A Taste Of Italy: Midwife, Mother...Italian's Wife. Fiona McArthur
nine didn’t suit her, but apart from being different to what she usually did, she never slept till midnight anyway.
It would be churlish to stick to her guns. This once she’d let him get away with organising but he wouldn’t be making a habit of it.
She conceded, grudgingly. ‘I don’t normally stay up late but a leisurely after-dinner coffee could be pleasant.’
‘I’ll see you tonight, then.’ He inclined his head and Tammy did the same while Ben looked on with a twinkle in his eye. Tammy glared at her father for good measure which only made his eyes twinkle more as they left.
Tammy could hear the suddenly vociferous new arrival in with his mother and, glad of the diversion, she hastened to the ward to help Jen snuggle Felix up to her breast. She couldn’t help the glance out the ward window as the two men crossed the path to the old doctor’s residence.
She’d always thought her father a big man but against Leon he seemed suddenly less invincible. It was a strange feeling and she didn’t like it. Or maybe she didn’t like being so aware of the leashed power of Leonardo Bonmarito.
LEON arrived at nine.
‘So, tell me about your private hospitals. What made you choose paediatrics as a main focus?’
Be cool, be calm, say something. Leon made her roomy den look tiny and cramped. Not something she’d thought possible before. Tammy had run around madly when Jack had gone to bed and hidden all the school fundraising newsletters and flyers in a big basket and tossed all evidence of her weekly ironing into the cupboard behind the door.
She’d even put the dog basket out on the back verandah. Stinky didn’t like men. Then she’d put the Jack Russell out in the backyard and spent ten minutes changing her clothes and tidying her hair. Something else she hadn’t thought of before at this time of night.
But now she sat relaxed and serene, externally anyway, and watched Leon’s passion for his work flare in his eyes. She could understand passion for a vocation; she had it herself, for midwifery and her clients in Lyrebird Lake.
‘It’s the same in a lot of hospitals in the public system. The lack of staff, age of buildings and equipment and overcrowding means the convalescing patient is often cared for with less attention than necessary. With children that is doubly tragic.’
She couldn’t help but admire his mastery of English. Her understanding of Italian was more than adequate but her conversational ability was nowhere near as fluent and his occasional roll of the r’s made his underlying accent compellingly attractive. It did something to her insides. She obviously had a dangerous fetish for Italians.
‘This has concerned me,’ he went on, ‘and especially in paediatrics because children are vulnerable, more so when they are sick.’
That brought her back to earth. Children were vulnerable. He had great reason to believe that after Paulo’s incident but she’d get around to that. Get around to the fact she’d thought him overprotective. ‘I can see what you’re getting at. It’s hard because of priorities with those more ill. But I agree a lonely and convalescing child needs special care.’
He sat forward in his chair and his shirt tightened impressively across his chest. She didn’t want to notice that. ‘Sì.’ He was obviously pleased with her. ‘There is a shortage of empathetic time for those children on the mend but not yet well enough to go home. I had hoped to prevent their stay from becoming a more traumatic experience than necessary.’ He glanced up to see if she agreed and she nodded.
He was determined to ensure his goals were realised. ‘This is especially important if these children are dealing with other issues, such as grief from loss of loved ones, or difficult family circumstances.’
There was an added nuance in his voice that spoke of history and vast experience. An aversion to children suffering, perhaps more personal than children he’d seen in wards. The reason teased at her mind. ‘Was there something in particular that made you so aware?’
His answer seemed to come from another direction. ‘In our family all sons have entered the medical profession, though disciplines were left to our personal preferences. My grandfather was intrigued by surgery, my father ophthalmology. My passion lies with paediatrics and Gianni’s with emergency medicine. Paolo’s area is yet to be discerned.’
That made her smile. ‘Paulo’s a bit young to be worrying about disciplines, don’t you think? I doubt Jack would have a thought in his head about what he’ll do when he grows up.’
Leon shook his head. ‘In Italy a man learns at an early age that he will be responsible for others.’
‘Like dancing,’ she suggested. ‘A man must be able to lead?’
He returned her smile. ‘Sì.’
She couldn’t resist teasing him again. ‘So you turned your father’s eye hospitals into paediatric wards?’
He raised one stern eyebrow but something made her wonder if he was secretly smiling. ‘You do not really think that I would?’
There was a lot going on below the surface here. From both of them. She shook her head. ‘No.’ He wouldn’t do that. She knew little of him but already she could tell he would hold his father’s wish to provide service to the blind sacrosanct. ‘So the eye hospitals are thriving.’
There it was. A warm and wicked grin that wrapped around her like a cloak dropping over her shoulders. A cloak that enveloped her in all the unusually erotic thoughts that had chased around her head for far too long last night in bed. She was in trouble.
‘Sì. I built more hospitals. Designed especially for children and staffed with nurses who have much to offer an ailing or grieving child.’
He leaned back in the chair and the fine fabric of his handmade shirt again stretched tight across his chest. He picked up the tiny espresso coffee she’d made for him, black and freshly ground from the machine she couldn’t live without, and sniffed it appreciatively. He took a sip, and those large hands looked incongruous around the tiny cup. ‘Perfetto.’
She’d learned to make good coffee years ago and it was her one indulgence. She dragged her eyes away from his hands because down that road lay danger.
She remembered he and Gianni were orphans and the pieces fell into place. ‘How did your parents die, Leon?’
She had connected with his previous statement and why she could sense and understand meanings so easily from a man she barely knew was a puzzle she didn’t want to fathom. She wondered if it worried him as much as it worried her.
To her relief he didn’t try to avoid her question. ‘My parents drowned off the Amalfi Coast from our yacht in a storm.’
Drowned. Poor little boys. ‘Storms at sea.’ She sighed. ‘Mother Nature’s temper can be wild and indiscriminate,’ she said softly. His eyes gazed off into the distance and she was with him. She could almost feel the spray in her face and hear the scream of the wind and she nodded. ‘I’ve lived by the sea. The weather can be unexpected and fierce. My father still has a house on a fabulous beach, but even he nearly drowned one day when he was washed off the rocks.’
He was watching her, listening to her voice, but she could tell half of him was in another place. ‘What happened with you and Gianni?’
He looked through her and his voice dropped. ‘Gianni almost died, and I, too, had pneumonia.’ She glanced at his face and couldn’t help but be touched by his effort to remain expressionless.
‘And you were both in hospital afterwards?’ Spoken gently, because she didn’t want to break the spell.
He nodded and now she understood where his empathy for those in similar circumstances had grown from because she