With This Fling... (18 page)

‘It’s too early to tell,’ said Olivia gently and Charlotte looked away, for the ‘no’ she so desperately wanted to hear had not been forthcoming. ‘You haven’t yet.’

‘That’s good, right?’ she said shakily, and, with her thoughts not really in gear yet, ‘Are you my doctor?’

‘No, but I’ve seen your charts.’ Olivia looked supremely uncomfortable. ‘Charlotte, I’m here because you had me down as your next of kin. The hospital contacted me when they brought you in.’

‘Oh.’ It seemed vitally important to Charlotte to explain the why of it. ‘Not
my
next of kin. Greyson’s. The baby’s. I didn’t know who else to put down. Greyson had left your numbers on the fridge …’ Not exactly the most coherent explanation Charlotte had ever given. Uncomfortable words to have to say out loud. That she had no one. That she had too often had to rely on the generosity of strangers. ‘I’m so sorry. My godmother died a few months back and I have no other family. There’s no one, you see … No one left.’

Olivia went silent at that. Charlotte closed her eyes and drifted away to where the grey places beckoned. When she returned, Olivia was still there.

‘I took the liberty of going through your wallet to see what kind of medical insurance you had,’ said the older woman. ‘They’ll be shifting you up to a private wing soon. They’re going to want to keep you in bed for a while. You’ll be more comfortable in a private room.’

‘Is my baby still with me?’

‘Yes.’ Conflict ran deep in Olivia’s brown eyes. ‘Your baby’s still with you. Your chest is still a problem. There’s going to be pain. Treatment for that pain is going to be complicated because of the baby.’

‘I can handle the pain,’ said Charlotte, and Olivia smiled wryly.

‘You haven’t felt it yet.’

‘I haven’t?’ So the excruciating pressure on her chest
was
the drugged-up version? ‘Oh.’

‘Charlotte, I haven’t been able to get hold of Greyson.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me.’ Weak tears stung the backs of Charlotte’s eyes. ‘He’s been out of range for about a week now.’

‘I’ve left messages at his workplace,’ Olivia said grimly. ‘They’re tracking him down.’

‘But—Olivia, no. There’s really no need to concern him with this, is there? There’s nothing he can do.’

‘He can be here.’ The ice in Olivia’s voice put Charlotte in mind of Greyson at his most formidable. Clearly he hadn’t learned the fine art of intimidation from a stranger. ‘For you.’

‘It’s just … Greyson and I … we really don’t have that kind of relationship.’

Olivia stiffened. Olivia glared. Not what she wanted to hear, never mind the truth of it.

‘Why don’t you let him be the judge of that?’

R
ECEIVING
a problem notification call from the local marine authority was never a good start to a day. Grey and his team were bunked down on the
Cantilena,
the cruiser he’d hired to get them out to the experiment sites. They were eight days gone from the main island of San Cristobal. He’d been radioing in their location every day. Government bodies had an occupational health and safety obligation to know the whereabouts of their more intrepid employees and it never hurt for other boats in the area to know where they were either.

A pan-pan call wasn’t as bad as an SOS or a mayday, but good news it wasn’t. Greyson made contact, they changed channels. Standard operating procedure.

‘CSIRO wants
Cantilena
back in sat-phone range,’ said a gruff voice, chattier now that they’d changed channels. ‘Got a message in for a Dr Greyson Tyler. There’s been an accident.
Charlotte’s in hospital. Request he phones home.’

‘Say again?’

The message was the same the second time round.

‘Wilco.’ Will comply.

‘We’ll tell them you’ve received the message and you’re coming in. Station one out.’

And that was that.

Grey put the radio handpiece back in its cradle. He ducked his head, ran his hand through his hair. Heaven help him, he was in the middle of
nowhere,
with two scientists overnighting on the island nearby and scientific equipment scattered across four atolls. Leadership weighed heavily on his shoulders,
God,
it weighed a lot, for there’d be no leaving either people or equipment behind.

He rubbed his hands down his face, and turned to find at least half of the team standing on deck, watching him in silence. No one seemed keen to break that silence.

‘So,’ he said finally. ‘Nothing maritime, just a message for me. Charlotte’s my …’ His
what,
exactly? She wouldn’t even marry him. ‘Significant other. We live together. She’s pregnant.’

