With Love From Cape Town

Now that the heat of the day had passed, people were beginning to emerge from the cool shelter of their houses. Women were returning from the well, balancing enormous pots on their heads, while still others carried long sheaves of firewood in the same way. A number of schoolgirls mimicked the older women, balancing their school books in neat piles on top of their heads. It could have been a different world.

Robina pointed to a mud house with a neat fence and a small verandah where an old woman was rocking gently as she worked with her hands.

As Robina got out of the car, the old woman stood unsteadily, leaning heavily on a stick. When she saw Robina, a smile spread across her broad face. ‘Mzukulwana!’

Niall waited as Robina hugged her grandmother. There followed a long stream of words incomprehensible to Niall. Finally Robina stood back and beckoned him forward.

‘Niall, I’d like you to meet my grandmother. Makhulu, this is Dr Niall Ferguson.’ She repeated her words in the same language she had used to greet her grandmother and listened carefully to the reply.

‘My grandmother says you are welcome to her home and asks if you would sit. I’m afraid she only has a little English—she speaks mainly Xhosa.’

‘Could you tell her that I’m honoured to meet her?’ Niall said, taking the older woman’s hand. The old lady shook his hand warmly.

They sat on the verandah drinking tea as the shadows began to lengthen. Before long there was a group of curious women gathered in front of the house.

‘Sisi,’ they called. ‘Who is this good looking man you have brought to meet your grandmother?’ And then they added something in Xhosa that made Robina blush. She replied in the same language and it seemed from the appreciative laughter that she was giving as good as she got.

Niall could have sat there all afternoon just listening to the babble of voices and looking at Robina. He had never met anyone like her before—she was a strange mix of the modern and the traditional. One moment shy, the next joking with her grandmother’s neighbours and friends. He was happy, he thought, surprised. He hadn’t felt like this since Mairead had died.

Eventually Robina stood. ‘I have one more place to show you,’ she said as she kissed her grandmother goodbye. ‘Unless you want to get back to the hotel?’ she added anxiously. ‘Perhaps you’ve had enough for one day?’

Niall shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Right now there is nowhere I’d rather be than with you.’ Robina blushed again at his words and Niall knew she wasn’t immune to him either.

By the time they arrived at their next destination, the sun was beginning to set, casting a rosy hue over the mountains and turning the sea red-gold.

They pulled up outside a house set on its own, almost overhanging a cliff. Niall got out of the car and drank in the views. The front of the house seemed to be almost suspended over the waves that crashed against the rocks, spraying a fine mist. Below was a stretch of beach as far as the eye could see. There were no other houses in sight. They could have been the only people left on the planet. Perfect.

A notice-board outside the house proclaimed that the house was for sale and gave a number for enquiries.

Curious, Niall raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘This was my mother’s parents’ house,’ Robina said. ‘They lived here up until they retired to Gauteng a couple of years ago. They passed it on to my parents after that to use as a holiday cottage. It’s where I spent all my school holidays. Mum and Dad planned to move here when he retired, but then he died. Mum only recently got around to putting it up for sale—she can’t bear the thought of living in it without him. I’ll miss it when it sells.’

Niall followed her down a steep path by the side of the house onto the beach. Robina looked out at the ocean. ‘In spring and summer the whales come in here. When I was a little girl I would sit out here for hours watching them.’

Niall studied her. All of a sudden he had an image of the girl she must have been, sitting on the rocks, her knees pulled to her chest as she dreamed her childhood dreams. He smiled. The image was so different from this cool, elegant woman standing beside him.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Robina asked.

‘I don’t know. This, you, everything. It’s the first time I’ve felt…’ he struggled to find the right words ‘…at peace since Mairead died.’

Niall sat on a rock and threw a stone into the sea, where it skidded across the water.

‘Tell me about her,’ Robina said, finding her own rock close to him to perch on. They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Niall started to speak.

