by Margaret Way
Auxiliary buildings lay to either side of the main structure. There was a large designated area for ambulances only. She pulled into the doctors’ parking lot. She shouldn’t have parked there, but she excused herself on the grounds there were several other vacant spots. The car that had been behind her had parked in the visitors’ zone. The occupant was already out of her vehicle, heading towards the front doors at a run.
“Better get my skates on,” the woman called, with a friendly wave to Mallory as she passed. Obviously she was late, and by the look of it expected to be hauled over the coals.
There were good patients. And terrible patients. Mallory had seen both. Swiftly she checked her face in the rearview mirror. Gold filigrees of hair were stuck to her cheeks. Deftly she brushed them back. She had good, thick hair that was carefully controlled. No casual ponytail but an updated knot as primly elegant as an Edwardian chignon. She didn’t bother to lock the doors, but made her way directly into the modern two-storied building.
The interior was brightly lit, with a smell like fresh laundry and none of the depressing clinical smells and the long, echoing hallways of the vast, impersonal city hospitals. The walls of the long corridor were off-white and hung with paintings she guessed were by local artists. A couple of patients in dressing gowns were wandering down the corridor to her left, chatting away brightly, as if they were off to attend an in-hospital concert. To her right a young male doctor, white coat flying, clipboard in hand, zipped into a room as though he didn’t have a second to lose.
There was a pretty, part-aboriginal young nurse stationed at reception. At one end of the counter was a large Oriental vase filled with beautiful white, pink-speckled Asian lilies. Mallory dipped her head to catch their sweet, spicy scent.
“I’m here to see a patient, Robert James,” she said, smiling as she looked up.
“Certainly, Dr. James.” Bright, cheerful, accommodating.
She was known. How?
An older woman with a brisk, no-nonsense air of authority, hurried towards reception. She too appeared pleased to see Mallory. Palm extended, she pointed off along the corridor. “Dr. Moorehouse is with Mr. James. You should be able to see him shortly, Dr. James. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Swiftly Mallory took note of the name tag. “A cup of tea would go down very nicely, Sister Arnold.”
“I’ll arrange it,” said Sister. Their patient had a photograph of this young woman beside his bed. He invited everyone to take a look. My beautiful niece, Mallory. Dr. Mallory James!
Several minutes later, before she’d even sat down, Mallory saw one splendid-looking man stride up to reception. Six feet and over. Thoroughbred build. Early thirties. Thick head of crow-black hair. Clearly not one of the bit players in life.
Blaine!
The mere sight of him put her on high alert. Though it made perfect sense for him to be there, she felt her emotions start to bob up and down like a cork in a water barrel. For all her strategies, she had never mastered the knack of keeping focused with Blaine around. He knew her too well. That was the problem. He knew the number of times she had made a complete fool of herself. He knew all about her disastrous engagement. Her abysmal choice of a life partner. He had always judged her and found her wanting. Okay, they were friends, having known one another forever, but there were many downsides to their difficult, often stormy relationship. She might as well admit it. It was mostly her fault. So many times over the years she had been as difficult as she could be. It was a form of retaliation caused by a deep-seated grudge.
Blaine knew all about the years she had been under the care of Dr. Sarah Matthews, child psychologist and a leader in her field. The highly emotional, unstable years. He knew all about her dangerous habit of sleepwalking. Blaine knew far too much. Anyone would resent it. He wasn’t a doctor, yet he knew her entire case history. For all that, Blaine was a man of considerable charisma. What was charisma anyway? she had often asked herself. Was one born with it or was it acquired over time? Did charismatic people provoke a sensual experience in everyone they met? She thought if they were like Blaine the answer had to be yes. One of Blaine’s most attractive qualities was his blazing energy. It inspired confidence. Here was a man who could and did get things done.
