Melting the Argentine Doctor's Heart / Small Town Marriage Miracle

by Meredith Webber / Jennifer Taylor

  But she brushed the compliment aside.

  ‘I haven’t changed much since you knew me. Clothes shopping is still so far down my list of favourite things to do it might as well not be on it. I still buy half a dozen navy blouses at a time for work, and half a dozen—usually navy because they don’t show the dirt—T-shirts for casual wear. A couple of pairs of trousers for work, a pair of jeans, a few pairs of shorts for summer and that’s my wardrobe.’

  With most women he’d have considered that an exaggeration, but he knew how Caroline had grown up, her mother working hard to give them both a decent life, and then to make sure Caroline’s dreams of becoming a doctor came true.

  ‘But surely now if your father left you money,’ he protested as he watched her check necessities in a small backpack—filling a bottle with drinking water, slipping a small packet of tissues and some snack bars into the pack, ‘you can afford—was “fripperies” the word you used for anything you considered inessential? ‘

  She laughed and the soft musical notes caught in the air and blended with the pink and glittering butterfly in the usually stolid atmosphere in his adobe hut, turning his world to magic for a moment.

  ‘Fancy you remembering that,’ she said, totally unaware she’d given him an almost out-of-body experience. ‘Fripperies! It’s what my mother called them.’

  She finished her preparations and looked up at him.

  ‘You know, I never missed them. Even as a teenager I never longed for the latest fashion or secretly envied things, particularly clothes, my friends had. When I talk to teenagers today I wonder if I must have had something wrong with me, a missing gene perhaps, because the things they want seem so vital to their lives. I still don’t have one of those music things you plug into your ears, which all my friends believe is indispensable to life itself. They say things like “But how do you exercise without one?” while I find exercising—well, walking, which is the only exercise I do—is thinking time, not listening time. Do other people need to think less, I wonder?’

  Now he really regretted suggesting the jaunt to town, for it was Caroline’s take on the world that had first beguiled him. She seemed to look at it in a different way from other people he knew, and it was in learning more of her view of the world that he had fallen in love with her. He’d worked in other places with women and they’d become nothing more than friendly co-workers, but there’d been something about Caroline, a layering effect, so the more he’d peeled back of the layers, the more he’d wanted to go deeper.

  But not now!

  Not this time!

  He’d not be beguiled again.

  Although he had to answer.

  ‘Perhaps some people like something to do—something to listen to—to stop them thinking.’

  She nodded, a slight frown between her eyebrows, as if he’d said something very profound.

  ‘If you’re right, that’s fairly scary because we all need to think from time to time, although perhaps the music-in-the-ears people think at other times—in bed at night.’

  The moment she said it, Caroline would have liked to take the words back. In all probability Jorge wouldn’t think anything of them, but, like the conversation they’d had about showering the previous evening, the mention of bed had brought a series of images flashing through her mind, and the longing for the love they’d shared swamped her body. So it might have been nothing more than physical attraction but at the time it had felt like love and it had filled her life with a happiness she had been sure would last for ever.

  ‘What a stupid conversation,’ she muttered, as the strain of trying to paste over her churning, changeable emotions snapped her equilibrium. So much for aplomb! Although there was one conversation she could have—a professional conversation.

  ‘How’s your patient?’

  She could tell from the expression on Jorge’s face that he hadn’t expected the switch of subjects, but she also read relief in his eyes, as if the strain of trying to pretend they were nothing more than polite old acquaintances was wearing thin with him as well.

  ‘Why do you ask? ‘

  She frowned at him.

  ‘Why do I ask?’ Okay, so this was a legitimate reason to let a little of the pent-up anger go—just a little. ‘Why on earth do you think I ask? I’m interested in him. I was there, too, stitching him up. Do you think I need to know so I can report him to some authority? Is it such a hard question to answer?’

  Was she as uptight over this reunion as he was? Was her outward control as fragile as his pretence at normality?

