The Marriage Gamble

by Meredith Webber

  The eyes were no longer pleading. In fact, they were daring him to tell her she’d done wrong.

  But she already knew that.

  ‘The clinic managers are in charge of the physical space at the clinic. You could have asked—’ he knew this one, after all he only had six clinic managers, ‘—Carmel.’

  Jacinta gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes, then returned to her penne with renewed gusto.

  ‘She has the authority to allow such meetings,’ Mike said, on firmer ground now as he’d personally been involved in drawing up the duty statements for different staff positions.

  Still no answer. Jacinta was ignoring him, fishing through her side salad, presumably in search of something. An olive apparently, for, having found it, she speared it with her fork and raised it towards her lips.

  ‘As if!’ she muttered, then the olive disappeared, though the pip was discreetly removed by her small, slim fingers and dropped onto the side of the salad plate.

  Mike was stymied. He knew he couldn’t discuss one staff member with another. He might not have his finger on all the pulse points of his multi-tentacled empire, but he did retain some common decency. He ate a little more lasagne.

  ‘So, what does the coming together of all the disparate groups achieve? What can your “Optional Extras” offer?’

  ‘Information mainly,’ Jacinta replied so smoothly he realised she’d been asked the question more than once. ‘Information about the various sources of support and funding avail-able—for both the services and for the kids. Information on how to get help, how to ask for help, where to go to ask.’

  She looked up and studied him for a moment, as if checking his reaction to what she was saying.

  ‘It’s all available, the information, but before “Optional Extras” there wasn’t any one place where people could access it all.’

  ‘So Abbott Road Clinic became the place?’

  Again she turned those searching eyes on his, scanning his face.

  ‘Not during office hours,’ she assured him. ‘On Tuesdays we have “Talk Nights” when anyone can come and ask questions, or get help to fill out forms.’

  ‘So once a week my premises are being used for illegal purposes?’

  He saw the colour bleach from her skin and regretted his remark, but Jacinta didn’t want his sympathy—she came back fighting.

  ‘Hardly illegal!’ she snapped. ‘You make it sound like a brothel or a gambling den! And it’s not doing the clinic any harm—in fact, since we started meeting there we’ve collected a number of new patients.’

  All street kids, no doubt, Mike thought but didn’t say.

  As far as her employment contract was concerned, she’d been doing the wrong thing—and she knew it! But how to deal with it? He needed to think about it, and as his brain didn’t seem to be thinking too well right now, he changed the subject.

  ‘What are you doing about Fizzy? Did you ask the obstetrician to do a DNA profile on the foetus?’

  Jacinta pushed away her plate and slid off her stool.

  ‘Fizzy! I’m sitting here talking and she’s probably thinking I’ve deserted her. They’ve such fragile egos, these kids. It doesn’t take much to plunge them into despair.’

  She fished in her handbag for her purse, but Mike caught hold of her wrist.

  ‘I’m paying, and you didn’t answer my question.’

  Jacinta looked down at his hand, at the lean fingers effortlessly encircling her wrist. Tingles were happening again, but even more disconcerting was her recollection of his question.

  ‘DNA profile? No, I didn’t ask, but I still can. I asked the obstetrician to take foetal blood to test for abnormalities, though he’d have done it anyway. Normal procedure with such a late miscarriage, in case there’s some genetic problem Fizzy should know about later in her life.’

  She hesitated, then added, ‘But DNA?’

  ‘It would prove who had fathered the child.’

  ‘But her stepfather…’ The meaning of his words washed across her like a wave of cold water. ‘You don’t believe her story?’

  She saw his doubts in the subtle movement of his shoulders and felt anger at his cynicism, but before she could argue he stood up, signalled to Marco for the bill, then said quietly, ‘Whether I believe it or not isn’t the point. At some time she may need proof her stepfather abused her, and having a DNA profile of the baby is the first and most necessary step.’

  He was right, though Jacinta was still too aggravated by his attitude—and by the fact she hadn’t thought of it—to admit it. She was the one who should have been thinking rationally. She had to set aside emotion. It was the only way to tackle the problems of these kids.

