SLEEPING well was completely out of the question.
Sleeping at all would have been a bonus. Hugo had never felt quite this disturbed in his life. The kiss had been nothing. A brief touch of lips prompted by Maggie’s determination to prove she was an independent adult. A split second of physical contact that hadn’t even been particularly intimate, and yet it had had the effect of an explosion somewhere deep in the foundations upon which Hugo had built his life.
He couldn’t put his finger on precisely where the damage had occurred. He just knew, beyond any doubt, that something important was now very, very unstable. Analysis that would lead to identification and then repair was vital. However much his body tried to persuade him otherwise, the restful oblivion of sleep was a luxury Hugo couldn’t afford to indulge in right now.
Maggie probably had no idea that she had vaulted over an unspoken boundary. She had kissed and hugged him countless times in her life after all. It wasn’t as though a chaste kiss on the lips was any more significant than a peck on the cheek. So why did it feel so damned significant? And why, in heaven’s name, did it never feel remotely like that when he kissed Joan? Or any of the other women he’d kissed in his life for that matter? Hugo groaned, a sound of faint despair that was easily muffled by his pillow as he turned yet again in search of comfort.
He wanted her. There was no denying it now. Maybe the first cracks had appeared when he had recognised what an attractive woman she had become and that he was affected by that attraction. Admitting an attraction was one thing, however. Perfectly understandable. Controllable. The shock of experiencing what could only be considered frank lust was something quite different. And quite unacceptable. And what the hell was he going to do about it? He was living with her. He saw her first thing in the morning with those gold-flecked eyes still clouded by dreams and hair that had yet to be tamed by product. He saw her last thing at night, curled up and looking as much a part of his home as the dogs that crowded her so lovingly now.
What if he admitted how he felt and suggested it would be better if she moved out? No. Hugo turned again and stared into the darkness towards his ceiling. To admit the desire would be to destroy the level of trust and friendship he had with Maggie. She would be shocked. And she would lose what Hugo had always tried to be for her. A brother. A father figure almost. To resign that position could be enough to send Maggie straight into the arms of the older man already in the wings.
The thought of Donald Hamilton was enough to cause an unpleasant clenching in Hugo’s gut. Had she kissed him? Was this new and unpleasant sensation jealousy? Hugo forced himself to take a deep breath and relax. No. It was just a deep unease. A conviction that Maggie was heading for trouble just as she had done so often in the past. And if Hugo sent her away he would be able to do nothing to protect her. Nothing to help glue the pieces back together after disaster had occurred.
He couldn’t ask her to leave and there was no real reason to. This was his problem, not Maggie’s, and he could deal with it. Lust was a transient phenomenon, especially when it carried this amount of heat. It would burn itself out and disappear. If he kept it well enough hidden it would not cause any damage to a relationship that Hugo had no intention of harming.
‘How did you sleep?’ Maggie was looking disgustingly refreshed when Hugo entered the kitchen the next morning.
‘Fine, thanks,’ Hugo lied. He blinked gritty eyes as he looked at the pot Maggie was stirring enthusiastically. ‘What on earth are you cooking?’
‘Porridge. I thought it might be just what the doctor would order for a chilly winter morning.’
Hugo grunted noncommittally as he stepped a little closer and peered at the bubbling contents of the pot. ‘Porridge is a bit boring, isn’t it?’
‘Not when you have brown sugar and whipped cream on it.’ Maggie licked her lips and Hugo turned away abruptly.
It was bad enough that Maggie was only half-dressed in an ancient T-shirt and track pants. The gap between the shirt and pants might be barely noticeable but in conjunction with her bare feet and bright toenails it was far too reminiscent of her belly-dancer’s costume. And the sight of a small, pink tongue wetting expectant lips was way too much to handle after last night’s contemplations. Maybe controlling how he felt was going to be far more traumatic than he had anticipated. How long would it take for lust to burn itself out anyway? Days? Weeks? Months? Hugo slumped into a chair at the end of the table with a sigh he had no hope of suppressing.
