A Miracle for the Baby Doctor

by Meredith Webber

  ‘Happy thoughts?’ Fran asked, and he realised she’d caught the smile.

  ‘More nostalgia,’ he said. ‘I was thinking about a list I wrote a long time ago.’

  ‘A list?’

  ‘Hallie knew just how lost I was when I arrived in Wetherby. One day she sat me down and said that what I’d been through was terrible, but that I couldn’t live in the past. I needed to think about what I wanted for the future and to live for that.’

  ‘Big job for, what—an eight-year-old?’

  ‘I was ten by then, but it did make me think seriously about what I wanted. Unfortunately, all I could come up with was a family and that wasn’t exactly possible right then. I talked to Hallie and she told me that anything was possible, that I just had to work out how to make it happen. She asked me, “Where would you start?”’

  He could hear Hallie’s voice in his head as clear as if the conversation had been yesterday.

  ‘“With growing up?” I suggested, and I can see her smiling now. She found a piece of paper and told me to write it down, all the steps I’d need to take to get to growing up, so I wrote, “Finish school,” and next I put, “Go to university, then get to be an IVF doctor—”’

  ‘Ambition to be an IVF doctor at ten?’ Fran asked, and he had to smile at the disbelief in her voice. ‘Oh, because of your parents. Of course!’

  She reached out and touched his hand where it was resting on the table, a touch that offered sympathy and understanding. It was all he could do not to turn it up and wrap this fingers around hers, but knew that would only confuse matters.

  ‘So, at ten you decided to specialise in IVF without any idea of what that might entail.’

  He grinned at her.

  ‘Hallie helped out there, so I wrote down to study medicine, specialise in O and G then be an IVF doctor.’

  ‘And was that the end of your list?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, enjoying this confession now. ‘I was the only child of only children so it was natural that the last thing on the list—the ultimate goal—was to get married and have a heap of children. Hallie helped there too, explaining that children cost money, and getting established in a profession would take time and also cost money, so there were incidentals in the list before it got to the marriage and children.’

  So forget all about attraction to this man, Fran told herself. With his list-driven ambitions he would already have the wife picked out.

  ‘You must be nearly there,’ she said, shaking her head at the dessert menu the waiter was offering her. ‘Did your list specify a particular woman?’

  He laughed.

  ‘No, I didn’t get that specific, although at ten I was madly in love with one of my stepsisters, Liane.’

  ‘And are you looking for someone like Liane?’

  Fran knew she shouldn’t be pursuing this. Steve’s future marriage—his whole life—was nothing to do with her. Nothing! It had to be the inexplicable attraction going on inside her that had her probing like this.

  ‘There is no one like Liane,’ he said, and the look of sorrow on his face told her more firmly than the words that the conversation was finished.

  They left the restaurant, Steve explaining that, although they never took advantage of it, the restaurant refused to charge the clinic workers for their meals.

  ‘It’s their contribution to what we do,’ he explained, as he took her elbow to walk back to the path along the harbour.

  They paused near the little jetty where the boat crossed to the island resort and she looked around, appreciating this magical place through all her senses—the sight of the moon on the water, the competing aromas of flowers and sea and suntan lotion, the sound of the waves lapping against the beach, and the feel of the slightly damp tropical air brushing against her skin.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  The words came out on a sigh, as she realised how constrained her life had been—how ordinary she’d made it—hurting after the divorce and retreating into the humdrum of everyday existence when she could have been here—or anywhere—helping others as Steve was doing, or simply enjoying carefree holidays.

  Steve could have echoed the words, but he would have meant her—standing there, looking out to sea, the breeze blowing the fine material of her dress against her body, silhouetting her against the sky.

  Her hair lifted softly around her face, and her skin seemed luminous in the moonlight.

  Was it her beauty that had prompted him to pour out his life story to her over dinner?

  He’d probably bored her rigid.

  Yet somehow he felt she’d understood—that she’d suffered pain herself...

  He wanted to ask her—about her life, about herself—but dinner had gone on longer than he’d expected and by the time they climbed the hill it would be late.

  He hailed a cab.

  ‘I could have walked,’ she protested, as he held the door for her.

  ‘And arrived back all hot and sweaty. Not tonight, when you’ve just arrived and haven’t acclimatised. Besides, my wet boxers are chaffing,’ he added with a laugh.

  ‘Next time I’ll walk,’ she said firmly, and he hoped there would be a next time.

  Now, why on earth had she said that? Fran wondered, as she rode back up the hill beside Steve.

  As if the physical attraction between them wasn’t enough, listening to him, hearing the pain he must have suffered lying behind his careful words, seeing the orphaned boy in her mind, she’d felt emotional attraction, which, she rather thought, would be far more dangerous than the physical stuff.

  Harder to fight...

  The ride was short, and she had to smile when, as they walked down to their accommodation, Steve said, ‘Well, you’ve only yourself to blame for me pouring out my life story to you. You did ask. But mind, it will be your turn tomorrow—fair’s fair!’