‘I’d known her since I was a child. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t around. We both grew up in a place called Applecross in the far north-west of Scotland. Our parents were good friends. She was younger than me, and at first she used to irritate me the way she kept hanging around. But eventually, as boys do, I started to notice that she wasn’t a pesky kid any more but a pretty teenager with a mind of her own. I went away to university and when I came back after qualifying I discovered that the once irritating tomboy had turned into a beautiful, funny and amazing woman. We fell in love, married and moved to Edinburgh. We tried for kids for years—I guess that’s what sparked my interest in fertility—and finally we were blessed with Ella. It seemed as if life couldn’t get any better. My career was going well, Mairead loved being a stay-at-home mum, and she seemed content to have only one child. I have never known a woman so satisfied with her lot.’

The familiar ache seeped into his chest. This was the first time he had talked about his wife. He had never been a man to talk about himself and was surprised he could now. Robina, listening in silence, made it easy.

‘That’s more or less it. Two years ago she started getting bruises. She told me it was nothing, just her being clumsy, and I guess I chose to believe her. But one day the bruising was so bad, I forced her to see a colleague of mine. He diagnosed aplastic anaemia. Three weeks later she was dead. Ella was only two years old.’

He felt a cool hand slip into his. ‘I’m so sorry, Niall. It must have been hard.’

But Niall felt he had said more than enough—too much, in fact. Whatever he wanted from this woman, it wasn’t pity. Something stirred inside as he looked at her. For the first time since Mairead had died, he wanted another woman. This woman. Before he could stop himself he leaned towards her and found her lips. They were cool under his own and as they parted he groaned and kissed her with a hungry need he’d thought he’d never feel again.

His heart was pounding as she returned his kisses with a passion that matched his own. Eventually they broke apart, both breathing heavily. As Robina looked at him shyly, he stood and pulled her to her feet.

‘Come back with me,’ he said, knowing that he couldn’t bear to leave her.

‘What? To your hotel room?’ She blushed, the redness darkening her honey skin.

‘Yes. There first.’

Robina shook her head, her blush deepening. ‘I’m sorry…I can’t.’

He froze. It hadn’t crossed his mind that she wouldn’t be free. But why not? A woman like her was bound to be involved. ‘Why?’ He forced the words past a throat gone dry. ‘Are you in love with someone else?’

‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ Squaring her shoulders, she tilted her chin proudly. ‘I know it may be old-fashioned, but I don’t believe in sex before marriage,’ she said primly.

Niall threw back his head and laughed, pulling her back into his arms at the same time. He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Then we are going to have to spend a lot more time together.’ He cupped her face and traced her high cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. ‘I’m going to enjoy getting to know everything about you.’ Then he remembered they had hardly any time. ‘Will you come and see me in Scotland?’ he asked urgently.

Robina’s lips parted as she turned her face to his. ‘Just try and stop me,’ she said before he brought his mouth back down on hers.

Chapter Two

‘NO WAY! It’s out of the question!’ Niall slammed his mug down on the desk, noticing but not giving a damn as the coffee splashed across his desk.

‘Really?’ Robina raised perfectly groomed eyebrows. ‘Why not?’ she asked, her calm, cool tones underpinning the determination in her dark eyes. Niall leaned back in his chair. The woman he had met a year ago was almost unrecognisable behind the practised, almost cold, façade.

‘Why not?’ he echoed incredulously before lowering his voice. ‘Surely you can see why it’s impossible?’

‘Let’s keep this professional,’ she responded calmly, but he flinched inwardly from the reproach in her eyes. How could brown eyes, the colour of acacia honey, which had once sparkled up at him with suppressed laughter, now look so distant? ‘Why don’t you give me your reasons and I’ll respond to each one in turn?’

‘For a start, there’s patient confidentiality. Then there is the fact that these are a particularly vulnerable group of women, and then finally, if all that weren’t enough, how do you expect us to work with cameras in our faces? We’d be tripping over wires, sound recordists and God knows who all else. That’s why it’s impossible.’

