Or was it because of that past enjoyment—and the risk of enjoying it now—that she was feeling so narky?
‘I’m saying tests take time,’ Angus added, turning towards her so she saw his frown had deepened.
‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I must be more tired than I realised. Have you and Charles talked further than quarantine?’
Was she interested or just making conversation? Angus wondered.
Once, he’d have known—once, he’d have been sure it was interest, because that was Beth, always keen to learn.
Or had she been?
Had her interest been feigned because she’d known how much he’d enjoyed talking over his work with her? Discussing her work, too, until she’d taken maternity leave, then, with Bobby’s diagnosis of cerebral palsy, hadn’t worked after that, staying home to care for their fragile, crippled little son.
While he had lost himself in work, trying to dispel the fear love brought with it by focussing on genetic mutations of the flu virus—or had it been HIV at that stage? He could no longer remember, just knew he’d used work to escape the pain of seeing Bobby fight for every breath he’d taken.
Not all the time, not when Bobby had been well, and laughing with glee at silly things—but often enough, when things had got too tough…
He pushed the memories away—though not too far away—and turned to Beth.
‘Was it hard, getting back into the swing of things at work?’
The question followed so closely on his thoughts he was surprised when she looked startled.
And puzzled.
‘I was back at work before we parted, Angus,’ she reminded him, and he had to smile, though it wasn’t a joyous expression.
‘You were putting on sensible working clothes and going to the hospital, and no doubt doing a very efficient job, but it was something to do, somewhere to go, somewhere to escape the emptiness—not something to enjoy or feel involved in.’
He stopped the cart and was about to get out, when he realised she hadn’t answered him—not only hadn’t answered, but was sitting staring at him as if he’d suddenly morphed into an alien.
‘How do you know that?’ she demanded, so obviously puzzled he felt pain shaft through him—pain that they could have lived such separate lives, that they had lost each other so completely in the thick emotional fog that had descended after Bobby’s death.
Anger rescued him, blazing along the path the pain had seared.
‘Do you think I didn’t do the same? Didn’t feel pushed so far off track by Bobby’s loss that I wondered if I’d ever find my way back again?’
His anger eased as he watched the colour fade from her face and saw her ashen lips move.
‘You never said,’ she whispered. ‘You never said…’
‘We never talked it through, did we?’ He spoke more gently now, shocked that she’d lost colour so easily. ‘Not about the things that mattered. I don’t suppose that’s surprising, given we were two people who had grown up not talking about emotions.’
He reached out and touched her cheek.
‘That made it very hard.’
He walked away before she could respond. Beth’s eyes were on his broad back as she followed him towards the hotel building. He was there for a conference, he would know where the convention area was, and the lecture theatre.
But her thoughts were far from the upcoming meeting.
How could she not have known how he’d felt?
He’d loved Bobby—she’d known that much—and had grieved after his death, but that Angus had been as lost as she had been, that was the revelation.
‘You never said,’ she whispered again, this time to herself, but even as she said it, she realised how stupid it was to be surprised. Angus was right. They had never talked about their emotions. After meeting Angus’s father, the only family he had, she had understood why he couldn’t. His father was an academic and conversation in the Stuart family ranged over many and varied topics—scientific, political, even religious, but never, ever emotional.
In fact, going to visit had always been an ordeal for Beth as the cool—no, cold—atmosphere of the house and her detached, unemotional father-in-law had intimidated her to such an extent she’d rarely said a word, while taking Bobby for a visit had always made her feel inadequate. Dr Stuart Senior had produced one perfect child, Angus, while Beth had produced one small boy, who through an accidental loss of oxygen to his brain during his birth, had been, in the eyes of those who hadn’t known and loved him, less than perfect.
Angus had stopped by the steps leading into the hotel and she caught up with him, looking up into his face, wanting to apologise, though for exactly what—not knowing how he’d felt, Bobby’s birth trauma, getting pregnant in the first place—she wasn’t certain.
Not that she could have apologised anyway. The look on his face was enough to freeze any words she might have said—freeze them on her tongue.
‘This way.’
Her heart ached at his remoteness, which was stupid considering they’d been apart for three long years. Why wouldn’t he be remote?
And wasn’t remote part of Angus anyway? He might have been one of the best-looking men in the hospital—not to mention one of the sexiest—but one look from his eyes, one tilt of his head, and even the most desperate of women would back away.
Which, of course, had been part of his allure to every single woman on the staff, and probably a lot of the married ones as well…
Angus led the way through the lobby towards the wing that housed the convention area. He and Beth had been together less than an hour and already he—or they—had managed to put up impenetrable barriers between them.
Yet seeing her had thawed parts of him he’d thought frozen for all time…
Seeing her had heated other parts of him—parts the beautiful Sally had barely stirred…
How could it be? He looked down at the shiny hair capping Beth’s head, feeling a certain contentment just to be near her, yet not understanding why he should feel that way.
Familiarity, that’s all it was, he tried to tell himself, but he didn’t believe it for a minute.
