by Lucy Clark
‘You are a great sister, Phemie,’ Gil said. ‘From what I heard of your conversations with Mary, and I don’t want you to think I was eavesdropping, but her brother was much younger than her. That in itself makes a big difference. When you were telling her about Anthony, every time you mentioned his name, there was a deep, abiding love in your tone. You may not have had the relationship you imagined you wanted but you have a very solid relationship with him all the same. Sure, it may seem more like parent to child rather than sibling to sibling but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong or invalid. You shared yourself with Mary and I have to say, you’re quite a woman. Not everyone can do that. You were open with her, telling her about your brother, your parents and about yourself, how you’d been afraid to leave your job at Perth hospital to move to Didja but that you’re very glad you did. I heard you telling her how much you like helping people and that’s when she thanked you for being there to help her.’ Gil kept his words soft but firm, wanting to get cross to Phemie that she had not only listened to Mary, that she’d not only provided first-rate medical care, but that she’d also given that dying woman respect by treating her normally.
‘The last thing Mary needed whilst she was trapped was to panic. You kept her sane, made her feel as though she was strong enough to pull through it.’
‘But I knew she wasn’t.’ The words burst forth from Phemie like a rocket and she covered her face with her hands. ‘I knew she wasn’t going to make it. I just knew it yet I kept on giving her hope. False hope.’
‘You’re a doctor. You do what’s in the best interests of your patient.’
Phemie dropped her hands and walked to the tissues, yanking one out and blowing her nose loudly. Where was the man who had held her so tenderly that afternoon? The one who had put his big strong arms around her, making her feel safe and secure? Where was he now? She needed him. Instead, she appeared to be faced with a doctor who was giving her clinical and logical answers about why she was so bereft at Mary’s passing.
‘Even lying to them in their last moments?’
‘Yes.’ Gil stood and strode towards her, clasping her arms with his hands. He wanted to give her a good shake but remained firm. ‘This wasn’t your fault. Mary’s death wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could and much, much more for her, and you need to accept that.’
‘What if I can’t?’ She looked up at him. The desire to feel his arms about her, rather than firmly holding her at a distance, was what she wanted more than anything right now. She knew it wasn’t right. She knew she shouldn’t want him as much as she did but, having felt his arms around her before, she wanted that sensation, that feeling of being protected, of being cared for, to envelop her and wash away the pain.
‘You have to. You’re a professional.’
His words seemed harsh and she didn’t want to hear them. ‘She was my friend.’
‘No. She was a patient. Someone who needed your help. She was a woman you met. A nice young woman who has had an impact on your life. You need to deal with it and move on.’
Phemie could feel her anger rising at his words. She was hurting, she was in pain and all he could do was spout platitudes about emotions he obviously knew nothing about. He may be a genius but it appeared he had no idea about feeling empathy for a person who had passed away. He was being cold and professional and the more he was like that, the angrier she became. She didn’t like his rationalised reasoning. She knew the psychology but it didn’t help the way she felt. She knew she needed to pull herself together, and she would—later—but right now she wanted to mourn for Mary and she’d foolishly hoped Gil would share her sentiments. Obviously, she’d been wrong.
With a quick move, she brought both her hands up between his and pushed them out to the side, effectively breaking his hold on her. ‘I know what I need to do and I don’t appreciate your attempts to psychoanalyse my emotions away. I’m upset, Gil. Someone I liked, someone I’m proud to call my friend, has just died and you’re wanting me to be rational about this?
‘Well, Professor, let me tell you that sometimes people need to be irrational. They need to do what’s not expected. If I want to wallow, if I want to mope around and cry and be upset for a woman who at the age of twenty-one has had her life ripped from her, then I shall cry and be upset, despite how little I knew her. Our acquaintance may have been short but it was filled with special moments. Quality, not quantity. And she may have been just a patient in the beginning but by the end she was a woman I admired.’
‘Phemie, I—’
She pushed past him and walked to the door, opening it, indicating he should leave. It was necessary that he go. Her yearning for his arms around her, her yearning for him to understand her emotions, her yearning for him to simply be there for her was becoming too much to deal with on top of everything else. She wanted to lean on him, to have him support her, but she also knew if she did that, if he offered that, it would only enhance the growing addiction she felt for him.
‘Look, I understand you’ve had a very rough and long few days.’
‘Yeah.’ She laughed without humour. ‘You’ve got that right, which is why you’re leaving.’
‘I didn’t come here to upset you. I simply wanted to inform you—in person—about—’
‘And I appreciate it. However, I’d also appreciate it if you’d just leave me alone.’
There was a certain look in her eyes as she said the words and Gil realised she wasn’t just talking about the absent-minded way he’d handled himself in the past ten minutes. She was hurt, she was tired and he could see she really did want to be left alone. Not only that, he understood she also wanted him to keep his distance on a personal level. It was difficult, especially when she was wearing such cute pyjamas, making her look all snuggly and warm. Did she have any idea how alluring she was, how he was having such a difficult time keeping his hands to himself?
