The Road Home by Margaret Way (11)

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Mallory knew the route to Forrester Base Hospital as well as she knew the lines on the palms of her hands. She had never had the dubious pleasure of having her palm read, but she had often wondered whether palmistry was no more than superstition, or if there was something to it. Her life line showed a catastrophic break, and one had actually occurred. If she read beyond the break, she was set to receive a card from the Queen when she turned one hundred. As it was, she was twenty-eight. There was plenty of time to get her life in order and find some happiness. Currently her life was largely devoted to work. She allowed herself precious little free time. It was a deliberate strategy. Keep on the move. Don’t sit pondering over what was lodged in the soul.

The driver of the little Mazda ahead was starting to annoy her. He was showing excessive respect for the speed limit, flashing his brake lights at every bend in the road. She figured it was time to pass, and was surprised when the driver gave her a loud honk for no discernible reason. She held up her hand, waved. A nice little gesture of camaraderie and goodwill.

She was almost there, thank the Lord. The farther she had travelled from the state capital, Brisbane, the more the drag on her emotions. That pesky old drag would never go away. It was a side effect of the baggage she carted around and couldn’t unload. It wasn’t that she didn’t visualize a brave new world. It was just that so far it hadn’t happened. Life was neither kind nor reasonable. She knew that better than most. She also knew one had to fight the good fight even when the chances of getting knocked down on a regular basis were high.

It had been six years and more since she had been back to her hometown. She wouldn’t be returning now, she acknowledged with a stab of guilt, except for the unexpected heart attack of her uncle Robert. Her uncle, a cultured, courtly man, had reared her from age seven. No one else had been offering. Certainly not her absentee father, or her maternal grandparents, who spent their days cruising the world on the Queen Mary 2. True, they did call in to see her whenever they set foot on dry land, bearing loads of expensive gifts. But sadly, they were unable to introduce a child into their busy lives. She was the main beneficiary of their will. They had assured her of that; a little something by way of compensation. She was, after all, their only grandchild. It was just at seven, she hadn’t fit into their lifestyle. Decades later she still didn’t.

Was it any wonder she loved her uncle Robert? He was her superhero. Handsome, charming, well off. A bachelor by choice. Her dead mother, Claudia, had captured his heart long ago when they were young and deeply in love. Her mother had gone to her grave with her uncle’s heart still pocketed away. It was an extraordinary thing and in many ways a calamity, because Uncle Robert had never considered snatching his life back. He was a lost cause in the marriage stakes. As was she, for that matter.

To fund what appeared on the surface to be a glamorous lifestyle, Robert James had quit law to become a very popular author of novels of crime and intrigue. The drawing card for his legions of fans was his comedic detective, Peter Zero, never as famous as the legendary Hercule Poirot, but much loved by the readership.

Pulp fiction, her father, Nigel James, Professor of English and Cultural Studies at Melbourne University, called it. Her father had always stomped on his older brother’s talent. “Fodder for the ignorant masses to be read on the train.” Her father never minced words, the crueller the better. To put a name to it, her father was an all-out bastard.

It was Uncle Robert who had spelled love and a safe haven to her. He had taken her to live with him at Moonglade, his tropical hideaway in far North Queensland. In the infamous “blackbirding” days, when South Sea islanders had been kidnapped to work the Queensland cane fields, Moonglade had been a thriving sugar plantation. The house had been built by one Captain George Rankin, who had at least fed his workers bananas, mangoes, and the like and paid them a token sum to work in a sizzling hot sun like the slaves they were.

Uncle Robert had not bought the property as a working plantation. Moonglade was his secure retreat from the world. He could not have chosen a more idyllic spot, with two listed World Heritage areas on his doorstep: the magnificent Daintree Rainforest, the oldest living rainforest on the planet, and the glorious Great Barrier Reef, the world’s largest reef system.

His heart attack had come right out of the blue. Her uncle had always kept himself fit. He went for long walks along the white sandy beach, the sound of seagulls in his ears. He swam daily in a brilliantly blue sea, smooth as glass. To no avail. The truth was, no one knew what might happen next. The only certainty in life was death. Life was a circus; fate the ringmaster. Her uncle’s illness demanded her presence. It was her turn to demonstrate her love.

Up ahead was another challenge. A procession of undertakers? A line of vehicles was crawling along as though they had all day to get to their destination. Where the heck was that? There were no shops or supermarkets nearby, only the unending rich red ochre fields lying fallow in vivid contrast with the striking green of the eternal cane. Planted in sugarcane, the North was an area of vibrant colour and great natural beauty. It occurred to her the procession might be heading to the cemetery via the South Pole.

Some five minutes later she arrived at the entrance to the hospital grounds. There was nothing to worry about, she kept telling herself. She had been assured of that by none other than Blaine Forrester, who had rung her with the news. She had known Blaine since her childhood. Her uncle thought the world of him. Fair to say Blaine was the son he never had. She knew she came first with her uncle, but his affection for Blaine, five years her senior, had always ruffled her feathers. She was more than Blaine, she had frequently reminded herself. He was the only son of good friends and neighbours. She was blood.

Blaine’s assurances, his review of the whole situation, hadn’t prevented her from feeling anxious. In the end Uncle Robert was all the family she had. Without him she would be alone.

The main gates were open, the entry made splendid by a pair of poincianas in sumptuous scarlet bloom. The branches of the great shade trees had been dragged down into their perfect umbrella shape by the sheer weight of the annual blossoming. For as far back as she could remember, the whole town of Forrester had waited for the summer flowering, as another town might wait for an annual folk festival. The royal poinciana, a native of Madagascar, had to be the most glorious ornamental tree grown in all subtropical and tropical parts of the world.

