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But of course it didn’t work out that way. Alex drew her in to every consultation, insisting she look at and give opinions on the scarring. He got her to talk about the project from her perspective, and it was impossible not to get involved. Not to put faces to people that until now had been just case numbers, distant voices over the phone.
Which was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. Every person reliving their experiences, showing their scars, made her relive hers, tearing open the wounds a little further. Damn it, Reg was supposed to be here doing this. Her job had been to set it all up, not to participate. That was what she did—she co-ordinated the project from Brisbane and worked in the lab. Hers was not a field job. She’d never have applied for it had she known she’d be anywhere but in the safe haven of her lab.
Between patients she downloaded the digital shots and filed them, electronically attaching them to the case histories she’d taken, ignoring Alex. She told him it was an efficient use of her time and ducked his attempts at conversation. But in reality the things she was hearing were cutting deeply into her emotional barriers and she felt raw and exposed. She didn’t need his razor-sharp analysis or unnerving scrutiny. And, frankly, she didn’t trust the steadiness of her own voice.
Their last client for the day was forty-year-old Alice Spalding. She had twenty-year-old abdominal scarring from aFleckeri and was the one patient Isobella had been dreading, being closest to her in nature.
Alice had brought her eight-month-old baby girl, Phoebe, with her, and Isobella’s concerns disappeared as her heart just about melted. The baby had her mother’s colouring—milky skin, with a crop of russet curls framing a cherubic face. Little fat arms and legs and huge round green eyes completed the irresistible package. How often had Isobella dreamed of having her own little one?
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Alice murmured. ‘I’m still feeding her, so I had to bring her to Cairns with me.’
‘Of course not,’ Alex dismissed, ushering them both in.
Isobella watched as Phoebe gave Alex a gooey smile and he wiggled his eyebrows at her. The baby giggled and Alex did it again.Yeah, kid, he’s something else, isn’t he?
‘You look like you’re an old hand, Dr Zaphirides,’ Alice commented.
‘Number one favourite uncle, that’s me.’ He grinned.
Isobella didn’t scribe a thing during the consultation, too mesmerised by Phoebe. Or at least by the way Alex was with her. He spoke to Alice while automatically picking up all the objects Phoebe had taken from her mother’s hand, sucked once and then thrown on the floor. He was amazingly patient, and Isobella felt her attraction for him treble.
‘We just need to have a look at your old scars and photograph them,’ he said to Alice. ‘Come on, madam.’ Alex clapped his hands and plucked the baby off her mother’s lap, holding her against his chest.
Phoebe looked very small against his largeness, and Isobella found herself wondering again what a child of his would look like. Dark curls. Olive skin. Blue eyes like Alex’s that spoke of Greece and the sea and all its secrets.
Alex dropped a kiss on the mop of hair. ‘You can go to Isobella.’
Isobella blinked. ‘What?’
He passed the baby over, amused at the look of consternation on her face. But she did hold out her arms, even if her eyes were wide beneath her ridiculous glasses. ‘It’s just for a minute,’ he murmured.
Phoebe landed in her arms, and Isobella caught her close in an automatic response, surprised at the weight of the little girl. She settled Phoebe on her hip and looked down at the earnest, chubby-cheeked angel. Phoebe stared at her solemnly for a few moments, a small frown on her face, and then reached for Isobella’s glasses.
‘Oh!’ Isobella said as Phoebe managed to remove them easily and everything went blurry.
‘Out of the mouths of babes…’ Alex said, already liking the improvement.
‘I can’t see a thing without them,’ Isobella objected as she rescued the glasses from receiving a baby saliva bath. She placed them back, high on her nose, and was relieved when Phoebe found a different distraction in the buttons on her high-necked blouse.
‘Okay, Alice, let’s have a look,’ Alex said, reluctantly dragging his gaze back to the matter at hand. Isobella looked good with a baby on her hip. Too good.
Alice lay down on the examination couch and pulled up her T-shirt. Two long tentacular marks branded her abdomen. They had faded a little, lost their livid quality, but they were still stark against Alice’s pale skin.
