Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart. Alison Roberts
The waiting room of the Institute was full, which wasn’t unusual. Any private clinic had to cater for clients who wanted an appointment after normal working hours. Olivia didn’t have a clinic to run this evening, however.
‘I’m just popping in for that six p.m. meeting,’ she told the receptionist. ‘I believe Simon wanted to see me?’
‘He’s waiting for you.’
Olivia couldn’t miss the knowing hint in the look she was receiving. Had someone in the administrative staff started a rumour that something was going on between her and her boss? Maybe they all thought it was only a matter of time before something happened. She was single, after all, and who could resist the charms of one of the most eligible bachelors in Auckland’s A-list society?
Olivia could, that’s who. She held the receptionist’s gaze until the young woman looked away, flushing slightly.
‘Can you let him know his next client is here already?’
Simon’s office had an enormous desk, leather chairs and a glass display case of antique surgical instruments.
‘Sharon told me to tell you that your next client is here already.’
‘She can wait for a minute or two. Oh, wait… I think it’s a “he”. Our new campaign to persuade men that aesthetic surgery is not just for women is starting to pay off. Literally…’
Olivia heard an echo of that slightly bitter compliment her last patient of the day had given her—that she was lucky that she wouldn’t have to think about surgical enhancement of any kind. Simon was the male equivalent, wasn’t he? Every feature perfectly symmetrical and his grooming and taste in clothes contributing to make him look years younger than forty-five. Even those grey streaks in that immaculate haircut could have been put there just to make him look more attractive.
As he stood up from his desk and put his jacket back on, she thought he looked as though he’d just stepped out of a magazine page—from an advertisement for luxury Italian suits, perhaps.
‘So… Did you get my message?’
‘Um…’
‘You forgot to switch your phone back on after being in Theatre, didn’t you?’
Olivia groaned. ‘Sorry… It’s been a long day. What was the message?’
‘A last-minute invitation to a charity gala tomorrow night. The guest speaker is a London doctor who rang here this morning asking after you. He knew your mother well, he said, and he wanted to arrange a chance to pass on his personal condolences. He was out of the country on a sabbatical at the time of her funeral, he said, and by the time he got back, you’d already made the move here.’
Anybody who was anybody in London had known Olivia’s mother, Janice, thanks to her position as one of the city’s leading cardiologists and her thriving Harley Street practice. That spotlight had extended to Olivia, as her daughter, as well, bringing with it a pressure that had never felt comfortable. Escaping that spotlight was one of the reasons she had chosen to come back to New Zealand.
‘I’m not sure, Simon.’ Olivia knew she was frowning. ‘I’ve never liked being in a crowd of people I don’t know and any formal dresses I own are still in storage until I find an apartment I want to buy.’
‘But you’ve got a day off tomorrow, haven’t you? You could go shopping for a new dress. And this is how you get to know people. The important people.’
Attending functions like charity galas had been pretty much her mother’s only social life. It had been at a charity event she had attended with her mother that she’d met Patrick, in fact—the man everybody, including herself, had expected her to marry. That breakup had been the other, even bigger reason she had decided to come back to the country of her birth to make a fresh start in her life. Olivia knew that her mother would have shrugged off the failed relationship as no more than an inconvenience. She also knew what she would have said about going to this event.
Go, Olivia. It’s important to be seen. This is your career. The most important thing in your life. The only thing you can really count on…
‘You don’t have to go alone,’ Simon added with an encouraging smile. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll look after you, I promise.’
Olivia couldn’t help glancing at the door as if looking for an escape route. Simon couldn’t possibly know how much of a nerve he was stepping on. That he was reminding her of exactly how her relationship with Patrick had started—and its disastrous ending not that long after her mother’s death—when he’d moved on to someone who offered an even better step up the social ladder.
Simon had followed her glance. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’d better get on with seeing my next patient.’ He went to open the door for Olivia. ‘Let me know what you decide. Maybe we can meet up for a drink before the event and that way you won’t have to go in by yourself.’
Olivia fished her phone out of her pocket and turned it on as she left the building. It really was a very bad habit to turn her phone off but she knew that a staff member could easily find her if there was a problem on theatre days and she hated even the possibility of distractions when she was operating. Hearing the chime of an incoming message, she glanced at the screen, expecting it to be the message Simon had left about the invitation to the gala tomorrow, but it wasn’t. It was a voicemail that had been left a couple of hours ago. From an unknown number.
Curious, Olivia keyed in her code as soon as she was sitting behind the wheel of her car, turning on the ignition as the message started to play.
‘My name is Isaac Cameron,’ a male voice said. There was a hint of an accent there. An Irish lilt, maybe? ‘I’m a doctor at Cutler’s Creek Hospital.’
Olivia gasped. Hearing the name of that small Central Otago township was disturbing, to say the least. She had a sudden urge to cut the call and delete the message but it was too late. She had been captured by the sound of the stranger’s voice.
‘I don’t suppose you want to hear this, Olivia Donaldson, but—you know what? I’m going to tell you anyway.’
She could hear the indrawn breath, as if the caller was about to start a lengthy story. And there was something about his tone that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. Without thinking, she turned off the engine of her car and slowly leaned back into her seat, touching the speakerphone icon on the screen. She had no idea what this was about but it felt like it was going to be something significant. Potentially life-changing?
‘I thought you should know that your father’s dying,’ the voice continued. ‘He’s got pancreatic cancer, which is what killed his father about twenty years ago. Not that that bothered you, from what I hear, seeing as you apparently refused to come to your grandfather’s funeral.’
She could hear a judgemental note in his voice and that put her back up. For heaven’s sake, Olivia thought, I was only thirteen years old. I’d never even met my grandfather that I could remember. I hadn’t seen my father since he’d walked out on his family. Why would anyone think I was expected to travel from the other side of the world to go to a funeral for a stranger?
‘I wouldn’t have known anything about you,’ Isaac was saying now, ‘but I found your father crying over a box of old letters. And parcels. All the things that you’d sent back to him over the years without even bothering to open them.’
Olivia’s jaw dropped. He was accusing her of something she knew nothing about. Letters? Parcels? She’d never seen anything from her father. He’d never even made a phone call. She could remember being in floods of tears that first Christmas after he’d gone and her mother trying to comfort her.
‘I know it’s difficult, Olivia, but you wouldn’t want to grow up in a place like Cutler’s Creek, believe me. I don’t think there’s even a proper school there. My new job in London is going to give us both the most amazing opportunities,