‘You sound tired.’ Maggie placed a bowl of porridge in front of Hugo and sat down to one side of him.
‘I’m fine,’ Hugo growled. There were six chairs at this table. Why did Maggie have to sit within touching distance?
‘Have some cream.’ Maggie’s finger collected a blob of whipped cream as she passed him the bowl. She popped her finger in her mouth and sucked it clean with obvious relish. ‘Mmm,’ she smiled. ‘Yum.’
Hugo closed his eyes in a very deliberate blink. Distraction was needed here. And it was urgent. Opening his eyes, he caught sight of the journal abandoned, probably by Maggie, in the centre of the dining table. Fortunately Maggie didn’t notice his haste in grabbing the potential rescue material. She was too busy spooning sugar onto her hot porridge and watching it melt into sticky, brown puddles.
‘I really must catch up on some reading.’ Hugo tried to sound casual. ‘And it’s about time I wrote up some of the interesting case histories I’ve collected. I might go through my files today when I’ve finished my ward round.’
‘Really?’ Maggie’s expression suggested that it was not an ideal way to spend a Sunday. It probably ranked quite highly on a rating scale for inducing boredom, in fact, but as Hugo watched a spoonful of porridge enter her mouth before he could drag his eyes away he knew it was his only possible salvation.
If he spent more time at the hospital then he’d be spending less time in Maggie’s company. Hugo finished his breakfast quickly and excused himself. A day away from home was definitely called for. In fact, more than a day might be just the solution he was searching for. The idea gained merit as Hugo drove towards the hospital. He could check out any upcoming conferences that appealed. It wouldn’t be any problem arranging locum cover by the team of GPs in the area and he had accumulated conference and study leave for some time now. It always seemed such an effort to pull himself away from his routine, and that was ridiculous. He was far too young to be stuck in a rut and even if he didn’t enjoy travelling particularly he would appreciate home even more when he returned.
He could go somewhere interesting. Adventurous, even. Acapulco or Egypt. That would impress Maggie. Might even show her that he had more than a little adventure in his soul. Hugo could just imagine showing her the photos and answering her eager questions. She’d probably say, more than once, ‘I wish I’d been there,’ and Hugo knew in that moment that the plan was a non-starter because he’d wish she had been there, too. The pleasure from the thought of sharing photos was insignificant compared with the notion of actually sharing the trip.
So what was the answer? Hugo marched along the main corridor of Lakeview Hospital with a heavy tread. He was several steps past a familiar picture hanging on the wall before a new notion presented itself. Could Joan be the answer? If nothing else, spending more time with Joan or even going away with her would be a guaranteed way of letting Maggie know she was safe. Then, even if he inadvertently let signs of his attraction to her slip, she would realise they meant nothing. But that would be using Joan and would a totally unacceptable form of behaviour.
Unless…
Hugo’s path towards the medical ward continued automatically as his mind focussed on something entirely unprofessional. Unless he could divert what he felt for Maggie to someone far more suitable. Like Joan. Maybe that was more than half the problem, in fact. He was suffering the effects of a less than satisfactory love life. Hugo had to stifle something like a smile. Being a born-again virgin was not necessarily healthy. If he spent more time with Joan it was quite possible he could fall in lust. She was, after all, an attractive woman and a physical relationship might be just what was needed to tip the balance. Hugo was quite confident that Joan would be receptive. All he needed was an opportunity or two to start turning up the heat.
By the time Hugo had completed a check on all his patients and spent some time in his office ignoring his filing cabinet he knew just how he could go about turning up that heat. He’d break the routine he and Joan had established. He could take her out to lunch instead of sharing a sandwich in the hospital staffroom with their colleagues. He could take her out for dinner on a Wednesday as well as Fridays. No, not Wednesday. That was Joan’s painting-class evening. A night out at a club or just a quick drink after work might do it. That would be ideal. He could just drop the suggestion in towards the end of a day. It didn’t have to be blatant. Even a casual invitation would be unusual enough to surprise Joan. She would know instantly that something had changed. That a signal was being given.
