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‘Oh, Clara.’ Bill lay back on his pillow as she struggled to hold it together.
‘I’m sorry, Bill, I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not landing all of this on you.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Bill said gently. ‘Things will get better for you Clara. When my Raelene died I thought my life was over. I never thought I’d be happy again, didn’t care if I lived or died. And now look at me. I’ve got a grandchild on the way, I’m having an operation that will give me another decade. And you know what? I reckon once this op is over, once I’m back home, on a good day I’ll even be able to say that I’m truly happy, and you’ll be able to say it one day, too. It won’t always hurt this much.’
‘I know,’ Clara said bravely, then changed her mind. ‘Actually, I don’t know, but I really hope so, Bill.’
‘Hey, there’s plenty more fish in the sea…’
‘Bill…’ Clara let out a rueful laugh. ‘As I just said to Timothy, there’s no ocean for miles here, there’s really not that many fish to choose from in Tennengarrah.’
‘What about the Carry On guy?’
‘Who?’
‘Carry On Doctor, the one with the posh voice who killed his first patient.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The one he was talking about—the guy who had the heart attack at his interview in Queensland! Like I said, I was only pretending to be asleep.’
‘He didn’t kill him, Bill.’ Clara grinned through her tears. ‘It wasn’t Timothy’s fault he couldn’t save him—it actually sounds as if he did really well. There’s not many junior doctors that could intubate a patient under those sorts of circumstances. At least the patient was given every chance.’
‘I guess.’ Bill gave Clara a small wink. ‘I had a quick peek when he came in and he’s a good-looking guy, that Timothy.’
‘Don’t go there, Bill,’ Clara warned, but he carried on anyway.
‘Why ever not? He’s already lined you up for a dance. Maybe tonight won’t be such a disaster after all.’
‘Forget it. Tonight’s already a disaster.’ Standing up, Clara gave her favourite patient the benefit of a very nice smile. ‘How about a cuppa?
‘And some toast and Vegemite?’ Bill asked hopefully. ‘I’m not nil by mouth yet.’
‘Give me ten minutes to sort out your notes and I’ll make us both a round of toast. I could use some comfort food right now,’ Clara said warmly, thrilled that Bill’s appetite was finally returning.
And not just his appetite, Clara realised happily. Bill was flicking through the TV guide with more than passing interest.
‘There’s your favourite soap opera starting soon, Clara. Why don’t you pull up a chair and have your lunch-break here? I promise not to mention Kell.’
‘It’s a deal.’ Heading for the desk, Clara turned briefly, back in control now but still just a little shy at having finally revealed her secret. ‘You come back to us safe, Bill.’
‘I hope so.’
‘I know so.’
CHAPTER TWO (#u70589b2a-3ba4-5494-8056-85ca85157d1d)
BECAUSE it didn’t matter any more, because it mattered not a jot how well she did her make-up or how well her fine red hair behaved, tonight of all nights everything worked.
The subtle blonde foils Clara had reluctantly agreed to at Anna the hairdresser’s insistence lifted her short, practical hairstyle into a pretty gamine crop, accentuating her clear blue eyes and high freckled cheekbones. She hadn’t used the green foundation, though. She’d had it in her drawer for weeks, had bought it on an occasional trip to town, won over by the sophisticated shop assistant who’d sworn it would neutralise even the deepest blush.
Oh, and how she would have blushed.
Blinking back a fresh crop of tears, Clara tried to beat back the image of finally telling Kell how she felt. How she’d planned to take him outside, away from Abby, away from the prying eyes of the locals, and tell him that he wasn’t or ever had been just a friend…
Shaking her head firmly, Clara took a deep breath, refusing to go down that track, refusing to indulge herself in wasted dreams. Instead, she eyed herself critically in the mirror, pleased despite herself with her efforts. Even the rather shakily applied mascara and neutral lipstick for once didn’t look like a little girl had practised with her mother’s make-up. The antithesis of vain, she didn’t even possess a full-length mirror, so the only way to view her dress was by standing precariously on the toilet lid, which, Clara realised, didn’t really give the full effect when your head was chopped off from view.
Oh, lord!
Swallowing nervously, she stared at the sleek black-stockinged legs that seemed to go on for ever, a massive expanse of unfamiliar thigh slimmed down by the high heels she was wearing, but even the occasional appearance of her legs didn’t jolt her as much as the sight of her breasts, jacked up in a strapless bra, wriggling and jumping in excitement at their first taste of freedom from her practical sports bra.
It was too much, way, way too much! Everyone would fall off their chairs laughing when she walked in.
Glancing at her watch, Clara bit back a surge of panic. It was already ten past seven, she was supposed to be setting up the food table now, the band would be waiting for their pay cheque before they started and if she didn’t go now…
Picking up a massive tray of egg and chutney sandwiches, Clara headed for the door, then changed her mind midway. Dumping the tray in the hallway, she dashed back into her bedroom and drenched herself in perfume, then ran around the house in a manic frenzy, trying to remove every lingering trace of the beastly three dozen eggs she’d hard-boiled before heading outside and walking down the high street towards the barn and wondering why the hell she’d even bothered.
