by Amy Andrews
Connor thought for a bit. ‘Oh. Maddy is much prettier.’
Yep, definitely a chip off the old block, thought Marcus as he chuckled and then ruffled his nephew’s hair as Maddy shot him a disparaging look.
‘Is your uncle teaching you how to ride?’ she asked Connor.
‘Nah, I already know how to do that. He’s teaching me to do tricks. Oops.’ He clapped a hand over his mouth and looked stricken. ‘I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.’
‘Don’t worry, Connor. Your secret is safe with me,’ she assured with a smile.
He looked at his uncle uncertainly. ‘Sorry, Uncle Marcus.’
Marcus laughed. ‘It’s OK, mate. Go on, get on your board.’
They watched Connor ride ahead a bit. Madeline turned to Marcus and pinned him with a what-the-hell look. ‘Let me guess, he’s not supposed to tell his mother, right?’
‘He wants to learn and I’m teaching him. He’s a boy, he needs to be wild. Nell’s a little too protective.’
Madeline shook her head at him and strode off, briskly this time, but he caught her up easily with his long-legged stride. ‘You know he’s going to blab, right? Sooner or later?’
‘Yup.’
‘And what happens then?’
He shrugged. ‘She’ll come round. She’s just a product of our home life. We grew up kind of insecure. She wants to keep him safe from everything.’
He fell in beside her and they walked for a few seconds. ‘So, I guess we’ll be neighbours as of tomorrow.’
She knew it, yet still the idea was hard to compute. She glanced at him and he smiled at her and Madeline wished she hadn’t made eye contact. There was an easiness about him that was dangerous. Not evil or sinister, just a threat to her sensibilities.
He knew he was sexy. He didn’t flaunt it but it was there in every move, every nuance. His confidence was breathtaking.
‘Oh, goody, skater boy in a suit. It’ll be worth it just for that,’ she quipped, giving his grunge look a disparaging once-over.
He laughed and she felt like she’d just been dipped in a vat of warm sweet molasses.
‘A suit? Me? Hate to disappoint but these are my work clothes.’
Madeline stopped and stared at his fashionably faded long shorts with ragged edging and frayed pockets and his trendy purple striped shirt, unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. Her eyes lingered at the tantalising glimpse of smooth chest.
She stared at him incredulously. ‘This is what you wear to work?’
‘Well –’ He grinned. ‘I usually button my shirt.’
She shook her head and started walking again. ‘Are you sure you left Melbourne under your own steam? You weren’t run out, by any chance?’
He laughed and it felt as though he was licking the molasses from her skin.
‘I was a little unconventional for Melbourne,’ he admitted. ‘Just another reason I moved north.’
Madeline stopped at the light and they waited for it while Connor pushed the button continuously. The lights changed and they stepped onto the road.
‘The other being Connor?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘And the weather. It’s hard to skate in layers and I love to surf...but I’m getting too old for Victorian sea temperatures. Way too cold.’ He shivered, thinking about it. ‘Here I can do both all year round. In next to nothing.’
She looked at him again and at his open shirt, trying to block out the images his words were conjuring in her head. She did not want to go there.
‘Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he said lightly.
She felt the full force of his gaze and his lazy smile and his dimples and she forgot how to breathe for a moment. ‘So, any other reasons for the big move?’ she asked, to force herself to breathe again.
He thought about it for a moment. ‘My ex,’ he admitted.
‘It’s not amicable between you and your ex, then?’ she asked, latching onto a topic that would hopefully wipe his sexy smile off his sexy lips.
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
He shrugged. ‘The day of the week? Whether Mercury is in retrograde...who knows.’
He was frowning now. That was good. ‘Never a dull moment, huh?’
‘It’s not too bad, really,’ he dismissed. ‘A couple of blips along the way. Let’s just say moving away was a good thing. For both of us. It was more than time to cut the umbilical cord.’
And if he’d only done it earlier, the impulsive event on the eve of his departure might never have happened.
Madeline heard the wistful note to his voice and forgot about the traffic and the other people around them. He sounded vulnerable and she walked on, hyper-aware of Marcus’s arm as it occasionally brushed hers, lost for something to say.
‘But, hey, I don’t want to put you off,’ he said after a long pause in the conversation. ‘Just because marriage wasn’t for me doesn’t mean that it won’t work out for you and what’s his-name.’
‘Simon,’ she said automatically, as she put one foot in front of the other.
‘Of course, while distance is good for exes, it kind of sucks for couples.’
‘Yes, thank you, Marcus. I do believe I’ve already heard your theory on that. Have you forgotten we live in the same city?’
‘Doesn’t matter if you live in the same apartment if you never see each other.’
‘We’re fine. Really.’
The smile she gave Marcus didn’t quite reach her eyes but she sure sounded convinced so who was he to question? He’d certainly made a screw-up of his own marriage so what qualifications did he have to judge how other people conducted their relationships? Different strokes for different folks.
But, he realised as he kept a close eye on Connor, that despite only knowing her for three days she’d got to him —more than just physically. He’d seen more of Maddy emotionally than he’d seen of most women he’d known for months, even years.