‘Quite the opposite.’ Robina crossed one slim leg over the other, only the tightening of her lips giving away her determination to have her own way. ‘But let’s take each of your objections in turn, shall we?’ She tapped her pen against her lips. ‘Patient confidentiality; we will, naturally, check with the patients whether they are prepared to appear on camera. Only those who are one hundred per cent happy and who our company psychologist thinks can handle it will be asked to participate, and they will be allowed to withdraw their permission at any time. Secondly, yes, they are a particularly vulnerable group of women, I agree. Anyone going through or considering IVF has usually been on a very emotional journey before seeking treatment. However, that is the very reason why making a documentary of this kind is important. It will provide an insight into the process that cannot be gleaned from books on the subject, no matter how detailed or how professional.’ She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Even my book on infertility, popular though it is, cannot truly prepare women for what it is really like to undergo treatment. Following the actual experiences of other women, on the other hand, will. That’s why this documentary should be made.’ She tilted her head, and raised a questioning eyebrow at him, daring him to find a fault in her argument.

Niall started to interrupt, but she held up a manicured hand, stopping him. ‘And papers published in medical journals, no matter how worthy or how accurate, simply do not deal properly with the emotional aspect of infertility. And that is the angle we wish to focus on. Women considering IVF will be able to see first hand what a roller-coaster ride it can be, and the effect failed treatment can have on couples, before they decide whether or not to proceed with treatment. Of course we will portray the other side too. The fact that IVF has given so many women—and their partners—the opportunity to have the children they so desperately want.’

He had to admire the way she demolished his arguments. But he had seen her in action before. In front of the camera, faced with an expert from a medical field, she never let them bamboozle her or the audience with science. No, he had to admit, although it pained him, she had a knack of making even the most complicated medical condition understandable to the layperson.

‘And as for staff getting in the way, you’ll hardly know we’re there, I promise you.’

‘The answer is still no,’ he said. ‘This is my unit and as long as I’m in charge, I will decide what is and what isn’t allowed.’

Once again the eyebrow was raised. ‘I have to say that view sounds a little dictatorial. Is that really how you like to run things?’ Her lips twitched. ‘And I thought you took pride in being up to date, cutting edge in fact.’

Niall gritted his teeth. It was a sly dig and they both knew it. Just as he opened his mouth to retaliate there was a brief knock on the door and Lucinda Mayfair walked into the room. The unit’s general manager was in her early fifties with short grey hair and a wide, determined mouth. Niall had worked with her for a number of years and although they had had their differences of opinion, he had enormous respect for her skills. Without her fighting their corner it was unlikely that the unit would have gained the recognition it had as the foremost centre in the UK, even given his international reputation.

‘I’m sorry I had to leave you to get started without me.’ Lucinda’s smile relaxed the severe contours of her face. Despite her fearsome reputation, and her forbidding exterior, she had a soft heart. More than once he had seen her eyes suspiciously moist when a patient had been given the news they so desperately wanted or sometimes, sadly, dreaded.

Lucinda had shared his dream of making the unit the best in the UK, and so far, working together, with the support of their hand-picked team, they had succeeded. Which, he thought grumpily, they couldn’t have done, if it had been anything except cutting edge.

‘Don’t you think Robina’s idea is great, Niall?’ Lucinda continued.

Niall frowned. It seemed that they were on opposite sides in this argument. Still, they had been before and he had always managed to talk Lucinda round. He didn’t foresee any difficulties this time either.

‘I have just been telling Robina that it’s impossible. We’re a working unit. We certainly don’t have time to appear on a TV show. God, is there no aspect of life that reality TV doesn’t want to ferret around in?’

‘Niall,’ Lucinda said warningly, ‘you and I need to talk about this. And as for people ferreting around, as you so elegantly put it, Robina’s a doctor and completely professional. She’s not going to go about this in an insensitive manner. You know that.’

Robina stood, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from her beautifully cut Chanel suit. Every inch the professional media woman, Niall thought. Looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But there had been times lately when he’d thought he’d seen naked pain in the depths of her deep brown eyes.

‘Why don’t I leave you two to discuss it? I need to get back to the office. We can speak later.’