Confident that a feasible resolution was now in progress, Hugo found he could divert enough of his attention to find real distraction in his work. It wasn’t until he had spent a profitable afternoon engrossed in reading some fascinating medical literature and was driving home again that a refinement to his plan came as added inspiration. The signal idea was great, but what would make it perfect would be to be able to do it in front of Maggie.
That way, the signal would work in two directions. Joan would know that, at last, he was serious about taking their friendship to a new level and Maggie would know that he was no threat. He was not going to use the position in her life to take advantage of her and he was certainly not going to risk losing the gift of what she had brought back into his life.
And it was a gift. Hugo only had to glimpse Maggie running full tilt along the beach with the dogs in hot pursuit as he turned the Jeep into the woolshed to recognise that truth. Maggie was a link to his past. One that didn’t need to be shut away any more. They could talk about Felicity now and her name was often dropped into a conversation without thought. It was only natural that they both wanted to remember someone they had both loved and now they could do it without the pain. Instead of keeping them apart, Felicity now provided a bond of enormous strength. A bond that Hugo could not possibly have with anyone else.
Quite apart from that bond, Maggie represented the kind of attitude to life that Hugo had always denied himself. A willingness to take risks. A headlong enthusiasm for living that was a joy to be near. In measured doses it was precisely what Hugo needed in his life. Maggie was a perfect friend and their past association allowed Hugo to embrace the extra dimension it provided for his own life without any threat to the larger picture he had framed for his future.
Hugo hesitated for just a moment before climbing out of his vehicle. He needed just one more reminder that Maggie couldn’t possibly be anything more than a bonus before he could prepare himself to respond to the cheerful greeting he knew he was about to receive. Maggie was a wild card that added zest to a game. Added spice, like a few drops of her favourite chilli sauce to the glass of tomato juice that was Hugo’s life. The awful metaphor made Hugo smile. Or did the wry amusement stem from the tiny seed of a notion that he and Maggie could be more than friends?
An entertaining notion, yes, but totally impractical. Hugo only had to compare Maggie to Joan to reinforce how ludicrous such a notion was, and that was precisely what he found himself doing over the next few days.
Monday was a busy day for both the hospital and the ambulance service. Far too busy to provide any opportunity for Hugo to follow through on his plan to break routine and surprise Joan with an unexpected invitation. Two deliveries, one requiring assistance with forceps, kept both Joan and the other midwife, Sue, under pressure. Maggie dealt with a diabetic in a hypoglycaemic crisis, an epileptic with uncontrollable seizures, two episodes of chest pain and an elderly woman with a fractured neck of femur. More than once, Hugo glanced out from a window of the hospital to see Maggie at the wheel of an ambulance, beacons already flashing as she headed out, the siren kicking in when the vehicle was just far enough away from the hospital not to disturb its inpatients. Maggie was off, full tilt, to deal with another emergency.
And Joan was coping with the potential difficulty of the young mother in labour with her usual efficiency. Awareness of the implications seemed to reinforce her calm approach and she was only too happy to call on Hugo’s expertise and abdicate her position of being in control if necessary. Even as Hugo applied the forceps and helped the infant into the world, he was aware of a brief thought about Maggie. She was out there, somewhere, faced with heaven only knew what kind of problems and she would be coping, somehow, with whatever resources she could summon.
Joan’s pleasure in the successful outcome of her case was perfectly sincere and professional, with just a hint of her own joy in handling a new baby. Maggie, on the other hand, was positively crowing with pleasure at the transformation IV glucose had produced in her combative and difficult diabetic patient. Joan still looked as clean and tidy as she had when she’d come on duty. Maggie’s shirt-tail was hanging below the polar fleece vest she wore and her boots were scuffed and muddy.