“Pure magic!” she said aloud.

It was her spontaneous response to the breathtaking display. Nothing could beat nature for visual therapy. As she watched, the breeze gusted clouds of spent blossom to the ground, forming a deep crimson carpet.

She parked, as waves of uncomplicated delight rolled over her. She loved this place. North of Capricorn was another world, an artist’s dream. There had always been an artist’s colony here. Some of the country’s finest artists had lived and painted here, turning out their glorious land- and seascapes, scenes of island life. Uncle Robert had a fine body of their work at the house, including a beautiful painting of the district’s famous Poinciana Road that led directly to Moonglade Estate. From childhood, poincianas had great significance for her. Psychic balm to a child’s wounded heart and spirit, she supposed.

Vivid memories clung to this part of the world. The Good. The Bad. The Ugly. Memories were like ghosts that appeared in the night and didn’t disappear at sunrise as they should. She knew the distance between memory and what really happened could be vast. Lesser memories were susceptible to reconstruction over the years. It was the worst memories one remembered best. The worst became deeply embedded.

Her memories were perfectly clear. They set her on edge the rare times she allowed them to flare up. Over the years she had developed many strategies to maintain her equilibrium. Self-control was her striking success. It was a marvellous disguise. One she wore well.

A light, inoffensive beep of a car horn this time brought her out of her reverie. She glanced in the rear-vision mirror, lifting an apologetic hand to the woman driver in the car behind her. She moved off to the parking bays on either side of the main entrance. Her eyes as a matter of course took in the variety of tropical shrubs, frangipani, spectacular Hawaiian hibiscus, and the heavenly perfumed oleanders that had been planted the entire length of the perimeter and in front of the bays. Like the poincianas, their hectic blooming was unaffected by the powerful heat. Indeed the heat only served to produce more ravishing displays. The mingled scents permeated the heated air like incense, catching at the nose and throat.

Tropical blooming had hung over her childhood; hung over her heart. High summer: hibiscus, heartbreak. She kept all that buried. A glance at the dash told her it was two o’clock. She had made good time. Her choice of clothing, her usual classic gear, would have been just right in the city. Not here. For the tropics she should have been wearing simple clothes, loose, light cotton. She was plainly overdressed. No matter. Her dress sense, her acknowledged stylishness, was a form of protection. To her mind it was like drawing a velvet glove over shattered glass.

Auxiliary buildings lay to either side of the main structure. There was a large designated area for ambulances only. She pulled into the doctors’ parking lot. She shouldn’t have parked there, but she excused herself on the grounds there were several other vacant spots. The car that had been behind her had parked in the visitors’ zone. The occupant was already out of her vehicle, heading towards the front doors at a run.

“Better get my skates on,” the woman called, with a friendly wave to Mallory as she passed. Obviously she was late, and by the look of it expected to be hauled over the coals.

There were good patients. And terrible patients. Mallory had seen both. Swiftly she checked her face in the rearview mirror. Gold filigrees of hair were stuck to her cheeks. Deftly she brushed them back. She had good, thick hair that was carefully controlled. No casual ponytail but an updated knot as primly elegant as an Edwardian chignon. She didn’t bother to lock the doors, but made her way directly into the modern two-storied building.

The interior was brightly lit, with a smell like fresh laundry and none of the depressing clinical smells and the long, echoing hallways of the vast, impersonal city hospitals. The walls of the long corridor were off-white and hung with paintings she guessed were by local artists. A couple of patients in dressing gowns were wandering down the corridor to her left, chatting away brightly, as if they were off to attend an in-hospital concert. To her right a young male doctor, white coat flying, clipboard in hand, zipped into a room as though he didn’t have a second to lose.

There was a pretty, part-aboriginal young nurse stationed at reception. At one end of the counter was a large Oriental vase filled with beautiful white, pink-speckled Asian lilies. Mallory dipped her head to catch their sweet, spicy scent.

“I’m here to see a patient, Robert James,” she said, smiling as she looked up.

“Certainly, Dr. James.” Bright, cheerful, accommodating.

She was known. How?

An older woman with a brisk, no-nonsense air of authority, hurried towards reception. She too appeared pleased to see Mallory. Palm extended, she pointed off along the corridor. “Dr. Moorehouse is with Mr. James. You should be able to see him shortly, Dr. James. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Swiftly Mallory took note of the name tag. “A cup of tea would go down very nicely, Sister Arnold.”

“I’ll arrange it,” said Sister. Their patient had a photograph of this young woman beside his bed. He invited everyone to take a look. My beautiful niece, Mallory. Dr. Mallory James!

Several minutes later, before she’d even sat down, Mallory saw one splendid-looking man stride up to reception. Six feet and over. Thoroughbred build. Early thirties. Thick head of crow-black hair. Clearly not one of the bit players in life.

The mere sight of him put her on high alert. Though it made perfect sense for him to be there, she felt her emotions start to bob up and down like a cork in a water barrel. For all her strategies, she had never mastered the knack of keeping focused with Blaine around. He knew her too well. That was the problem. He knew the number of times she had made a complete fool of herself. He knew all about her disastrous engagement. Her abysmal choice of a life partner. He had always judged her and found her wanting. Okay, they were friends, having known one another forever, but there were many downsides to their difficult, often stormy relationship. She might as well admit it. It was mostly her fault. So many times over the years she had been as difficult as she could be. It was a form of retaliation caused by a deep-seated grudge.