She’d be coming home alone.
Nobody laughed.
Oh, there were a few whistles and cat calls when she walked in, blushing furiously and wishing she wasn’t carrying a pile of sandwiches so she could hitch down her dress a bit, and a couple of the guys slapped her on the back as if they were bringing up her wind and reminded Clara that if she had any trouble tonight she only had to ask.
As if she’d run into any trouble, Clara sighed, adding her tray to the heaving table. As if she was going to have to beat off a stream of admirers with a stick.
‘You look fabulous, Clara!’ Shelly made a beeline for her. ‘Your dress is divine, you look just wonderful.’
‘So do you.’ Clara smiled. ‘Where’s Ross?’
‘I was about to ask you the same. He “popped” over to the clinic an hour ago. You didn’t see the Flying Doctors’ plane there when you went past by any chance?’
Clara shook her head. ‘He’s probably just writing up the transfer letter. Bill’s case is pretty complicated.’ The frown on Shelly’s face told Clara she wasn’t appeased. ‘He’ll be here soon. Anyway, the night’s still young, the band’s booked until one—speaking of which, I’d better go and pay them.’
‘Well, hurry back,’ Shelly whispered loudly. ‘There’s no Ross, no Kell and no Abby. Even Timothy hasn’t made his way over. Apart from me and the kids, our table’s the emptiest one in the barn.’
She would have hurried back—in fact, Clara would have loved to have sat down and had a glass of punch or champagne, but instead Hamo, Jim and Mitch all decided to get their duty dances out of the way early and the next twenty minutes or so were spent being twirled around the floor by various colours of checked shirts as the band sang about shearing sheep, billy tea and all the things Australians held dear after a few cans of beer. Arriving back at the table, her face flushed, giggling at one of Hamo’s more lewd jokes, her smile instantly faded as several strained faces turned to greet her.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Ross said too brightly.
‘Where’s Abby?’
‘The Flying Doctors came,’ Kell replied, without looking up. ‘They needed a doctor escort.’
‘Why?’ Clara asked immediately. The Flying Doctors were exactly that, and Bill wasn’t that sick at the moment. She couldn’t think of one possible reason why Abby would have needed to go. ‘Who was the doctor?’
‘Hall Jells. He just thought it would be safer if the clinic provided an escort,’ Ross responded, without meeting her eyes, and from the pained look Shelly was flashing at her Clara decided not to pursue it, instead taking a glass of champagne from Bruce, the local pilot who was doubling as a waiter, and trying to ignore just how divine Kell looked tonight.
‘So this is where all the action is.’ The appearance of Timothy lifted the mood somewhat. Everyone fell on him as if he were a long-lost friend, obviously grateful for the diversion, and Clara found herself frowning. She felt as if she’d turned on her favourite soap only to realise she’d missed an important episode. Everyone was talking normally, smiling and cheerful, but something wasn’t right.
Something was definitely going on.
‘I fell asleep,’ Timothy explained needlessly, and, choosing the chair next to Clara’s, he sat down and gave her the benefit of a very nice smile. ‘It was supposed to be a fifteen-minute power nap.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But that was about four hours ago.’
‘Well, I’m glad you made it.’ It was merely a polite comment, just as she would have given to any newcomer, but Timothy caught her eye and suddenly the massive barn seemed to shrink.
‘Really?’ Timothy asked, as if it really mattered.
Taking a nervous sip of her champagne, Clara held it in her mouth for a second or two before swallowing, wishing she had used that blessed green foundation after all.
‘Really,’ she said finally, the admission surprising even herself.
Clean-shaven and freshly showered, Timothy was pretty easy on the eye, but it wasn’t just his undeniable good looks that were working their charm here. There was something about his smile that told Clara it was just for her.
‘You look wonderful,’ Timothy said very slowly and very deliberately, and for all the world he sounded as if he really meant it. ‘Your hair looks nice, different.’ Green eyes raked over her and Clara could feel her pulse flickering in her neck as he scrutinised her slowly.
‘I—I had foils,’ she stammered. ‘Just a couple…’
‘I’ve no idea what foils are.’ Timothy grinned.
‘A few blonde tips.’
Timothy nodded. ‘Looks great, although I love red hair.’
‘That’s because you haven’t got red hair,’ Clara countered, blushing ever deeper. And even though the conversation flowed easily, even though they were only talking about foils and hair and oversleeping, she felt as if she were caught in a rip, seemingly following the tide of a normal conversation as a throbbing undercurrent pulled her in an opposite, unfamiliar and definitely dangerous direction.
‘I’ll go and get another round. Clara, do you want to give me a hand?’ Kell asked, standing up. Instead of falling over her chair to help him as was usually the case, for the first time in living memory, Kell actually had to repeat himself as she laughed at something Timothy had said. ‘Clara, do you want to give me a hand with the drinks?’
‘I’m fine.’ Clara smiled, deliberately missing the point, gesturing to her half-full glass as Kell shrugged and turned to go.
‘I’ll help!’ Matthew jumped up, determined to impress his big buddy Kell. ‘We can play—’
‘Hide and seek,’ Kell groaned, but his face broke into a smile as he took little Matthew’s hand. ‘We’ll have one more game of hide and seek and then I’ll get that beer.’