  And definitely the only way to tackle the attraction she felt to Michael—Mike—Trent.

  ‘I’ll ask the obstetrician,’ she said, halfway to admitting he was right.

  He smiled, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she lost the rational plot immediately, reacting to the smile with emotion—if tingling stomachs and goose-bumped skin could be called emotional reactions.

  ‘Come on. We’d better get back to the clinic. You have to collect your car and I have some paintings to hang.’

  He signed the credit-card slip Marco had produced, then took Jacinta’s arm.

  Thinking rationally, she accepted his hand on her elbow for as long as it took to be polite, then she moved away, out of the ambit of his body space—out of harm’s way—or nearly!

  The boys had gone and Fizzy was asleep when Jacinta returned to the hospital. The sister on night duty was warm and friendly, and had obviously pried most of Fizzy’s story from her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she told Jacinta as they stood by the nurses’ station. ‘I’ll keep a close watch on her overnight, and if she wakes I’ll tell her you came in. She’ll probably be discharged in the morning. Is there somewhere she can go? Someone who might pick her up?’

  ‘She can come to my place—my mother will collect her. I’ll call in and see her in the morning. I’m due at work at seven-thirty and she won’t be discharged before then.’

  The sister nodded, and returned to whatever she’d been doing when Jacinta had arrived. As she walked out of the hospital memories of their arrival earlier, with Mike recurred and an image of him, bare-chested and paint-splattered, popped into Jacinta’s head.

  Get out of there! she told him, not wanting to think about the man—or the way her body behaved in his presence. She’d think about Fizzy and the other kids. About the new beginnings she’d helped put in place for all the youngsters who haunted the city like small, displaced ghosts.

  Though she might have to think about what Mike would do next. Would he, even after meeting Fizzy, Will and Dean, forbid her to use the clinic for ‘Optional Extras’ meetings?

  Would he sack her?

  Now, there was a thought worth considering! If anything was going to cure her physical reactions to the head of Trent Clinics, the prospect of unemployment would surely work.

  And would have if she hadn’t started to wonder if he’d do it in person—so she’d have the opportunity to see him again.

  The opportunity came sooner than Jacinta had expected. Even after visiting Fizzy and squashing the teenager’s doubts about accepting help, Jacinta still arrived at work in plenty of time for Carmel’s regular Monday morning medical staff meeting. And found her usual parking space taken up by a large, dark green Jaguar.

  ‘Wow!’

  Mark Sargeant, who job-shared with an older doctor while studying for a further degree, was standing by the car, admiring its lines, polish and, no doubt, price.

  Jacinta parked beside it, taking the place usually occupied by the vehicle of Rohan Singh, the third GP in the clinic. Another space was reserved for Carmel, but if Rohan arrived first he’d take it without a moment’s hesitation. Rohan had a sublime belief that whatever he did was right, and he’d somehow conned Carmel into believing it as well. She might nag at Jacinta and Mar
k about what she saw as infractions of the clinic rules, but in her eyes Rohan could do no wrong.

  Jacinta and Mark walked towards the rear door, unlocked it and realised they weren’t the first people here. There were lights on in the hall and the alarm had been disarmed.

  ‘If it was Carmel’s car, she’d have parked it in her own space,’ Mark mused. ‘Rohan, too, for that matter.’

  But an uneasy feeling, not quite a tingle but close, in the pit of Jacinta’s stomach told her whose car it might be.

  There was no sign of him—only of Carmel, fussing at papers behind the high reception counter.

  ‘She must have ridden her broomstick in this morning,’ Mark murmured to Jacinta. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t trip over it if she’s parked it somewhere awkward.’

  ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ Jacinta demanded. ‘Look at this place!’

  She waved her arms around, indicating the refurbished waiting room.

  Mark glanced around as if noticing the change for the first time.

  ‘Yeah! It looks nice. Bright! Actually, to be honest, I can’t remember what it looked like before.’