Blaine knew all about the years she had been under the care of Dr. Sarah Matthews, child psychologist and a leader in her field. The highly emotional, unstable years. He knew all about her dangerous habit of sleepwalking. Blaine knew far too much. Anyone would resent it. He wasn’t a doctor, yet he knew her entire case history. For all that, Blaine was a man of considerable charisma. What was charisma anyway? she had often asked herself. Was one born with it or was it acquired over time? Did charismatic people provoke a sensual experience in everyone they met? She thought if they were like Blaine the answer had to be yes. One of Blaine’s most attractive qualities was his blazing energy. It inspired confidence. Here was a man who could and did get things done.

Blaine was a big supporter of the hospital. He had property in all the key places. The Forrester family had made a fortune over the generations. They were descendants of George Herbert Forrester, an Englishman, already on his way to being rich before he left the colony of New South Wales to venture into the vast unknown territory which was to become the State of Queensland in 1859. For decades on end, the Forresters pretty well owned and ran the town. Their saving grace was that as employers they were very good to their workers, to the extent that everyone, right up to the present day, considered themselves part of one big happy Forrester family and acted accordingly.

She heard him speak to the nurse at reception. He had a compelling voice. It had a special quality to it. It exactly matched the man. She saw his aura. Her secret: She was able to see auras. Not of everyone. That would have been beyond anyone’s ability to cope with. But certain people. Good and bad. She saw Blaine’s now. The energy field that surrounded him was the familiar cobalt blue. She knew these auras were invisible to most people. She had no idea why she should see them, feel them, as heat waves. The gift, if it was one, hadn’t been developed over the years. It had just always been there.

Once, to her everlasting inner cringe, she had confided her secret to Blaine. She was around fourteen at the time. There he was, so handsome, already making his mark, home from university. She remembered exactly where they were, lazing in the sun, down by Moonglade’s lake. The moment she had stopped talking, he had propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her with his extraordinary silver eyes.

Her rage and disappointment in him had known no bounds. She had entrusted him with her precious secret and he, her childhood idol, had laughed her to scorn. No wonder she had gone off like a firecracker.

He had made her so angry that even years later she still felt residual heat. She had wanted him to listen to her, to share. Instead he had ridiculed her. It might have been that very moment their easy, affectionate relationship underwent a dramatic sea change. Blaine, the friend she had so looked up to and trusted, had laughed at her. Called her a kid. She did see auras, some strong, some dim. It had something to do with her particular brain. One day, science would prove the phenomenon. In the meantime she continued to see auras that lasted maybe half a minute before they faded. Blaine-the-unbeliever’s aura was as she had told him all those years ago, a cobalt blue. Uncle Robert’s was pale green with a pinkish area over his heart. She couldn’t see her own aura. She had seen her dying mother’s black aura. Recognised what it meant. She had seen that black aura a number of times since.

A moment more and Blaine was making his way to the waiting room. Mercifully this one was empty, although Mallory could hear, farther along the corridor, a woman’s voice reading a familiar children’s story accompanied by children’s sweet laughter. How beautiful was the laughter of children, as musical as wind chimes.

As Blaine reached the doorway she found herself standing up. Why she did was beyond her. The pity of it was she felt the familiar, involuntary flair of excitement. She was stuck with that, sadly. It would never go away. She extended her hand, hoping her face wasn’t flushed. Hugs and air-kisses were long since out of the question between them. Yet, as usual, all her senses were on point. “Blaine.”

“Mallory.” He gave her a measured look, his fingers curling around hers. With a flush on her beautiful skin she looked radiant. Not that he was about to tell her. Mallory had no use whatever for compliments.

The mocking note in his voice wasn’t lost on Mallory. She chose to ignore it. From long experience she was prepared for physical contact, yet as always she marvelled at the charge. It was pretty much like a mild electric shock. She had written it off as a case of static electricity. Physics. With his height, he made her willowy five feet eight seem petite. That gave him an extra advantage. His light grey eyes were in startling contrast to his hair and darkly tanned skin. Sculpted features and an air of sharp intelligence and natural authority made for an indelible impression. From long experience she knew Blaine sent women into orbit. It made her almost wish she was one of them. She believed the intensity of his gaze owed much to the luminosity of his eyes. Eyes like that would give anyone a jolt.

He gestured towards one of the long upholstered benches, as though telling her what to do. She hated that, as well. It was like he always knew the best course of action. She realized her reactions were childish, bred from long years of resenting him and his high-handed, taken-for-granted sense of superiority, but childish nevertheless. No one was perfect. He should have been kinder.

Blaine was fully aware of the war going on inside Mallory. He knew all about her anxieties, her complexities. He had first met her when she was seven, a pretty little girl with lovely manners. Mallory, the adult, was a woman to be reckoned with. Probably she would be formidable in old age. Right now, she was that odd combination of incredibly sexy and incredibly aloof. There was nothing even mildly flirtatious about her. Yet she possessed powers that he didn’t understand. He wondered what would happen if she ever let those powers fly.

She was wearing a very stylish yellow jacket and skirt. City gear. Not a lot of women could get away with the colour. Her luxuriant dark gold hair was pulled back into some sort of knot. Her olive skin was flawless, her velvet-brown eyes set at a faint tilt. Mallory James was a beautiful woman, like her tragic mother before her. Brains and beauty had been bred into Mallory. Her academic brilliance had allowed her to take charge of her life. She had a PhD in child psychology. Close containment had become Mallory’s way of avoiding transient sexual relationships and deep emotional involvement. Mallory made it very plain she was captain of her own ship.

The aftershock of their handshake was still running up Mallory’s arm to her shoulder. She seized back control. She had spent years perfecting a cool façade. By now it was second nature. Only Blaine, to her disgust, had the power to disrupt her habitual poise. Yet there was something real between them; some deep empathy that inextricably tied them together. He to her, she to him. She was aware of the strange disconnect between their invariably charged conversations and a different communication she refused to investigate.

