DESPITE LEAVING LONDON three days ago, Vivienne still wasn’t here.
It could only happen to her. There had been no direct flights available, so she’d taken a whole host of journeys that had bounced her halfway around the globe in order to reach him. She’d had delays, cancellations, engine failure and then an air traffic control strike to contend with. Duc stared at his watch, his eyes flicking back to the arrivals doors at Hanoi airport. Each text had seemed just a little more frantic than the one before.
His stomach was clenched in an uncomfortable knot. It had been this way since he’d got the initial news about his mother and father. He could barely remember packing up his rented apartment, or his flight from Philadelphia to Hanoi. By the time he’d reached the May Mắn Hospital and Lien and her new husband had rushed out to meet him, he had been numb.
There had been a string of traditions and rites around the funeral to take care of. So many people had visited that Duc felt as if he’d worn his white funeral clothes for three days straight. He knew it was because people wanted to pay their respects but keeping his expression in place had been hard.
In the meantime, the hospital had to be kept running. The staff were distraught. The leaders and motivators that they’d worked with for years were gone, and he could see everyone look at him with wariness in their eyes.
By the time he’d buried his mother and father he’d been exhausted. What he really wanted to do was climb back onto a plane and forget anything like this had ever happened. He’d spent the last week hoping someone would pinch him in an on-call room and this whole thing would just have been some kind of monumental nightmare.
Something flickered at the side of his vision. Then a sound. It started as a tinkling laugh that grew into something much deeper and heartier.
His heart gave a little leap. There was only one person who had a laugh like that.
Even though he was tall, he stood on tiptoe to try and catch his first glimpse of her in amongst the exiting crowds.
There. Vivienne was talking animatedly to a rather frail, elderly gentleman, her arm interlinked through his. Her red curls were tumbling down her back in loose waves, a white shirt knotted at her waist and a pair of cut-off denim shorts showing off her long legs.
The original pretty woman. It was what everyone said as soon as they looked at her. Only her Scottish accent betrayed her similarities to the famous actress.
He could see heads turn as she sauntered past. Her casual grace was always noticeable. There weren’t too many people here who looked like Viv.
Duc watched as she guided the man over towards his family, walking easily with him as if she had known him all her life. She was in nurse mode. He could tell. People watching would think it was a grandfather and granddaughter, not just some random Scots girl who’d befriended the elderly man on the flight to make sure he was okay. Duc couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips—the first time he’d smiled in days. Only Vivienne. He watched as she brought the man safely to his family, shaking hands with them all, before turning around and scanning the crowd until finally catching Duc’s gaze.
She didn’t hesitate. Her face lit up. She dropped her bags at her feet and ran over to him, jumping up and winding her legs around him. She didn’t even say a word. She just buried her face deep into his neck and held on tight.
He could see the amused glances from people close by—as if they were witnessing a pair of lovers reunited. But somehow Duc didn’t feel the urge to explain. Just the press of her body against his felt good.
He closed his eyes for a second too and just held her there, letting the heat from her body sink into his. His senses were flooded as the familiar aroma of orange blossom from her shampoo drifted around him.
For an instant in time he was in an entirely different place. One where he hadn’t received the call about his parents when he was about to walk into surgery. One where he hadn’t had to come here and bury the mother and father he’d unrealistically thought would probably live for ever. One where his current career plans weren’t up in the air as he was left with a number of hospitals to run.
Nope. He was in a bubble. A Vivienne-sized bubble. The things he’d craved in the last few days swept over him. Reassurance. Safety. The ability to just be Duc, instead of the bereaved son putting on a brave face—that was the range of feelings that overwhelmed him. Viv was here. She would help him. She would help him sort all this out and get back to the life he truly wanted.
He blinked back the tears that flooded into his eyes. He’d waited days to do this. To feel his friend in his arms and know that someone would have his back. Part of him wished they could teleport out of this airport and straight back to his room so he could crumple on the sofa.
His back was stiff and every muscle in his body ached from keeping it together. He’d nodded his head so many times it was now almost on autopilot. He’d shaken hands with so many old and familiar faces. But for some reason it hadn’t brought the comfort he’d thought it would.
This was what he needed. That was what he’d craved.
She pulled her head up, her pale blue eyes just inches from his. ‘I stink,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days.’ She jumped down.
Instantly, his bubble was gone.
‘I’ve smelled worse.’ He smiled as he grabbed one of her cases and she slid her arm through his.
As soon as they stepped outside into the warm humid air of Hanoi, Viv started fanning herself. Her brow creased. ‘Was it this hot the last time we came here?’
‘Hotter,’ he replied. He had a car waiting for them outside the airport building and he opened the door for her and waited until she slid inside. He bent his head inside. ‘And we need to discuss your clothing.’ He winked and pointed at her long bare legs. ‘Those? They’re a banquet for the mosquitos around here.’
He closed the door and walked around to the other side, climbing in, closing the door and letting her lean back against the cool leather seats. The air-conditioning was on full blast.
‘Wait until you get to the hospital. There’s a new guy. He was a GP from Scotland. You two will be able to cackle away to each other in Glaswegian, and no one else will have a clue what you’re saying.’
She turned her head and raised one eyebrow—a move Viv had perfected years before. ‘Cackle?’
He laughed, something that came from deep inside him. But the release of the laugh made his shoulders shake in a way he couldn’t quite work out, then his arms and his hands.
It was almost as if a switch had been flicked somewhere deep down inside. By the time the tears started to fall down his cheeks, Viv had slid across the leather and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Duc,’ she said quietly, ‘what am I going to do with you?’
It wasn’t really a question. And he knew that—and was glad, because he couldn’t possibly answer it. All the emotions he’d bottled up from the last few days just seemed to come tumbling out.
The frustration. The anger. The grief. All while Vivienne held him and the city sped past outside.
This wasn’t what he’d wanted. It had been years since she’d visited Hanoi. He’d expected to point out some of the sights to her, and then talk to her about the current issues at the hospital. He couldn’t do that when he was struggling to even breathe.
It was like she read his mind.
‘Count to ten,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘We’ll do it together.’
Her voice was slow and steady. ‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.’
She did it again. Then again.
Each time she slowed her speech down more, making his breaths longer and smoother. One of her hands rubbed his back while the other intertwined her fingers with his.
By the time he realised that the car had stopped outside the May Mắn Hospital he felt as if he was back to normal—or as normal as he could feel.
He ran one hand through his hair and shook his head, almost embarrassed to look Viv in the eye. This was the last thing he wanted to do.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Why?’ she said simply, as she moved back over to the other side of the car and picked up her bag. ‘I’m your best friend. If you can’t be like this with me, then who can you be like this with?’
She opened the door before he had a chance to say anything else, stretching out her back and facing the pale yellow hospital. ‘Now,’ she said loudly in her no-nonsense Scottish accent, ‘before anything else—can you show me where the shower is?’
And for the first time in days things finally felt as if they might be a bit better.