A Miracle for the Baby Doctor

by Meredith Webber

  Or not think about her later—that would be a better idea.

  * * *

  ‘Done, done, done!’

  It was late afternoon as Fran did a little dance in front of the incubator after she’d checked both the red and the yellow dishes, now with the sperm added to them, and tucked them back into the warm atmosphere they needed to meet and match.

  She had no idea why she was feeling so positive about both couples but she was, although now her work was done for the day, she knew let-down could sneak in if she let it. Her own experiences had been so negative it was hard to stay positive, but in this magical place with the gentle, beautiful people, surely nothing could go wrong.

  Steve came in as she was tidying the benches and setting out the coloured packs for the patients they’d see the next day.

  ‘All done?’ he asked, and she nodded, pleased she still felt positive enough to smile.

  ‘You really like this work?’ he queried, picking up on the smile.

  ‘Don’t you?’ she challenged.

  He frowned at her, then finally replied, ‘Most of the time.’

  ‘The failures?’ she guessed, coming closer and reaching out to touch his hand, wanting to reassure him as she’d reassured the Reds earlier. ‘They are not your fault. Everyone accepts that the medical team does the best they can. Everyone going into IVF understands the facts and figures, the chances of success and the even bigger chances of failure. They go because it is a chance and it’s the doctors and their teams who are giving them that chance.’

  He was still frowning, but she sensed it was a different kind of frown, so when he said, ‘You’re not really who you portray yourself as, are you?’ she kind of understood and smiled at him.

  ‘I think I was, but something’s changed,’ she told him, then she reached up and let her hair out of its restraining band, shaking her head to let her hair fly free. ‘Must be the hang-loose thing,’ she added, although inside the old her was quivering with shock at this behaviour. She’d not only stripped off her outer shell but she was admitting it to a man she barely knew.

  ‘Good,’ Steve said, although the loose hair and bright smile had made him forget the cool and professional thing. ‘Because now we’re done for the day and I thought I’d take you for a drive to see something of the island. While Vila is the main town there are small settlements on the other side with farmland and beautiful beaches.

  ‘I’d love that!’ she said, her smile even brighter. ‘Can you give me a few minutes for a quick shower?’ She was peeling off her lab coat as she spoke, dumping it in the laundry bin, which Akila would collect later.

  ‘We’ve plenty of time,’ he assured her, and walked with her down to their quarters.

  But his mind was playing with the words. Plenty of time—for what?

  She was here for a month—a lifetime in a lot of affairs...

  Not that he was thinking of an affair.

  Was he?

  She was true to her word, reappearing five minutes later, looking fresh and trim in clean shorts and a blue-green shirt that matched her eyes.

  They climbed into the trusty four-wheel drive and Steve headed down through the town then turned south, pointing out resort after resort, until they turned off the main highway onto a road that wound through rainforest with patches of cleared farmland.

  It was pleasant doing a sightseeing tour of the island, Fran thought, except that it put her in very close proximity to the man who was causing her body so many problems.

  Then the view opened up before her, dark blue ocean stretching away to the horizon.

  ‘Oh, that is so beautiful,’ she murmured, forgetting the discomfort of his proximity as she took in the small waves breaking against the white sand of the beach. ‘And so quiet after the bustle of Vila.’

  They dropped down onto the flat where the ocean was now only visible through a fringe of palm trees.

  ‘Look, there are pigs.’

  Steve was smiling, no doubt at her startled remark.

  ‘Don’t see many pigs where you live?’ he teased, and she smiled too.

  ‘Not poking around in the sandy dirt right beside the road,’ she retorted, and the thread of tension she’d felt when she’d first joined him in the vehicle disappeared completely.

  He stopped in a small, deserted car park.

  ‘We’re on the eastern side of the island now—or maybe south-eastern—and this is Eton, the water called Banana Bay. This place would be jumping if the surf was up, but the winds are wrong for surfing here at this time of the year.’

  He turned to look at her, wanting to look at her.

  Wanting more?

  ‘Care to walk along the beach?’

  ‘Care to walk along a deserted beach, fringed by palm trees, with crystal-clear water to paddle in? Who wouldn’t?’

  She was out of the car in an instant, bending to take off her sandals then throw them back into the footwell.

  ‘Race you to the water!’

  He let her win.

  Of course he let her win—he was too busy watching the joy he could read in her movements to do more than follow slowly.

  She kicked one foot into the tide, sending a rainbow of droplets into the air as the setting sun caught them with its rays, and, watching her, Steve wondered if what he felt was love.

  Couldn’t possibly be, his sensible self assured him. Heartburn was a far more likely explanation for the tightness in his chest.

  He joined her in the shallow water, splashing beside her as they strolled aimlessly along, until she stopped and turned to him, taking one of his hands in both of hers.

  ‘I want to thank you,’ she said, her eyes as serious as the tone of her voice, ‘for bringing me here. I know I’ve only begun the work I’m doing with you, but already I know this is the best thing I’ve ever done.’

