Heath was enjoying the time with Phoebe.
‘I think we can head back to the restaurant, if you’re ready,’ he told her as they stepped from a bric-a-brac shop where Phoebe had been admiring the vintage hand-embroidered tablecloths and runners. ‘The sauerkraut is probably primed to go.’
Phoebe laughed and followed his lead to the casual eatery, where the maître d’ showed them to a table outside and provided them with menus. There were lights strung up high across the alfresco dining area, and their small table had a lovely street view. She felt more relaxed the more she thought of Heath as a colleague. A very handsome colleague, who bedded other women but would never bed her.
‘I love that all the speciality dishes are served with creamy mustard potato bake, sauerkraut, red wine sauce and German mustard. It seems so authentic. Hahndorf really is Adelaide’s little Germany,’ Phoebe said as she looked over the menu.
Heath ordered a crisp white wine and some iced water while Phoebe tried to focus on the menu. It all looked wonderful, and there was a varied selection within the list of traditional German fare. Her mouth twisted a little from side to side as she carefully considered her options. Her finger softly tapped her bottom lip as she weighed up her decision.
Heath fell a little further under the spell she didn’t know she was casting—one he was finding it almost futile to ignore.
‘I think...’ She paused to reread, and then continued. ‘I think I would like the smoked Kassler chops, please.’
‘Sounds great. I’ll go with the Schweinshaxe—crispy skin pork hock is a favourite of mine.’
With that he signalled the waiter and placed their order. The waiter returned moments later with the drinks, before leaving them alone again.
Phoebe was staring at the people walking by and at the cars slowly moving down the single-lane road that meandered through the town. She was thinking about Washington, covered in snow, while she was enjoying a balmy evening in the foothills on the other side of the world.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’
‘It will cost you a quarter.’
‘A quarter of what?’
‘A quarter of a dollar.’
Heath rubbed the cleft in his chin and considered her terms. ‘Tell me honestly—are your thoughts right now worth twenty-five cents?’
‘I guess unless you pay up you’ll never know,’ Phoebe returned with a cheeky smile.
Heath decided to call her bluff and, reaching for his wallet, found a twenty-cent and a five-cent coin. He placed both on the table and pushed them towards her with lean strong fingers. ‘Well, your thoughts are officially mine now.’
‘I was thinking about Washington...’
‘International thoughts are always more expensive, so I can see why there was a price-hike from a penny to twenty-five cents,’ he teased. ‘So go on.’
Phoebe bit the inside of her lip. ‘That’s it.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yep. I’m afraid you probably didn’t get your money’s worth after all,’ Phoebe said with her head at a tilt. ‘It was always going to be a gamble. When the stakes are high and you play big...sometimes you lose.’
Heath’s lips curved a little at her response. He suddenly had the feeling that spending time with Phoebe would never be a loss.
* * *
‘That was delicious—thank you so much.’
‘You’re most welcome,’ he replied as they made their way along the now darkened street.
Street lamps lit their way, but the sky was dark and dotted with sparkling stars. The breeze had picked up a little over the almost two hours they had spent eating and conversing, but it was refreshing, not cold, and it carried along with it the gentle wafts of eucalyptus and other native bushes.
Phoebe filled her lungs with the beautiful fresh air. Both had purposely steered the conversation away from their personal lives and discussed issues aligned to their careers.
‘We can head to my father’s home, if you like, to have a coffee with him.’ Heath wanted to prolong his time with Phoebe, but in a way that was safe for both of them.
‘Isn’t it a bit late to be calling on your father?’ she asked as they left the freeway and headed towards the city residence.
‘My father is a night owl. He has been for many years. He was always the last to bed. I remember coming home in the early hours of the morning sometimes, maybe from a pub crawl with uni friends, and he would still be up reading.’
‘And your mother didn’t mind?’
Heath drew a shallow breath. Although it had been a long time since his mother had died he still felt the loss.
‘My mother was killed in a light plane crash returning from Kangaroo Island. She was a social worker and had been over there consulting about issues with the high rate of school truancy. She was working on strategies to keep the children on the island engaged, and she called my father just before she boarded, very excited with the outcome. She told him that they had made significant progress and that she would tell him all about it when she arrived home. The plane went down ten minutes after take-off from Kingscote, in bad weather that had come in quickly.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Phoebe’s hand instinctively covered her mouth for a moment. She felt her heart sink with the news he had just broken. That meant he had lost two women he had loved. That was a heavy burden to carry for any man.
‘How old were you at the time, Heath?’
‘Sixteen—so it will be twenty years this July since she was killed.’
The desolate expression on Phoebe’s face told Heath how she was feeling. She knew she had no words that could capture the depth of his sadness so she didn’t try to speak.
‘I think, to be honest, he has no reason to go to bed early any more. There’s no one waiting so he stays up late—unless he has an early surgery roster...then he goes to bed at a reasonable hour.’
‘And he’s never wanted to remarry?’