He’d seen her furious — spitting chips, her eyes glittering angrily at him. Deeply sad when she’d talked about her sister. Sassy when she’d been teasing him about his hocus-pocus. Professional when he’d help her resuscitate Mrs Sanders. And then fragile and vulnerable when he had massaged her feet and neck to ease the grip of her migraine.
He cared about what happened to her. The thought of her wasting away in a relationship with an absentee partner was awful. And although there was a line between them that decent guys just didn’t cross, he realised he wanted her for himself.
Fuck! Just what he needed — to develop an obsession with a woman who’d made a promise to another man!
Madeline looked over at him and saw the slight chink in his smile and felt guilty. She was pretending that all was well with her and Simon and, no doubt, rekindling bad memories of his failed marriage. Had she rubbed salt into his wounds?
She touched his elbow lightly. ‘I’m sure there’s someone else out there, Marcus. Just for you.’
‘Oh, God! I hope not,’ he said as he continued walking.
Madeline heard the vehemence in his voice. Boy, his ex had sure done a number on his head. ‘You shouldn’t let one bad experience put you off,’ she persisted, catching him up.
‘Oh, yes. Yes, I should.’
‘But —’
‘Maddy,’ he cut in, ‘it’s okay. I like it this way. I date. I have fun. I keep it light. No promises. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
It sounded horrible but at least Madeline knew now what an involvement with him would mean, should she be stupid enough to ever contemplate it. Just because the man had given her a fever that no amount of paracetamol would cure, it didn’t mean they were compatible.
‘So, what? It’s just sex? Just flings?’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘I could never get involved with someone like you. What about commitment? Love?’
‘Been there, done that. Paid the lawyers and all I got was a lousy T-shirt.’
She lo
oked at him sharply and saw he was laughing at her. ‘I don’t think this is very funny.’
Marcus smothered his mirth. ‘Sorry.’ He held up his hand. ‘Look, I have a skewed view. I know that. My mother has three divorces to her name, my hardly-ever-there father two and me one. I have two sisters that are divorced and one who’s a single mother. Not good odds. But, hey, I’m sure you and Simon are going to be blissfully happy.’
Why did he make it sound so silly? So quaint? His criticism
of Simon came back to her and his casual attitude to something that deserved more than that, was pissing her off. She stopped walking, suddenly not wanting his negativity anywhere near her.
Veering off to the side of the footpath, she held up her hand at a passing taxi.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m tired of this conversation and I don’t want to walk with you anymore.’
The cab on the opposite side of the road indicated it was turning around for her.
‘Very mature,’ he said.
She could hear the smile in his voice but refused to look back at his open shirt and his damn six-pack. ‘I thought so.’
The cab pulled up and Madeline waved at Connor as she opened the door, throwing over her shoulder, ‘Oh, Marcus, talking about mature, I’m sending you a patient called Connie first thing in the morning. Does that suit?’
Marcus eyed her suspiciously, liking how her eyes glittered and her cheeks glowed. ‘She’s a mess, isn’t she?’
She laughed. ‘You’re the one with the crystal ball — you tell me.’ And she slid into the taxi and shut the door.
‘Did you make her mad, Uncle Marcus?’ asked Connor, coming to a sliding stop beside him.
Marcus winced. ‘I think so...’
‘She’ll never be your girlfriend if you make her mad.’
Great. Just what he needed - dating tips from a six-year-old.
‘Don’t you know anything?’ Connor asked, looking at his uncle like he was the village idiot.
Marcus laughed and ruffled his nephew’s hair. He knew two things. One, he loved a challenge. And, two, Madeline Harrington, as unavailable as she was, was completely and utterly delicious.
CHAPTER FIVE
MARCUS had half an hour before the arrival of his first-ever patient in his new practice. He could smell the nose-hair stripping aroma of paint, built up to near toxic levels from the offices being shut up all night, and he quickly opened all the windows and lit an incense stick placing it on the front counter to help disperse the chemical odour.
He wandered into his office and approved of how it looked. It was tranquil, the neutral wall colour had the slightest hint of green and natural light filled the room from the skylight he’d had installed in the ceiling. On two walls he had a sequential series of framed paintings. The scenes depicted a rainforest at different times of the day. Marcus loved their restful quality.
On the wall where his desk was positioned he had his framed qualifications because, more often than not in his line of work, people demanded to see them. He smiled, thinking about it — no one ever asked their GPs for their qualifications! On the fourth wall there was a variety of different charts. One was a map of the iris for iridology purposes, another the foot for reflexology, and the last one mapped the human chakras.
Many of his conventional medical colleagues who grudgingly accepted his homeopathic beliefs balked at the mention of chakras or zones of energy within the body. As a university-trained medical doctor he knew that such ideas didn’t have any foundation in Western medicine. But he also knew that illness was multi-factorial and that everything needed to be taken into account, including the metaphysical.
He sat at his desk in his swivel chair and turned it until he was facing the shut cupboard behind him. He opened the doors and pulled out one of three wide shallow sliding drawers and looked with great pleasure at the rows and rows of little brown remedy bottles. He picked up a couple and ran his fingers over the labels before replacing them and shutting the doors.
