He didn’t call in later, although, knowing he was out at the lake, she’d both hoped and dreaded he would. Neither did she see him on Sunday, so by Monday she was so uptight she’d decided that seeing him was better than not seeing him, despite the different kind of anguish contact with him entailed. She drove to work early so everything would be in readiness for the rest of the crew.
Clint Miles, who would narrate the series, was already there, chatting to Linda Carthew in the foyer as Jena came through from the back. One glance at the pair suggested that maybe Linda had found someone to console her after Noah’s intransigence.
‘Sweetheart!’
Clint greeted Jena with a bear-hug just as Noah appeared from the reception area. ‘You’ve survived out there in the wilderness? I couldn’t believe it when Matt said he’d set such a stupid test. He showed me the place once. It’s a wreck.’
Jena, used to his theatrics, simply smiled. Surviving life in the shack was a snack compared to surviving the problems in her personal life, which had just been exacerbated by the glimpse she’d had of Noah’s face as Clint had hugged her.
The Mr Happy scowl had nothing on the one he was now wearing. She muttered an excuse to Clint and slipped upstairs.
Noah watched her go, and knew she was escaping. He felt like doing it himself, only he couldn’t decide whether occasional tantalising glimpses of her were better than nothing at all or if they simply made his inner turbulence worse.
He spoke politely to the man Linda introduced, though he wondered how Jena could put up with the false heartiness which seemed to infect theatrical people.
Sour grapes, mate! he warned himself, but warnings had ceased to work.
Excusing himself, he headed for the wards, but apparently there was to be no escape.
‘You can’t start a ward round until the cameraman gets here,’ Rhoda told him, introducing him to Rod and offering the further information that he was the director and he’d be working from Jena’s notes, which apparently she’d emailed him on Friday, to tell the cameraman what shots to take.
‘Jena’s warned us to be as unobtrusive as possible and, while you must think that’s impossible, we’ll only use one camera to follow you through your daily routine, though we’ll have two set up in the mock office and theatre.’
Noah nodded as if he actually understood what the man was talking about, but as Jena reappeared at that moment, followed by a young chap carrying a camera the size of a suitcase, he stopped pretending to understand and concentrated on not touching her.
‘Ward round,’ Rhoda suggested helpfully. ‘We can start now.’
Noah glanced around, desperate to connect to reality once again. Not that glancing around helped much. Now that he looked at them, he realised all his female patients were decked out in new nightdresses or pyjamas, ranging from classy through glamorous to fun cartoon nightshirts.
‘Well, you could hardly expect them to be filmed in hospital issue, could you?’ He heard the whisper and knew it was Jena. Hoped she couldn’t read all the thoughts he was having!
Somehow he got through the day, though his patience had worn very thin by lunchtime. So at four-thirty, when he was about to give himself an early mark and sneak off home—to his own home—and someone suggested taking shots of him in the mock office, he snapped a blunt refusal and shut himself in the lab under the pretext of having tests to run.
‘We could film you there,’ Rod said hopefully.
‘You’re here for a fortnight,’ Noah retorted. ‘You’ll have more than enough time.’
Rod looked startled, but as Noah shut the door in his face, there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Except knock?
More a tap than a knock, but Noah heard it anyway and flung the door wide, intending to say a few choice words to the persistent man.
Only it wasn’t a man, it was a woman.
The one woman he didn’t want to see.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JENA hovered uncertainly on the threshold.
‘Can I come in? I don’t want to disturb you if you’re really working, but if you’re only hiding out, I’d like to explain.’
Though her beauty hit Noah like a sledgehammer every time he saw her, this afternoon it was her uncertainty that was affecting him more, squeezing at his heart with a vice-like grip.
He reached out, grabbed her forearm, hauled her through the opening then shut the door behind her.
‘Explain what?’ he demanded, angry with his weakness where this woman was concerned.
‘About the pressure the crew is putting on you. With Christmas so close, they’re hoping to finish early—maybe get all the film they need this week, instead of going into next week.’
He should have been relieved. One week of interference instead of two—only one more week of Jena’s presence. But the heaviness in his chest denied him relief.
‘Their suggestion or yours?’ he asked, then, because he couldn’t help himself, he reached out and touched one of the tendrils of hair framing her lovely face.
She flinched and he drew back as if she’d bitten him, but she caught the reaction and touched his hand in apology.
‘Dangerous stuff, this touching,’ she said quietly.
‘Very dangerous,’ he agreed, but he gave in to the ache in his arms and touched some more, drawing her close against his body and holding her tightly to him.
‘I don’t suppose you’d reconsider the career move that makes an entanglement impossible?’ he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her hair.
“‘Entanglement” was your word, “complication” was mine,’ she reminded him. ‘And you don’t want an entanglement, remember.’
‘I could change my mind,’ he offered.
‘Try me out as some kind of test to set against whatever hold Lucy has on you?’
He tightened his grip on her, wondering how a woman he barely knew could home in so unerringly on his weak spots.
‘Stupid, isn’t it?’ he whispered as his body began to get excited about what had begun as—and was meant to be—a purely asexual embrace.