Hugo almost tripped over those boots on Tuesday morning as he went to let the dogs out. The vest was lying over the arm of the couch and Maggie’s stethoscope had been abandoned on the kitchen bench. Items of underwear drooped from the heated towel rails in the bathroom and Hugo was quite convinced now that the bottles and pots of feminine necessities on the window-sill were breeding. Joan’s bathroom never looked like this. Not that that smooth blonde hair would ever need control from any kind of professional product, but if it did, Hugo could be absolutely certain that the container would be well hidden away. Hugo was smiling, however, as he dipped a finger into the little orange pot. He liked this fudge stuff. He never had to push his hair out of his eyes these days and it saved the hassle of having to fit such frequent haircuts into his schedule. His introduction to product was another little bonus of having Maggie around.
Joan wasn’t at work on Tuesday and Hugo didn’t have the time to make contact, being so busy fitting in the follow-ups on all the new inpatients Maggie had provided the previous day on top of his day at the medical centre. Joan had apparently kept herself busy at home because she had a new picture to show Hugo on Wednesday. A watercolour of autumn trees in Arrowtown.
‘It’s superb,’ Hugo told her. ‘You’ll have to put it in the exhibition.’
It was a lovely picture. Muted but very attractive. A bit like Joan’s character, really. Hugo could just imagine what the result might be if Maggie was let loose with paints and a canvas. The picture would be some kind of abstract—-a kaleidoscope of colour and shape that would be vibrant but definitely not restful to have on one’s wall. And Maggie would never attend a painting class as Joan did religiously every Wednesday evening, which precluded any point in issuing an invitation that day.
Thursday provided the most obvious comparison between the personalities of the two women. Not that it was any kind of competition, Hugo reminded himself. It was simply a means of identifying what he was looking for in a partner. A reinforcement of what he knew was the direction he needed to take.
Maggie had hurtled forth, under lights and siren, to bring in a woman who had gone into sudden and unexpected labour at thirty-six weeks into her pregnancy. Marie Jessop had noticed a slight spotting that morning but had called an ambulance when a sudden rush of blood had accompanied an unmistakable contraction. The bleeding had stopped by the time Maggie and Jason delivered Marie to the labour room but the contractions were now five minutes apart.
Joan and Hugo were both concerned about the woman’s condition and were disconcerted by the additional family members accompanying the ambulance crew. Marie’s four-year-old twin sons, Christopher and Max, were trotting behind the stretcher. Two-year-old Michelle was sitting on her mother’s feet.
‘We couldn’t leave them at home,’ Maggie said. ‘Dad’s a truck driver and is on the road for the day and the neighbour who usually babysits was out.’
Joan had a hospital gown ready for Marie and monitors set up to record the foetal heart rate and uterine contractions. She took the extras in her stride although her tone was slightly resigned.
‘Christopher and Max can sit in the waiting room,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty of toys and I’m sure they can look after Michelle until we can find a staff member who’s available.’
Maggie lifted Michelle from the end of the stretcher.
‘We want to stay with Mummy,’ Max added.
Hugo was helping to transfer Marie to the bed.
‘Contractions are five minutes apart,’ Maggie told him. ‘And Marie’s had good effect from breathing entonox. Estimated blood loss was about two hundred mils. Nothing since. Vital signs are all within normal limits.’
‘I told Dave not to go to Invercargill today.’ Marie sounded distressed. ‘I just knew something was going to go wrong.’
Maggie took the mouthpiece off the portable entonox cylinder. ‘He’s on his way back but it’ll be an hour or so before he gets here.’
She attached it to the tubing on the large cylinder in the labour room and pressed it into Marie’s hand as her agonised expression heralded another contraction. Jason was trying to push the stretcher from the room but was being hampered by the two small boys trying to climb aboard.
‘Shell had a ride. We want one, too.’
‘Do you want a hand getting Marie into a gown?’ Maggie asked Joan.
‘No. We’ll manage. You could take the children down to the waiting room if you like. That would be a help.’
Marie spat out her mouthpiece. ‘Can’t they stay here? I don’t want them where I can’t see them.’
‘I’ll get the toy box from the waiting room,’ Hugo decided. ‘They can play in the corner until we get sorted out.’
‘I’ll get out of the way,’ Jason said. He took the entonox cylinder from Maggie. ‘I’ll sort the gear and get the truck cleaned up.’