“I’m worried about Uncle Robert,” she said briskly. She supposed he could have interpreted it as accusatory. “You told me it was a mild heart attack, Blaine. I thought he would be home by now. Yet he’s still in hospital.”

“He’s in for observation, Mallory. No hurry.” Here we go again, he thought.

“Anything else I should know?” She studied him coolly. The handsomeness, the glowing energy, the splendid physique.

“Ted will fill you in.”

“So there’s nothing you can tell me?” Her highly sensitive antennae were signalling there was more to come.

“Not really.” His light eyes sparkled in the rays of sunlight that fell through the high windows.

“So why do I have this feeling you’re keeping something from me?”

Blaine nearly groaned aloud. As usual she was spot-on, only he knew he had to work his way up to full disclosure. “Mallory, it’s essential to Robb’s recovery for you to be here, not in Brisbane. He’s slowed down of recent times, but he never said there was anything to worry about. It now appears he has a heart condition. Angina.”

“But he never told me.” She showed her shock and dismay.

“Nor me. Obviously he didn’t want it to be known.”

Without thinking, she clutched his arm as if he might have some idea of walking away from her. He was wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt, a blue-and-white check, with his jeans, so she met with suntanned, warm skin and hard muscle. She should have thought of that. Blaine had such physicality it made her stomach contract. He further rattled her by putting his hand on top of hers.

“You believe I have a moral obligation to look out for my uncle as he looked after me?”

“I’m not here to judge you, Mallory,” he said smoothly.

“Never mind about that. I’m always under surveillance.” Blaine had established the habit of meeting up with her whenever he was in Brisbane on business, which was often. His lawyers, accountants, stockbrokers, among others, were all stationed in the state capital. He made sure she could always be contacted. He was highly esteemed by her uncle, for whom he clearly stood in.

His hand dropped away first. It had made her uncomfortable feeling the strength of his arm and the warmth of his skin, but she wasn’t about to waste time fretting about it.

“That’s in your head, Mallory. It’s not true. More like I’ve tried my hardest to be a good friend to you.”

You difficult woman, you. He didn’t need to say it; Mallory heard it loud and clear.

“Anyway, you’re here now. You can give Robb your undivided attention for a few days.”

“Whatever you say, Blaine. You’re the boss.” Heat was spreading through her. In the old days she had let it control her. Not now. As Doctor Mallory James, she was used to being treated with respect. “Uncle Robert and I are in constant touch, as you well know. Anyway, he has you,” she tacked on sweetly. “Always ready to help. The figure of authority in the town.”

“Do I detect a lick of jealousy?”

“Jealousy!” She gasped. “That’s a charge and a half.”

“Okay, make it sibling rivalry, even if we aren’t siblings. You can’t rule it out. I’ve known Robb all my life. My parents loved him. He was always welcome at our home. I remember the first time you turned up. A perfectly sweet little girl in those days, with long blond hair tied back with a wide blue ribbon. My father said later, ‘Those two should be painted, Claudia and her beautiful little daughter.’”

“That never happened.” A flush had warmed Mallory’s skin. She wished she could dash it away.

“I noticed like everyone else how closely you resembled your mother,” Blaine said more gently.

“Ah, the fatal resemblance! It was extraordinary and it impacted too many lives.” She broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sister Arnold was returning with tea.

Blaine moved to take the tray from her. “Thank you, Sister.”

“Would you like a cup yourself, Mr. Forrester?”

How many times had Mallory heard just that worshipful tone? Nothing would ever be too much trouble for Blaine Forrester; tea, coffee, scones, maybe a freshly baked muffin?

“I’m fine, thank you, Sister.” He gave her a smile so attractive it could sell a woman into slavery.

“You could bring another cup, Sister, if you don’t mind,” said Mallory. There was really something about Blaine that was very dangerous to women.

“No trouble at all.” Sister Arnold gave Blaine a look that even a blind woman would interpret as nonprofessional.

“I don’t drink tea,” Blaine mentioned as she bustled away.

“At this point, who cares? Sister likes bringing it. Makes her day.”

He ignored the jibe as too trivial to warrant comment. “You drove all this way?”

She nodded. “One stop. It would have been a whole lot quicker to fly, but I don’t enjoy air travel, as you know.” She was borderline claustrophobic but halfway to conquering it.

“That’s your Mercedes out front?”

“It is.” She had worked long and hard to pay it off. “I love my car. You did assure me Uncle Robert was in no danger.”

“With care and the right medication, Robb has many good years left in him.”

“I hope so.” Mallory released a fervent breath.

“Ah, here’s Sister back with my tea.”

“Don’t forget to give her your dazzling smile.”

“How odd you noticed,” he said, his sparkling eyes full on hers.

An interlude followed, filled with the usual ping-pong of chat, largely saturated with sarcasm, most of it hers. Dr. Edward Moorehouse, looking like an Einstein incarnation with his white bush of hair and a walrus moustache, hurried into the waiting room. A highly regarded cardiac specialist, he possessed a sweetness of heart and an avuncular charm.

“Ah, Mallory, Blaine!” He saluted them, looking from one to the other with evident pleasure. His head was tilted to one side, much like a bird’s, his dark eyes bright with more than a hint of mischief. “How lovely to see you together. I hear such good things about you, Mallory.”

Mallory kissed him gently on both cheeks, feeling a sense of warmth and homecoming. “Doctor Sarah set my feet on my chosen path.”

“Bless her.”

Dr. Sarah Matthews had guided Mallory through her severe childhood traumas: her terrible grief over the violent, sudden death of her adored mother, which she had witnessed, the later abandonment of her by her father, compounded by irrational feelings of guilt that she had lived when her beautiful mother had died.