  ‘My life story?’ she said. ‘Compared to yours it is as bland and predictable as milk—it could be summed up in about two lines. Was born, grew up, became an embryologist, got married, got divorced, still working as an embryologist.’

  ‘Aha,’ he said, as they reached her door, ‘that’s a very teasing summation. Tomorrow night we’ll start with the “became an embryologist”. Most people don’t head off to university with that as an aim.’

  ‘No, I studied science but liked the little bit of embryology I did in my set course, so pursued it.’

  She looked at him, aware of his body close to hers, but hyper-aware that he was studying her face.

  Searching for more information behind her words?

  Or something else?

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ she said, because the longer they stood there the more she wanted to touch him. She stepped back, putting more space between them. ‘Not only for dinner, but for bringing me here.’

  She wanted to tell him that even after less than twenty-four hours in this magical place she felt her life had changed. But he’d think she was mad or, worse, wonder about her life back home that such a short time here could mean so much.

  So she said goodnight and slipped inside her door, poking her head back out to say, ‘Okay if I use the bathroom first?’

  He was still standing where she’d left him, and he nodded but didn’t move, his face puzzled as if he, too, felt something had happened between them.

  * * *

  Fran lay in bed the following morning, remembering all she’d learned about the man with whom she was working. She’d seen a little of the island, magical in the moonlight as well, but it had been the scrap of Steve’s history—heavily edited, she guessed—that had caught and held her imagination.

  She could even picture him as a young child, chewing at his pencil, as he made up his list.

  And realising just how dedicated he had been, and no do
ubt still was, to that list, then she should forget about all the physical attraction she’d been feeling towards him.

  Well aware that brief affairs or holiday romances weren’t for her, she’d just have to steer clear of any opportunity for closeness between them.

  Sure, she had to work with him, but that was work and if she gave it her full concentration, surely she wouldn’t feel all the tingling awareness his presence was already causing her.

  Thinking work, which had kept her going through all the trials and tribulations of the divorce, would surely get her back to normal!

  * * *

  Unable to sleep, Steve left for his run earlier than usual. The streetlights were still on, although dawn was breaking, the orange blaze in the eastern sky already heralding the rising sun.

  Why, in the name of fortune, had he poured out his heart to Fran last night?

  Well, not his heart but his life story—more or less. Telling her about Wetherby, Hallie and Pop, Liane even. He never talked to anyone about Liane...

  His feet pounded faster, and he could feel sweat breaking out all over his body.

  If he cut short his run, he could be back in time to have breakfast with Fran.

  Really, he should go back.

  Nonsense, he rarely had breakfast with other visiting staff, just grabbed whatever was to hand when he came back from his run, or breakfasted at the hospital to catch up with the news there.

  But she was new...

  Or was it because he was attracted to her that he suddenly wanted to see her?

  See her over breakfast...

  That was worse because surely seeing someone over breakfast was—what—intimate?

  Give me a break!

  But without consciously realising it, he’d turned back towards the clinic.

  Why shouldn’t he have breakfast with her?

  CHAPTER THREE

  THANKFULLY SHE WAS out of the bathroom when he got back, so he showered and shaved, slipped into some respectable ‘work’ clothes—which here meant shirt and shorts—and found the woman who’d broken his running schedule sitting at the table, where, as usual, Zoe had laid out a variety of cereals, fruit, yoghurt and freshly baked pastries.

  ‘The pastries are delicious,’ Fran said as he joined her.

  She looked cool and together in the same uniform as him—shirt and shorts, sandals, he suspected, on her feet.

  Was he considering her clothes so that he didn’t have to think about his physical reactions to the sight of her? Physical reactions he had never felt towards a virtual stranger.

  Although, why shouldn’t he be attracted to her? She had told him last night that she was divorced.

  Though surely someone so lovely would already have another significant other...

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, settling opposite her, serving himself some cereal and fruit while his mind put his body firmly into place.

  They were here to work!

  ‘I like the couples to meet the whole team,’ Steve began. ‘It’s easier to have the embryologist there in case they have questions. Our first couple is due at ten but island time is fairly flexible.’

  She glanced up at him and he noticed a tiny flake of pastry on the corner of her lip.

  He clutched his spoon tightly to stop himself from reaching out to brush it away, and prayed his colleague wasn’t reading his body language.

  ‘If you think it’s important I’ll be there,’ Fran assured him, speaking coolly, formally, as if determined to steer away from the easy camaraderie they’d shared the previous evening.

  After which she pushed her chair back, excused herself, and left, no doubt to remove the crumb of pastry herself.

  Which was a good thing, wasn’t it?

  Well?

  On one side, keeping things cool and professional between them was certainly the way he worked with colleagues at home, especially after the hash he’d made of his relationship with Sally. Their break-up had lost him friends and had forced him into setting up his own clinic sooner than he’d intended.

  Here, with the small team, they were naturally close, becoming friends as well as colleagues, but no more than friends.