‘Totally!’ she agreed, but she snuggled closer as if her body, too, needed the balm of tight contact. Then she sighed, and pushed herself away.
‘I don’t mean you have to do more filming tonight,’ she said, reverting to what she’d obviously come to say, ‘but I wanted you to know what’s in their minds. That they’re as eager to be done here as you are to be rid of them. According to Rod, the time was over-estimated deliberately so you wouldn’t be put out if it took longer.’
Noah nodded.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she added, and she turned, opened the door and walked out, the droop of her shoulders suggesting she was as unhappy about leaving him as he was about her departure.
The week passed swiftly. Noah made an excuse to miss statue rehearsal, knowing that seeing even more of Jena with voluntary after-hours involvement would be a torture he couldn’t endure. Though he did invite the young people to a barbecue the following evening, so they could show him what to do. No matter how he felt about Jena, he needed to be on the float to avoid the false noses.
‘She won’t be here if the crew leave early,’ he said, when Carla berated him for changing position too early, telling him Jena would rip shreds off him if he did it on the day.
‘She’s staying on,’ Suzy explained. ‘Apparently, she’s had some bet with her boss that she’ll stick out three weeks in the shack at the lake, and has to stay whether they’re filming or not. It’s good because it means she can shoot down to Brisbane one day and pick up the body paint we’ll need.’
Noah took in the words, but didn’t think about them, too busy trying to work out why the thought of Jena’s departure—no, not the thought but actually putting it into words—had caused him such heartache. Seeing her around the hospital was torture. He should be glad she was going.
The explanation didn’t occur to him until the following week, when he realised the torture o
f not seeing Jena far outdid that of seeing her. He remembered something she’d said when they’d been talking of Lucy. Something about a minute apart being too long, a day endless, while a week…
The description of the week had slipped into some blank spot in his mind but he could supply any number himself.
Agony. Anguish. Devastation.
But Jena had been describing love—or the reactions of someone in love.
Had she felt it herself, that she could describe it so accurately?
He groaned to himself. Even thinking of her in love made his gut clench, while imagining her unhappy—as wretched as he was right now—made him want to belt someone.
Anyone!
‘The Health Department have asked us to submit a more detailed proposal of the hospice you were considering.’
Jeff Finch came in on cue but when Noah realised what he was saying, he forgot about belting him—even lost his usual urge to fight with the man.
‘They’re interested?’
Jeff nodded and smiled, all former animosity gone. It didn’t take long for Noah to guess why. Should they get funding for the hospice, it would be more money for Jeff to administer—expanding his little empire quite considerably.
‘I wouldn’t want it at the hospital,’ he reminded Jeff, then added a sop. ‘Although, of course, it would still be under your authority.’
‘Could we get together on it soon?’ the CEO asked, seeming pathetically anxious to smooth over past differences.
‘This evening would be good,’ Noah said. He knew there was another statue rehearsal but, despite the pain of not seeing Jena, he knew in his heart it was best this way.
‘Well, this evening I’ve promised the television carpenters I’d check out the float. You know the production company agreed for them to stay on after they dismantled the rooms upstairs to help us build it.’
Jena’s work, Noah knew. She’d used the hospital float as an excuse to keep the carpenters in town and had them finishing her ‘temple’ float as well.
One excuse gone. Could he think of another?
No!
Avoiding her be damned. He’d go to rehearsal. He’d let her push his arms into the right positions. Be close to her, and suffer the consequences later.
Only she wasn’t there. He arrived at his aunt’s house right on time—six-thirty—and found all the others gathered. Suzy insisted they start without Jena, but anxiety burned like acid in Noah’s belly. A light rain had been falling most of the afternoon, the kind that turned roads slippery.
‘Was today the day she was going to Brisbane?’ he asked, thinking she might have been delayed on the journey.
‘No, that was yesterday,’ Carla—who apparently knew everything—told him. ‘She was having a day out at the lake today. The people at your house wanted to go to town and she was babysitting the kids.’
The anxiety tightened. Though he knew Greg was calm now, the earlier incident wouldn’t leave his head. In the end he had to excuse himself.
‘I’ll just drive out and check everything’s OK. She had a flat tyre the first day she was here. Hope she had the sense to get it fixed.’
He knew the words sounded weak, but he no longer cared. The thought of Jena in trouble, maybe hurt, had sublimated everything else.
He reached the accident at the same time as his mobile rang, the hospital warning him he’d be needed when the injured were brought in.
It was just before the turn-off to the lake—a bus slewed across the road, a small car wedged beneath its wheels, another older vehicle on its side some distance away, while beyond that various other vehicles had pulled over on the verge.
It had happened long enough ago for the police to have cleared a lane for traffic to pass, and cars crawled slowly by, the occupants peering fearfully towards ambulances already loading the injured.
Having assured himself that the damaged vehicle wasn’t a LandCruiser, Noah parked off the road and crossed to the nearest policeman, a man who presumably was with the highway patrol as he was a stranger to Noah.
‘I’m a doctor—what can I do?’