  Jorge had no idea—he no longer knew her well enough to guess—but there’d been an edge of anger in her words as if it had escaped from somewhere deep within her.

  It was hard to believe she had as much right to be angry over this ridiculous situation as he did, but she had been left, literally, holding the baby so he supposed he had to cut her some slack.

  ‘I’m keeping him well sedated, so his body has time to get over the worst of the pain and shock of the amputation before his mind has to battle with accepting it.’

  ‘And repercussions?’ she asked. ‘No one has reported it to the police? ‘

  The question, from anyone else, might have seemed intrusive, but he knew Caroline’s mind liked all the ends tied up.

  ‘They are a close-knit community,’ he explained. ‘One of the wardens is sitting with him and the man who caused the injury has been sent back up north, with his wife. In time, they might return, perhaps when our patient has recovered and moved on himself. I used to wonder about the rights and wrongs of the people in the settlement taking control of their own—I suppose judiciary is the word—but now I try to keep out of things like that mainly because I don’t understand the history behind the decisions the wardens and the other leaders here make.’

  A cry from the bedroom saved them from further awkward conversation, and Ella appeared, sleep-rumpled, her curls tangled around her head, and once again Jorge felt his heart melt at the sight of her.

  ‘Come on,’ Caroline told her, catching her up in a hug, ‘let’s tidy you up then we’re going for a drive.’

  ‘With Hor-hay?’ Ella demanded.

  ‘With Hor-hay,’ Caroline confirmed, and Jorge wondered if perhaps he needed to be called Papá at all, so delighted did he feel by the way Ella said his name.

  They disappeared into the bedroom, returning minutes later, the tangled curls only slightly tamed and the little purple shoes replacing the small sneakers Ella had been wearing earlier.

  Such small feet.

  How could he feel such joy, yet still be angry underneath—and apprehensive as well? Too many emotions in the mix, like a dish with too many ingredients.

  He led the way to where he’d parked the car under the jacaranda tree, feeling a sense of other-worldliness again as he walked, with Caroline and his daughter, through the lavender-tinted world.

  ‘She should have a car seat,’ Caroline said, sounding hesitant about mentioning this but worried all the same.

  ‘I have borrowed one,’ Jorge told her, lifting Ella into his arms and opening the car door, then settling her into the seat, adjusting the straps for comfort and safety.

  They drove slowly down the narrow lane, but once on the main road it seemed to Caroline that Jorge drove like all the other drivers on the road, at pace but with a skill that had him avoiding any accidental touches.

  ‘Is it to do with the Latin temperament that you all drive as if you’re competing in a Grand Prix?’ she asked, as they skated around a particularly hairy bend and cut in front of a large bus.

  He turned to her and grinned.

  ‘Nervous?’

  She shook her head. She probably was a little nervous but that grin, that one short, seemingly happy smile, had struck deep into her heart for that was the Jorge she had loved so desperately. That was the man who could make the unbearable almost acceptable, who could tease her out of despair when the poverty and helplessness of the lives of their patients had g
ot her down.

  Was he still in there, the man she’d loved? She hoped he was—though she had to admit to herself that even if he was, he was probably not for her. Not by the slightest word or glance had he revealed that he still felt anything for her. Or that he had ever felt anything for her, come to that!

  She was here for Ella—she had to remember that—even if being in the enclosed space of a smallish vehicle with Jorge was testing her body to its limits.

  And Ella was no help. The only time she didn’t chatter was in a car, seeming to go into some kind of trance as she watched the passing scenery outside her window.

  Think! Caroline told herself.

  Talk!

  Break the silence.

  There were a million questions she could ask him, well, maybe a dozen. She wasn’t usually prone to exaggeration. It had to be the discomfort of sitting in the car with him, of feeling his body so near hers.

  Back to questions.

  What would happen to them when he went south? Would he take them willingly to meet his father, or would she have to fight him over continued contact?

  Did he want to get involved with Ella on a permanent basis?

  Could they work something out?