  She paused and he wondered if she was searching for the words she needed, or if she was considering whether or not to say them.

  Possibly the latter, he realised, as she added, ‘I feel alive again.’

  Trusting blue-green eyes looked into his.

  ‘Truly alive. Hanging loose!’

  There had to be something behind such an admission, something bad that had happened in her past, but right now it didn’t matter what it was.

  He reached out and put his hand on her neck, just beneath her hair.

  ‘And just how loose are you hanging?’ he asked quietly.

  Fran studied him, suddenly all out of words. She’d gone too far—way too far. In fact, she was so far out of her comfort zone she had no idea how to proceed.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ she admitted, but as the hand he’d tucked under her hair drew her closer, she suspected she was about to find out.

  It was just a kiss, nothing more, or so she told herself as his lips met hers, but whatever rebellion against restraint that had already begun in her head was infecting her body as well, and she found herself responding, kissing him back, giving all the excited nerves free rein.

  Just when she began to tremble she wasn’t sure, but Steve must have felt it for he lifted his head and held her shoulders, looking down into her face.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked, dark eyes she could drown in looking deep into hers, an emotion she couldn’t read making them appear even darker.

  Beyond words, she nodded, wondering just where the conversation would go next, realising how little experience she’d had with men. It had always been Nigel, right from high school, and as far as she could remember, Nigel’s kisses hadn’t made her tremble.

  Maybe they had at the beginning...

  And after they’d separated, there’d been the odd date, usually set up by well-meaning friends, but although all the men she’d met were fine, there’d been no magic, and definitely
no tremble-inducing kisses.

  No deep connection that might have led to love.

  Love?

  When had love come into it?

  But Steve was kissing her again and it was all she could do to keep upright, let alone answer questions!

  This next kiss seared her skin, heat building within her as well. She clung to Steve, had to for support, and as his tongue probed her lips her mouth opened on a sigh, and she tasted him, teased his teasing tongue with her own, her hands around his neck now, holding his head to hers, while his arms held her close enough for her to know exactly how he felt.

  A barking dog broke them apart, and they turned to see a black ‘bitsa’ lolloping down the beach towards them, an elderly islander well behind him.

  Steve bent to scratch the dog behind its ears, talking quietly to it, while Fran stared at the man who seemed, with a kiss—well, two kisses—to have changed the direction of her life.

  She’d always been a ‘good’ girl, and her husband had been her only lover. But Nigel’s kisses had never made her want to strip off on a beach and make love on the sand.

  Wild passionate love, given the heat of the kiss—kisses...

  The islander was closer now, calling out a greeting.

  Fran waved to him, then wandered back into the shallow water, splashing again, letting her body cool, while her mind churned with memories of heat and a dozen ‘what-ifs’.

  Steve spoke to the man, the language almost English but not quite. She recognised a little French and some native tongue mixed in.

  ‘Bislama, the language spoken here,’ Steve explained as the man and dog continued along the beach. ‘It’s a kind of hybrid pidgin English.’

  ‘And you speak it?’ Fran asked, studying this man who was full of surprises.

  ‘A little,’ he admitted. Then, with a smile that made her toes curl, he added, ‘I couldn’t have explained what we were doing on the beach but I suppose he guessed that!’

  Fran could only stare at him, more unsure of herself than she’d ever been.

  Steve read the shadows in her eyes—uncertainty, vulnerability, and perhaps a hint of fear as well.

  Not that he wasn’t totally thrown by the situation himself...

  He took her hand so they could walk together.

  ‘I don’t normally kiss my embryologists,’ he said, running his thumb across the soft skin on her hand.

  She glanced up at him, looking worried now, so he smiled and added, ‘And that’s not because they’ve nearly always been men.’

  Her low throaty chuckle made his body squirm with desire, but he’d chased away the shadows in her eyes.

  ‘I’m not much of a casual kisser myself,’ she said, and it was his turn to laugh.

  Certain there was nothing more to say, not now anyway, he slipped an arm around her waist and was pleased when she did the same to him, so they could walk arm in arm along the beach, the setting sun turning the water into a sheet of pink that deepened to purple as the sun sank over the hill behind them.

  ‘Best get back to the car before it’s dark. Night comes quickly here,’ he said, turning her around and wandering up across the dry sand towards the coconut palms.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said, when they were on the road back to the clinic again.

  ‘I told you yesterday,’ she replied. ‘I’ve led a very dull, predictable life. But what of you—your real family—what were they like?’

  Steve hesitated, then realised just how little he’d ever told anyone about his family. Maybe talking to Fran would help him sort out his muddled thoughts about his early childhood.

  ‘I never knew my parents well—perhaps no child does at eight. Maybe it’s only later we put the bits and pieces together and see them as real people, but I didn’t get that chance.’

  He paused, searching for words to explain.

