Dating the Millionaire Doctor (15 page)

He'd come home tonight to this, she thought, feeling more dismal by the minute as the cool of the apartment—and the lack of Jake—soaked into her. She'd have changed the sheets and put hers in the commercial laundry basket she'd seen near the entrance. Maybe by the time Jake got home the laundry would already have been collected, cleaned and returned.

Nothing would remain of her visit.

There should be something.

Stupid or not, she wanted there to be something.

Her fingers moved instinctively to her throat, to her chain, to something she knew she'd treasure for ever. She loved her chain. She loved that Jake had given it to her. She should have refused—but how strong could a woman be?

Not strong enough.

‘I should leave him something,' she said, gazing helplessly around at the designer chic. ‘I can't leave him with grey.'

And then a thought.

‘I did it for me,' she murmured to herself. ‘How hard would it be in New York?

‘Soho maybe?

‘I'd need a cab. Maybe I'd need two.

‘I'd also need time.

‘So what are you waiting for?' she demanded of herself. ‘Jake wanted me to make a home here. Maybe I can do that, only not quite the way he imagined.'

 

He knew when her plane took off for he'd checked the Qantas® web site. In truth he checked it half a dozen times, and if he hadn't been pushed to his limit with his surgical list maybe he'd have cracked and headed to the airport. ‘Just to say goodbye,' he told himself and wondered why he had to tell himself that. Surely it was obvious.

But the hands of the clock slipped inexorably around and six o'clock was suddenly right there.

‘Not quite ready to knock off yet,' said the surgeon he was working with, and Jake thought, How bad did he have it? How often had he glanced up at the clock on the operating room wall?

He didn't have it bad. It was only…

It was only that it was now one minute past six. The plane would be taxiing to the runway.

Tori was gone.

 

She could see the Statue of Liberty from the plane, lit up and beautiful.

She sniffed and the man in the seat next to her smiled in sympathy and handed over a tissue.

‘Thank you,' she managed and sniffed again and groped in her purse. ‘It's very nice of you but I have a handkerchief.'

 

It was one in the morning before Jake finally finished. He was wrecked, emotionally and physically, and by the time he reached his apartment his legs didn't want to work any more.

He worked out in the basement gym most mornings. He hadn't this morning. One lost workout and his legs were turning to jelly.

Or maybe it was because of one lost Tori.

‘See, that's what you can't think,' he told himself. ‘That kind of thinking does no one any good.'

But he rode the elevator and he thought those kinds of thoughts all the way up.

How soon could he go to Australia?

What use was going to Australia? He belonged here. Here was home.

Home. He turned the key in the lock and thought it was no such thing. It was grey.

He was starting to feel ill. He'd had Tori here and he'd let her go. Leaving him with grey.

He pushed the door wide and it was anything but.

It was decorated by Tori.

It might not be the same stuff she'd bought in Melbourne but it was as close as made no difference. Back in Australia she'd transformed a beige relocatable home into a riot of colour and life.

Here it was—a riot.

Colours, colours and more colours. Cushions, lamps, throws, vases, prints, weird and wonderful statues, a Persian carpet almost completely covering the cool grey tiles, an imitation log fire!

It was too much. It was…wonderful.

He found himself smiling, moving through the room, fingering things that were tactile as well as lovely. It was warm, inviting and wonderful.

His table had been moved against the wall. It was covered
with a rich tapestry, and a vast mirror set behind it so it reflected the warmth of the lamps.

There was an antique desk against the far wall. The books he'd swept onto the floor last night were neatly stacked, ready to be used again.

And then…

A faint noise had him moving to the bedroom. He opened the door and a small brown cat stalked out, looking suspicious and curious and eager, all at once. A half-grown cat, fawn with a tip of white on its tail.

It was followed by another brown cat, even smaller, but this one had no tip.

Burmese? He wasn't sure of his cats. They looked like Siamese cats, he thought, only different.

The first one sniffed his shoes, then carefully wound its way round and round his ankles.

The second one sat and watched, acting superior.

Cats…

There was a note on his bed—on top of the riot of an amazing patchwork quilt.

He found himself grinning. Ferdy and Freddy.

Ferdy—or was it Freddy?—yowled. His brother joined
in, then both of them set their tails high and stalked over to the fridge.

What was he supposed to do with cats?

Bemused, he opened the fridge, and found what he was supposed to do with cats. Tori had thought of everything.