She was right, though. He should go. He should leave her alone. He wasn’t quite sure why he continued to seek her out, why he continued to think of her so often, but he would endeavour to do as she now asked.
‘Of course. My sincerest apologies, Euphemia.’
His clipped accented tones washed over her as he once more inclined his head in the polite way she’d come to equate with him before walking calmly through her open doorway. Out in the hallway once more, he turned before she could close the door.
‘I do hope you manage to sleep well,’ he murmured, before walking off towards the lifts and doing what she’d asked all along—leaving her alone.
Phemie was a little on edge the next morning. Although the conference didn’t officially begin until Monday, Sunday had been set aside for conference speakers and presenters to not only get to know each other but also to be first in line to attend the Trade shows which would open later that afternoon to the rest of the conference delegates. As such, it was a full day’s programme which began with a welcome breakfast in one of the smaller, more intimate conference rooms, where she came face to face with Gil.
‘Good morning, Euphemia.’
‘Professor.’ She nodded politely as she scooped some strawberries onto her plate, ignoring the way her heart rate increased its usual rhythm.
‘I trust you were able to sleep well?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
With that, Phemie smiled, even though it didn’t reach her eyes, and took her plate back to her seat. As she sat down, she made sure she didn’t watch him to see what else he did or who else he spoke to.
‘Do you know Professor Fitzwilliam?’ Another presenter who was sitting at her table asked.
‘Not really.’ Which was true. What did she really know about Gil except that he was a brilliant specialist, was English and had the most hypnotic eyes she’d ever gazed into? The fact that he could set her heart racing with a simple look meant nothing. Or that he could make her knees weaken with the briefest of touches, or that being in the same room as him made her mind turn to mush. No. None of it meant a thing. Keep
ing her distance, protecting herself was the better thing to focus on.
She had almost finished her breakfast when the conference co-ordinator stood and tapped on the side of his glass for quiet. Soon everyone was paying attention.
‘Welcome, presenters,’ the female co-ordinator began, before launching into a rundown of the day’s activities. ‘First of all, though, I have the honour, nay, the pleasure…’ she looked down at the front table where Gil sat and smiled brightly at him, almost too brightly, Phemie thought ‘…of introducing one of the world’s leading experts in emergency medicine.’ She continued by listing a long string of Gil’s qualifications and achievements, before turning the podium over to him.
Amid a round of applause Gil took to the podium, dressed neatly in his three-piece pinstripe suit, where he looked every inch the revered professor he was. Phemie contrasted him to the man she’d met on the train and found they were vastly different. Even the way he spoke was different, his rich warm tones washing over her, his accent far more pronounced then in the quiet moments they’d shared together before Kiefer’s accident.
Why did all of that—the journey on the train—seem so long ago? Why did it feel as though she had known Gil for more than a couple of days? Was it because she’d read so many of his articles she felt as though she really did know him? Or was it the frightening natural chemistry that seemed to exist between them?
Gil calmly scanned the room as he spoke. A smattering of laughter broke out and it was then Phemie realised she’d missed whatever little anecdote he’d just related. When his gaze settled on her she felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Even across the room, it was as though his brown eyes devoured her and her breathing rapidly increased.
It was only a moment, just a brief flash of time, yet once again she felt completely encompassed by him. It was as though he’d been quietly searching the crowded room for her and her alone. Now that he’d found her, he couldn’t be bothered paying anyone else attention.
Phemie looked down. Breaking the contact. Unable to endure the intense moment any longer. She forced herself to pick up her toast, to take a bite, to do something—anything—to get her mind off the man at the front of the room. When she realised her hand was trembling, she immediately put the toast back and clasped her hands in her lap, squeezing them together so tightly she thought she might snap a bone.
She wasn’t able to look at Gil for the rest of his speech and at the first available opportunity she politely excused herself and made her way to the ladies room. Her heart was still pounding, her hands were still trembling and when she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she was astonished at how wild and bright her eyes appeared.
Her blonde hair was pulled back into a chignon, she was wearing a navy skirt, white shirt and matching navy jacket. She looked every inch the professional yet she felt far from it. One look from Gil and she’d ended up a mass of schoolgirl tingles, unable to control her own body’s reaction.
Deciding it was best to simply skip the rest of the welcome breakfast and return to her room until it was time for the trade show, Phemie exited the ladies room and headed for the bank of elevators. She didn’t look back but instead focused on her escape from a man she simply couldn’t stop thinking about.
When was she going to find some self-control? Relationships weren’t for her. She knew that and it was a decision she herself had made years ago. Letting the way Gil made her feel rule her life would only mean she’d not only end up alone but miserable as well. If only he wasn’t so attractive, so endearing, so…on her wavelength.
He was a doctor, which meant he understood the working hours she had to endure, he was great with his patients and most of all he’d been incredible with Anthony. She often judged people on how they treated her brother, especially given most new acquaintances were a little taken aback when they found out Anthony had a disability. Gil, however, had treated Anthony like a long-lost friend and the picture of the two of them sitting at the table on the train, laughing together, brought an instant smile to her face.