Silence followed his words. Silence and no little pity.

‘Did a stint as a satellite engineer in my youth,’ said grey-haired Ray into that heavy waiting silence. ‘I reckon if we take the sat phone off the boat and onto the island and butcher up an antenna, we might just get a signal. I reckon it’s worth a try.’

Grey ran his hands through his hair again, every instinct telling him not just to phone but to
go.
Back to San Cristobal and out of there on a plane. Ecuador, Hawaii,
Sydney.
But there were other people to be considered, experiments to consider, and he’d know better what course to take once he knew more about Charlotte’s situation. ‘Okay,’ he said to Ray gruffly. ‘Okay, do it.’

Grey arrived back in Sydney forty-seven hours and thirty-six minutes after talking to his mother on the jimmy-rigged phone. He’d travelled by boat and by bus and three different types of plane and by the time he hit the ground in Sydney he felt like hell and smelled worse. Early evening, Sydney time, and Olivia stood waiting for him at the arrival gates—mothers were like that. Sadly, they were also big on hygiene—particularly mothers who were doctors and who had filthy sons who wanted to be taken straight to the hospital. Olivia told him in no uncertain terms that he’d need a shave, a
shower, and possibly fumigation before he went anywhere
near
Charlotte or a hospital.

Hard not to shoot the messenger, but he managed to nod and stay calm and direct her to the Double Bay house. He used his key to get in, left his mother in the kitchen and headed for the shower. By the time he was clean, clothed, and back in the kitchen, his mother was thin of lip and steely of eye. He knew that look. He didn’t have time for it.

‘This is where you live?’ his mother wanted to know.

‘Yes.’

‘Who owns it?’

‘Charlotte. She owns it outright. I dare say she owns plenty of things outright. Any more questions?’

‘Yes. Is this baby yours?’

‘Yes, the baby’s
mine. Charlotte’s
mine.’ And he needed to see her. ‘Where is she? Which hospital?’ His Ducati was in the garage. Not that he wasn’t grateful for his mother’s support, but if she was more interested in chewing him out for his irresponsible actions than in taking a drive to the hospital, he’d get there under his own steam.

‘Westmead,’ she said. ‘And why didn’t you tell me Charlotte was pregnant?’

‘Charlotte was still in her first trimester
when I left. She didn’t want it widely known. Not yet.’

‘Greyson, I’m your
mother.’

‘Noted.’

‘I’m also the person on Charlotte’s emergency contact card,’ Olivia said curtly. ‘Why aren’t you?’

Mothers were levelers; at least, Grey’s mother was. She’d dropped him at the hospital and continued on her way, but her question gnawed at him all the way down the long corridors until he got to the ward Charlotte was in. Not visiting hours, but his mother had pre-empted an out-of-hours visit from him and the nurses had known who he was and how far he’d come and let him through.

‘See if you can convince her to take some pain medication,’ said the sister on the desk. ‘Even paracetamol would be better than nothing, and it won’t hurt the baby.’

His mother had explained Charlotte’s chest trauma—muscle tear, cracked ribs, bruising, swelling. Pain. ‘Where is it?’ he said. ‘The medication.’

‘I’ll be there in a few minutes and I’ll bring it with me. Room 313, and don’t wake her if she’s asleep. She hasn’t slept since she got here.’

Charlotte wasn’t asleep. She was sitting up
in the bed with a pile of pillows at her back. No television on, no lights on either, and she looked like a fey little wraith in a room full of shadows, with her ebony hair loosely plaited to one side of her face and trailing down over her shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and in their pain-glazed depths he saw dismay, mingled with relief.

She dragged up a smile from somewhere. She tried to sit up a little straighter and he saw what it cost her in the lines of pain on her pale, pale face. ‘You didn’t have to come,’ she murmured as he entered and gently shut the door.

‘My choice.’

‘The baby’s fine.’

‘Good,’ he said simply.

‘Could have solved a lot of problems,’ she said in a heartbreakingly ragged voice. ‘Could have freed you up.’ She wouldn’t look at him after that. She plucked at the lightly woven hospital blanket and wouldn’t look at him.

He leaned forward and put his fingers beneath her chin to tilt her head. He wanted her eyes for these next few words and he would have them. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It wouldn’t have. There’d still be you.’

