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‘It was a good day today,’ she murmured.
‘It was,’ he agreed. The research study results were remarkable. He’d seen a patient today whose leg ulcer had almost completely healed in a few short weeks—a leg ulcer that he’d had for more than four years. The ointment really was working wonders.
Arissa’s hand brushed against his as they walked down the main street. ‘I’ve still not heard from the professor of my new hospital,’ she said absent-mindedly.
‘Isn’t it less than a week until you go?’
She nodded. ‘I fly out on Sunday. I’ve filled in endless amounts of paperwork for the recruitment agency and the hospital HR people. It doesn’t usually take this long to sort out. I’ve had a deposit down on my accommodation for the last four months.’
They crossed into the nearby grocery store. Arissa had already pre-ordered supplies so Philippe just paid for them and carried the brown bag. ‘Maybe it’s just an administration thing. Some places aren’t as organised as others. Have you tried to call them?’
She gave a shrug. ‘Only about a dozen times. No one seems to answer their phones. I sent another email today though. If I don’t get a reply I’ll try again tomorrow.’
They turned down a street that ran parallel to the beach. It was lined with small bungalows painted in a variety of colours. Arissa stopped outside a pale yellow one and pulled the keys from her pocket.
‘This is a fantastic location,’ enthused Philippe. ‘You’re only a few steps from the beach.’
Arissa nodded. ‘Yeah. I love it. This was my parents’ house and my grandparents’ before that. Most of the houses in this row are generational properties.’
He looked around the bungalow as he stepped inside. From the outside there were two large windows at the front. One was in the main room, which was small but contained a comfortable sofa that gave a great view of the beach, and the back of the room opened out into the kitchen with a small dining table.
Arissa waved over to the left. ‘My bedroom and the bathroom are over that side. There’s another room that’s literally just a broom cupboard. That used to be my bedroom, but I use it as a study now.’
‘You never wanted to move?’
She waved a hand towards the view. ‘Who wouldn’t want to live on the beach? My mum and dad could have moved to a bigger house a number of times over the years, but the beach and the view kept them here.’
Philippe walked over to a framed photo on the wall. It showed a much younger Arissa, between an older man and woman who were both beaming down at her with their arms around her shoulders.
He asked the inevitable question. ‘Where are they now?’
She moved towards him, holding out her hands for the brown paper bag. ‘Let’s just say I was a late—but much-wanted—baby. My mother died of breast cancer a few years ago, and my father had an accident when he was out on one of the fishing boats a few months later.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
She gave the briefest nod of her head; one hand reached up and traced over the figures in the photo for a second. ‘I was lucky to have them as long as I did. They were proud of me. Saw me through medical school, and they were the proudest parents in the room at my graduation.’ He could see the love on her face, the admiration for two people that at one point had been her whole world.
He watched her for a few moments as he realised how big this was for her. She’d invited him back to her house, to see a part of her that most people wouldn’t know. It made the fact he’d been less than straightforward with her rest heavily on his shoulders.
She took the bag and carried it over to the small kitchen. Philippe moved beside her. ‘So, you’ve never wanted to sell up, even though you don’t stay here permanently?’ He was curious. She only got to spend around six weeks a year here, and he could imagine that over the years this small bungalow had become prime property.
She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I sometimes rent the place out to some of the visiting doctors—but only if I know them. Otherwise, I just look forward to getting back here five or six weeks a year.’