‘We’ve some people still trapped in the bus, and the ambulance crew are working in there. There’s a woman in a bad way in the old van. The paramedic set up a drip and there are helicopters on the way to airlift her and the other badly injured to Brisbane. The less injured will go to Kareela.’
As he finished speaking, Noah heard the whump of rotor blades announcing the first helicopter’s arrival.
He hurried to the bus, anxious to be of help, but the ambulance attendant waved him away.
‘We’re managing here. Can’t do much until we cut away more of the metal then we’ll probably need you. Can you check the woman in the van?’
He sensed Jena’s presence before he saw her, perhaps smelt the faint familiar fragrance emanating from the soap she used.
‘It’s Minnie, Noah!’ she whispered, her voice husky with tears that were also streaming down her face. ‘She’s dead.’
Jena was sitting awkwardly in a corner of the upturned van, the slim, lifeless figure of the young woman cradled on her lap.
‘When?’ he demanded, squatting down beside the young woman and feeling for a pulse.
‘Only a few seconds ago, but look!’
Jena lifted a padded dressing from Minnie’s chest, revealing a gaping wound suggestive of damage beyond repair.
‘She lost the baby, too,’ Jena murmured.
While you sat and held her, comforted her, Noah thought. But he knew he couldn’t linger to offer comfort in turn to Jena. Not when other lives might hang in the balance.
‘I have to see to others. Shall I help you out of there?’
She shook her head.
‘I’ll hold her a little longer. It’s still drizzling out there. I don’t want her to get wet.’
He touched the woman who’d caused such chaos in his life gently on the cheek and walked away.
By the time he reached the bus the first helicopter was being loaded and more passengers had been reached, so first-aid measures were in full swing. Knowing the ambulance officers could handle all the immediate requirements of providing airways, stemming bleeding and starting fluids, he took on the job of triage, sorting priorities. The woman with her leg severed below the knee would go on the next helicopter, already kicking up spray as it landed on the roadway.
The unconscious man with no obvious head injury would be OK in Kareela where they’d watch for any deterioration of his condition. So Noah worked and sorted, acting automatically as his years of experience in emergency medicine asserted itself.
Once the airlift was complete, and other seriously injured passengers sent on by ambulance to the city, Noah knew he’d have to follow the local ambulance back to Kareela, where he’d have the job of patching and setting and stabilising those less badly injured.
Surely someone had taken Minnie away by now? But where was Jena? What would she do? How would she cope with the shock of what she’d been through?
Aware he had no time to lose, he searched hurriedly among those working to clear the road.
‘We’re off, Doc,’ the ambulance attendant called to him.
‘I’m right behind you,’ he promised, and trod wearily towards his Jeep.
The thought of Jena driving back out to the lake, bloody and alone, tormented him, but he couldn’t go to her, any more than he could have spared the time to comfort her earlier. As he worked through the night, ending up with seven more patients than he’d had the previous afternoon, he realised just how much she meant to him.
How much he loved her.
At dawn, with the adrenalin which had kept him going all night fast draining from his system, he showered off the worst of his exhaustion, pulled on clean clothes, grabbed his mobile in case he was needed urgently and headed for the Jeep.
On second thoughts, he wasn’t going to be worth anything the way he was feeling so he headed back into the hospital, phoned Tom Jackson and asked him to
take any urgent calls until midday.
Back to the Jeep.
Aware of the dangers of driving while tired, he took his time, slowing even more at the scene of the accident, amazed there was so little evidence of the previous evening’s carnage.
He eased the Jeep along the track to Matt’s shack, which came into view around the last bend.
Where was Jena’s LandCruiser? And what was that sporty little ‘pretend’ four-wheel-drive doing there?
A sourness invaded Noah’s stomach, curdling in his intestines. Even before the man stepped onto the verandah, Noah knew it was exactly the kind of ‘city’ car Matt Ryan would drive.
Jena had been waiting for him! Had expected him to join her at the shack.
The revelations were so devastating he couldn’t move, couldn’t put the vehicle into reverse and roar away. Matt was coming down the steps, peering at the Jeep as if trying to ascertain who was in it.
Rage rose up in Noah, a rage so strong it roared in his ears and filmed his eyes with redness. He pushed open the car door, sprang out, hurled himself towards the man who as a boy and teenager had so annoyed him and roared his anger.
‘She’s not yours, she’s mine, and she’s better by far than you’d ever know or have the gumption to realise, you sham, you over-inflated ego on legs!’
And with that he did what he should have done years earlier. He punched Matt Ryan solidly on the nose.
It hurt his knuckles far worse than he could have believed, but he had the satisfaction of seeing blood start before he stormed up the stairs in search of the cause of all this trouble.
Who wasn’t there, he realised—belatedly.
Far from soothing him, it only raised his blood pressure a bit more.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded, glowering down at a bemused Matt who was holding a snowy handkerchief to his injured face.
‘If you’re talking about Jena, I don’t know,’ he said, the words thick and distorted. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a magazine. ‘I came up because I thought she might see this and be upset.’
The Temptation Test Page 18
