скачать книгу бесплатно
Firstly her plane had been delayed and she’d been forced to sit in the airport lounge for most of the night. Then, on her arrival in Perth, she’d discovered her luggage had been lost. Now she was fifteen minutes late for her meeting with her future employer because the airport taxi driver had taken her to the wrong rail depot to pick up her car … the beautiful, brand-new sports car she’d bought only a week ago as a symbol of her new-found freedom. Which now had an ugly gouge down one side due to a momentary lapse of concentration.
She tried to focus on the positives.
She’d never been a quitter.
Leaving home hadn’t been a mistake.
She wasn’t running away from her problems, just taking a break to regroup.
Her objective while in Perth was to work, and learn, and prove to herself she wasn’t afraid of leaping out of her comfort zone into the wild unknown.
She also planned to show her toad of a fiancé that she was quite capable of fulfilment … and independence … and happiness … without him.
She scowled.
Jeremy … her fiancé … Not any more.
It hadn’t taken as much courage as she’d thought to relocate to the other side of the country, even if it was only for a couple of months. The last thing she needed was a holiday with endless empty time on her hands—work was definitely the answer, and work on the other side of the country was perfect. She needed time out without having to deal with the tattered remnants of her life; without the distraction of the opposite sex; without having to get approval for everything she did from her father or Jeremy.
‘Things can’t possibly get any worse,’ she muttered as she locked the car. She glanced at the single visible window and caught a glimpse of two curious faces not quite pressed against the glass. One was a teenage girl and the other …
She instantly forgot her troubles.
The dark-haired man was half smiling, and even through the grubby glass she could see he was … absolutely gorgeous.
He waved and then ducked away from the window as if he’d been caught in the act of being nosy.
Then he reappeared.
When she saw him standing in the doorway, all mussed-up hair, baggy clothes and brooding dark, black-brown eyes, she knew she’d made the right decision in leaving Sydney.
If this man was Dr Brent, it would be no hardship to work with him but she’d have to be careful. He was too damned attractive for his own good and she’d bet her last dollar he had no idea he had all the attributes to turn women’s heads.
Slinging her bag on her shoulder, she strode towards the ramp leading up to the back entrance. She still couldn’t rationalise the preconceived image she’d conjured up of Dr Brent, with the man standing in the doorway.
On the phone he’d come across as kind, conservative, passionate about his job and desperate for a second GP to share his increasing patient load. He’d also sounded … weary.
She’d thought he’d be middle-aged and suspected he might be looking for someone young and fresh to share the patient load at the practice, if the wording in his ad in the widely read Australian General Practice magazine was anything to go by. He’d really wanted someone who was prepared to commit long term, with a view to partnership.
But it appeared that type of candidate was thin on the ground and she definitely wasn’t that person either. She had no illusions that her escape from her failed relationship and the gossip of Sydney’s heartless, egocentric socialites was anything but temporary. She just needed time to heal.
Sophie was totally realistic about her future. She had solid reasons to return to the city she loved. All her friends were in Sydney; she owned a beachside apartment at Collaroy she didn’t want to give up; and had adopted a feisty feline named Max that she couldn’t leave in her friend Anna’s care for ever. She planned to go home as soon as the fallout from her broken relationship settled, and she’d made sure Dr Brent knew she wasn’t planning on staying permanently.
And the reality of this man standing in the doorway had just made her decision to have a break much easier.
Could this seriously good-looking hunk possibly be her new boss?
She was about to find out.
For a moment Will Brent was spellbound by the woman’s penetrating china-blue eyes, fascinated by the tilt of her cute, lightly freckled nose, captivated by her hesitant smile.
‘I’m Will Brent and I assume you’re Dr Carmichael. Can I take your bag?’ he asked as he extended his hand in greeting.
She offered hers and it felt cool, soft and damp. Was she nervous?
‘Yes. Please, call me Sophie, and, no, thanks. I’ll be fine.’
‘Come in,’ he said in what he hoped was a welcoming tone.
She repositioned the bag on her shoulder as she stepped from the short ramp into the building. He suspected she could be just what the practice needed. So if her first impression of Prevely Springs Medical Clinic was to go as smoothly as he’d planned, he’d have to remain totally objective, professional … look beyond the attractively packaged woman standing on his threshold.
Attractive didn’t mean dependable. It meant the pain of betrayal; it meant shallow; it meant priorities very different from his. What twisted lapse of judgement had let him fall in love all those years ago?
Will did a quick reality check.
He had no right to prejudge or compare.
Sophie Carmichael was simply a colleague, who happened to be beautiful.
And he mustn’t think of her in any other way.
There was no way he could burden any woman with his problems. He still felt the hurt and disappointment of his past and the weight of the emotional debt he was struggling to pay. He had chosen to lead a solitary life in the rough inner-city suburb he’d grown up in. And he’d made a promise, nearly twenty years ago, to stay and in some way give back to this community.