‘You'll have to go back,' he told them as he fed them, but he couldn't do it tonight.

When would he find time to take them back tomorrow?

He had work to do before he went to bed. There was a case he needed to look up for the next day.

He sat down at his new desk and opened a textbook.

Ferdy was on his knee in seconds, followed by Freddy.

How was a man supposed to work when he was…when he was home?

Where was Tori right now? Somewhere around Hawaii?

Not that far.

Too far.

This place was wonderful.

It was missing something.

‘I don't think I can,' he told the cats, fondling two ears. Fondling four ears.

‘Impossible. My work is here.

‘Yes, but…

‘She's just given me two more complications.

‘I can handle complications.'

He couldn't, though, he thought, or not immediately. It'd take some thought.

‘Love takes time,' he told the cats. ‘Months. Maybe years.'

Years didn't bear thinking of.

He closed his eyes. This was crazy. He was a man who walked alone.

Ferdy dug his claws into his thigh and gently kneaded.

‘I don't do pets,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘I don't do…love?'

He had this all the wrong way round. He'd go to sleep and he'd wake up in the morning being sensible.

Maybe, or maybe not.

T
HE
operation on Harley had been long and perilous. The big schnauzer was only seven years old, but the liver abscess he'd developed was as unexpected as it was lethal and the only option if he was to survive was to remove part of the liver.

At least Tori was no longer working by herself. Her new workplace had specialist canine surgeons. She'd been able to call for help, and then work as the assistant of a far more experienced surgeon.

All the same, she was exhausted.

She should be feeling perky and full of energy at five months pregnant, she told herself, but it wasn't happening. Try as she might, she couldn't be perky. Ever since she'd come back from New York—okay, even before that, ever since Jake left, she conceded—there'd been something exhausting her that wasn't pregnancy. Something was trying to tug her back into the grey fog she'd been in after the fire.

And she wasn't going to be tugged, she told herself fiercely as she worked. She had great friends, a lovely new job, caring colleagues; she'd just saved Harley, and Rusty and Itsy were waiting for her back home. Doreen and Glenda cared for the dogs during the day, but the dogs knew who their mistress was and when Tori arrived they almost turned inside out with joy.

They'd be expecting her now. Tori glanced at her watch and winced. She still needed to talk to Harley's owners, and stop off and buy something for tea, and then collect the dogs…and the tiredness was insidious.

Two more days 'til the weekend, she promised herself, two more days until she could spend the whole time at home. But the weekend brought more problems. Most of the population of the relocatable village spent their weekends up on the ridge, working on their new homes, but for some reason her head still wouldn't let her go there. And there was the other thing. At the weekend she had time to think of Jake.

The surgeon was closing. ‘It's as good as we can get,' he told her. ‘You want to go tell Harley's mum and dad the good news?'

Of course she did. She pinned on a bright smile and opened the door—and Jake was in the waiting room.

He was reading a copy of
Horse & Hound
, as though it was totally riveting.

Harley's owners, an elderly couple who'd been frantic about their dog, sprang to their feet. Jake gave her a tiny smile, acknowledging her priorities, and retreated again to his horses. Or hounds.

‘Hi,' Tori said, as much to him as to Paul and Ida Clemens, and then somehow forced herself back to professional mode. ‘It's okay,' she told them quickly. ‘More than okay. It's good. We've taken about twenty percent of the liver but that includes a wide margin of healthy tissue. We're sure we have it all. As long as we can keep his cholesterol under control there's no reason why he shouldn't live happily into a ripe old age.'

The elderly couple stared at her in silence for a long moment—and then Paul put his hands on his face and sank back into his chair. The elderly farmer's shoulders shook with silent sobs. His wife sat down and hugged him. Tori produced a box of tissues and Paul grabbed about a dozen.

He needed them all.

They waited then, all of them, for Paul to recover. Tori was achingly aware of Jake watching from the sidelines, but she couldn't hurry this. Paul and Ida had lost their farm in the fires. They'd barely survived by holding blankets over their heads as they lay in shallows of their dam. Harley had been under the blankets with them.

If they needed time, she'd give them all the time in the world.