‘Thanks.’ Maggie had the feeling she’d better stick around for a few minutes at least. Joan was not looking pleased at having the children around. She pulled the curtain, screening the bed as she helped Marie into a hospital gown. Christopher stood on tiptoe beside the handbasin on the wall, pulled the handle hard and sent cold water gushing out with enough force to spray both himself and his brother. They both giggled.
‘I’ll get the toys, shall I?’ Maggie offered.
‘Thanks.’ Hugo wasn’t at all sure how to deal with the impending chaos. The last child in a delivery room under his management had been young Henry Cross, and that had been fraught until Joan had taken charge. Marie’s midwife had too much on her mind at present to deal with disruptive children and Hugo knew it would be virtually impossible to find any extra staff who weren’t busy. They were stretched for nursing cover anyway and Joan hadn’t expected to be in for anything other than a check on Monday’s new arrivals who needed attention prior to discharge.
An examination showed Marie’s labour to be progressing rapidly but normally despite the untoward beginnings, and Hugo was confident that Joan would be able to manage the birth. He was not unduly concerned about the baby’s early arrival either but would need to stay in case of any problems. Joan looked less calm than usual, probably because of the distractions in the room. Christopher was playing peek-a-boo with the curtain now and making Michelle shriek with laughter. Max was wriggling under the chair, hoping to catch his mother’s attention. He was highly unlikely to be successful.
‘I need to push,’ Marie gasped. ‘I want to sit up more.’
Hugo helped her change position. Joan cast a despairing glance at the children and took action. She pulled Max out from under the chair by his legs and stood him up. She grabbed Christopher’s hand and marched both boys to the corner of the room where Maggie had just deposited a large box.
‘Sit here quietly and play with the toys,’ she ordered. ‘If you’re good you’ll get an ice block.’ She leaned down until she was at eye level with the twins. ‘If you’re not good, you’ll get a smack.’
Hugo’s jaw sagged slightly but fortunately Marie was far too absorbed with what was going on in her body to have overheard the threat, and it certainly had the desired effect on the boys who sat down hurriedly with horrified expressions. Even Michelle co-operated and crawled over to join her brothers. Maggie, who was in the process of pulling some toys from the box, raised an eyebrow as she caught Hugo’s glance but said nothing.
The background noise of the children’s activity accompanied Marie’s next contraction and grew steadily. Michelle was happily hammering at a row of wooden pegs and Max was driving a toy truck up Christopher’s back. Joan’s face was grim as she stepped away from her patient for a second.
‘Could you, please, keep them a bit quieter?’ she snapped at Maggie.
The next thing Hugo saw was Maggie with Michelle in her arms and a finger to her lips, leading the two boys from the room. They followed with exaggerated tiptoeing steps, their fingers on their own lips and a look of delighted conspiracy on their faces.
For a while, the medical staff all forgot about both the paramedic and the children as they focussed on bringing Marie’s new daughter into the world safely. The baby was fine, the third stage of labour quite brief and only some minor stitching was required for Marie. It was as the final stitch was tied that they began wondering what had happened to the rest of Marie’s offspring.
‘Maggie will be looking after them,’ Hugo assured Marie. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll go and see where they’ve got to.’
Jason was alone in the duty room of the ambulance station. ‘I haven’t seen her,’ he told Hugo. ‘And we haven’t been paged for another job.’ He grinned. ‘She could be anywhere—especially if she’s got a bunch of kids to play with.’
Hugo went outside to check the small playground on the other side of the outpatient department but there was no sign of anybody. Thinking of the tasks piling up for him in the various wards with increasing urgency made the search irritating. It was just like Maggie to follow through on some plan of her own without considering its impact on others. And it certainly wasn’t the first time she had got into trouble with children.
Remembering the sight of the small boys tiptoeing after her from the labour room brought back a more distant memory of the day Maggie had absconded with her whole kindergarten class in tow. Where had she gone that day? Hugo snorted with unamused laughter. She had taken them all home and fed them every scrap of food she could find in her pantry. He changed direction and headed for the hospital kitchens.