“Wonderful woman, Sarah!” Moorehouse’s voice was tinged with sadness. Sarah Matthews had died of lung cancer a couple of years previously, though she had never smoked a cigarette in her life. “We will always have a job for you if you ever come back to us, Mallory. No one has taken Sarah’s place with the same degree of success. There are always cases needing attention, even here in this paradise.”

She was aware of that. “Blaine tells me Uncle Robert has had a heart condition for some time. I didn’t know that.”

“Robb wouldn’t have wanted to worry you.” Moorehouse darted a glance at Blaine, then back to Mallory. “He has his medication. Robb is the most considerate man I know,” he said in his soothing manner.

Mallory wasn’t sidetracked. “He should have told me. I needed to know.”

“Don’t agitate yourself, Mallory. With care and keeping on his meds, Robb has some good years left to him.”

“Some?” She had to weigh that answer very carefully.

“All being well.” Ted Moorehouse spoke with a doctor’s inbuilt caution. “You must be longing to see him. I’ll take you to his room.”

“I’ll stay here.” Blaine glanced at Mallory. “You’ll want to see Robert on your own.”

“I appreciate that, Blaine,” she said gracefully. “Give us ten minutes and then come through.”

They found Robert James sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows. An ecstatic smile lit his still handsome face the moment Mallory walked in the door. As a consequence, Mallory’s vision started to cloud. Outside his room she had steeled herself, concerned at how he might look after his heart attack. Now his appearance reassured her. She felt like a little girl again, a bereaved child. Uncle Robert was the one who had been there for her, taking her in. She couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving her.

The ones you love best, die.

She knew that better than anyone.

* * *

Robert James, gazing at the figure of his adored niece, felt wave after wave of joy bubbling up like a fountain inside his chest. She had come back to him. Claudia’s daughter. His niece. His brother’s child. His family. He was deeply conscious of how much he had missed Mallory these past years, although they kept in close touch. He had accepted her decision to flee the town where he had raised her. She had strong reasons, and he accepted them. Besides, clever young woman that she was, she had to find her place in the larger world. He was so proud of Mallory and her accomplishments. Proud he had been her mentor. His whole being, hitherto on a downward spiral, sparked up miraculously.

“Mallory, darling girl!” He held out his arms to gather her in. What he really felt like doing was getting out of bed and doing a little dance.

“Uncle Robert.” Mallory swallowed hard on the lump in her throat. She wasn’t about to cry in front of him, though she felt alarm at the lack of colour in his aura. Love for him consumed her. He looked on the gaunt side, but resplendent in stylish silk pyjamas. Robert James was elegant wherever he was, in hospital, in private. Like her father, he was a bit of a dandy. There were violet shadows under his eyes, hollows beneath his high cheekbones and at the base of his throat. But there was colour in his cheeks, even if it was most probably from excitement. He had lost much-needed weight, along with strength and vitality; hence his diminished aura.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, sweetheart, but you didn’t have to come all this way. Ted says I’m fine.”

“You are fine, Robb,” Ted Moorehouse said quietly. He knew how much his friend loved his niece. Her presence would do him a power of good. “I’ll leave you two together. You can take Robb home around this time tomorrow, Mallory.” He half turned at the door. “I expect you’re staying for a day or two?”

Mallory tightened her hold on her uncle’s thin hand, meeting his eyes. “Actually I’ve taken extended leave.”

“Why that’s wonderful, Mallory.” Moorehouse beamed his approval. “Just what the doctor ordered.” He lifted a benedictory hand as he headed out the door.

“Extended leave! I feel on top of the world already.” Robert’s fine dark eyes were brimming with an invalid’s tears.

Mallory bowed her head humbly at her uncle’s intense look of gratitude. It was she who had every reason to be grateful. She pulled up a chair and sat down at the bedside. Her touch featherlight, she smoothed his forehead with gentle fingertips, let them slide down over his thin cheek. “I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you with my long absence, Uncle Robert. I know Blaine finds it so. He’s outside, by the way.”

“He’s always there when you need him.” Robert’s voice was full of the usual pride and affection. “To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s been splendid, a real chip off the old block. Not that D’Arcy ever got to grow old.”

Mallory bowed her head. She wasn’t the only one who had lost a beloved parent. Blaine too had suffered. D’Arcy Forrester had been killed leading a cleanup party after a severe cyclone. He had trodden on fallen power lines that had been camouflaged by a pile of palm fronds. His passing had been greatly mourned in the town. The reins had been passed into Blaine’s capable hands.

Robert James’s hollowed-out gaze rested on his niece. “Does Nigel know about me?”

Mallory’s smile barely wavered. “I’ve left messages. I’m sure he’ll respond.”

“I won’t count on it.” Robert spoke wryly. “Stripped of the mask of learnedness, my brother is not a caring man. What heart he had went with your mother. I would have liked to see him, all the same. We are blood.”

Unease etched itself on Mallory’s face. “Goodness, Uncle Robert, you’re not dying.” She tightened her grip as if to hold him forever. “You’ve got plenty more good years left to you. I’m here now. Father will be in contact, I’m sure.” She was certain her father had received her messages. But her father hated confronting issues like illness and death.

Some minutes later, Blaine walked through the door, his eyes taking in the heartwarming sight of uncle and niece lovingly holding hands. “How goes it?”

“Wonderful, thank you, Blaine,” Robert responded, eyes bright. “Ted says I can come home tomorrow.”

“That’s great news. I can pick you up in the Range Rover. To make it easy for Mallory, I can pick her up on the way.”

So it was arranged, and they left the room.