‘How about that dance?’ Timothy pushed, but Clara shook her head, turning briefly to check Kell really was out of earshot.
‘How about someone telling me what’s going on,’ Clara said sharply to her friends gathered around the table. ‘Why on earth has Abby gone to Adelaide as a doctor escort?’
‘Tell her, Ross,’ Shelly choked, her voice unusually angry. ‘Tell Clara the mess you’ve made of things.’
Clara almost spilt her drink in surprise. Never in all the time she’s known Shelly and Ross had they been anything other than devoted to each other. She’d never heard so much as a cross word pass between them and now here they were practically rowing at the table in front of everyone. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, and Clara stared from one to the other with her mouth gaping open.
‘Come on, Ross!’ Timothy grinned eagerly and then shut up when every one turned and shushed him.
‘Abby’s gone,’ Ross started slowly, as Clara’s mouth dropped ever further. ‘She’s leaving tonight with the Flying Doctors. She found out Kell was going to propose and she simply couldn’t face it. She didn’t want to leave like this, but on the other hand she didn’t know how to say goodbye.’
‘Does Kell know?’ Clara’s voice was barely a croak. She wished she’d used the green foundation now. Her face must surely be as red as a beetroot as she struggled with the news, relief flooding her veins intermingled with a horrible surge of guilt as she glanced over to the bar where Kell stood.
‘No!’ It was Shelly speaking now, the bitterness in her voice clearly evident. ‘Ross is going to tell him that little gem later, once the ball’s over, though I’m sure he knows something’s up. The poor guy’s walking around with an engagement ring in his pocket and he doesn’t even know that Abby’s bolted!’ She turned her teary face to her husband. ‘Well, you can leave me out of it, Ross. I just can’t bear to see his face when you tell him what you’ve done.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Ross said through gritted teeth. ‘You were the one who had to go and spill the beans to Abby. If you’d just stayed out of it we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
‘So it’s my fault now.’
‘It isn’t anyone’s fault,’ Ross relented, putting a hand over Shelly’s. ‘It’s just the way things have turned out. Abby didn’t want to hurt Kell when she said no. She was beside herself and she didn’t know what else to do.’
‘But why?’ Clara asked, utterly bemused that anyone could run out on Kell. ‘Why would she leave when he was going to propose and everything?’
‘She just couldn’t deal with it,’ Ross said, tightlipped. ‘She belongs in the city—’
‘He’s coming back,’ Timothy interrupted, ‘so now might be a good time to change the subject.’
An awful silence followed as every one struggled to come up with something, until the baleful eyes that had silenced Timothy earlier begged him for help as Kell returned with a tray of beers.
‘We have pints in England!’ Timothy started, and Clara groaned into her wine at his dreadful efforts at conversation, but, as it turned out, Timothy was spot on. A lengthy discussion ensued between Kell and Timothy on the merits of pints versus schooners, warm versus icy cold and the alcohol content of either, giving the collective table enough time to exhale their held breaths and at least look as if a bombshell hadn’t been dropped.
It was a great evening.
People often wonder what committees do, how one little ball could take so many months of preparation. But all their work, all the painstaking attention to detail paid off a hundredfold as midnight struck and the lights dimmed a further notch, the bush music slowing to love ballads matching the mellower mood of the crowd.
‘What’s going on, Clara?’ Kell mumbled into his beer. ‘The Flying Doctors wouldn’t have needed an escort for Bill—you know that as well as I do. I’ve been trying to get you on your own all night to find out what’s happening. Please, Clara, I need to know.’
Blinking rapidly, trying to choose her words carefully, Clara put a tentative hand across the table, opening her mouth to speak and praying she’d say the right thing.
‘Time for that dance, I think.’ Never had Timothy’s timing been more appalling. Turning her angry eyes to him, she shook her head.
‘Not now, Timothy,’ she said, the irritation in her voice evident. Couldn’t he see this was a private conversation?
‘No excuses,’ Timothy responded cheerfully, pulling her reluctantly to her feet as Clara turned and gave an apologetic shrug to Kell.
‘Hold on a second.’ Making her way back to the table, ignoring Timothy’s obvious impatience, she met Kell’s eyes. ‘I’ll speak to you outside after this dance.’
‘What was that about?’ Timothy asked once they were on the dance floor.
‘Nothing.’ Clara shrugged, grateful the dance floor was so packed and she could bury her flaming cheeks in Timothy’s chest. She really was a useless liar.
‘Because it really wouldn’t be very sensible to tell Kell tonight.’
Startled, she looked up, surprised that he knew her secret.
‘It would probably sound better coming from Ross.’
Relief flooded her veins, pleased that he didn’t know her ulterior motives, but her relief was short-lived, turning instead into anger. She damned well wasn’t about to take advice from Timothy, he hadn’t even been in Tennengarrah a night yet. As if he knew what was best for Kell!
‘Just leave it, Timothy,’ she snapped. ‘You don’t know all that’s gone on.’
‘Keep your hair on.’