No, there was chemistry between himself and Beth he’d never understood, no matter how hard or how often, in the past, he’d tried to analyse it. And it was probably, if he was honest, his inability to analyse it—to dissect it, understand it and so rationalise it—that had led to him allowing Beth to push him away when Bobby had died.
He’d told himself she was like a drug that wasn’t good for him—that was the closest he could come to an explanation. And though he’d craved the drug, he’d gone, separated from her, telling himself it was for the best, pretending to himself he was doing it for Beth because she wanted it that way, losing himself and his grief in work…
‘The lecture theatre’s through here,’ he said, touching her arm to guide her through a door at the end of the passage, touching her skin, Beth’s skin…
Charles beckoned them forward, indicating seats at the front of the hall, taking his place behind a lectern, waiting for latecomers to find somewhere to sit, waiting for silence before telling all those assembled that the island was now in quarantine.
CHAPTER THREE
BETH watched Angus as he spoke, introduced by Charles as an epidemiology expert, explaining the necessity for quarantine until the source of the virus had been isolated.
Someone at the back immediately asked if it was connected to the dead birds, and Angus gave Beth a slight nod as if in confirmation of her words earlier.
‘It is highly unlikely to be bird flu,’ he said. ‘But because it is similar to a flu virus, we believe flu vaccine might stave off infection in people not already infected. A number of you are hospital staff or are in related medical fields so have already had flu shots for this year, but we are flying in more stocks and will vaccinate everyone on the island who isn’t already covered. This will be a big task but, like any task, it can be broken down into sizeable chunks.’
Hands shot up in the air as people wanted to question Angus, but Charles broke in to ask those with questions to wait until Angus had finished speaking, then, if he hadn’t covered all aspects, to ask questions then.
He waved his hand to indicate Angus could again take the floor.
‘So, vaccination programmes will begin, testing is ongoing and we should get results within forty-eight hours, but in the meantime we must act as if bird flu is a possibility, however remote. We know that more than ninety-nine per cent of bird-flu cases have come from direct contact with infected birds. So it is imperative we warn guests and staff to keep away from all birds, whether alive or dead. We have already ordered full body suits with rebreathing masks to be flown to the island. As soon as they arrive, the rangers will all be rostered on duty to collect and dispose of any dead birds safely.’
He didn’t say that the cull might include all birds, not just the sick ones, but Beth suspected that would be the case and her heart ached, for the abundant bird life—the constant chatter and cries of the birds—was part of the magic of the island. She was wondering how it could be done humanely, when an irritated voice broke into her thoughts.
‘You tell people not to touch birds. If we were allowed to leave—if everyone was evacuated—there’d be no need to worry. Why can’t everyone who isn’t sick leave now? We’re capable of watching our health, looking for symptoms and getting to our own doctor if we should feel ill. There’s no need for all of us to be part of this crisis.’
Beth didn’t know the man who was complaining—perhaps he was one of the hotel management people—and she could understand his concern. The tide of dissent was rising, people muttering and mumbling behind her, agreeing with the man.
‘There is no crisis,’ Angus replied, his quiet, measured voice contrasting with the loud, bullying tones of the guest. ‘The quarantine is purely precautionary. We are isolating the people who are already sick and those who are showing slight symptoms. The fact that the illness struck so quickly makes it likely that the quarantine period will be relatively short. The normal process is to isolate a community for a set number of days after the last person becomes ill. In the meantime, if you wish to remain isolated from other people, that is up to you, and I’m sure the resort staff will help you facilitate it.’
Would the man accept this common-sense explanation? Beth turned towards him and saw him take his seat, although his lips were moving and she knew he was muttering at the people around him, no doubt still complaining, while around him rose a mumbling of rebellion that could easily slip out of control.
‘Excuse me!’ The man’s voice silenced the pocket of conversation. ‘You’re talking about vaccinations for those who haven’t had a flu shot this year and saying those who have had one should be all right, but aren’t flu shots virus-specific?’
It was Mike Poulos, a paramedic helicopter pilot from Crocodile Creek, who asked the question, and the practicality of it didn’t mask the concern in his voice.
Was his concern for his wife, Emily, the doctor now on duty at the medical centre? Of course it would be—Emily and Mike were not long married and so devoted to each other it always warmed Beth to see them together.
‘They are developed each year for the specific virus experts predict will hit our shores, but viruses mutate so quickly that by the time the Australian flu season starts it is usually not the virus for which the vaccine was developed. But the vaccination will help prevent other flu strains, and in this case having some protection could be better than none.’
Angus spoke quietly but the undeniable authority in his voice quietened the muted whispers and Beth saw many people nodding in agreement.
Was it because he was aware he now had the full attention of his audience that he continued?
‘But remember,’ he said, ‘that we’re by no means certain it is bird flu or, indeed, any other type of flu. The vaccinations are purely precautionary and are not even compulsory. We shall make the vaccine available to anyone who wants it, and Charles will provide staff to administer it.’