Sure enough, there they were. Ethel, the hospital’s chief cook, was smiling at the scene in the corner of her domain. Christopher and Max were standing on chairs at a table, stirring something in a large basin. Maggie had Michelle propped on one hip as she upended a box of chocolate chips into the bowl.
‘We need lots of chocolate,’ Hugo heard her say firmly. ‘It’s good for you.’
‘Only in small doses.’
Maggie’s gaze lifted sharply and her delighted grin welcomed Hugo into the small adventure she had provided for the children. She had a dusting of flour on her face. And in her hair and all over the sticky-faced toddler in her arms. No doubt ice blocks had preceded the biscuit-making venture.
‘You’ve got a new sister,’ Hugo told the twins. ‘And Mummy wants to show her to you.’ He raised an eyebrow at Maggie. ‘Mummy had no idea where you all were.’
‘Oop, sorry.’ Maggie rubbed at the flour on her nose. ‘We only got the idea to make bikkies after we sneaked in here to find an ice block.’
‘We don’t want to see Mummy,’ Max informed Hugo. ‘We want to stay with Maggie.’
Chris nodded solemnly. ‘We don’t want a smack,’ he added.
‘You won’t get a smack,’ Hugo promised. Of course they wouldn’t. Joan wouldn’t have even made the threat unless she had been under extreme duress. Hugo knew how good Joan was with children. He also knew that she would use any reasonable means to keep order when necessary and that was a positive attribute. Maggie’s skills at providing alluring entertainment and being an irresistible ringleader were ideal for a babysitter or maybe an aunt, but imagine her as a mother! Life would be a total circus.
‘We need to go back now,’ he told the children sternly, ‘and visit Mummy. Daddy will be here in a few minutes.’
‘We’re almost finished.’ Maggie was apparently going to take the children’s side and undermine Hugo’s authority in spite of his sternness. ‘How about you go and tell Mummy we’ll be in to see her with a cup of tea and a bikkie in half an hour?’
Michelle had a chubby fistful of Maggie’s hair. She tugged it and Maggie’s nose wrinkled. ‘Ouch!’ She gave the toddler a quick kiss as she disentangled the small hand. ‘We’ll be as quick as we can,’ she promised Hugo. ‘And I’m sure Mummy and Daddy would appreciate a few minutes to themselves.’
Maggie still had traces of flour in her hair when Hugo saw her again late that day. Very late. It had taken so long to catch up with all his other patients that any opportunity to spend time with Joan had been lost. And now Hugo was too tired to even worry that nearly a week had gone by without the first step of his plan being implemented. Tomorrow wouldn’t work either because Joan was planning an early departure for her weekend in Dunedin. She had taken down many of her paintings from the hospital walls and intended to deliver them to the gallery owner in person.
She rang Hugo on Friday evening. ‘Mum’s not very well,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to stay on for a week or so. I’ve rung Sue and she’s happy to cover for me. We don’t have any scheduled deliveries coming up.’
‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’ The break in Joan’s routine was unusual enough to be disconcerting. ‘Can I help in any way?’
‘I’ll manage,’ Joan assured him. ‘I think it’s just a bug but it’s making her arthritis a lot worse. I want to go to the doctor with her and make sure everything possible’s being done.’
‘Of course. How did it go at the gallery?’
‘It was amazing. He loved the paintings.’ Joan hesitated for a moment. ‘Would you like to come up to Dunedin next weekend?’ she asked. ‘The exhibition is going to be opened on Saturday at five o’clock. Lots of people have been invited and it’s even going to be advertised in the newspaper. It’s really exciting, Hugh.’
‘It sounds exciting,’ Hugo agreed. ‘I’m so pleased for you, Joan.’ He glanced over to where Maggie was lying on the floor in front of the fire, one arm over Lass, the other tickling Tuck’s exposed chest. He hadn’t managed to send any signals via an invitation to Joan. Maybe accepting one from her was an even better idea. Especially when it would involve an overnight stay.
‘Saturday, did you say?’ He nodded a second later. ‘Sure. I’d love to come.’