‘No. He and my mother were soul mates. He didn’t think he would find that again, so he never looked.’
‘That’s sad. There might have been someone just perfect...’ Phoebe replied—then realised that she was overstepping the mark, by commenting about someone else’s love-life when her own had been a disaster, and stopped.
‘Perhaps. But he’s never recovered from losing my mother. Some people never do. They just can’t move on.’
Phoebe wondered if Heath was the same as his father. Cut from the same cloth and faithful to the woman he had lost. Never having healed enough to be with someone else.
They travelled along in silence after that, until Heath pulled up at the front of the beautiful old sandstone villa that his father had called home for so many years, and where he was staying for just a few weeks. Standard white roses, eight bushes on each side, lined the pathway.
Someone must have been watering them in the extreme weather, Phoebe mused as she walked past them, tempted to touch the perfect white petals. Their delicate perfume hung in the night air. The front porch light was on and the home had a welcoming feel to it. It was as if there was a woman still living there, Phoebe thought as she made her way to the front door with Heath.
He unlocked it and they both stepped inside.
‘Hi, Dad, we’re home. I hope you’re decent. I have Phoebe with me, and you don’t need to scare her in your underwear, or worse.’
Phoebe felt a smile coming on at the humour in his greeting and it lifted her spirits. She looked around and was very taken by the beautiful stained glass around the door of the softly lit entrance hall. And she felt comforted by the lighthearted side of their father-son relationship. It was not unlike the way she related to her own father. The warmth, respect and humorous rapport were very similar.
‘I’m outside on the patio.’
Heath dropped his keys onto the antique hall stand and then led the way down the long hallway, through the huge country-style kitchen, complete with pots and pans overhanging the marble cooking island, to the back veranda. From what she could see of the house in the dim lighting it was pristine, and she wondered if it was the work of Ken or if perhaps he had a cleaning service to keep it looking so picture-perfect. It didn’t look like two men were living there.
Phoebe excused herself to visit the bathroom while Heath walked through the French doors to the patio.
‘There you are,’ he said to his father, who was sitting in the light of the moon.
‘Yes, just sitting alone with my thoughts. And here’s one of them. Don’t look at me as a role model—look at me as a warning... It’s not a real life without a woman to share it. Don’t leave it too long to look for love again.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT DAY Phoebe was sitting in the cool of her house. It was the weekend, and the previous days had gone by quickly. She had been busy consulting at the practice, but she was a little disappointed that the opportunity to operate with Heath had not arisen again. The way they had pre-empted each other’s needs during surgery still remained in her mind and she looked forward to the opportunity to do it again.
Heath had been at the hospital, presenting some tutorials for the third-year medical students, but they’d caught up at the practice briefly, and talked over any questions that Phoebe had had about her patients. She had reminded herself that with his rules they would never be more than friends, but despite her still simmering feelings that she needed to ignore, he was still a fascinating friend to have.
Phoebe was enjoying her work, but the jet-lag had finally caught up with her and she’d wanted to have plenty of rest to ensure she didn’t compromise her patients, so she had enjoyed a couple of early nights.
Wondering what to do on a Saturday, she put on a load of washing, did some yoga and although she considered calling her father, it was still Friday in the US. No doubt he would be busy, dealing with some political emergency, so she decided to leave it until the end of his day—which would be just after lunch for her. She didn’t dare call her mother, to hear yet another sales pitch about her repentant ex-fiancé, so she decided not to make any calls.
It was much too hot to head to the park or the Botanic Gardens so, while the washing was on its spin cycle, she picked up a magazine that she had purchased at the airport and left on the coffee table and thought perhaps later she would visit the museum or an art gallery.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. With a puzzled expression she looked through the window to see a delivery truck parked outside her home. She tentatively opened the door. Surely there wouldn’t be another delivery? It would be the second since she’d arrived in town.
‘Phoebe Johnson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great,’ the man replied, lifting his baseball cap slightly and handing her an electronic device with a signature pad. ‘I have a delivery for you. Sign here, love, and I’ll bring it in.’
Phoebe signed, then watched as the man disappeared back to his truck. He opened the large double doors and stepped up inside. There were some loud banging and dragging sounds coming from the back of the truck and Phoebe’s brows knitted in confusion. She had no clue who would be sending her something. And how big was this delivery?
Suddenly the delivery man emerged and jumped down from the truck. He pulled a huge box out onto the road. Then another two smaller packages. He also pulled down a trolley, and piled everything on top and headed back in Phoebe’s direction.
‘Are you sure all of that is for me?’
‘Dead sure, love,’ he said, as he waited for her to step aside so he could wheel it inside.
Phoebe followed him and told him to leave it to the side of the living room, near the kitchen doorway. He offloaded all the items and then left, closing the front door behind him.
Phoebe scratched her head as she searched for the delivery note and discovered it was from a local department store. She headed into the kitchen, found some scissors and began to cut open the largest of the three packages.