Finally Paul had himself under control—or almost. He sat while Ida held his hand, and while Tori gently repeated the good news. Then their questions started. She repeated the initial diagnosis. Hypercholesterolemia—massively elevated cholesterol—had caused the liver abscess. Schnauzers were genetically prone to it, and of course Paul and Ida had treated Harley as a human before the fires, and afterwards they could refuse his pleading eyes nothing. So Harley had eaten cheese and sausages and chocolate, and finally his liver had started to disintegrate under the strain.

‘So you think you can resist now?' Tori asked them, and Ida managed a strained smile.

‘Once upon a time we were firm parents,' she said. ‘We can go back to that. Can't we, Paul?'

‘I guess…'

‘And we move into our new home next week.' Ida was sounding firmer, ready to move on. ‘We'll be able to take Harley home to somewhere permanent.'

‘No chocolate?' Paul said.

‘No chocolate,' Ida said and looked speculatively at Paul's rotund girth. ‘I have the men in my life back, and I'm not risking anything again, thank you very much. Can we see him?'

‘Of course you can. Our nurse will be taking him through into recovery,' Tori said—and they thanked her and Tori was left with Jake. He put down
Horse & Hound
.

‘Hi,' she managed finally, but it didn't come out properly. ‘Um, why are you here?'

‘You're supposed to say, “Welcome.”'

‘You're very welcome,' she said, and he was. Could he feel it, she wondered. Just how welcome he was?

‘I was hoping for five minutes of your time.'

‘Five minutes?'

‘All the best dates are five minutes,' he said. ‘You can meet the love of your life in five minutes. Or, as it happens, in one and a half minutes if you try hard enough.'

There was enough in that to take her breath away. It did take her breath away. She wanted to sink onto the seat Paul had just vacated and maybe hyperventilate.

Where was a paper bag when she needed one?

‘So Harley really will be okay?' he asked, giving her time to recover, and she thought she could do this; she could talk medicine until she got herself coherent. Maybe.

‘It was a beautiful resection of the liver,' she managed. ‘Textbook case. Guy Saller's our surgeon—he's the best.'

‘So you didn't do it.'

‘I don't have the skills.'

‘You tried antibiotics and closed drainage first?' He was definitely giving her time.

‘We tried everything. I know, resection's last-resort stuff, but believe me, this was last resort. If we'd waited any longer we risked rupture. He's young and healthy. The liver has every chance of regenerating, and best of all he's abstained from alcohol so cirrhosis isn't a problem.'

‘You checked for cirrhosis?' he said faintly.

‘It's happened,' she said, recovering enough now to start to smile. ‘Ida and Paul have given him everything else—why not a wee drop of sherry with theirs at night?'

‘You're kidding me.'

‘I've seen cases of alcoholic poisoning in dogs,' she told
him. ‘The stupidity of owners sometimes defies belief. Jake, why are you here?' And then as he didn't answer straightaway, she jumped in for him. ‘Is there a problem at the lodge?'

‘There's no problem.'

‘Do you need to sign papers for sale or something? Rob tells me the farmhouse had been cleaned up and is looking great.'

‘That's what I'd like to talk to you about.'

‘It is?'

‘It is,' he said. ‘So about that five minutes…'

‘You've already had it,' she said, but she couldn't get her voice to work properly again. She was sounding breathless.

She was feeling breathless.

‘Nope,' he said. ‘The five-minute date has to start at a designated place. The first date was in a booth in the Combadeen Hall. Our second date has to be somewhere else. I have a rental car outside. Can I take you to my designated date spot?'

‘Your designated date spot,' she said, faintly.

‘It's not so far.'

‘I need to collect the dogs.'

‘I dropped in on Glenda and Doreen,' he said, and at the look on her face he grinned. ‘I had to do something. I landed five hours ago—I made a beeline for you, only to be told you were in surgery and weren't expected out until now. Unlike Manhattan Central, there's a dearth of people to talk to. Even Paul and Ida had taken themselves off to stay with their daughter, and
Horse & Hound
circa 1997 has a limited appeal. So I've heard all about how Glenda's hand is now behaving beautifully and how well Doreen is. I've been slobbered on by one vast golden retriever—what are you feeding her by the way? I thought she was supposed to be a runt. Oh, and I've bought Bitsy.'

‘You've bought Bitsy.' She was suddenly feeling faint.

‘I wanted him,' Jake said. ‘I've wanted him for months. Like some other things I've wanted. I've been telling myself I was stupid, but a man can only do that for so long before he starts believing it and starts to act stupid. So I've been to see the breeder, and yes, she kept him for herself, but money talks, and I can pick him up as soon as I'm ready. There're just a couple of things I need to sort first.' He hesitated. ‘No. There's only one thing. One really important thing. Five minutes, Tori. Will you come with me and listen?'

