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‘This will be fine.’ It was luxury after Pakistan. Then she thought about the time she’d just spent in Sydney with her father on her way home. His new apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour was crammed with luxuries. What she’d once taken for granted now seemed obscenely excessive. This small room was perfect.
‘The kitchen’s well stocked, so help yourself to anything you want. There’s a firebox that runs day and night. You’ll soon feel warmer.’
Her body might feel warmer, but she doubted her heart would ever defrost. It had frozen all those years ago and she’d never known how to thaw it. She’d tried talking with Tom then, but she hadn’t been able to find the right words to get through to him. The harder she’d tried, the worse she’d made things and the further away from her he’d pulled, until they hadn’t been able to talk about anything. Not even what to have for breakfast.
Tom’s voice broke through her reverie. ‘Do you still take milk in your tea?’
A mundane question that spoke of a past they’d shared and hinted that now there might be things neither knew about each other.
‘Definitely no milk. I got used to drinking black tea while travelling.’
Again those eyebrows rose in astonishment, but at least his eyes were on the friendly side of the barometer. ‘As I said, I’m looking forward to hearing about your excursions.’
‘You’re still finding it hard to believe I could leave my feather duvet behind?’
‘Do you blame me?’
No, she couldn’t. Sometimes it had been hard enough believing it herself.
Tom stretched his legs out under his desk and yawned. ‘Sorry, late night last night.’
Fiona was with him in his consulting room, meeting the patients on tomorrow’s operating schedule. He’d sat quietly throughout each consultation, listening and observing. Now she’d just finished talking to the parents of a six-month-old baby born with a cleft palate, hopefully allaying their fears about their darling child undergoing surgery. She always felt a small thrill at being able to repair the fissure in a baby’s mouth, making that child’s life normal and saving them terrible angst as they grew up and mixed with more and more people.
‘A patient keep you up?’ she asked. Or one of those women who couldn’t deal with his dedication to his hospital? Fiona wondered.
Snap out of it. The guy had a life, and he didn’t have to explain himself to her. If his life appeared a whole lot more balanced than hers, then she’d be pleased for him. It wasn’t his fault hers lacked love and friendship. She’d made it that way. Deliberately. In an attempt to keep it pain-free.
‘No, a birthday party for one of the staff. Hanmer Springs isn’t as dull as some people would have you think.’ Tom smiled. ‘Though it does take some getting used to. At least it did for me, being a city dweller. There’s excitement, and then there’s excitement.’
She grinned straight back. ‘Late nights never used to wear you out. You showing your age, or what?’ Clapping her hand against her forehead, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, of course—it’s the big four O coming up at the end of this year. No wonder you’re so tired, you old man.’
‘Careful, you’re only five years behind me.’
He looked darned good, having matured from the boyish good-looks of the thirty-year-old she’d first met into a very handsome man comfortable in his own skin. Even the new lines around his mouth added character.
‘That’s a lifetime, buster,’ she quipped, before concentrating on the pages in her hand, needing to quell the sudden thumping in her chest. ‘There are some notes on a boy here that I didn’t receive by fax. Cameron Gordon?’
‘A late addition to tomorrow’s list. The paperwork arrived in this morning’s post. He had a cleft palate repaired when he was a baby but for some reason his harelip wasn’t corrected.’
‘But he’s ten. He must’ve suffered a lot of teasing over the years.’
‘I think he got lost in the system. His parents divorced when he was three, and from what I can gather he’s been shunted back and forth between them ever since. When his GP phoned on Wednesday asking me to help I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Do you ever turn a child away?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Not if I can help it.’
A gentle tap on the door interrupted them.
‘Sophie Clark and her father are here,’ the cheerful receptionist announced, and held the door wider to allow them through.
Fiona uncrossed her ankles and straightened up from leaning against the edge of Tom’s desk, then turned to greet her last patient.
A middle-aged man gently led a slight, shy teenage girl into the room. The girl hunched against her father, her face hidden behind a curtain of long hair.
Fiona’s heart went out to this girl, who obviously hated people seeing her damaged face. A jolt of sadness hit Fiona when she saw the jagged purple scar marring Sophie’s left cheek from just below the eye to the corner of her mouth. The medical notes mentioned a car accident.
Tom shook Mr. Clark’s hand, saying, ‘Jacob, good to see you again. Sophie, how are you? How did you do in the school’s short story contest?’
‘I won.’ Sophie smiled, the dullness in her eyes lifting. She was a beautiful girl, with fine bone structure and enormous eyes, and eyelashes that had to be the envy of every female alive.
‘Brilliant.’ Tom clapped his hands. ‘Now, take a seat. This is Dr Fraser.’
‘Hi, Sophie. I’m your specialist this week.’
‘Hello, Dr Fraser.’
‘Call me Fiona. It’s easier.’ And she was not used to being called Dr Fraser.
Sophie turned the left side of her face away again. ‘Okay, Fiona.’
Fiona sat opposite the girl and reached for her hand. ‘Sophie, you’re a very beautiful girl, and what’s happened to your face doesn’t change that.’
Scepticism clouded Sophie’s face, and her shoulders tensed. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘I mean it. You have the sort of strong bone structure that most women would give anything to have.’ Reaching for the hand mirror she’d placed on Tom’s desk earlier, Fiona tentatively held it up in front of Sophie. Then she leaned over to run a fingertip across the girl’s right cheekbone. ‘See how high your cheekbones are?’ she asked, in a soft, but determined tone.
Sophie darted a glance at the mirror, looked away, despair filling her eyes, tears welling up.
‘And your skin—it’s so clear of blemishes. How do you manage to avoid pimples at your age?’
‘Guess I got lucky with something.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘But no one wants to look at me now. I’m ugly. You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘You’re right, I don’t.’ Fiona cringed at the anguish this young woman suffered. ‘But I know you’re not ugly. Forget that idea. Let’s really look at you. Take the mirror while I show you the real Sophie Clark.’
Fiona held her breath as she waited for the girl’s response. No one in the room moved. Then, just as Fiona sensed Tom about to intervene, Sophie snatched the mirror out of Fiona’s hand and held it too close to her face to really see herself.
‘You can’t show me anything new. I used to see this every morning when I got up, but I don’t look any more.’
Fiona held back the hug she wanted to give this girl—a hug to repair some of the damage done to her. Instead she twisted her chair around and sat beside Sophie. With her forefinger she pointed to the big blue eyes glaring back at her from the mirror.
‘Not many people’s eyes are so dark, almost navy in colour. Very attractive.’
Sophie blinked, stared at herself for a moment before looking away.
‘Your hair is shiny and healthy, and, I presume, naturally blonde. The matching eyebrows are a giveaway. And when you smile your whole face lights up. Did you know that?’
After a slight shake of her head the gap between Sophie’s face and the mirror increased fractionally. Fiona waited patiently as Sophie ran her tongue around her lips, attempted a small smile, and tried to watch her eyes.
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