebe targeted a keratosis on the back of his upper arm.

  ‘It’s a touchy spot,’ she agreed, dabbing more of the numbing local anaesthetic over the next lesion before she attacked it with the liquid nitrogen. ‘You know the procedure when you get home. Dab them with methylated spirits to dry them out. Keep them uncovered indoors but covered outdoors.’

  She reeled off the usual warnings and precautions, information most long-term patients knew by heart, but her mind kept straying to the idea she’d had—The Plan—weighing up the pros and cons, telling herself it was stupid, while enjoying the small tremors of excitement even thinking about it caused. Though it had to be attraction, not love, causing the tremors, and surely sleeping with Nick would cure her of that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  PHOEBE opened the door to Nick on the stroke of seven-thirty. Clad in his version of ‘good casual’—pale chinos and a dark tan sweater that moulded itself to the heavy muscles of his chest—he was enough to make any
woman’s heart race. Any woman this side of dead, anyway.

  Phoebe forgot how angry she was with him. Forgot she’d intended demanding to know why he’d suggested the jealousy charade. She also blotted all thought of The Plan from her mind, and made a valiant effort to act naturally.

  She waved him into the living room.

  ‘So, how’s Peter?’ she asked, thinking work would be a good topic while she got over whatever was making her breathless.

  The smile on Nick’s face faded, and she noticed a greyness in his skin and something like despair in his blue eyes.

  ‘As well as can be expected, I guess.’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, shook his head and muttered an oath under his breath. ‘I loathe those trite doctor statements, and here I am making them myself.’

  He tried a smile, but it was a wan effort.

  ‘Sorry! I’d decided to put it out of my mind for the evening and at least pretend to be having a good time. Now I’ve put a dampener on it for you. As if you didn’t have enough of that with Charles!’

  Phoebe grabbed his arm and hustled him towards a chair.

  ‘Sit!’ she ordered, pointing to her comfortable leather recliner. ‘I’ll pour you a drink. Why on earth did you agree to go out tonight when you’d rather be with Peter? And don’t you dare blame me. You’d already made the arrangements to wine and dine the visitors before I entered the picture.’

  She crossed to the small bar in the corner of the room and found the aged Glenlivit whisky her father had provided for the regular occasions when he called in to have a sociable drink with her.

  Pouring a small measure into a glass, she added ice and a few drops of water, then walked back to where Nick was now reclining, eyes closed, in her favourite chair.

  ‘Here! I know you drink whisky. It’s not enough to put you over the limit, but if you want another one when you’ve finished that, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go. Although if it’s back to the hospital you’d better stick to one.’

  He opened one eye and squinted up at her.

  ‘Just when did you get so bossy?’