.
Infertility is something so many women suffer from, and I think it is in the public interest to inform a wider audience of the reality. As for your concerns, I’m sure Robina has told you that only patients who are willing to share their experiences on TV will appear and we will, of course, ask them to sign the appropriate waivers. It will be an inconvenience to us, I admit that, but there must be ways we can minimise the disruption. At least say you’ll think about it.’
Niall stood and crossed over to the older woman. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. ‘I’ve been selfish,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about funding on your own. Why don’t you give me a copy of the latest financial forecast and I’ll look at it over the weekend? Then we will talk again,’ he promised. ‘But in the meantime I have a clinic about to start. Could we discuss this again on Monday?’
Lucinda nodded and then smiled up at him. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘don’t beat yourself up. If you weren’t so obsessed with work, the clinic wouldn’t have such a fine reputation.’
‘You’ve made your point,’ Niall said, smiling. ‘The last thing I want to do is turn patients away, knowing that we are their last hope.’
‘Like the Dougans?’ Lucinda said, referring to a couple Niall had talked to her about the day before. Ineligible for treatment on the NHS, they had paid for one cycle of treatment, which hadn’t worked. Mr Dougan had recently lost his job, and there was no way the couple could afford to pay for another cycle of IVF.
‘I did tell them we’d only be able to offer them one cycle free—we still have enough in our endowment pot for that, surely?’
Lucinda smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, but barely. Without raising more funds, the Dougans might be the last couple we’ll be able to subsidise. I know you mean well, Niall, but we have salaries to pay as well as our not inconsiderable overheads. We are a business after all.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’d better get to your clinic. We’ll discuss it again after the weekend. I’m a great believer that, one way or another, things have a habit of working out.’
When she’d left the room Niall closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the image of his wife from his mind. If only Lucinda knew the truth she wouldn’t be so quick to tell him things had a habit of working out. It was ironic, really. He and his wife spent so much time trying to help others with their lives, yet they couldn’t seem to do a thing about the almighty mess they had made of their own.
Robina rushed into the house, glancing at her watch. It was almost seven! She had planned to be home earlier so she could sit with Ella while she had her supper and then read her a story before bed. It was the one time in the day that was precious to her. When she was in the middle of filming, she’d often have to spend the night in London, returning late the following evening. So while her show was off the air, and when she was based at home in Edinburgh, she tried to be home at a decent hour whenever she could—especially when it was unlikely that Niall would be home before her. He often worked late particularly when he knew she was around, so that he could have most of the weekends free to spend with his daughter.
But to her surprise, as she flew into the kitchen discarding her bag and coat in the hall, she saw his dark head bent over Ella as he helped her cut up her fish fingers. Robina’s heart squeezed as she paused in the doorway. They were so alike, from the determined mouth to the clear blue eyes. Similar too in temperament. Both equally stubborn. Both so dear to her.
Niall looked up. For a second she thought she saw a flicker of warmth in his blue eyes, but she knew she was mistaken when the familiar coolness cloaked his expression. Despite herself, her spirits drooped with disappointment. When would she ever truly accept that it was over between them? They were married, but for the last few months in name only. God, they could barely be civil to each other these days.
Niall looked at his watch. ‘We expected you home earlier,’ he said.
‘Sorry, I got caught up at the office.’ Robina bent to kiss her stepdaughter, who flung her arms around her neck. She savoured the feel of the little girl’s marshmallow-soft skin under her lips and the dear, familiar smell of her. Whatever differences she and Niall had, she couldn’t love Ella more had she given birth to her, even if she were a constant reminder of Niall’s first wife—and an even more painful reminder of the baby she had lost too early, five short months after their marriage. But all that would have been bearable if only she could be coming home to a husband who loved her. Someone who would want to know about the trivia of her day and would rub the tension from her shoulders, making everything seem all right.
But shoulder rubs and evenings by the fire, sharing the day’s stresses, was never going to happen. Had rarely happened even when they had first married, and certainly not these days. The breakdown of her marriage had happened in such little steps she had hardly noticed until—well, until the miscarriage when it had all fallen completely apart.
‘Would you like me to read to Ella while you have dinner?’ Niall asked formally, as if they were complete strangers, which in a sense she supposed they were. Falling in love, her coming to Scotland for a visit, Niall proposing to her, their marriage, it had all happened so fast they hadn’t really had time to get to know each other. They had both thought—if they had thought about it at all—that there would be plenty of time later to get to know each other properly. But to her delight and amazement, the book for which Niall had written the foreword had been an immediate run-away success and she’d been asked to appear on a show to talk about it. The producer had been so impressed with the way she had been able to translate medical jargon into simple language he’d asked her to stand in for the presenter of the show, Life In Focus, who had to unexpectedly withdraw. The timing hadn’t been great, coming right on the heels of their wedding, but she and Niall had both agreed it was too good an opportunity to miss. And that was when it had all started to go wrong.
‘No, I’d like to read Ella her story, if that’s okay,’ she said, realising Niall was waiting for a response. She hated the way her tone was equally formal.
‘I told Mrs Tobin that it was okay for her to leave. She’s left a casserole in the oven,’ Niall continued, referring to their housekeeper, who had stayed on after they had married and also doubled as a childminder for Ella.
‘Oh, Daddy.’ Ella looked up at him imploringly. ‘Can’t I stay up later tonight, with you and Robina? I never get to be with both of you at once any more.’
A flash of regret darkened Niall’s eyes.
‘Not tonight,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s a school night. But why don’t I get you ready for bed and then Robina will read to you before lights out? How does that sound?’
Ella pouted, but the little girl knew her father well enough to know he wouldn’t budge. She scrambled to her feet. ‘Come on, Daddy. Let’s hurry up, then.’ Taking her father by the hand, she led him upstairs.
Robina sat at the table and picked at the beef casserole. Most evenings, Niall arrived home after she and Ella had had supper, then one or the other of them would organise Ella for bed. When Niall’s daughter was asleep, they would retreat to separate rooms, Niall to his study and Robina to the small sitting room that had, over the last few months, become hers. When the interminable and lonely evening had dragged to an end and they were ready for bed, she would go to the room they had once shared, while Niall slept in the spare room. It was a cold, unhappy home these days and if it hadn’t been for Ella, perhaps she would have found the strength to leave—even if it would have shattered her already fractured heart.
Scooping the remains of her half-eaten meal into the dustpan, Robina took her coffee into her sitting room. Before she had left for the night, Mrs Tobin had lit a fire against the cool of the late February evening and Robina warmed her chilled hands. If only she could so easily chase away the chill in her heart, she thought as she picked up the proofs of her latest book. She sighed when she saw the title. How to keep your relationship happy—in bed and out of it. If her readers knew the truth, they’d be astonished. She flung the book aside, in no mood to concentrate.
She looked around the room with its tasteful