‘I guess...’
‘And your mother’s appalling disappointment that you turned out not to be blonde.’
‘Hey, I wouldn’t go that far,’ she said, suddenly realising her tears had gone. She wasn’t sure what was taking their place—some emotion she’d never felt before. Liberation?
Freedom?
‘It was a heinous crime not to be blonde,’ she managed, and Ben grinned.
‘Yes, it was. So can you stand in the dock, look your accusers in the face and say it wasn’t your fault?’
‘I guess.’
‘You want to have fun?’
‘Fun,’ she said, and the word was weird. Foreign.
‘I’m not marrying you unless you turn back into the Ginny I knew,’ he said. He motioned to the gently sloping rise behind the beach. The earthquake had shaken free a great swathe of loose, soft sand. It looked...sort of poised.
Poised to slide straight down the slope into the shallows beneath it.
‘The Ginny I know would ride that slope,’ Ben said.
‘I’d get wet.’
‘You’re already soggy.’
‘So I am.’ She looked at him, her gorgeous, kind, clever Ben, her love who’d magically waited for her for all this time, who’d made her see what she should have been yelling at the top of her lungs for years.
‘I believe I’m about to burst a few chains,’ she said, and Ben looked startled.
‘Pardon?’
‘You don’t know what you’re getting into. If it’s not my fault I’ll break cups all over the place. And...’ she eyed the sandy slope thoughtfully ‘...I’ll get sand in my knickers. But I won’t do it alone.’
‘I don’t want you to do anything alone any more,’ he said, and then added a hasty rider. ‘Within reason. It seems to me you’ve been on your own all your life. You hook up with me, you have a whole island. We’re part of a community but we’re a team. You and me, Dr Koestrel. Together for ever.’
‘Prove it,’ she said, and he blinked.
‘What?’
‘Remember all those years ago when I wanted to be your friend. Prove it, you said, by rowing this bathtub all the way across the pond.’
‘Haven’t we moved on from that?’
‘Maybe you have,’ she said. ‘But I’m still wary. See this slope? It’s gentle sand—a gentle slope. It shouldn’t hurt someone who had his surgery laprascopically and I’ll kiss the bruises. Together or nothing, Dr McMahon.’
‘I’ll get sand in my knickers.’
‘Yes, you will,’ she said serenely, because suddenly she was serene. She was happy, she thought incredulously. She was totally, awesomely happy. She was in love, in love, in love, and miraculously the man she loved was smiling at her, loving her right back, and all she was asking was that he slide on a little sand for her.
She thought of the impossibility of asking either of her parents to do such a thing, or James, and she wondered why she hadn’t seen it? The fault had never been in her. It had been in them. They’d chosen the wrong daughter, the wrong wife. Their perfect daughter, perfect wife was maybe out there somewhere but it wasn’t her, and whoever it was who wanted to be blonde and perfect and servile, well, good luck to them. It wasn’t her.
‘Slide or nothing,’ she said.
‘You will kiss the bruises? Slide and everything?’ Ben asked, and that gorgeous twinkle was back, the twinkle she’d first met twenty years ago, the Ben twinkle, of mischief, life and laughter.
‘Everything,’ she said, and turned and headed up the sand bank, and she knew he’d follow.
And he did.
Two minutes later two very wet, very sandy doctors emerged from a shallow wave, laughing and spluttering, and Ben was holding Ginny and Ginny was holding Ben, and she knew that here was her home.
Here was her love. Her life. Her whole.
And then—after all the bruises had been very satisfactorily kissed and a few other places besides—because it seemed like the right time, the right place, the right everything, Ben took Ginny’s hand and led her back to the pub. Squid’s wake was just starting to wind up but most of the islanders were still there.
They turned to stare in amazement at the picture of the two sodden island doctors, Ben’s suit dripping, Ginny even wearing a bit of seaweed.
They stood in the doorway and Ben held Ginny’s hand tightly while the voices faded and every eye was on them.
‘We have an announcement to make,’ Ben said to the whole pub, the whole island, the whole world. ‘I’d like to tell everyone who’s listening that Ginny has just agreed to marry me. And, Squid, if you’re listening up there, no, it’s not your fault but you lent a hand. The lady loves me, ladies and gentleman, and the next ceremony on this island’s going to be a wedding.’