A moment later she squealed in delight. It was a Christmas tree. But as she pulled it gently from the oversized box she could see it was a very special type of tree.
The branches were the deepest forest-green, and looked so real. She moved closer and smiled as she could smell pinecones. It was just like the tree she’d had back home when she was very young. It was still her favourite Christmas tree of all time, and she had looked forward every year to her mother and father bringing it down from the attic and spending the night decorating it, with tinsel and lights, and baubles with their names handwritten on them in gold. Even the dog had had a personalised bauble...
But the branches had broken one by one over the years, and eventually the tree had had to be replaced. They hadn’t been able to find the same one. And the new one had been nice but it was a slightly different green and it didn’t smell like pinecones. It just hadn’t been the same...
She heard her phone ringing in the other room and raced to pick it up.
‘Do you like it?’ the very recognisable voice asked. ‘I asked them to text me when they’d delivered it. In the catalogue it looked like the one we had when you were a little girl.’
‘It is—it’s just the same! Thank you so much, Dad. I love it, and it was so sweet of you.’
‘Well, I couldn’t have my little girl the other side of the world and all alone for her favourite time of the year without a tree,’ he told her.
‘But there are two more boxes.’
‘You can’t have a tree without decorations.’
Phoebe felt a tear trickle down her cheek. ‘I miss you.’
‘Miss you more—but I have to head back in to deal with another crisis. Middle East is on the agenda again today,’ he said, then added, ‘I want to hear all about work and your new home. I’ll call you again soon.’
‘Thank you again, Dad. Love you!’
‘Ditto, sweetie.’
* * *
Phoebe had planned on putting up her Christmas tree that night, but she got a call from Tilly, inviting her to dinner. It was Ken’s birthday.
They were such a social family, and it was stopping her from feeling lonely, so she accepted. It meant spending time with Heath but she hoped that with the family around and by catching yet another cab, she would keep that professional distance between them. But as it was Ken’s birthday she realised she would need to race into the city for a gift.
She closed the giant box and dragged it across the polished floorboards into the second bedroom, and then put the boxes of decorations in with it. She looked forward to putting it up another day.
As she closed the door she felt a little ache inside. This should have been her first Christmas with Giles, in their own home as husband and wife. She didn’t miss him, but she still felt sad that she was spending it so far from home.
* * *
The birthday dinner was lovely. It was the whole family again, and Ken loved the astronomy book Phoebe gave him. Heath was pleasant, but he seemed a little preoccupied as he sat at the end of the table with Oscar by his side.
Knowing what she did about his past, she didn’t press him to be anything more than he could be, but she enjoyed his company and found that during the evening that he seemed to grow less guarded, and even smiled once or twice at her stories of growing up in the US. And she managed, with a concerted effort, to keep her butterflies at bay.
* * *
The next few days sped by. The weather had thankfully cooled slightly—enough that Phoebe felt the need for a light sweater one night. She had planned on putting up the tree over the weekend, but on Sunday she had slept in and read some patient notes to prepare for Monday’s surgical schedule, so it was still pack
ed away.
Ken invited her over on Wednesday for ‘hump day takeout’. This time it was just the four of them. And that night Heath took the seat next to her.
Oscar smiled at his grandpa.
And his grandpa hoped Heath was taking his advice on board.
They chatted about work, and then about their lives outside of work. The conversation between Heath and Phoebe continued on the patio as a light breeze picked up and Oscar was tucked up in bed.
‘Does it feel like second nature, being in Adelaide now?’ he asked.
‘It does. In fact this whole experience is strange in that it feels almost like déjà-vu in familiarity. Your family are wonderful—so down-to-earth and welcoming.’
Phoebe looked out across the garden from the wicker chair where she sat. The landscaping wasn’t modern and manicured, like Tilly’s, it was more like a scene from The Secret Garden. The flowerbeds were overflowing with floral ground cover, large old trees with low-hanging branches lined the perimeter of the generous-sized property, and there was an uneven clay brick pathway leading to an archway covered in jasmine.
It was beautiful and timeless and she felt so very much at home in Ken’s house. All that was missing, she thought, was a Christmas tree and a hearth in the living room. The hearth would never happen in temperatures over one hundred degrees, but perhaps she could work on bringing a little bit of Christmas to the three men who lived there.
‘My family have their moments,’ Heath told her.
‘Don’t they all? But yours don’t appear to interfere in your life, which is great.’
Heath shook his head. ‘Believe me, they try—but I put a stop to it quickly.’ Then he paused. ‘The way you said that sounded a little Freudian. Am I to gather that your family does?’
Phoebe ran her hand along the balustrade next to her. ‘Sometimes.’
Heath sat down in the armchair next to hers. ‘Did they try to interfere in your decision to come to Australia?’
Phoebe rolled her eyes and sipped her soda and lime as she recalled the last conversation she’d had with her mother, by the waiting cab.
A Mommy to Make Christmas Page 10