Pushing away from the desk he moved to the next room, which he had set aside for massage therapy. He was a fully qualified masseur with certificates in remedial, deep tissue and sports massage, as well as specialising in Bowen therapy.
The massage table was in the centre of the room. An old-fashioned dresser that he had bought at an antique store was at the far end and held all his towels and equipment such as essential oils, CD player and CDs. The walls were the same soothing colour and the ceiling had a rainforest mural painted on it, the central skylight representing the sun and its life-sustaining energy.
He was pleased. It felt much more like his own place than his office in Melbourne ever had. He had inherited that, along with the client list from a retiring colleague, and because it had been part of an office complex with strict limitations on alterations and was already a really successful practice, Marcus hadn’t felt able to put his own personal stamp on it.
But here — it was all his and pride glowed in his chest as he walked out to the reception area. It looked like any other doctor’s reception with one exception — no secretary. Unless he became exceptionally busy, Marcus planned on doing the reception stuff himself.
Consultations were usually lengthy so it wasn’t as if he had to juggle a hundred patients a day. In fact, ten patients a day was his upper limit. And, in between clients, he could use the state-of-the-art computer system on the desk to update client information and note their progress.
A few fat squishy leather lounges, sourced from op-shops, gave it a retro feel and the wall art was modern but restful. There was a variety of magazines, from alternative health glossies through to the tabloid press. And a large wooden toy box full of things to occupy little hands.
On one of the walls there was a wire rack that boasted a variety of informative pamphlets concerning common illnesses and homeopathic remedies. These were put out by various natural therapy bodies and held lots of good common-sense advice.
Marcus was just switching on his Sounds of the Rainforest CD as Connie opened his sliding door.
‘Ah, my first customer. Good morning, Mrs Fullbright. These are for you,’ he said, presenting her with a bunch of flowers he had bought from the florist on his way in.
‘Oh, my,’ said Connie, placing her hand against her chest and beaming at Marcus. ‘What on earth for?’
‘My first ever client in my new practice,’ he said, grinning at Connie as she turned a lovely shade of pink. ‘These things should be celebrated.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Dr Hunt,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you should wait until after the consultation. See, I’m a bit of a conundrum. I’m afraid I can be a bit of a bother.’
He saw the joy the flowers had given her slowly disappear from her face. She looked at him with the air of someone eager to be liked but certain she wouldn’t be.
‘Excellent.’ He rubbed his hands together and smiled at her reassuringly. ‘I love a good puzzle. This way,’ he said, gesturing for her to precede him.
They entered his office and he indicated the chair opposite his for her to sit in. ‘May I call you Connie?’ he asked. She nodded her head and he continued, ‘OK, tell me what’s been bothering you, Connie.’
‘I’m just so tired all the time. Some mornings it’s such an effort to get out of bed. I swear if I didn’t have lunches to make and kids to get off to school, I just wouldn’t bother getting up at all.’
Marcus nodded sympathetically, his mind already ticking over. ‘And how long has this been going on for?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Seems like for ever. Dr Harrington seems to think I’m just going through the change...maybe she’s right. I don’t want to waste your time.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Marcus. ‘In all likelihood it’s probably a combination of things. Why don’t we start right back at the beginning? Tell me about yourself.’
Connie looked at him, slightly surprised. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything,’ he
smiled.
‘OK...’
Marcus laughed at her hesitation. Most clients, particularly those who’d been on the rush and hurry merry-go-round of general practice, found his consultations hard to get their heads around. He really had to convince them it was OK to hear their life stories. ‘Really, Connie, it’s OK. Start at the beginning.’
‘What? From the time I first started feeling tired?’
He reached across the desk and covered her hand with his. ‘No, from your birth,’ he said.
Tear shone in Connie’s eyes for a second before she blinked them away and started talking but still, Marcus had to really encourage her to start with. She kept stopping. Self-editing. She’d start to say something and then think better of it.
He would make a joke or say, ‘Hey, Connie, don’t hold out on me’ and eventually her monologue flowed and she forgot about leaving anything out and unburdened completely.
A client’s first consultation could take up to two hours and it was a counselling session more than anything. They were so used to having ten minutes tops with their doctors that being able to vent and unburden was a unique experience. But Marcus wasn’t there to just treat symptoms. He treated the whole person.
And to do that he needed a very thorough history.
Except for acute cases, his clients and their illnesses were usually the sum of many factors. Add to that the problem of his services too often being sought as a last resort after myriad Western medicine interventions had been tried, and he usually had a very complex puzzle indeed.
The key to unravelling the puzzle was information. As much as he could gather. And remembering that physical symptoms couldn’t be treated in isolation. That people’s emotional issues were an integral part of the complaint and directly connected to their illnesses.
And that’s what he loved about his job. Looking at the person as a whole. Looking at someone like Connie and knowing that somewhere among all the information he was gathering was the key to her treatment.
He made notes as she talked and he could see a really good picture of her as a person in his head. Connie talked about how awful she felt most of the time — depressed and tired. How her joints ached from time to time and she so often felt that there was no hope for her.