  Jacinta shook her head in disbelief. She knew all about men’s and women’s brains being wired differently, but she found it hard to comprehend anyone not noticing how terrible the waiting room had been.

  ‘Come on, you two, I want to get started early,’ Carmel called to them, then she waved them into the reception office.

  He was sitting in a chair behind the high counter, which was why Jacinta hadn’t noticed him until she was well into the room. And though dressed respectably, and totally paint-free, she was still put out enough to trip over the leg of one of the desks and practically stumble into his arms.

  ‘I believe you’ve met Dr Trent, Jacinta,’ Carmel said in a cool voice, while Jacinta attempted to recover both her balance and her breath. ‘Dr Trent, this is Mark Sargeant, our third doctor. Mark, Dr Michael Trent.’

  Jacinta watched Mike put out his hand to Mark, and heard the deep, seductive voice say, ‘It’s Mike, not Dr Trent, though I don’t seem able to convince Carmel of that.’

  Carmel gave a little laugh which, if Jacinta hadn’t known better, could have sounded flustered. But flustered wasn’t in Carmel’s repertoire of emotions.

  Was it?

  ‘So, how’s our young friend Fizzy this morning?’

  Jacinta registered that Mike’s question had been directed at her, but her mind was still getting over his presence in the clinic. Actually, other bits of her were getting over it as well.

  ‘Fizzy? That’s the pregnant girl? Fiona Walsh? What happened to her?’

  Carmel’s questions saved Jacinta answering, but Mike’s explanations caused more problems.

  ‘You had those unemployed layabouts in the clinic after hours?’ Carmel demanded, and Jacinta, only too aware of the thin ice on which she’d been skating, had to grit her teeth really tightly to prevent an argument with the clinic manager.

  ‘Should we get on with the meeting?’ Mark saved the day. ‘Rohan should be here any minute but while we’re waiting for him, I’d like to congratulate Jacinta on the fine job she’s done with the waiting room.’

  He turned to beam at Jacinta, as if he he’d known all along she’d transformed the place. ‘Love the paintings especially. Did you bring them from home?’

  Mike saw through Mark’s diversionary tactics and wondered if the young male doctor was in love with his colleague.

  Wondered also how Jacinta would answer the question.

  She didn’t. She simply smiled her thanks at Mark, before turning to Carmel. ‘It’s not like Rohan to be late. Is he coming or has he phoned in sick?’

  ‘Rohan’s working at one of the other clinics this week,’ Carmel replied. The words had a bitten-off sound to them as if she didn’t approve of this change in personnel. ‘Dr Trent will be working here in his place.’

  Mike had seen patients take bad news more calmly than Jacinta accepted the last statement.

  Colour flowed into her cheeks, then ebbed back out, leaving her face pale but her fighting spirit undaunted.

  ‘But he can’t. He hasn’t practised for years!’

  ‘I’m still registered,’ Mike assured her, though he wondered why she was so upset. ‘And I’ve kept up my professional training, making sure I attend the requisite number of seminars and information sessions, as well as keeping abreast of recent developments through journals.’

  ‘I hardly think you’re in a position to question Dr Trent’s capabilities,’ Carmel put in, and Mike saw Jacinta’s soft lips close on the new objection she’d been about to voice.

  But suspicion sparked from the dark eyes and the small, neat chin took on a stubborn tilt. As far as Jacinta was concerned, he was in for an uncomfortable time.

  ‘I thought you wanted me to see Abbott Road for myself,’ he murmured to her when the meeting had finished and they were walking across to their consulting rooms. ‘What better way than by working here?’

  ‘After how many years of not practising?’ came the scathing question. ‘Is that offering the best possible service for patients?’

  Confusion, brought on by her attitude, triggered anger. He’d already had his business manager, his accountant and Chris, his best mate as well as an employee, telling him he was mad, so he didn’t need this pipsqueak of a woman adding her two cents’ worth.

  He glowered at her, then tried a different tack, saying in silky smooth tones, ‘Ah, but you’ll be right next door, ready to offer support, advice and encouragement—just as you would to any temporary staff member, surely?’