Blaine was a big supporter of the hospital. He had property in all the key places. The Forrester family had made a fortune over the generations. They were descendants of George Herbert Forrester, an Englishman, already on his way to being rich before he left the colony of New South Wales to venture into the vast unknown territory which was to become the State of Queensland in 1859. For decades on end, the Forresters pretty well owned and ran the town. Their saving grace was that as employers they were very good to their workers, to the extent that everyone, right up to the present day, considered themselves part of one big happy Forrester family and acted accordingly.
She heard him speak to the nurse at reception. He had a compelling voice. It had a special quality to it. It exactly matched the man. She saw his aura. Her secret: She was able to see auras. Not of everyone. That would have been beyond anyone’s ability to cope with. But certain people. Good and bad. She saw Blaine’s now. The energy field that surrounded him was the familiar cobalt blue. She knew these auras were invisible to most people. She had no idea why she should see them, feel them, as heat waves. The gift, if it was one, hadn’t been developed over the years. It had just always been there.
Once, to her everlasting inner cringe, she had confided her secret to Blaine. She was around fourteen at the time. There he was, so handsome, already making his mark, home from university. She remembered exactly where they were, lazing in the sun, down by Moonglade’s lake. The moment she had stopped talking, he had propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her with his extraordinary silver eyes.
“You’re having me on!”
“No, I swear.”
He burst out laughing. “Listen, kid. I’m cool with all your tall tales and celestial travels, but we both know auras don’t exist.”
“They do. They do exist.”
Her rage and disappointment in him had known no bounds. She had entrusted him with her precious secret and he, her childhood idol, had laughed her to scorn. No wonder she had gone off like a firecracker.
“Don’t you dare call me a liar, Blaine Forrester. I see auras. I’ve seen your aura lots of times. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there. You’re nothing but an insensitive, arrogant pig!”
He had made her so angry that even years later she still felt residual heat. She had wanted him to listen to her, to share. Instead he had ridiculed her. It might have been that very moment their easy, affectionate relationship underwent a dramatic sea change. Blaine, the friend she had so looked up to and trusted, had laughed at her. Called her a kid. She did see auras, some strong, some dim. It had something to do with her particular brain. One day, science would prove the phenomenon. In the meantime she continued to see auras that lasted maybe half a minute before they faded. Blaine-the-unbeliever’s aura was as she had told him all those years ago, a cobalt blue. Uncle Robert’s was pale green with a pinkish area over his heart. She couldn’t see her own aura. She had seen her dying mother’s black aura. Recognised what it meant. She had seen that black aura a number of times since.
A moment more and Blaine was making his way to the waiting room. Mercifully this one was empty, although Mallory could hear, farther along the corridor, a woman’s voice reading a familiar children’s story accompanied by children’s sweet laughter. How beautiful was the laughter of children, as musical as wind chimes.
As Blaine reached the doorway she found herself standing up. Why she did was beyond her. The pity of it was she felt the familiar, involuntary flair of excitement. She was stuck with that, sadly. It would never go away. She extended her hand, hoping her face wasn’t flushed. Hugs and air-kisses were long since out of the question between them. Yet, as usual, all her senses were on point. “Blaine.”
; “Mallory.” He gave her a measured look, his fingers curling around hers. With a flush on her beautiful skin she looked radiant. Not that he was about to tell her. Mallory had no use whatever for compliments.
The mocking note in his voice wasn’t lost on Mallory. She chose to ignore it. From long experience she was prepared for physical contact, yet as always she marvelled at the charge. It was pretty much like a mild electric shock. She had written it off as a case of static electricity. Physics. With his height, he made her willowy five feet eight seem petite. That gave him an extra advantage. His light grey eyes were in startling contrast to his hair and darkly tanned skin. Sculpted features and an air of sharp intelligence and natural authority made for an indelible impression. From long experience she knew Blaine sent women into orbit. It made her almost wish she was one of them. She believed the intensity of his gaze owed much to the luminosity of his eyes. Eyes like that would give anyone a jolt.
