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‘So where are these rooms the hospital have loaned us?’
Alex’s low question vibrated near her ear and slithered down her arms, startling her. Had it not been for the lid she would have spilled his coffee everywhere. ‘On the third floor,’ she said stiffly, handing him the paper mug. ‘We should get going too. Our first client arrives in fifteen minutes.’
Alex nodded at Little-Miss-Efficient who stood before him. She wasn’t meeting his eyes, and he suspected that she’d been more affected by Danielle then she let on. She’d certainly been marvellously empathetic with the young woman.
They made their way in silence to the lifts. ‘I think she’ll be okay,’ Alex said as the doors closed.
Isobella frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘Danielle Cartwright.’
Her frown deepened. ‘Maybe. Eventually.’ Isobella had the feeling that the English tourist had some way to go.
‘She’s shaken at the moment, but the scarring is minimal,’ Alex pointed out.
Isobella felt a surge of bile rise inside her at his casual dismissal. ‘Not to her it isn’t,’ she said acidly.
The lift pinged and they disembarked. Alex wasn’t sure what he’d said, but he’d obviously annoyed her. ‘All I’m saying is that in the grand scheme of things she got off lightly.’
Isobella halted. ‘She’s an eighteen-year-old woman. A girl, really. Complete with all the screwed-up body images we all have from living in an airbrushed world. Her body has been physically marked. It’s changed. She’s confronting big issues and questioning her attractiveness to the opposite sex.’
Alex frowned down at her. Isobella was positively animated. Her eyes glittered, her cheeks were flushed and her chest heaved. He wasn’t sure what was going on here, but he liked seeing her so alive. ‘Men don’t care about things like that.’
Isobella snorted.Right. She had first-hand experience of just how much men cared about disfiguring scars. ‘It’s all right for you, Mr Show-my-scars-off-to-the-world. It’s easier for men. For some reason women find scars fascinating on a man—a turn-on. They make us want to take men home and feed the poor wounded heroes chicken soup while we kiss them better.’
Alex grinned down at her. ‘Scars are a turn-on?’
Isobella gave a frustrated growl at the back of her throat and turned away, steaming ahead again, ignoring his husky chuckle. He was being deliberately inflammatory and she wasn’t going to be his entertainment for the day. It was going to be harrowing enough.
‘I just meant,’ Alex said, following her into a large office area, ‘that any man—any real man—wouldn’t be turned off by scarring.’
‘Well, don’t mind me if my opinion of your sex is somewhat lower. I think you’d be amazed at what spooks men.’
Alex looked down at her speculatively. Some man had definitely done a number on her. ‘Maybe you’re hanging out with the wrong type of man?’
Isobella swallowed at the sinful quiver to his voice. Had it lowered a notch further?
‘Look, Alex,’ she said, determined not to open a conversation about her type of man, ‘all I’m saying is Danielle’s not an older woman who has already found her place in the world, has a career and kids and a husband, and is secure in herself. She’s a teenager who still very much judges herself on what others think. Peer groups are vital at that age. Any little blemish can be devastating. A pimple can cause a meltdown at that age, for crying out loud!’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
She shrugged as her heart pounded in her chest. Had she given too much away? ‘I was young once.’
And beautiful.
Alex found it hard to believe, in her unflattering clothes and grandma glasses, that Isobella had ever been a teenager. He drained his coffee. ‘Well, let’s find us a cure, then.’
Isobella had scheduled appointments every half-hour, so they wouldn’t be rushed, but even so it would be a full day. Only six of the group actually lived in Cairns. The study had paid the expenses for the remainder, who lived in the far North Queensland region, to come to the clinic for the day.
There were four children between the ages of six and fourteen, and the rest were a cross section of adults from different backgrounds, cultures and socio-economic brackets. But their stories were all quite similar. An innocent swim in balmy tropical waters gone horribly wrong.
Isobella set up her laptop and appointed herself official scribe, determined to distance herself from the patients and the emotional impact of the information as much as possible. Alex could do all the talking and photo-taking while Isobella got the info down without involving herself in the stories.