  Jacinta delivered what she hoped was a sufficiently fierce glare and stomped into her consulting room. Patients were already drifting in, queuing at the reception desk, the regulars commenting about the improved appearance of the waiting room.

  Mike was right. She had wanted him to see the place for himself, and what better way than by working here? Maybe there was more to the man than the ‘business tycoon’ image suggested.

  But working right next door to her? Just through the wall? His presence permeating the air throughout the clinic?

  She breathed deeply, defying the tainted air, and told herself she could handle the situation. It was a physical thing, this attraction she felt for him, and there was no way she was going to give in to it.

  No more tingles.

  No more goose-bumps.

  No more time wasted thinking about him—picturing his lips, his unusual eyes, imagining softness in those eyes as his lips…

  A patient card sliding into the box outside her door brought her up short. The day had begun. As soon as she opened her door and lifted the card, Carmel’s eagle eye would notice and her voice would announce the appropriate number and direct him or her to Jacinta’s room.

  Number twenty-seven was a harassed-looking woman with a small child in tow.

  ‘It’s Bobby. I went to drop him at the childcare centre on my way to work and they say he’s got a cold and can’t stay there because he’ll pass it on to all the other kids. Yet he must have caught it there. No one else in the family has a cold.’

  The unspoken problem, Jacinta knew, was that the mother couldn’t go to work unless Bobby was miraculously cured of the runny nose and sneezing fits he appeared to be suffering.

  She knelt in front of the little boy.

  ‘Let’s take a look at you. It’s not much fun, having a cold, is it?’

  She took his temperature, slightly raised, listened to his chest—clear considering the amount of fluids issuing from his nose—checked his throat—not infected—and sighed.

  ‘It is just a cold,’ Jacinta told his mother—Mrs Armitage, according to the card. ‘But he is infectious and I can understand the childcare centre staff not wanting him sneezing all over other kids. And there’s really not much you can do, apart from giving him plenty of fluids and a mild children’s analgesic if he complains of a headache. Is there anyone else who can mind him?
A relative perhaps?’

  Mrs Armitage glanced at her watch.

  ‘One of the older kids could have stayed home, but they’ll have left for school by now.’ She sighed. ‘I guess it means me. I’ll have to phone my boss and tell him, and who knows what he’ll say? It’s hard enough getting a job these days, but keeping one, when you’ve got kids as well…’

  ‘Would you like to use my phone?’ Jacinta suggested, knowing Carmel wouldn’t offer. ‘Save you dragging him up the mall to the public phone.’

  She got an outside line, handed the receiver to Mrs Armitage, then knelt down to occupy Bobby while his mother made her call. She found a small truck in the box of toys she kept for children, and was buzzing it across the carpet when a knock sounded on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, shooting the truck across to Bobby.

  The door opened and Mike appeared, just as Bobby, not satisfied with running the truck on the floor, turned it into an airborne craft and flung it across the room.

  Jacinta ducked and it banged harmlessly into the wall, but as she scrambled inelegantly to her feet she could feel the heat of new embarrassment stealing into her cheeks.

  Fortunately, Mrs Armitage finished her call and bent to lift her son into her arms.

  ‘Come on, little nuisance,’ she said, though her voice was loving. ‘Thanks, Doctor.’

  Mike held the door as the pair departed.

  ‘Thanks for nothing!’ Jacinta muttered to herself, then she looked at Mike. ‘What this city needs is a place where kids who aren’t too well can be cared for while their parents work. I’m not talking about really ill children, just those with coughs and colds who aren’t acceptable at their regular childcare centre.’

  The puzzled expression on his face stopped her fretful comments.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was thinking out loud. Did you want something?’

  Mike considered a range of replies, the most surprising of which, he found, was a single word. You!

  Ridiculous!

  He couldn’t possibly want Jacinta Ford.

  Look at her! A small, neat woman with an admittedly shapely body, but packed with problems. There she was, frowning at the door, worrying about a woman she’d probably never met before and planning more good works. He’d met women like her, women who put the welfare of others before the comfort and well-being of their own families.