  On the other hand...

  He didn’t really want to think about the other hand. About the fact that this might be the very woman with whom he could have his family.

  He half smiled at the thought of Liane hearing him say this.

  Forget the bloody family and choose a woman because you love her, she would have said.

  But physical attraction wasn’t love...

  * * *

  Mr and Mrs Red were the first of the couples they saw, coming in concerned, anxiety throbbing from them both as Steve ran through the procedures.

  He did his best to help them relax, talking with Mr Red about the sperm sample they would need, explaining how they liked to take that first so he could be with Mrs Red when they extracted any eggs she might have.

  The two tall, well-built islanders clung to each other like children, their handsome faces drawn with stress. And for all that she hadn’t wanted to be there, it was the client’s stress that prompted Fran to intrude in what should be Steve’s part of the procedure, inserting herself into the conversation.

  ‘Nothing makes it easier,’ she told them in a gentle voice, ‘so you just have to think of something you really hate, like going to the dentist, and realise that soon it will all be over.’

  Mr and Mrs Red seemed to take that in, and they were soon reassuring her that they didn’t mind at all, and the stiffness in the atmosphere melted away. Mr Red kissed his wife goodbye before being led off to a little room, after which Fran followed Steve as he took Mrs Red into the procedure room where he introduced her to Alex, the permanent doctor at the clinic.

  ‘Alex tells us you have some lovely eggs ready for collection,’ Steve said to Mrs Red. ‘I want to have a look at them, then we’ll give you a light sedative so you won’t feel any pain and when your husband comes back we can collect them. Francesca is here to take care of them from the moment we get them.’

  ‘Kind of like an egg midwife or perhaps a clucky hen,’ she put in, because Mrs Red was looking distressed again. ‘Believe me, no one will take better care of them than me.’

  She took the woman’s hand and gave the fingers a reassuring squeeze. Okay, she’d crossed the boundaries between doctor and embryologist and probably stepped on Steve’s toes. But suddenly none of her need for restraint and remaining distant from the patient mattered as long as Mrs Red was as comfortable as she could be while they messed around with her body.

  The ultrasound, operated by Alex, showed a number of follicles beautifully swollen, indicating that several eggs might be ready for collection. Mr Red came into the procedure room, smiling with relief that he’d done his part in the procedure. He took Fran’s place by his wife’s side as Alex sedated the woman and Steve used the ultrasound to guide him to her ovaries and draw up fluid from the ripe follicles.

  Fran had her red-marked dish ready for the fluid Steve would collect and held it for him as he released it from the fine syringe. She carried it down to the laboratory, peering at it under the microscope, separating out four fine eggs and transferring them carefully into separate red-marked dishes, these with the special culture in them—fluid that would nurture the eggs while they were outside Mrs Red’s body.

  It was science, nothing more, she tried to tell herself, but somehow, in this magical place, it had become more personal.

  Because she’d been shocked back into feeling by her attraction to Steve? Not that that was going anywhere...

  But in spite of that, this day was unlike any other she’d ever spent in a lab; all her senses on full alert, excitement stirring within her.

  She put the eggs in the incubator a
nd turned her attention to Mr Red’s sample, which had to be washed and examined for any problems or impurities.

  ‘Well, you’re feisty little buggers,’ she was saying happily to the sperm when Steve walked into the lab.

  ‘Do you always talk to your specimens?’ he asked, and she tried to feel embarrassed but found she couldn’t.

  ‘Not usually,’ she admitted ‘but today I’m just happy that they look good and the eggs are good, too,’ she added, refusing to have her positive mood dampened by this man. He might have tipped her world off course by making her feel again, but she quite liked the new direction it had taken and she was going to go with it.

  ‘Actually,’ she added, ‘I do so little practical work these days, mainly supervising the younger embryologists, that I’m excited about this.’

  There was no understanding smile.

  Nothing!

  Oh, well...

  ‘I’m sorry if I intruded when I shouldn’t have earlier but they both seemed so stressed.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. You managed to get them relaxed, which was wonderful. And we’re a team, we work together for the best outcomes we can for the patients. Now, ready to go again? Mr and Mrs Utai are here.’

  ‘Yellow.’ Fran responded. ‘I’ll make them yellow.’ She didn’t add that she’d call them that, he’d think she was even more peculiar than he’d thought when he heard her talking to her specimen.

  Steve watched as she put into the incubator the red dish she’d been examining when he’d come in, then break open the yellow pack. He liked that she was so organised—not that he’d doubted she would be. Right from their first meeting she’d given the impression of smooth efficiency.

  Yet he’d glimpsed something of the woman underneath that polished exterior as she’d talked to the previous patients, empathising with them in a way he couldn’t, winning their confidence with a few light-hearted comments.

  He was intrigued, which wasn’t good. Attraction was all very well, and it had reached a stage of undeniability, given the way his body was behaving in her presence, but to be interested in her as a person, that was different.

  Patients awaited. He’d concentrate on them and think about his colleague later.