He gestured towards one of the long upholstered benches, as though telling her what to do. She hated that, as well. It was like he always knew the best course of action. She realized her reactions were childish, bred from long years of resenting him and his high-handed, taken-for-granted sense of superiority, but childish nevertheless. No one was perfect. He should have been kinder.
Blaine was fully aware of the war going on inside Mallory. He knew all about her anxieties, her complexities. He had first met her when she was seven, a pretty little girl with lovely manners. Mallory, the adult, was a woman to be reckoned with. Probably she would be formidable in old age. Right now, she was that odd combination of incredibly sexy and incredibly aloof. There was nothing even mildly flirtatious about her. Yet she possessed powers that he didn’t understand. He wondered what would happen if she ever let those powers fly.
She was wearing a very stylish yellow jacket and skirt. City gear. Not a lot of women could get away with the colour. Her luxuriant dark gold hair was pulled back into some sort of knot. Her olive skin was flawless, her velvet-brown eyes set at a faint tilt. Mallory James was a beautiful woman, like her tragic mother before her. Brains and beauty had been bred into Mallory. Her academic brilliance had allowed her to take charge of her life. She had a PhD in child psychology. Close containment had become Mallory’s way of avoiding transient sexual relationships and deep emotional involvement. Mallory made it very plain she was captain of her own ship.
The aftershock of their handshake was still running up Mallory’s arm to her shoulder. She seized back control. She had spent years perfecting a cool façade. By now it was second nature. Only Blaine, to her disgust, had the power to disrupt her habitual poise. Yet there was something real between them; some deep empathy that inextricably tied them together. He to her, she to him. She was aware of the strange disconnect between their invariably charged conversations and a different communication she refused to investigate.
“I’m worried about Uncle Robert,” she said briskly. She supposed he could have interpreted it as accusatory. “You told me it was a mild heart attack, Blaine. I thought he would be home by now. Yet he’s still in hospital.”
“He’s in for observation, Mallory. No hurry.” Here we go again, he thought.
“Anything else I should know?” She studied him coolly. The handsomeness, the glowing energy, the splendid physique.
“Ted will fill you in.”
“So there’s nothing you can tell me?” Her highly sensitive antennae were signalling there was more to come.
“Not really.” His light eyes sparkled in the rays of sunlight that fell through the high windows.
“So why do I have this feeling you’re keeping something from me?”
Blaine nearly groaned aloud. As usual she was spot-on, only he knew he had to work his way up to full disclosure. “Mallory, it’s essential to Robb’s recovery for you to be here, not in Brisbane. He’s slowed down of recent times, but he never said there was anything to worry about. It now appears he has a heart condition. Angina.”
“But he never told me.” She showed her shock and dismay.
“Nor me. Obviously he didn’t want it to be known.”
Without thinking, she clutched his arm as if he might have some idea of walking away from her. He was wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt, a blue-and-white check, with his jeans, so she met with suntanned, warm skin and hard muscle. She should have thought of that. Blaine had such physicality it made her stomach contract. He further rattled her by putting his hand on top of hers.
“You believe I have a moral obligation to look out for my uncle as he looked after me?”
“I’m not here to judge you, Mallory,” he said smoothly.
“Never mind about that. I’m always under surveillance.” Blaine had established the habit of meeting up with her whenever he was in Brisbane on business, which was often. His lawyers, accountants, stockbrokers, among others, were all stationed in the state capital. He made sure she could always be contacted. He was highly esteemed by her uncle, for whom he clearly stood in.
His hand dropped away first. It had made her uncomfortable feeling the strength of his arm and the warmth of his skin, but she wasn’t about to waste time fretting about it.
“That’s in your head, Mallory. It’s not true. More like I’ve tried my hardest to be a good friend to you.”
You difficult woman, you. He didn’t need to say it; Mallory heard it loud and clear.
“Anyway, you’re here now. You can give Robb your undivided attention for a few days.”