Love, marriage, children … The fantasy just didn’t fit with the dark reality of his life.
He’d caused the two people he’d loved most in the world so much anguish. There wasn’t a day went by when his heart didn’t fill with regret for those angry, irresponsible teenage years that had shaped his future. His devotion to his practice and the salt-of-the-earth people in the Springs was the only way he knew to repay his grandparents, and he often lamented that they weren’t alive to witness his achievements.
He’d only recently admitted, though, that he needed help to keep going. The long hours he worked, being on call weekends and after hours, was wearing him down to near breaking point. He had high hopes for the woman standing in front of him.
Releasing Sophie’s fingers from his grip, he did a lightning rethink of where he could conduct the interview but came to the conclusion every room in the building was in a similar state of disarray to his own.
Better the mess you know …
Usually it wouldn’t bother him but he felt an unsettling compulsion to make a good impression and wished he’d chosen something more stylish to wear than his crumpled khaki chinos and faded short-sleeved checked shirt. But she’d find out soon enough that tidiness and fashion weren’t high on his priority list.
He cleared his throat in an attempt to take his mind off Sophie Carmichael’s creamy smooth shoulders and the soft curve of her neck. Somehow the inappropriateness of her attire didn’t seem so important any more.
‘We’ll go down to my consulting room. It’s the second door on the right,’ Will said in a voice he hardly recognised.
She followed him down to his room and he stepped back to let her in first. Glancing around the cluttered office, he wondered if the hint of a frown on her face was due to disapproval. She was probably used to working in much more luxurious surroundings and he hoped she wouldn’t be put off.
‘Please, sit down.’
She sat in one of the patient chairs, legs crossed, hands resting in her lap, and he wondered what she was thinking. He’d done his best to prepare her.
The couple of times he’d talked to her on the phone he’d been totally honest with her, revealing Prevely Springs was an underprivileged area. But he’d told her the work was challenging and potentially rewarding. To her credit, she’d still seemed keen. Her agreement to commit to even a few weeks with him had rekindled a light at the end of what had recently become a very long, dark tunnel.
He didn’t want her to change her mind.
‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Your CV was impressive, your references excellent.’ He sent her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
Her credentials were almost too good to be true. But the phone conversation he’d had with her two days ago had allayed his concerns that the inevitable culture shock would be an obstacle for her.
She cleared her throat and Will wondered if the colour in her previously pale cheeks was a reaction to his praise.
‘I … er …’ She looked away as if composing her thoughts. Was she having second thoughts?
He knew she had a privileged background. She’d been educated at one of the most expensive ladies’ colleges and graduated from medical school with top marks. He suspected her life choices had been easy and uncomplicated. He had wondered at her motivation in wanting to work in a practice so different to what she was used to.
She came from a medical family. Her father was a well-known and highly regarded GP in Sydney and Sophie had worked in his practice for the past two years. It had surprised Will that Dr Ross Carmichael had telephoned him a week ago and, in a roundabout way, had seemed to be checking his credentials. Will, in fact, had been annoyed at some of his questions and the cross-examination had struck him as being a little beyond normal protective paternal behaviour. Sophie seemed like someone who could look after herself quite capably.
He dragged his mind back to the task in hand. Sophie looked uncomfortable.
‘I, um, owe you an apology.’
Now, that was something he hadn’t expected.
A lock of Sophie’s thick red-brown hair escaped from the clasp holding it in place, and as she tucked it behind her ear Will noticed an almost imperceptible tremor in her fingers
‘An apology?’
She folded her arms across her chest.
‘You must be wondering why I’m dressed like this.’
Yes, of course he was, but he didn’t want to draw attention to her relaxed dress code. Well, not until he’d confirmed her commitment.
‘I take it you’re planning to wear something a little more conservative …’ less provocative was another description that came to mind ‘… to work.’
Rosy colour swept into her neck and flooded her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ Will said, although he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to make her blush.
She took a deep breath.
‘My plane was delayed so I didn’t get here until this morning. Then it took another hour and a half for the airline to verify that my luggage had been mislaid. And the taxi driver who drove me to Wellesley to collect my car hardly spoke a word of English. So even if I’d had time to change—’
He’d heard enough, and doubted she could fabricate such an elaborate combination of misadventures. He understood why she had faint dark shadows under her eyes. She most likely needed rest rather than a grilling from him.
‘Ah … I see. You’ve not had the best introduction to the west. You must be exhausted.’ He thought of a dozen questions he wanted to ask but they would just have to wait. After all, he’d told her on the phone the job was hers and all he needed to do was discuss her duties, finalise her hours and sort out the paperwork.