These facts only made Gil more dangerous, only made it even more necessary for her to avoid him wherever possible, especially during the next couple of days. When he returned with her to the Didja base, she would keep her distance and play the polite host to perfection. Gil might even want to go and spend a few days working with her good friend Dex. That would mean less time she had to tiptoe around the issue that she wanted nothing more than to hold him close and never let him go.
At that thought alone, Phemie closed her eyes, not wanting to think about him any more, about how he was affecting her and also about just how deep her feelings for him seemed to be developing. Even if she did, could, admit to herself that Gil might turn out to be someone special, someone she really wanted to spend time with, there was also the added complication of geography.
No. There wasn’t any way that any sort of real relationship could prosper.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AT THE end of the day, Phemie flicked off her shoes and slumped down on to the bed, rubbing her feet. She was not used to wearing high heels and her toes were now starting to complain. She changed into more comfortable clothes, jeans and a burgundy knit top, before picking up the TV remote and lounging on the bed, luxuriating in the soft furnishings which she definitely didn’t have back on the RFDS base.
The phone rang and she quickly switched the set off before answering the call. ‘Dr Grainger.’ Only after she’d picked up the receiver did she think it might be Gil, and a wild flutter filled her stomach whilst at the same time she dreaded knowing what she ought to say to him.
‘Oh, yes…um…’ The voice was female and hesitant. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor. I’m, uh…Carren Milton. Mary’s mother.’ Phemie gasped, pain rushing through her again, but she pushed it aside, knowing she needed to be strong, to pass on the information Mary had wanted her parents to know. ‘Mrs Milton. Thank you for calling me.’
‘I understand you were with Mary at the…the—’
‘I was,’ Phemie interrupted. ‘She asked me to call you.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Milton was close to tears and Phemie was having a difficult time controlling her own.
‘She wanted me to tell you about my brother, Anthony.’
When the phone call ended, Phemie felt better about Mary and she started to feel the faint stirrings of peace. She looked around the small, impersonal hotel room and shook her head.
‘No.’ The walls felt as though they were about to close in. She was a woman who was used to wide open spaces and at the moment, feeling a little unnerved, she needed somewhere more open than this. Slipping on a pair of flat shoes and grabbing her room key, she headed down to the lobby.
‘Better,’ she murmured as she found an empty wing-backed chair in the hotel’s French-themed café-bar. A waiter came over but she told him she wasn’t ready to order anything just yet. He left her alone and she closed her eyes, finally starting to relax.
‘Hello.’
At the rich, deep tones she recognised all too well, she opened her eyes and looked up to find Gil standing opposite her.
‘Professor.’ She tried to make her tone sound more tired as she shifted in the chair. ‘I hope you haven’t come to deliver more bad news?’
‘Er…no.’
Phemie couldn’t help allowing her gaze to wander over him and it was difficult not to be affected by his more casual attire of jeans and jumper—not that he didn’t look incredibly handsome in a suit. He most certainly did but before her was the man she’d come to know on the train, rather than the medical genius. That thought alone relaxed her a little bit…but only a little. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
‘I do believe we had a date to have tea together.’
Phemie stared at him for a moment, her fuzzy mind trying to comprehend his words. ‘Oh, tea—drinking tea rather than eating tea. Yes. Oh, I’m sorry, Gil. I’d completely forgotten.’ Her annoyance with him started to
dissipate. Maybe it was his casual attire, maybe it was the calm look in his gorgeous eyes, maybe it was that she was just too tired to be defensive. ‘I was going to find a tea house and I—’ She stopped, sighing and pushing her hand through her loose blonde locks. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re exhausted.’ She may not have invited him to sit down but at least she was back to calling him by his first name. He decided to take a chance and force his hand by sitting in the chair opposite. When she made no comment, he signalled the waiter.
‘Two teas, please,’ he ordered. The waiter nodded and went to walk away but Gil hadn’t finished. ‘I’d like Australian tea if you have it. Something rich in body and full in flavour, and if it’s at all possible to get it in a pot with some proper bone china cups, I’d thoroughly appreciate it.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir,’ the waiter replied, before leaving them.
When he looked over at Phemie, she was smiling and slowly shaking her head. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.
‘You’re so…English,’ she said with a chuckle, and he joined in.
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.’ He didn’t care where they went to have a cup of tea together, at least he was finally going to get some one-on-one time with the woman who seemed to have invaded his thoughts. The area in which they sat wasn’t overly crowded and he was pleased. He’d been in two minds whether to come and see her this evening, to force her hand in remembering their date, especially after what had happened last night and earlier this morning at the breakfast. It was clear she was tired but he really wanted to spend time with her, and after telling William he wasn’t available for any tête-a-têtes this evening, he’d headed quietly from his suite and made his way to the lobby, surprised to have found her there.
While they waited for their drinks, they chatted about the conference sessions and she praised him for his speech, even though she hadn’t really been paying attention to most of it, given she’d been too distracted by him.