As she bent to drop a kiss on Lucinda’s cheek, Niall studied Robina surreptitiously. Her closely cropped dark hair, long neck and high cheekbones, along with her chocolate skin, all added to the exotic look known to thousands, if not millions, of viewers. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. At least five-ten, she was slim, recently almost painfully so. If she had chosen a life as a model, Niall had no doubt she would have been equally successful.

Robina walked around to Niall’s side of the desk and bending, kissed him on the cheek.

‘I’ll see you at home, darling. Try not to be too late. You know Ella won’t go to sleep unless she can kiss you goodnight. Make sure he leaves on time, won’t you, Lucinda?’

And with that, Niall watched his wife sweep out the door.

‘Robina gets more beautiful every day,’ Lucinda said wistfully. ‘How she manages it, looking after a young child with a full-time job and her writing, is beyond me. She must be some kind of superwoman! I hear she has a new book coming out in the spring.’

The last thing Niall wanted to talk about was his wife and her career, particularly since she hadn’t even mentioned until now that her company was thinking of doing a documentary in his unit. There was no doubt in his mind that the two women had been planning the project long before he had been told about it, and he was furious. How had Robina managed to get to Lucinda without him knowing? Robina must have known damn well he would oppose the project, and not just for the reasons he’d outlined earlier. For her even to be thinking about doing the documentary was crazy. It was far too soon and far too close to home. But that was probably why she had gone directly to Lucinda. The unit’s general manager didn’t know about the baby and even if she did, it wouldn’t have crossed her mind that he and Robina hadn’t discussed the documentary beforehand. Neither could Lucinda even guess that he and his wife were barely on speaking terms these days, and that the kiss Robina had deposited on his cheek had all been part of the façade they kept up in front of others.

‘What in God’s name made you think I would agree to this?’ he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. ‘We should have discussed it before you set up the meeting with Robina.’

Lucinda looked at him warily. ‘Money,’ she said flatly. ‘Real Life Productions will be paying a lot for this. Money that we could use either for research or to help sponsor more women into the programme.’

Niall hated the funding aspect of the unit, hated anything that took him away from his patients or his research, and was only too happy to leave the finances of the unit in her capable hands.

‘I was sure you and Robina had talked about this.’ Lucinda’s grey eyes were puzzled. ‘Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with the meeting. I assumed when Robina came to me that you must have agreed in principle.’

Niall returned her gaze steadily. The last thing he was prepared to discuss was his personal life.

‘Money isn’t the only issue here,’ he said evasively. ‘I see no reason why we should be selling our soul to the devil, and believe me that’s exactly what we’d be doing. We’d be exploiting the very women who come to us for help.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t see it that way. Not at all.’ Lucinda regarded him severely and Niall groaned when he saw the determination in her eyes. ‘We do need the money, Niall. You are always waiving fees.’ She threw up her hands anticipating his protest. ‘And I support you. But we can’t keep doing it. If we don’t generate some extra funding, and soon, we’ll have to start turning away all non-paying patients, and neither you nor I want to do that.’

Niall was stunned. He’d had no idea that the unit was in financial difficulty.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he demanded. ‘You and I are supposed to be partners.’

‘I tried to tell you.’ Lucinda drew a weary hand across her brow. ‘But it is so hard to pin you down these days. You are always so damned preoccupied with one thing or another.’

Niall looked at her sharply. Her eyes looked hollow; her mouth pinched with fatigue. He felt a pang of guilt. Why hadn’t he noticed? But even as he thought the question he knew the answer—because he had been too busy trying to block out everything except his work.

‘The trouble is, Niall, between your patients and your research, it’s almost impossible these days to catch you so we can have a discussion about the business side of things.’

Niall knew she was right. He had little patience for the business side of things, as she put it, at the best of times. And lately, well, he’d had other stuff on his mind. But nevertheless he should have noticed that something was wrong. He shouldn’t have let Lucinda carry the burden on her own. The trouble was that he had become used to her taking care of the financial aspects of running the unit and had been only too happy to let her get on with it. He felt a fresh spasm of guilt.

‘We can find the extra funding from elsewhere, from my own pocket if necessary.’