He watched her eyes fill with tears that spilled onto her cheeks. He had no idea what came next. She wiped them away with shaking
fingers. ‘I’m feeling a little fragile at the moment,’ she murmured, as if it was something to be ashamed of.

‘You’re entitled,’ he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth before closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. He was feeling a little ragged around the edges himself. ‘The nurses say you need to take your painkillers.’

‘The baby—’

‘Won’t be affected.’ He pulled back so he could see her eyes, but the need to soothe her was just too strong. He lifted his fingers to the curve of her face and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘They know what they’re doing, Charlotte. Take the paracetamol, even if only for a few days. Give your body a break. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better for it.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’

‘I mean it. We need to get you sleeping, then mobile and managing your pain before we can get you out of here.’

‘Easy on the dancing, action man. The bed rest is helping the baby.’

‘But you can still come home and rest there.’

Charlotte nodded. ‘I got Millie to arrange for a nurse to live in for a week or so, starting from when I get home. It seemed prudent. No
one would worry, then, about me being there by myself. Including me.’

Grey shook his head.

‘What?’ she said. ‘Apparently it’s a very reputable nursing service. Your mother recommended it.’

His
mother
could have offered up some hospitality of her own.

‘She’s been marvellous,’ continued Charlotte awkwardly. ‘Your mother. She just came in and … took charge. Organised the room and the doctors. Arranged for a specialist to see me. Apparently he doesn’t come to this hospital. He did for me. Yesterday she arrived bearing a fresh berry yoghurt smoothie, stuffed with naturopathy’s finest, and sat there until I drank it. She’s worse than you.’

‘I’ve always thought so,’ said Grey. Maybe his mother wasn’t so unfeeling after all. Maybe his mother had assessed the situation and decided that offering to care for Charlotte while she convalesced would have made everything just a little too convenient.

For him.

The nurse came in and stayed while Charlotte took her pills. ‘They’ll make you sleepy,’ said the nurse. ‘Don’t fight it. You need the rest. And probably a few less pillows.’

‘Not yet,’ said Charlotte hastily and the nurse regarded her with knowing eyes.

‘Sleep sitting up if you have to,’ said the nurse. ‘But I think you’ll find it easier to lie back a little more once the meds kick in.’

‘Looking forward to it,’ said Charlotte.

‘What do you want to do with him?’ asked the nurse, shooting Grey a sideways glance.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Grey grimly. ‘If that helps the decision making process any.’

‘He’s one of them,’ murmured Charlotte.

‘So I see. Wish I had one,’ murmured the nurse. ‘I can’t give him a bed, but the chair’s not so bad. He can use one of the extra blankets if he gets cold, and you can give him some pillows. I’ll leave it with you.’

The nurse left, shutting the door gently behind her.

‘There’s a twenty-minute wait on those pillows,’ said Charlotte.

‘Keep your pillows,’ said Grey, and settled down into the chair with his legs stretched out before him. He closed his eyes. He let out the breath he’d taken approximately fifty-five hours ago, when the VHF call to the
Cantilena
had first come in. Three days to get here. Three days was too long.

‘You look tired,’ she said from the bed.

‘So do you.’ He opened his eyes a fraction and found her watching him.

‘You should go home. Get some sleep. Really. What’s there to gain by staying here?’

‘Peace of mind.’ Exhaustion sensed an opening and began to launch an attack. Wearily he tried to resist being dragged under. ‘So this is where you invented Gil.’

‘Pretty much. Except that I was the one in the chair.’

‘Maybe I should invent something too.’

‘Like what?’ she said on a yawn. ‘A fiancée?’

‘No, I already have a significant other, which is a term I hate, by the way. I’d much rather have a wife.’

‘Good luck with that,’ murmured Charlotte, and after a pause, ‘So what’s she like? This wife?’

‘Stubborn.’

‘That’s what I did too.’ Charlotte’s voice was growing sleepier. ‘Went with what I knew. So much easier on the brain.’

‘She’s beautiful too.’

‘Imaginary folk always are. Gil was dreadfully handsome.’

‘In a tough and manly way, I hope,’ murmured Grey. The events of the last few days
were finally catching up with him. Exhaustion was winning. Heaviness having its way.

‘Yes. Very tough and manly, and with many fine qualities.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, the usual. Honesty. Loyalty. Fidelity. Handy. Gil was very useful.’