Someone asked a question and as Angus turned his head to answer, Beth studied him, trying to see him dispassionately—as a doctor and an expert, not an ex-husband. It wasn’t only his voice that suggested confidence and authority but his bearing—his whole demeanour.
And once again she wondered what on earth such a man had ever seen in a little snip of a thing like her—a fellow doctor, sure, but when they’d met she’d been a first-year resident—dust beneath the feet of most men like Angus, men who were already making their mark and heading inevitably towards the top of their chosen fields.
Sexual attraction, that was the only explanation—some chemical reaction between them, something neither of them had control over.
It was where it had led that had caused the problem.
Familiar guilt weighed heavily in her heart—guilt she knew it was stupid to feel as her falling pregnant had been a two-way street.
And Angus hadn’t had to marry her—she’d told him that.
Except, being Angus and with very clear views on responsibility, he had insisted.
He’d married her because of her pregnancy, not because he’d loved her—that was the part that hurt.
She pushed the past away, worried that it still had the power to affect her physically, and tried to concentrate on what was going on in the present.
‘Programmes for vaccinations. Any of you who haven’t had flu vaccine please put your name and cabin or room number on a sheet of paper here at the front of the room before you leave and we’ll contact you regarding a time for the vaccination.’
Charles was talking again, adding that hotel staff and guests would be seen at the hotel, while those in ecocabins and the camp could come to the medical centre.
‘And what if it’s not bird flu?’ someone asked, and Charles nodded his willingness to take the question.
‘Well, you’ll all be inoculated against flu for the next season’s outbreak,’ he said, smiling reassuringly, although Beth knew he must be worried sick about both Lily and the situation. ‘Seriously, though,’ he added, ‘we are looking into that. We’ve sent specimens to the mainland and should have some information back tomorrow, or the following day at the latest.’
More questions followed but in the end Charles called a halt, telling everyone they’d be kept informed with daily bulletins.
Was it chance that Beth found Angus by her side as she walked out of the hotel?
Surely it was. And why was he walking out anyway? Simply to upset her equilibrium, not to mention her nerve endings?
‘Haven’t you a conference session to attend?’ she asked, as he accompanied her down the steps and turned towards the cart park.
‘I’m giving a paper on Tuesday, I can’t avoid that, but I can get notes for the rest of it.’
‘But going to the sessions would be better than notes. I know I asked you to help but that was mainly because I was worried that it might be bird flu and you’d know what to do about quarantine and things—who to contact. It’s not as if we’re short of doctors. Half the staff of the Crocodile Creek hospital came over for the official opening and they’re all stuck here with everyone else.’
Had she sounded a little hysterical that Angus had stopped walking and turned to look down into her face?
‘Is that a practical protest or a personal one, Beth?’ he asked, not smiling but not frowning either. ‘Do you really believe I have nothing to offer over there, or is it that you don’t want me around on your part of the island?’
She stared at him for a moment. Put like that, her comment seemed remarkably petty.
‘I feel awkward,’ she replied, opting for honesty. ‘It was hard enough coming over here to ask for your help, Angus, and now—well, I don’t know the “and now” part…’
She walked on, getting to the cart and climbing in—behind the wheel.
‘I wouldn’t think we’d have to see much of each other,’ he said, a
pparently unaffected by either her actions or her words. He simply took the passenger seat and kept talking. ‘From what Charles said, you’re off duty for a few days now, and even if you’re called back to help with the vaccination programme, our paths don’t need to cross.’
It’s what you want, she told herself, starting the cart and turning it back along the road through the rainforest.
Liar!
What you really want is to be near him again, for whatever reason, and that is not mature. In fact, that is pathetic!
She stared fixedly at the road ahead, although the little cart moved so slowly a glance now and then would have sufficed. But because her attention was so focussed she didn’t know he’d raised his arm until his fingers touched her cheek.
‘Are you feeling all right yourself? No flu symptoms? You’re very pale.’
Touch me again, her heart shouted, beating so loudly she was surprised he didn’t hear it.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, still not looking at him, afraid now he’d see her reaction—the attraction that still fired all her senses—in her eyes.
‘Well, you don’t look fine. That little boy who was hallucinating—did you sit with him last night?’
Lie?
How could she?
She nodded.
‘Because he looks like Bobby?’
She stopped the cart and turned to face him, then a demanding beep from the cart behind reminded her that most of the medical centre staff had been at the resort and were now returning to their side of the island.
Started up again, staring ahead as she answered.
‘He does remind me of Bobby, but I spent the night with him because he’s one of a number of children who came to the camp on his own. Part of the reason for the camp is to give the family respite from caring for a child with special needs. Give the parents time to do things with their other kids—things that are sometimes awkward when one child is in a wheelchair or can’t go to places with flashing lights. Anyway, when Miranda, the respiratory physician who’s in charge of the kids with lung problems, phoned his mother to tell her Robbie was sick, she was distraught, because she’s a single mother with four other kids and it’s impossible for her to get up here.’
Children's Doctor, Meant-To-Be Wife Page 4