* * *

She didn’t so much walk as glide on those long, elegant legs, Blaine thought. Mallory moved like a dancer; every twist and turn, every smooth pivot. It was high time he dropped the bombshell and then stood well back for the fallout. He knew Robb hadn’t told her. Robb simply wasn’t up to it. It was part of Robb’s avoidance program.

“Something I should tell you, Mallory.” He hoped if she was going to shoot the messenger she aimed high.

“I knew there was something.” Mallory came to an abrupt halt.

“Your psychic powers?” he suggested, that irritating quirk to his handsome mouth.

“Why don’t you double up with laughter? What powers I have—which you don’t believe is true—do work. I’ve been picking up vibes that something wasn’t right. I can see by your face you’d prefer not to be having the upcoming conversation.” Normally she spoke quietly. She was quiet with her movements as well. She never sought to draw attention to herself, but with Blaine her usually controlled manner became by comparison nearly theatrical.

“How right you are. I don’t think you could guess, so I’ll get right to it. Jason Cartwright has a job at Moonglade. On the farm.”

The shock was so great she felt like ducking for cover.

Blaine showed his concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

For a moment she was too dumbfounded to reply. “Okay? I’m the expert on okay. I’m actually delirious with joy. Jason at the farm! What luck!” Her blood pressure was definitely soaring well above her usual spot-on 119/76.

He didn’t relish this job, but he had promised Robb he would bring Mallory up to date. Robb tended to pull in the favours. “I’m sorry to spring it on you. Robb has never told you for his own reasons, but it’s something you obviously need to know now you’re here.”

She felt more like shouting, only that would be so utterly, utterly unlike Dr. Mallory James. “I love Uncle Robert dearly, but we both know he evades difficult issues like the plague. I knew he was keeping something from me.”

“Your psychic powers didn’t fill you in?”

“Oh, bugger off, Blaine.” Abruptly she stalked off to her car, unlocking the doors with a press on the remote. She felt like driving back the way she came.

Blaine caught up with her with ease. “We can handle this, Mallory.”

“We?” she huffed, rounding on him. “We will, will we? I love that. Your offer of support only grates.”

“It’s well meant. I’ve another surprise for you.”

Her dark eyes flashed. “Don’t hang about. Get it out. It’s a bigger surprise than Jason working at the farm?”

For a woman who hated to lose her cool, Mallory’s dark eyes gave Mallory, the enigma, away. They were passionate eyes. “He runs it,” Blaine bit off. “No point in stretching things out.”

She tried to find words. None came. “Well, he’s had such a rotten time, he deserves a break,” she said finally.

“I share your dismay.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” She was trying without success to dampen the burn inside her. “You can do anything when you want to. I’ve seen plenty of evidence of that over the years. You’re the fixer. You run the town.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to. Does the Queen tell everyone she’s the Queen? She doesn’t have to.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” He too was firing up. “Be fair. It was Robb’s decision, Mallory. It was never going to be mine. I couldn’t take matters out of his hands. Robb owns Moonglade and the business. I’ve never been a fan of Jason’s, but he’s not a criminal.”

“He is a criminal!” Mallory declared fiercely. “He betrayed me. He betrayed his family, Uncle Robert, even the town. That’s criminal in my book. Honestly, Blaine, this is too much.”

He agreed, but he wasn’t about to stoke the flames. “I can’t expect you to be happy about it. He’s good at the job. He works hard.”

Mallory shook her head. “The golden boy! That makes it okay for my married ex-fiancé to live and work on the doorstep? I suppose I can be grateful he wasn’t invited to live in the house. Why couldn’t Uncle Robert tell me himself? I don’t give a damn how efficient Jason is. Uncle Robert—” She broke off in disgust. “It’s the avoidance syndrome. It’s rife among men.” She propped herself against her car, in case she slid ignominiously to the ground. “Why does chaos follow me?”

“You’re doing okay,” he said briskly.

She waved off his comment. “What is wrong with Uncle Robb’s thinking?”

“Obviously, it’s different from yours.”

“Ss-o?” she almost stuttered.

“If someone’s decisions are different from our own, then we tend to assume it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my thinking, thank you.” She became aware she was beating an angry tattoo on the concrete with the toe of her shoe. This wasn’t like her. Not like her at all. Blaine found the terrible weak spot in her defences. “You didn’t understand Uncle Robert’s decision, did you?”

“The milk of human kindness? Blessed are the merciful, and all that?”

“I love the way you guys stick together.”

“Oh, come off it, Mallory,” he said, exasperated.

“We never know people, do we? Even the people closest to us. We always miss something. Uncle Robert needed to tell me. You of all people should know that.”

“Damn it, Blaine, Jason’s working at Moonglade is an outrage. It chills my heart. So don’t stand there looking like business as usual.”

He rubbed the back of his tanned neck. “It won’t help to see it like that, Mallory. It’s a done deal. You’d moved on. You didn’t come back. It was well over six years ago.”

“An astonishing amount of time. So you’re saying I’m the one who is acting badly? Or am I an idiot for asking?”

“I don’t think you’re likely to hear the word ‘idiot’ in connection with you in a lifetime. Robb has a notoriously kind heart. He gave your ex-fiancé a job after it became apparent Harry Cartwright had disowned his only son. Robb is a very compassionate man.”

“A sucker for a sob story, you mean. Okay, okay, I was a sob story. A seven-year-old kid who had lost her mother. A kid who was abandoned by her greatly admired, gutless father because I’m the spitting image of my mother. He couldn’t look at me. I might have had two heads. I was his little daughter so much in need of a father’s comfort, but my appearance totally alienated him. It was like I should have had plastic surgery, changed the colour of my hair, popped in baby-blue contact lenses. Ah, what the hell!” She broke off, ashamed of her rant.