‘The interview is a formality, really. It’s basically so we can introduce ourselves. You can ask me any questions about the work, the practice, anything you’d like to know, before you start next week.’
She leaned towards him, interlocked her fingers and placed her hands on his desk. The pose struck him as being assertive without being arrogant. Her anxiety seemed to have vanished.
Maybe she would be okay dealing with some of the rougher elements that were inevitably part of his practice.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got any questions.’
‘Great.’ The interview was going well but there was one more thing he had to discuss and he didn’t want to put pressure on her. ‘We haven’t talked about how long you’re prepared to work here. I realise you’re not planning on staying long term, but even a few weeks will be a great help to me.’ He thought of the long-lost luxury of spare time. ‘Does a period of six to eight weeks sound agreeable?’ That would let him at least get the ball rolling with a time-consuming task he wasn’t looking forward to—organising fundraising for the community centre. ‘With the option of staying longer, of course.’ He sent her what he hoped was a charismatic smile.
‘That would suit me fine,’ she said with a look that suggested relief.
At that moment Caitlyn appeared, cheerful as ever, with two steaming cups and a plate of biscuits.
‘Thanks, Caitlyn.’
‘That’s okay, Dr Brent.’ The girl cleared a space on Will’s desk by pushing a jumble of referral pads to one side. She set down the cups.
‘No problem. Have a good weekend.’ She paused. ‘Oh, and you told me to remind you about the home visit to Mrs Farris.’
‘Thanks, I hadn’t forgotten. See you next week.’
Six weeks was perfect, Sophie thought as she reached for one of the mugs filled with coffee she now felt sufficiently relaxed to drink. It was long enough to make her father understand she wasn’t going to run back home after a week or two. She also thought of Jeremy and reminded herself she wanted to get as far away from him and his new girlfriend as possible, at least until the gossip died down.
And then she thought of Will Brent. How easy it was to like and admire him. She suspected he was close to burn-out and hoped she could give him the break he deserved. She felt certain she could learn a lot from him.
‘Would you like a biscuit?’ Will Brent’s voice snapped her out of her reverie, but before she had a chance to reply there was a loud thumping on the front door.
‘Is anyone there?’ A man’s voice boomed loud and urgent. ‘Doc Brent, I need a doctor quick!’
There was no doubt about the genuine distress he conveyed and Will was out of his seat in an instant. He grabbed a large bunch of keys from a desk drawer, glanced briefly at Sophie with an expression that invited her to follow and headed towards the front of the building.
Through the frosted glass panels of the door Sophie could make out the dark shape of a man who appeared to be carrying a child.
Will opened the door and a stocky man wearing full football kit, including boots, stumbled in. A boy of about four or five, dressed in an almost identical outfit, lay limp and wheezing in his arms.
‘Thank God you’re still here.’
The child opened his eyes but barely had the energy to whimper as Will took him gently from the man Sophie assumed was his father.
‘How long’s he been like this, Steve?’ Will voiced his first question with just the right mix of authority and empathy. He obviously knew the pair and was leading them past the reception desk into a well-equipped treatment room. He laid the child down, adjusted the examination couch so the boy was sitting and placed an oximeter on his finger.
‘No more than fifteen minutes. Jake was with me mates at the oval, watching the game, and they called me off the field.’ The man pulled down his son’s sock to reveal an angry red swelling just above his ankle. Sophie could see similar, smaller lesions on his arms.
‘Bee sting,’ he added, as if that explained everything. ‘We know he’s allergic, but the worst he’s had in the past has been a rash.’ He took a sharp intake of breath. ‘He’s never been this bad. It came on real quick. He can hardly breathe. We were going to the hospital but I saw your car—’
Steve was close to tears and began hyperventilating.
The last thing they needed in a situation where the boy should command Will’s full attention was to have to deal with the father’s panic attack as well.
Sophie felt her own tension climbing. The child was barely conscious and his breathing was becoming more laboured as each second passed. Will appeared remarkably calm.
‘Sit down, Steve,’ Will said coolly but firmly. ‘Jake’s going to be fine but I need to check him over.’ He glanced in Sophie’s direction. ‘Can you organise a paediatric mask with high-flow oxygen?’ He pointed to an emergency trolley next to an oxygen cylinder. Everything—medications, procedure packs, resuscitation equipment—was all labelled clearly and easy to find. ‘And draw up …’ He paused for a moment, calculating the crucial dose of lifesaving medication based on the boy’s estimated weight. ‘Point two of adrenaline for intramuscular injection.’
‘Do you want nebulised adrenaline as well?’ Sophie asked, trying to think ahead. She’d rarely treated emergencies in her father’s practice but remembered the protocol from her hospital work. ‘And an IV set?’ she added as she positioned the mask on Jake’s pale little face.