‘I don't think…'

‘No, don't think,' he said. ‘Thinking does your head in. I've been thinking and thinking and it's doing me no good at all. And finally…you know what? I stopped thinking and I'm letting my heart decide.'

 

They drove in silence, past the lodge, through the burned-out state forest and up onto the ridge.

The year had been kind, with above average rainfall and gentle weather, and the Australian bush had regenerated as only the Australian bush can. Burned trees had new shoots spurting manically out of blackened trunks. Grasses and ferns had pushed up through the ashes. It still looked dreadfully scarred; there were places where the heat had been so intense that it'd take years to come back, but it was no longer grey.

And rebuilding had begun in earnest. Every second house site had been cleared of debris and was now a half-built home. With the kinder weather many families had brought caravans up to the ridge so they could live close to where they were rebuilding.

There were birds back as well, and as they drove there were wallabies feeding on the roadside. As dusk settled Tori could almost imagine the fire had never been.

But it had. Her life would never be the same.

If the fire hadn't happened…she wouldn't have met Jake.
She wouldn't be pregnant—and her hand touched her tummy as it did a hundred times a day.

‘Thank you for sending me the ultrasound pictures,' Jake said gravely, and she thought he must have seen the movement. Self-consciously she linked her hands onto her knees and stared straight ahead.

She would not think about why he was here, she decided. She would not.

She would not allow herself to hope.

‘Did you like them?' she asked. ‘I carry mine in my purse.'

‘I carry mine in my wallet,' he said, and she gasped.

‘You're joking.'

‘My kid,' he said gravely. ‘My wallet.' He smiled. ‘By the way, I checked every picture and not one of them's taken from the right angle. Do we know if we have a daughter or a son?'

We. The tiny word was enough to make her breathless all over again. She had to fight to make herself speak.

‘I didn't want to know,' she managed at last. ‘I like surprises.'

‘Like me coming?'

‘I'm not sure what to think about you coming.'

‘Don't think,' he said again. ‘Just feel. It's the only safe way.'

There was nothing she could say to that, so she sat in silence until they pulled up at their destination. Which was his farmhouse—her former wildlife shelter—only it was very different from when she'd left it.

As a child she remembered this place looking beautiful, when the doctor and his wife had loved it. But it had only ever been a weekend retreat for them. Jake's father been on call all the time, and he'd lived in Combadeen, so maybe it had been shabby even then.

Now it was anything but shabby. It was a magnificent homestead, its weatherboards gleaming with fresh white paint, its gracious verandah running the full circle of the
house, the ancient river-gum timbers of the decking rubbed and oiled back to their original glory.

Someone had worked in the garden. There were so many roses that possums could come and share, she thought, and there'd still be enough to go around.

The French windows were cleaned and gleaming. Some of them were open, and there were soft white drapes floating out in the warm evening breeze.

It looked…like home, she thought, stunned, as Jake helped her out of the car. She didn't need help but she was so dazed she accepted it anyway and she didn't object as he led her into the house and took her from room to room without saying a word.

Why was she here? Why was he here?

It was so beautiful.

It wasn't furnished yet. The rooms were bare. The place was a home waiting for its people. Dogs, she thought suddenly, and kids, and her hand touched her tummy again before she could help herself.

‘There's something else you need to see before I explain myself,' Jake said softly, and she opened her mouth to argue—or ask, or something—but she couldn't think what to argue or ask or something so she closed it again. He took her hand and led her and she let herself be led.

Out of the house. Back to the car, then along the track, and into the first driveway on the left.

Home. Or home as she'd once known it. Now it was a mass of regenerating bushland. All that was left was the chimney. The hearth, the fireplace, the heart of the home for her parents' lives, for her grandparents' lives, stretching far, far back…

Now the scene for grief and destruction.

Only she wasn't feeling grief now, or not so much. It was tempered by this new little life inside her. It was tempered by her dogs, her new job, her new life.

It was tempered by Jake's hand.

Once again he was helping her out of the car. He was leading her along the path to where the house had once been, then stopping by the ancient lemon tree that had somehow miraculously survived. Its singed branches had regenerated, and amazingly it was loaded with lemons. The sight actually made her smile.