A Courageous Doctor Read online

  ‘Nice to see a new face around here,’ Donald was saying warmly. ‘How are you enjoying Central?’

  ‘I’ve only been here for a few days,’ Maggie responded. ‘This was my first day at work, in fact, but I love it so far. How often do you get here?’

  ‘Once a month, officially.’ Donald’s tone suggested it was not nearly often enough. ‘I try and get down for a long weekend occasionally as well and luckily Queenstown is a popular venue for conferences and suchlike.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. There’s so much to do here. It’s going to take me years to try everything that’s on offer.’

  Donald was smiling. ‘You sound adventurous, Maggie.’

  ‘You only live once,’ Maggie responded with a quick grin. ‘Life’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, indeed it is.’ Donald’s own smile broadened noticeably. He looked set to continue the conversation but Maggie’s attention was already elsewhere.

  ‘I’d better go. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork before I can go home. What time will you be leaving, Hugh?’

  ‘Any time you’re ready.’ Hugo was quite aware of the speculative glance Donald shot in his direction. He almost enjoyed the assumption the cardiologist was clearly making. ‘I just want to check on Nancy and make sure she’s still doing well and then I’ll be finished.’

  It was no surprise that Donald waited only until they had moved on a few paces before seeking clarification.

  ‘I thought you and Joan Pringle were…?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hugo didn’t expand on his confirmation. He might have a professional relationship with Donald but they were hardly more than acquaintances. ‘We are.’

  ‘But you’re taking Maggie home?’ Donald’s eyebrows rose. ‘Lucky man.’

  The innuendo was unexpectedly grating. Hugo disliked what it suggested about Maggie as much as any slur on his own morality. ‘Maggie’s staying with me at the moment because she’s an old family friend. I’ve known her since she was two years old.’

  ‘Really? How old is she now?’

  ‘Thirty.’

  ‘And she’s not married, is she? She’s not wearing a ring, anyway.’

  ‘She’s not married.’

  ‘Attached?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ They hadn’t discussed their love lives at all. Maggie had clearly known about Joan’s existence before she’d arrived and Hugo hadn’t tried asking Maggie any such personal questions. There had been quite enough to discuss just catching up with their professional lives over the last decade. Maggie’s nursing background, as well as their common interest in emergency medicine, had provided a wealth of conversational material. So had Hugo’s quick guided tour of Maggie’s new location over the weekend. So far, by tacit agreement, they had not delved too deeply into their shared past. It had to come, of course, but right now Hugo was happy to renew their friendship and simply enjoy Maggie’s company.

  He was less happy with Donald Hamilton’s company right now but he’d be able to leave him at the airport terminal in less than a minute.

  ‘How long will she be staying with you?’

  ‘As long as it takes her to find a place of her own, I guess.’ Hugo pitched his tone to suggest it was none of Donald’s business. He had been a little more forthcoming in fielding a similar question from Joan earlier that day, but it had been annoying nonetheless.

  ‘That won’t be easy at this time of year.’ Donald stopped just short of triggering the automatic doors of the small airport terminal.

  ‘There’s no rush.’ As far as Hugo was concerned, Maggie could stay as long as she liked, even if Joan did disapprove.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Hugo had had enough of this conversation. ‘How’s your wife, Donald? And the kids?’

  ‘Don’t see much of them these days, old chap. We’ve split up.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘These things happen.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Hugo unconsciously echoed Donald’s speech mannerism, and his light tone belied the faintly disturbing possibilities the information conveyed. He pushed his hair away from his eyes as he took his leave and strode back towards the hospital complex. He had no idea he was frowning quite so heavily until he passed Joan in the corridor.

  ‘Goodness, Hugh. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. Why?’

  ‘You look as though you’re on your way to tear strips off someone. Not me, I hope?’

  ‘Of course not.’ The thought of Joan ever doing something that might require a severe reprimand was amusing and Hugo smiled.

  ‘Was that Donald Hamilton I saw you talking to outside?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hugo shook his head. ‘He’s taken quite a shine to Maggie.’

  ‘Really?’ Joan’s tone suggested surprise rather than disapproval. Then she frowned. ‘I thought he was married.’