  She had no idea what, but her natural optimism—and her mother’s upbringing—told her anything was possible if one was willing to work for it.

  ‘I will be driving home a week on Saturday,’ he said into the silence.

  Had he read her thoughts?

  ‘I would like to take Ella to meet my father. You, too, of course, but if you don’t wish to accompany me on the drive, I can book flights for you.’

  The idea of driving and seeing more of this country was appealing but the thought of meeting Jorge’s adored father made Caroline’s stomach knot so she didn’t really consider the alternative to driving, too busy wondering just how the meeting would go.

  ‘Of course we’ll be willing to go with you,’ she said. ‘It’s why we’re here, so you can get to know Ella, and you can hardly get to know her if we’re up here and you’re down there. Oh.’

  ‘Oh?’ he echoed.

  ‘I’ve just thought. I was to work here for a month. Do you think whoever is taking over the clinic might need me?’

  Now he laughed and the sound of Jorge’s laughter made her want to cry. It was such a joyous sound and it cut into her, reminding her so strongly of how they’d always laughed together.

  ‘Conscientious Caroline,’ he teased. ‘If I didn’t know you were coming and, believe me, I didn’t, then none of the new people coming in will know they had a doctor willing to work with them for nothing for a month.’

  He turned towards her and she saw the smile lingering on his face, and the knot in her stomach grew tighter. Her fingers ached to touch him, her skin burned with knowledge of his closeness, her body so aware of his it was a wonder she could sit still in the seat.

  The car had slowed. Was he feeling it as well? Might he open a crack in his defences, touch her, kiss her even? Give her leave by any gesture that she could touch him?

  Disappointment flooded her as she realised he’d slowed to turn in between ornate stone gateposts, but common sense told her this was certainly for the best—as if she could handle touching him right now—while as for kissing.

  ‘It is a very popular plaza. The land along the river has been redeveloped so there are plenty of recreation areas for the people of the city.’

  He pulled into a parking area and stopped the car, turning to Caroline.

  ‘You do realise that once my father meets Ella …’

  Jorge wasn’t certain how to go on—to explain.

  ‘Will he be shocked? Will he not want to get to know her?’

  ‘Dios mio, Caroline, it is just the opposite. That is the trouble. He’ll be delighted. He’ll be overwhelmed. He’ll celebrate. He’ll want the whole world to know. Within minutes of setting eyes on her, Ella will be the—how do you say it, some fruit of his eye?’

  ‘Apple,’ Caroline supplied obligingly, before adding, ‘But isn’t it good that he’ll be happy? I can’t believe you’d be jealous of a child being the apple of your father’s eye so I really cannot see the problem.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ Jorge told her, the gloom persisting, then, as he got out of the car to lift Ella from her car-seat, he couldn’t help but add, ‘Just you wait and see.’

  The conversation ended, for it soon became obvious to him that taking a small child to a park was a fulltime occupation. Any discussion centred on the safety of the various swings and slides she wanted to experience, while rescuing her from the dangers of falling head first into fountains, racing after her as she took off to chase a stray dog and tactfully removing her from where she’d stopped to observe the antics of a courting, kissing couple kept him from thinking of anything beyond the immediate or next likely danger.

  Caroline, once satisfied Jorge had taken on the task of Ella-control, relaxed and looked around. She was startled by the enthusiasm of the courting couples who seemed to occupy every park bench and quite a lot of the grassy spaces. The park itself was beautiful. Wide, tree-shaded paths led to beautiful statues, some in fountains, some standing alone, huge stone sculptures, bronze and brass contortions, simple marble shapes, all art that pleased the eye and added another dimension to the extensive but beautifully planned parklands.

  ‘Oh, wow!’

  They were closer to the river now and a huge boat was floating past, seeming close enough to reach out and touch, although well out in the water.

  ‘It’s incredible,’ she murmured, feeling the buzz of life in the park, hearing music and laughter and the shouts of young men kicking a football, seeing the smiles on the faces of the people, smelling the ripe, wet smell of the river and some perfumed flowers in the air.