“Mallory, I can’t think of a single soul who didn’t find your father’s behaviour deplorable. You had a tough time, but you’ve come through with flying colours.”

“An illusion I’ve managed to create.”

“We all create illusions. I do get how you feel.”

She raised her face to his, not bothering to hide her agitation. “How do you get it? Selma didn’t run off from your wedding, so be grateful for that. Jason was an assassin. He stabbed me in the back, right on the eve of our wedding, remember? You should, you were there. You’re always there, letting me know what a fool I am. Will you ever forget how the news of Kathy Burch’s pregnancy spread like wildfire around the town? The disgrace. The humiliation. The shame. To make it worse, Uncle Robert had spent a fortune ensuring a fairy-tale wedding for me.”

“I did warn you.”

She felt the screws tighten. “Yeah, prescient old you! You must get great satisfaction out of knowing everything you said about Jason came true.”

“He wasn’t the most desirable candidate for your hand. Certainly not the husband of choice.”

“Not your choice for me.”

“Not Robb’s choice either, even if he avoided saying so, which is a great pity, but seriously not worth getting into now. It didn’t make me happy to say what I said then.”

“I don’t believe that for one moment. You relished the breakup. I was under so much stress, but you, superior old you, had to punch my stupidity home.”

An answering heat of anger was rising in him. A certain amount of conflict with Mallory was par for the course. “How unfair can you get? If I’d told you I thought Jason Cartwright was absolutely perfect, you might have broken off the engagement.”

She stared at him, wondering in consternation if he had spoken a truth. “There’s always friction between us, isn’t there?” she said, angrily puffing at a stray lock of her hair. “Bottled up forces.”

“That’s what you want, Mallory. Not me.” Blaine stared down at her. Radiance had a way of playing around Mallory. The hot sun was picking out the gold strands in her hair and at her temples. The delicate bones of her face he found not only endearing but intensely erotic.

“Jason was kicked out of his home and the thriving family real estate business for reasons unknown. Was it money?” Mallory pondered. “Money causes big problems. Were the twins robbing their father on the side? Surely Uncle Robert pressed Jason for some explanation?”

“None forthcoming to this day.” Blaine fixed a glance on her narrow, tapping foot.

She stopped the tapping. “You’ve always been able to get to the bottom of things.”

“Wasn’t my place, Mallory, as I said.”

“Well, I can’t accept you don’t have some idea as to what the breakup was all about. You have your little network. All the businessmen in town want to hook up with you. They all know Harry. What about the grapevine?”

“Oddly, the breakup hasn’t become the talk of the town. It’s a mystery, destined to remain so.”

She gave another dismissive wave of her hand. “I don’t like mysteries, especially when they impact on my life. His parents doted on Jason. Could the fallout have been because of me? That would make me very uncomfortable indeed.”

“I think not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know that much, Mallory.”

She felt another quick surge of anger. “Of course you do, and a whole lot more you’re not telling. Jason married Kathy Burch. They have a little girl.”

“Her name is Ivy, a cute little kid. Kathy, however, is a very subdued young woman these days. Marriage and motherhood have—”

“Taken their toll?”

“The short answer is yes. Kathy is very much under Jessica’s thumb.”

She took a deep breath. Counted to ten. “A bigger bombshell is coming? Jessica is still on the scene?”

“Try to pry her away from her brother,” Blaine said, his tone bone dry.

“Can no one kill her off? Or at least start looking into it?”

“No way of doing it without landing in jail,” Blaine said laconically. “Those two were always joined at the hip. Jason and Kathy live in the old manager’s bungalow, by the way. Robert remodeled it for them.”

Mallory put her fingertips to her aching temples. “I didn’t come prepared for these disclosures, Blaine. To think of all the phone calls, the e-mails, the visits, and never a word.”

“Not so surprising, is it?”

She shook her head. “Not really. We both know Uncle Robert avoids unpleasantness. It’s his problem area. As for you! You too left me completely in the dark.”

“Mallory, I couldn’t go over Robb’s head.”

“I had rights, didn’t I?”

“You left, Mallory, telling us you were never coming back.”

“Who would blame me? You’re not the most compassionate man in the world, are you?”

“Compassion wasn’t, still isn’t, what you wanted,” he said testily.

Mallory gave up. She would never win with Blaine. “I can’t believe the Cartwrights would turn their backs on their only grandchild. Kathy might remain the outsider, but cutting off the little girl, the innocent victim, their own flesh and blood? The Marge Cartwright I remember was a nurturing woman.”

“Maybe Jason is hitting back at his parents by not allowing them to see the child. She has a few problems apparently.”

“Problems? What sort of problems?” Immediately Mallory started ticking off childhood disorders in her head.

“Health problems, and I believe she’s a little wild. The whole town knows. Kathy is always at the hospital with her.”

“How very worrying.” Mallory’s stance had softened considerably. “Is the child on medication? There are so many underlying reasons for behavioural problems. Sometimes it can be hard for a GP to differentiate. Kids are hyper for a wide range of reasons.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Doctor James.”

Ah, the suavity of his tone! “Helping problematic children is my area, Blaine,” she reminded him sharply. “I’d like to point out, while we’re on the subject, I didn’t allow bitterness over what happened to me and Jason to eat me away. What’s past is past.”

“Faulkner didn’t see it that way.”

“Okay, the past is never past. That way of yours of constantly having the last word drives me crazy.”

“As I’ve suggested, it could be your bad case of ‘sibling’ rivalry. You were lucky you didn’t marry Jason. He didn’t break your heart.”

“Did Selma break yours?”