  ‘Apparently not any more.’

  ‘Oh.’ Joan’s glance slid sideways. ‘That’s all right, then.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Hugo pushed his hair back again and Joan smiled.

  ‘Looks like you’re due for a haircut.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Hugo tried to listen to Joan but his mind was not co-operating. What was it to him if Donald Hamilton and Maggie got together, anyway? It was high time he shook off any vestiges of the umbrella of responsibility he had assumed during Maggie’s adolescence. Felicity’s wellbeing had been his primary concern after all. Maggie was free to do whatever she wanted with her life, with whomever she wanted to do it with. She did not need and would probably not welcome any brotherly advice from him.

  ‘So, seven o’clock, then?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Friday.’ Joan frowned just enough to cause a tiny crease to appear between those pale blue eyes. ‘Dinner? At your place?’

  ‘Ah.’ It was his turn again, then. Hugo nodded as though he had been listening all along but then changed the nod into an apologetic shake. ‘Sorry, Joan. There’s a group going out on Friday night. The ambos are having a welcome dinner for Maggie and some of the GPs and nurses are going along. I said I’d go. Lizzie and Megan are both going, I think.’ Hugo smiled at Joan. ‘I assumed you’d been invited as well.’

  ‘I was.’ Joan’s lips looked thinner than they had a moment ago. ‘I said I already had a date.’

  ‘Well, why don’t we both go? It might be fun.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The sound was an echo of Hugo’s lack of interest in discussing the length of his hair. Then she shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s about time I met the woman you’re living with, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m not living with her,’ Hugo said patiently.

  It wasn’t Maggie’s fault that she chose that moment to bounce into view in the corridor. She was smiling broadly.

  ‘Time we went home, Hugh. Don’t know about you but I’m starving!’ Maggie was still smiling as she slowed down. ‘Hi…you must be Joan.’

  Hugo hid his surprise. How on earth had Maggie known that? Joan, however, looked mollified that Maggie clearly knew who she was.

  ‘That’s right.’ She moved a little closer to Hugh. ‘I’m Joan Pringle.’

  ‘Maggie Johnston.’ The hand was extended with the same enthusiasm Donald Hamilton had received but the handshake was considerably more brief. Hugo was disconcerted to see that gleam in Maggie’s eyes again. Thoughtful. And downright mischievous. At least Joan wouldn’t recognise it or realise its potential. Hugo stepped in hurriedly.

  ‘Time we went. We need to get that tyre changed on your car so you’ve got your own transport tomorrow. I’ll be at the medical centre in Queenstown and I’ll have house calls in the afternoon so I’d be completely unreliable as a taxi.’

  ‘I doubt you’ve ever been completely unreliable in your whole life, Hugh.’ Maggie’s smile took away any hint of criticism in the comment but Hugo was still wary of that gleam. He was relieved when the women said goodbye and Maggie kept up as he walked briskly towards the car park.

  ‘So…’ Hugo gave Maggie a sideway
s glance. ‘How did you know about Joan?’

  ‘Your mother told me,’ Maggie said innocently. Too innocently.

  Hugo was suspicious. ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘Not much.’ Maggie avoided meeting Hugo’s gaze. She could see instantly why Joan was unsuitable. She had a handshake that felt like picking up a dead fish. Maggie hid the beginnings of a smile. There was something fishy about her eyes as well. She had to wonder how serious the relationship was and her embryonic smile faded as she decided that Hugo might, in fact, think Joan Pringle was eminently suitable.

  Hugo had followed the play of emotions on Maggie’s face that ended with almost a frown. ‘Joan’s a lovely person.’ It was annoying to hear the defensive note in his voice and he tried to modify his tone. ‘Talented, too.’ He pointed at the wall as they crossed the reception area. ‘That watercolour is one of hers.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Maggie sounded impressed. ‘She can certainly paint. What else does she do?’

  ‘She’s an excellent nurse and a qualified midwife. She’s great with kids and she’s an absolutely fabulous cook.’

  ‘Wow!’ This time Maggie couldn’t suppress the grin. ‘Sounds like perfect wife material.’