Lucinda half smiled. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but your pocket—generous as it’s been—isn’t enough any more. The kind of money we need has to come from ongoing investment. The kind of investment that would come from a documentary such as the one your wife, or at least the company she represents, is proposing. But,’ she continued, ‘that aside, I would never even consider it, not even for millions of pounds, if I didn’t think it was a good idea. But I have to agree with Robina. Infertility is something so many women suffer from, and I think it is in the public interest to inform a wider audience of the reality. As for your concerns, I’m sure Robina has told you that only patients who are willing to share their experiences on TV will appear and we will, of course, ask them to sign the appropriate waivers. It will be an inconvenience to us, I admit that, but there must be ways we can minimise the disruption. At least say you’ll think about it.’

Niall stood and crossed over to the older woman. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. ‘I’ve been selfish,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about funding on your own. Why don’t you give me a copy of the latest financial forecast and I’ll look at it over the weekend? Then we will talk again,’ he promised. ‘But in the meantime I have a clinic about to start. Could we discuss this again on Monday?’

Lucinda nodded and then smiled up at him. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘don’t beat yourself up. If you weren’t so obsessed with work, the clinic wouldn’t have such a fine reputation.’

‘You’ve made your point,’ Niall said, smiling. ‘The last thing I want to do is turn patients away, knowing that we are their last hope.’

‘Like the Dougans?’ Lucinda said, referring to a couple Niall had talked to her about the day before. Ineligible for treatment on the NHS, they had paid for one cycle of treatment, which hadn’t worked. Mr Dougan had recently lost his job, and there was no way the couple could afford to pay for another cycle of IVF.

‘I did tell them we’d only be able to offer them one cycle free—we still have enough in our endowment pot for that, surely?’

Lucinda smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, but barely. Without raising more funds, the Dougans might be the last couple we’ll be able to subsidise. I know you mean well, Niall, but we have salaries to pay as well as our not inconsiderable overheads. We are a business after all.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’d better get to your clinic. We’ll discuss it again after the weekend. I’m a great believer that, one way or another, things have a habit of working out.’

When she’d left the room Niall closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the image of his wife from his mind. If only Lucinda knew the truth she wouldn’t be so quick to tell him things had a habit of working out. It was ironic, really. He and his wife spent so much time trying to help others with their lives, yet they couldn’t seem to do a thing about the almighty mess they had made of their own.

Robina rushed into the house, glancing at her watch. It was almost seven! She had planned to be home earlier so she could sit with Ella while she had her supper and then read her a story before bed. It was the one time in the day that was precious to her. When she was in the middle of filming, she’d often have to spend the night in London, returning late the following evening. So while her show was off the air, and when she was based at home in Edinburgh, she tried to be home at a decent hour whenever she could—especially when it was unlikely that Niall would be home before her. He often worked late particularly when he knew she was around, so that he could have most of the weekends free to spend with his daughter.

But to her surprise, as she flew into the kitchen discarding her bag and coat in the hall, she saw his dark head bent over Ella as he helped her cut up her fish fingers. Robina’s heart squeezed as she paused in the doorway. They were so alike, from the determined mouth to the clear blue eyes. Similar too in temperament. Both equally stubborn. Both so dear to her.

Niall looked up. For a second she thought she saw a flicker of warmth in his blue eyes, but she knew she was mistaken when the familiar coolness cloaked his expression. Despite herself, her spirits drooped with disappointment. When would she ever truly accept that it was over between them? They were married, but for the last few months in name only. God, they could barely be civil to each other these days.

Niall looked at his watch. ‘We expected you home earlier,’ he said.

‘Sorry, I got caught up at the office.’ Robina bent to kiss her stepdaughter, who flung her arms around her neck. She savoured the feel of the little girl’s marshmallow-soft skin under her lips and the dear, familiar smell of her. Whatever differences she and Niall had, she couldn’t love Ella more had she given birth to her, even if she were a constant reminder of Niall’s first wife—and an even more painful reminder of the baby she had lost too early, five short months after their marriage. But all that would have been bearable if only she could be coming home to a husband who loved her. Someone who would want to know about the trivia of her day and would rub the tension from her shoulders, making everything seem all right.