He only shrugged. “Forget Selma. Look, I’m not in the mood for this, Mallory.”

“Then you’re welcome to go on your way. I’m not stopping you.” She tilted her chin.

“Take a chill pill, why don’t you.”

She flared up. “Chill pill? I don’t pop pills.” She had been on antidepressants for some years. Occasionally she had panic attacks, but she worked to contain them without medication.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mallory! Why do you work so hard to misunderstand me? You’re a psychologist. You know all about chill pills to control moods. I know this is difficult. If it helps, Cartwright is working hard. Jessica too.”

For a split second she allowed her shoulders to droop. Then she straightened. No way was Blaine going to see her crumple. She’d do that when she was alone.

“Jessica Cartwright mightn’t be a bucket of fun, but she’s extremely competent,” he went on. “She’s far better than Jason at getting the best out of the staff.”

“That’s her big rap, is it? Jessica Cartwright gets the best out of the staff. Does she do it with a whip? Jessica was the nastiest kid in the school. She tormented the life out of Kathy Burch, when Kathy had suffered enough with that appalling father. Dare I ask how she wrangled the job?”

“Good question.”

“With no good answer. Uncle Robert never liked her. He once called her a little monster.”

“Tell me who did like her? Being pleasant never caught up with Jessica. She needed a job. The prospect of her finding work in town was uncertain at best.”

“Most people had had kids in school with Jessica,” Mallory said tartly.

“She mightn’t have a winning personality, but Jason’s life doesn’t seem to be complete without her.”

“Repressed development. Jessica is the alpha twin. She’s always been in charge. But Jason is a married man now. If Jessica is around she probably spends her time ensuring every day is a real bad day for her sister-in-law. It’s cruel for Jason to subject his wife to Jessica’s TLC. God forbid he does it on purpose.” Mallory felt up to her neck in unwelcome disclosures. “She’s not his identical twin. They don’t share identical genetic material. Jason was as pleasant as Jessica was downright nasty. Having said that, twinship is a deeply symbiotic relationship. I hope it’s not too rude to ask, but what now? Is there a way out?”

“Not at the moment. Jessica lives in an apartment in town.”

“I expect you own the complex?”

“I expect I do,” he said.

“Modesty doesn’t come in your size, does it?”

“If you say so, dear Mallory,” he drawled. “To try to balance the good with the bad, Jessica has stuck by her brother.”

“She’d stick with him if he were a total nutter. I really liked the Cartwrights.”

“And they loved you.” He went heavy on the loved.

“It was what it was,” she said soberly. “So you got me here knowing all this?”

“I got you here for Robert. You owe him.”

Memory after memory was sidling up. All of them full of angst. “I do so love you when you’re righteous!”

“Me, righteous?” He spread his shapely hands.

“That’s one of your big problems, Blaine. You’re most righteous when you’re in the wrong. And this is wrong.”

“Would you have come back had you known?” He pinned her with his luminous eyes.

“So you deliberately kept me in the dark?”

“What would you have done had I told you the truth?”

She averted her gaze. “You don’t know the workings of my mind, Blaine.”

“You don’t know mine, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. One piece of advice. Take it slowly.”

She searched his face. Blaine was a central part of her life, but hunkering down inside her bolt hole had become a habit. “You make that sound like I could be steering into dangerous waters.”

“And so you could be.”

“They know I’m coming?”

Blaine nodded. “I expect they’re feeling their own brand of trepidation. But life has moved on. You have moved on, Mallory. You’re Doctor James now, a highly regarded professional in your field. You could even be of help to the child.”

The thought took the edge off her upset. “Only I’m certain Jason and his wife wouldn’t want any help from me. Jessica was never my friend.”

“I did tell you that as well.”

“You did indeed.” Between the heat and her sizzling emotions, she felt compelled to get away from him. “You know I’ve always thought you a complete—”

He cut her off, opening her car door. “No need to say it, Mallory. I can fill in the dots. And it wasn’t always. Once we were good pals, until puberty got in the way.”

“Puberty? Whose puberty?” she demanded, incensed.

“Why, yours, of course. I’m not a fool, Mallory. I know you hate it, but I know you too well.”

“You’ll need to do a lot of catch-up.” With practised grace, she swivelled her long, elegant legs as she settled into the driver’s seat. “You find this funny?” She caught the glint in his eyes.

“Not at all. I just hope you’re relatively okay with it.”

“Like I’m relatively okay with a Category Five cyclone. What time tomorrow?”

“Say eleven o’clock. Robert has a new housekeeper. Mrs. Rawlings. She lost her husband, Jeff, to cancer.”

She nodded. “Uncle Robert did manage to tell me. I’m sorry. He told me plenty about your goings-on as well. We do so know he thinks of you as the son he never had. What did go wrong between you and Selma, anyway?” Her voice was edged with malice, when malice didn’t come naturally to her. “I would have thought she was madly in love with you.”

“You’ve managed to make that sound like one would have to wonder why.”

“Just trying to spin your wheels. Besides, I didn’t think you cared all that much what I thought.”

“I’ll let that one go as well. It was Selma who decided against an engagement,” he offered with no loss of his iron-clad composure.

“It was the other way around, I fancy. She loved you, but you found you didn’t love her, or not enough to get married. Had you a new conquest in mind?”

He made to close her door. “Let’s swap stories at another time, shall we, Mallory?”

“Nothing in it for you, Blaine. I’m a closed book.”

“Unknowable to everyone but me.”

She could have cheerfully slapped him. Instead she found herself tightening her body against the odd tumbling inside her. “I assume that’s your arrogance talking?”

“Not entirely. See you tomorrow.”

He shut her door.

He walked away.

He didn’t look back.