  Hugo scowled. ‘If my mother’s put you up to pushing me into producing grandchildren in the near future, forget it. I’ll do what I want when I want.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Maggie said mildly. ‘I can relate to that.’ She climbed into the Jeep. ‘Are we going to get takeaways again tonight?’

  ‘No, I’m cooking. I’ve eaten out more this weekend than I usually do in a month.’

  ‘Thanks so much for showing me around. I hope Joan didn’t mind not seeing you over the weekend.’

  ‘She was in Dunedin, visiting her mother.’ Hugo wasn’t about to admit that the routine of Friday night dates was only broken when work commitments interfered and that, so far, they’d never spent a weekend in each other’s company. Somehow, in Maggie’s presence, a strictly adhered-to routine seemed embarrassingly boring. At least he was planning to try cooking something adventurous this evening. With a bit of luck, Maggie might not discover how unusual that was.

  For some inexplicable reason, the fish didn’t look anything like the dish Joan had produced last week despite Hugo’s attempt to follow the recipe faithfully. Capers sat, looking like decomposed peas, on the rather watery and pale trout flesh. Maggie didn’t seem to mind, however. They took their plates over to the circle of warmth from the fire and Hugo ordered Tuck and Lass off the small sofa opposite his leather chair so Maggie had somewhere to sit.

  ‘Great salad,’ Maggie enthused. ‘Love the dressing.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The dressing had come from a bottle. Hugo found himself glancing up at intervals to try and catch Maggie’s expression when she took a mouthful of the fish. Would she find it as horrible as he did? The expression he caught clearly had nothing to do with his cooking, however. It seemed disconcertingly personal.

  ‘Why are you staring at my hair?’

  ‘Damien would love it.’

  Hugo forgot any worry about what Maggie would think of the fish. ‘Who the hell is Damien?’

  Maggie grinned. ‘The hairdresser I found in the East End of London. I fell in love with him two minutes after I walked through the door.’

  Hugo forced another forkful of fish down as he raised an eloquent eyebrow to indicate that such an inappropriate reaction didn’t really surprise him. Maggie’s grin simply widened.

  ‘Not that Damien was remotely interested in me. He was outrageously camp. Limp wrist, lisp—the lot. He took one look at my hair and nearly fainted.’ Maggie’s expression changed dramatically. She put down her fork, laid the back of a limp wrist against her forehead and gave a despairing cry. ‘My God, thweetie,’ she moaned. ‘Haven’t you heard of product?’

  The take-off was entertaining enough to make Hugo laugh out loud. He hardly noticed the next mouthful of fish. Maggie sighed happily.

  ‘He gave me hair. Real hair. You’ve got no idea what a life-changing event that was.’

  ‘Why?’

  Maggie’s eyes widened with disbelief. ‘Don’t you remember what my hair was like?’

  ‘Um…’ Hugo thought back. He remembered the snub nose. The freckles, the braces on her teeth and, yes…the hair. ‘It was red,’ he said triumphantly. ‘And kind of…frizzy.’

  ‘It wasn’t hair,’ Maggie corrected him darkly. ‘If I cut it short I looked like a toilet brush. If I tried growing it, it went sideways so I looked like I’d stuck my finger in a live socket.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like that now.’ Hugo let his gaze rest admiringly on the fascinating cascade of auburn spirals that just touched Maggie’s shoulders at the front and lengthened to hang between her shoulder blades at the back. The urge to pick a spiral up and wind the curves around his finger took Hugo by complete surprise. He cleared his throat. ‘It looks…OK.’

  He turned his attention back to his meal. It didn’t look OK. It was gorgeous hair. Different. Barely tamed, with the potential to leap back to a wild and uncontrollable state. A bit like Maggie, really. No wonder Donald Hamilton had been smitten.

  Maggie’s lips twitched. ‘Thanks,’ she said drily. ‘I like it, anyway.’

  They ate in silence for a minute and then Hugo frowned. ‘So why would Damien love my hair? It’s as straight as it comes.’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘I suppose he’d want to perm it and give me a few “curlth”.’

  Maggie giggled but shook her head. ‘There’s product to cure anything. A bit of wax or fudge and you could stop it flopping into your face like it does. Don’t you get sick of shoving it out of your eyes?’