“Whatever you say, Blaine. You’re the boss.” Heat was spreading through her. In the old days she had let it control her. Not now. As Doctor Mallory James, she was used to being treated with respect. “Uncle Robert and I are in constant touch, as you well know. Anyway, he has you,” she tacked on sweetly. “Always ready to help. The figure of authority in the town.”
“Do I detect a lick of jealousy?”
“Jealousy!” She gasped. “That’s a charge and a half.”
“Okay, make it sibling rivalry, even if we aren’t siblings. You can’t rule it out. I’ve known Robb all my life. My parents loved him. He was always welcome at our home. I remember the first time you turned up. A perfectly sweet little girl in those days, with long blond hair tied back with a wide blue ribbon. My father said later, ‘Those two should be painted, Claudia and her beautiful little daughter.’”
“That never happened.” A flush had warmed Mallory’s skin. She wished she could dash it away.
“I noticed like everyone else how closely you resembled your mother,” Blaine said more gently.
“Ah, the fatal resemblance! It was extraordinary and it impacted too many lives.” She broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sister Arnold was returning with tea.
Blaine moved to take the tray from her. “Thank you, Sister.”
“Would you like a cup yourself, Mr. Forrester?”
How many times had Mallory heard just that worshipful tone? Nothing would ever be too much trouble for Blaine Forrester; tea, coffee, scones, maybe a freshly baked muffin?
“I’m fine, thank you, Sister.” He gave her a smile so attractive it could sell a woman into slavery.
“You could bring another cup, Sister, if you don’t mind,” said Mallory. There was really something about Blaine that was very dangerous to women.
“No trouble at all.” Sister Arnold gave Blaine a look that even a blind woman would interpret as nonprofessional.
“I don’t drink tea,” Blaine mentioned as she bustled away.
“At this point, who cares? Sister likes bringing it. Makes her day.”
He ignored the jibe as too trivial to warrant comment. “You drove all this way?”
She nodded. “One stop. It would have been a whole lot quicker to fly, but I don’t enjoy air travel, as you know.” She was borderline claustrophobic but halfway to conquering it.
“That’s your Mercedes out front?”
“It is.” She had worked long and hard to pay it off. “I lo
ve my car. You did assure me Uncle Robert was in no danger.”
“With care and the right medication, Robb has many good years left in him.”
“I hope so.” Mallory released a fervent breath.
“Ah, here’s Sister back with my tea.”
“Don’t forget to give her your dazzling smile.”
“How odd you noticed,” he said, his sparkling eyes full on hers.
An interlude followed, filled with the usual ping-pong of chat, largely saturated with sarcasm, most of it hers. Dr. Edward Moorehouse, looking like an Einstein incarnation with his white bush of hair and a walrus moustache, hurried into the waiting room. A highly regarded cardiac specialist, he possessed a sweetness of heart and an avuncular charm.
“Ah, Mallory, Blaine!” He saluted them, looking from one to the other with evident pleasure. His head was tilted to one side, much like a bird’s, his dark eyes bright with more than a hint of mischief. “How lovely to see you together. I hear such good things about you, Mallory.”
Mallory kissed him gently on both cheeks, feeling a sense of warmth and homecoming. “Doctor Sarah set my feet on my chosen path.”
“Bless her.”
Dr. Sarah Matthews had guided Mallory through her severe childhood traumas: her terrible grief over the violent, sudden death of her adored mother, which she had witnessed, the later abandonment of her by her father, compounded by irrational feelings of guilt that she had lived when her beautiful mother had died.
“Wonderful woman, Sarah!” Moorehouse’s voice was tinged with sadness. Sarah Matthews had died of lung cancer a couple of years previously, though she had never smoked a cigarette in her life. “We will always have a job for you if you ever come back to us, Mallory. No one has taken Sarah’s place with the same degree of success. There are always cases needing attention, even here in this paradise.”