  A wave of well-being washed over her and as Jorge led her towards an outdoor restaurant she felt a sense of rightness in the situation, as if in some way she’d come home.

  Not, she accepted, to the home she wanted—the home she still, deep down, hoped to find in Jorge—but a sensation of belonging, as if this country with its smiling people, beautiful parks with their statues and towering trees could be her home, hers and Ella’s, no matter what happened between Jorge and herself.

  ‘Tostado for Ella—a toasted sandwich with ham and cheese—yes?’

  Jorge had lifted Ella onto a chair at a table that looked out across the park to the river. He looked enquiringly at Caroline, who realised she must have been lost in her thoughts of an unfamiliar sense of homecoming for too long.

  ‘She’d like that and maybe she’d like some dulce de leche—the sweet milk you used to speak of,’ Caroline replied.

  Jorge, who was pulling out a chair for her, hesitated, looking directly into her face, frowning slightly.

  ‘Did you think I’d forget things like that and mate?’ she asked him, disturbed by something that had flickered in the air between them, not like the arc of attraction of the previous day, something different.

  He didn’t answer but continued to frown, making her wonder just what was going on in his head. It caused an ache deep within her that she didn’t know.

  ‘You might like to try a super-lomito,’ was all he said, dashing any hope she might have had that he’d been thinking anything personal or had felt the flicker. ‘It is a steak sandwich with a slice of ham and a fried egg on top of it.’

  Caroline managed a nod, while inside she was smiling sadly. Here she was, thinking attraction—that was what the flicker had been—and he was thinking ham and eggs. Served her right.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS an idyllic afternoon. Looking back, it seemed to Caroline that both she and Jorge had set aside the past and all its pain and problems and lost themselves in the joyousness that filled the air throughout the plaza. Ella took it all in, watching the make-up football games, joining children on the slides and swings, throwing sticks into the river and watching them float, throwing stones to see the splash.
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  By the time they returned home, Ella was sleepy so for a second night she had noodles for tea, a quick bath, then into bed, not even staying awake to the end of the story Jorge was reading her.

  Not wanting to see him sitting on the bed with Ella nestled up to him as he read, Caroline had walked across to the clinic to check on their patient. Juan was there, an anxious look in his eyes, although he hesitated when Caroline questioned him.

  ‘He’s had more antibiotics,’ he said. ‘He shouldn’t be suffering from an infection.’

  He was! The man’s pulse was racing, his face flushed, his wounded foot swollen to almost twice its size. Caroline checked the dressings, picking up signs of a nasty ooze, and knew immediately that an infection had taken hold.

  ‘I think Jorge might have to operate again. I hate asking you to watch Ella for me, so perhaps there’s someone else. I’m happy to pay someone to—we call it babysit—if you can find someone you trust.’

  ‘Mima will do it—but not for money. She is happy Jorge has helped us so much here in the settlement and she likes little Ella. I will get her and take her to the hut and tell Jorge what you think.’

  By the time Jorge and Juan returned, Caroline had updated their patient’s status, filling in her findings on the file by the side of the bed. She was bathing him with wet flannels, hoping to lower his temperature, not wanting to give him drugs before Jorge decided what he’d do.

  ‘I’ll have to open up the wound and clean it out,’ he said as he examined the stained dressings. ‘You will assist?’

  He looked at Caroline and she read his distress. An infection could kill the man, and Jorge would surely blame himself for not having headed it off.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, and knowing how he thought added, ‘and it wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d been here all afternoon. Juan said he only developed the fever in the last hour.’

  Jorge nodded, accepting her words, although she knew he’d still be wondering.

  He and Juan shifted the man into the treatment room, Juan taking up his position at the man’s head, ready to watch over the anaesthetic and the monitor. Jorge opened the big cupboard and began to pull out what he’d need, while Caroline unwrapped the injured foot, grimacing as she saw the swollen, angry wound.