  ‘Of course. I missed my haircut last week because of an emergency. I just haven’t found time to slot another appointment in yet. It doesn’t flop if it’s short enough.’

  ‘Oh, don’t cut it,’ Maggie said in horror. ‘You’d lose those lovely blond streaks. Or are they grey?’ The gleam was there in full force now. Her hazel eyes sparkled with it. ‘And you should make the most of your hair while you’ve got it. Let’s see, you must be…thirty-six now?’

  Hugo nodded, his mouth too full of the last horrible bite of fish to say anything.

  ‘There you go, then. You’ll probably start going bald soon.’

  Hugo swallowed. ‘Cheers.’

  Maggie grinned, completely unabashed. ‘I’ve got something in my bag that might do the trick. Why don’t you give it a go?’

  ‘I’ve managed for thirty-six years without smearing goop in my hair. Why should I start now?’

  Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why not? You might find you like it. Sometimes trying something new can be a life-changing event.’

  ‘I like my life just the way it is.’

  ‘OK.’ Maggie was still unperturbed. ‘I’ll leave it in the bathroom, though, in case you change your mind. It’s a little orange jar.’ She stood up, holding an empty plate and walked towards the fridge. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any chocolate ice cream in there?’

  ‘No. Ice cream’s unhealthy.’

  ‘It’s therapeutic in small doses,’ Maggie said firmly. ‘Like many medications. You should know that, being a doctor.’ Her face brightened. ‘Never mind. I’ll put it on the shopping list.’

  ‘You’ll have to wait till Thursday, then. That’s the day I do my grocery shopping.’

  ‘I’ll make my own list,’ Maggie decided. ‘I’m not here to sponge off you. I’m extremely grateful to have a roof over my head but I’ll make my contribution to the groceries while I’m here and I’ll share the cooking. It’ll be my turn tomorrow.’ Maggie didn’t give Hugo time to protest. ‘What do you like? Curries? Sushi? Nachos?’

  ‘Ah…’ Hugo blinked. ‘Not sushi. I’m not really into seaweed.’ In fact, he’d just decided he’d gone off fish. Good for Maggie, he thought abstractedly, eating his effort without a murmur of complaint. ‘Even in small doses,’ he added hurriedly. ‘I do know it’s supposed to be good f
or you. I’d prefer something hot anyway.’

  ‘Great. I know exactly what to make in that case.’

  Water was not going to do the trick. Hugo could feel beads of perspiration gathering in astonishing places.

  ‘What is in this?’

  ‘Chilli.’ Maggie used a corn chip to scoop up a large dollop of the rich meat, bean and tomato mix on her plate. She caught a string of grilled cheese and used her fingers to wrap it around the laden chip. ‘Mmm.’ It was a moment before she could speak again. ‘You did say you wanted something hot for dinner.’

  ‘I meant temperature, not something that was going to remove the entire lining of my digestive system.’

  ‘Chilli’s good for you,’ Maggie said knowledgeably. ‘It speeds up your metabolism so you burn off more calories.’ She grinned. ‘I consider this a diet food.’

  ‘“Die” being the operative syllable,’ Hugo groaned. He refilled his water glass.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you weren’t used to a bit of spice in your life.’ Maggie leapt to her feet. ‘What you need is yoghurt, not water. I’ve put some in the fridge.’

  Hugo took the proffered pot and spoon reluctantly. Yoghurt was something else that never made an appearance on his menus. At least it wasn’t likely to inflict physical damage. In fact, the cooling effect was quite impressive.

  ‘Hey! It works.’

  ‘I learned that one in India.’ Maggie nodded. ‘When I tried my first local vindaloo.’ Her brow creased. ‘You don’t have to eat the rest if it’s too hot. I could make you something else.’

  ‘No, I like it.’ Hugo was surprised to realise the polite statement was actually sincere. ‘It tastes great. It’s just a bit fiery.’

  ‘I’ll tone down the chilli next time,’ Maggie promised. Her face was deceptively composed. ‘And I’ll be careful when I make you vindaloo.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hugo took a more cautious amount of the meat mixture on his next chip. ‘So. How was your day today?’