  ‘They were fun, I know that. They had parties and I’d watch from the top of the stairs, see them laughing, sometimes dancing, always crowds of people around them.’

  He tried to think back.

  ‘They loved me, I’m sure of that, although they travelled a lot, something to do with family businesses, both my father’s and my mother’s family businesses. And I had a nanny who mostly looked after me. But when they were home, they always read my bedtime story, and tucked me in, and kissed me goodnight.’

  Fran heard the words with a little ache in her heart. She didn’t consider herself as having had a storybook childhood, even after her father had left them when she was five. But she had loads more memories of her parents than simply ones of people who kissed her goodnight.

  And she’d had grandparents and cousins and memories of Christmas with the whole family gathered, twenty or thirty adults and children all eating roast turkey on a broiling hot summer’s day.

  She slid her hand across to rest on Steve’s knee, giving it a little squeeze of encouragement.

  ‘Go on,’ she prompted.

  ‘I think I told you they were both only children. They’d grown up next door to each other, in big houses overlooking the harbour.’

  ‘Plenty of money.’ It was a statement, not a question, and Steve nodded his agreement.

  ‘It’s how I’ve been able to start this clinic, and some other ventures back at home.’

  But money can’t buy love, or so they say, Fran thought, understanding now Steve’s strong desire for a family of his own—something he’d never actually had.

  Relations, yes, but a family?

  ‘You were lucky with your foster home,’ she said, realising where his knowledge of what a family could be like came from.

  ‘I was,’ he said. ‘Luckier than anyone would believe.’

  He turned towards her and smiled.

  ‘Why else would I have family at the top of my to-do list? Well, literally, it’s at the bottom but it’s the ultimate goal.’

  Fran pasted a smile on her face, although inside she could feel the pain of what could never be.

  Stupid really, to have connected to this man on the basis of two kisses, but connect she had.

  Closely!

  And, no, it couldn’t possibly be love—love had to be nurtured, grown from small beginnings.

  Didn’t it?

  Whatever! This man was not for her.

  Except?

  Just for here?

  An affair?

  Could she handle that?

  The trembling began again, although her mind was more steadfast.

  Good grief, of course she could. She was a mature woman, already married and divorced, and if she’d managed a father who’d deserted her, and a mother who never seemed to have recovered from the desertion, plus three failed cycles of IVF, and the advent of Clarissa into Nigel’s life, without completely cracking up, she could handle anything!

  They were on the road up to the clinic now, quiet at this time of the evening, and Steve had lifted one hand off the steering wheel to cover hers where it lay on his knee.

  ‘That was great,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to do it again.’

  The kissing?

  Perhaps she could handle anything but uncertainty.

  ‘The drive part or the beach part?’ she asked as they pulled up by the huge bougainvillea.

  His frown told her she’d lost him, but as his eyes searched her face, the frown was replaced by a smile.

  ‘Both,’ he said firmly. ‘But definitely the beach part.’

  He used the hand that still held hers to draw her closer, and brushed his lips across hers, sending tremors of need through her body.

  But before she could respond he’d drawn back, getting out of the car and coming around to help her out, smiling at her as if something had been settled, though what, she had no idea.
/>   ‘I’ve got to see Alex about something but will see you for dinner,’ he said, squeezing her fingers before releasing them.

  How she got back to their lodging with her knees shaking so much, Fran didn’t know, but she did make it.

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat in them for all she didn’t blush, then sank onto the bed, wondering what came next.

  Should she say something? Indicate she’d be happy to have an affair with him?

  Surely not, that would sound far too clinical!

  Besides, it might not be what he wanted...

  Perhaps, she decided as she stood up and gathered her toiletries, she’d leave it all to Steve. Undoubtedly he knew a whole lot more about flings, affairs and holiday romances than she did.

  Probably about sex too!

  The thought snuck into her head and she felt her cheeks grow hot again. Maybe she did know how to blush.

  Unfortunately, checking out her wardrobe for something to put on after her shower brought her down to earth with a thud. Last night in the long blue dress she’d looked attractive enough to interest Steve, but as far as the rest of her clothes were concerned, that was it for soft and pretty. Everything else was strictly practical, tailored linen shorts and sensible shirts, not a flower or a floating panel in sight.

  Disappointment rocketed through her body and although she told herself it was utterly stupid to want to look pretty for Steve and that at her age she should know better, the disappointment remained like a solid lump of ice in the middle of her chest.

  Although...

  What had Zoe said when she’d shown Fran around?

  Something about muumuus in a bottom drawer of the dresser? People coming from different climates and often not having anything cool to wear?

  Fran examined the dresser. She hadn’t needed the bottom drawer so hadn’t opened it, but now she did and gazed in wonder at the brightly flowered muumuus folded neatly in it. All new with tags—presumably people who used them took them home and paid to replace them, which is what she’d do, she decided, pulling out the least vibrant of them, a dusky blue with purple flowers—truly the least vibrant!