* * *
And so it was.
Ginny’s wedding to James had taken place in Sydney’s biggest cathedral, with a luxury reception in a lush ballroom overlooking Sydney Harbour.
Ginny’s wedding to Ben took place in the small island chapel where they’d said goodbye to Squid, and the reception took place on the beach.
Simple, Ginny had decreed, but she didn’t quite have her way. The islanders prepared a party to end all parties. Ailsa made her a dress that was breathtakingly lovely, with a sweetheart neckline, a cinched waist and a skirt that flowed out in a full circle if she spun.
And she did spin, as Ben took her into his arms and proceeded to jive instead of doing a bridal waltz.
‘You can’t waltz on sand,’ he decreed, and she didn’t think she could jive on sand either, but it seemed she could.
And did.
So did Button, dressed in a gorgeous pink dress the same style as Ginny’s, jiving along with Henry, who was enjoying himself very much indeed. He was back living in the manager’s residence at the vineyard now, pottering in the vineyard, falling in love with Button, deeply content with the way life was turning out. Looking forward to Ben and Ginny and Button sharing the big house.
He’d decreed Button was now his family, as was the tiny black and white kitten that followed Button everywhere. As for Button, she was pretty much in heaven. The heart specialist had decided surgery would be necessary to repair a slight abnormality but it could wait, he said. No rush. No drama. For now they could settle into what they were.
Family.
The islanders had lit the campfire to beat all campfires. Dusk was settling into night. The local band was playing its collective heart out, there was enough food for a small army, people were dancing, singing, gossiping, rolling tired children in rugs and settling them to sleep on the sun-warmed sand...
‘This’ll go on for hours,’ Ben said into her ear, and she felt so happy she could melt.
‘Let it.’
‘But you’re my wife,’ he said. ‘Is it my fault that I want you now?’
‘Yes, it is,’ she said serenely. ‘All your own fault. I take no responsibility.’
He grinned and held her tighter. They danced on, drowsy with love and desire, knowing they had all the time in the world for each other, but there was still this desire to have that time now.
No one looked like going home. No one wanted this party to end.
‘Tell you what,’ Ben said. ‘Why don’t we have a medical emergency?’
‘An emergency?’
‘A serious one,’ he said. ‘Did you know you can make your own phone ring?’ And he twirled her over to a place where the fire torches were less bright, he whirled her round so his bride was between him and any onlookers—and, lo, his phone rang.
‘Uh-huh?’ he said in a voice that carried. ‘Goodness, that sounds serious. Really? Well, if you say so, we’ll be on our way right now.’
He replaced his phone in his jacket pocket and tur
ned to face the bemused islanders—and his bemused and brand-new wife.
‘We have an emergency on the other side of the island,’ Ben said. ‘It needs two doctors. Sorry, guys, keep up the party, but you need to excuse...my wife and me.’
There was a ripple of laughter and more than one mutter of disbelief.
‘What sort of emergency?’ someone yelled.
‘Heart,’ Ben said promptly. ‘You can’t mess with hearts.’
‘Whose?’ someone else yelled.
‘Patient confidentiality,’ Ben said. ‘How can I tell you? All I can say is that it’s a multiple problem. Two hearts that need attention. Ginny...Dr Koestrel can care for one, and I’ll take the other.’
There was a whoop of delighted laughter. ‘You’re making that up,’ someone else yelled. ‘You just want to get away all by yourselves!’
‘So what if we do?’ Ben said, taking his bride by the hand and then changing his mind and sweeping her into his arms to carry her up the beach, to his waiting Jeep, to the night beyond, to the future together.
‘So what if we do?’ he said again. ‘This is my love and my life. Have you seen my bride? If we did want to get away, all on our own, it’s not our fault. It’s life, guys. It’s life and laughter and love and it’s our future, just beyond the campfire. And, fault or not, we’re stepping into it, right now.’
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460317495
Copyright © 2013 by Marion Lennox
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Miracle on Kaimotu Island Page 17
