With Love From Cape Town

He hadn’t realised how little he would see of her. How much her new job would take her away. Then when, to the delight of both of them, she had fallen pregnant, it had seemed that everything was going to work out fine. After the series finished she would take time off to prepare for their child. At last they could begin to be a family. But, boy, had he got that wrong! Whilst he’d assumed she’d spend less time at work, she had worked even harder, determined to establish her career before the baby arrived.

Two days before she had miscarried they had argued bitterly. Robina had returned home from London looking exhausted. She had barely managed to find the energy to eat and Niall was worried that she was losing weight.

‘You need to slow down, Robina. You can’t keep working at this pace.’ He tossed the words down like a gauntlet.

‘I will, soon. C’mon, Niall, you and I both know that pregnancy isn’t an illness. In Africa, women often keep working until days before the baby is born.’ She touched him gently on the cheek, but he grasped her hand and held it in his. He knew if he allowed her to touch him, he’d end up wanting to take her to bed. God knew, that was the one thing that was still okay, more than okay, between them.

‘You can’t keep burning the candles at both ends. You’re working on the show then on your book and they still want you to do public appearances. It’s too much.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t think I should do the show?’ she retorted, a dangerous glint in her deep brown eyes.

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. It’s all too much. And what about after the baby is born? I thought we agreed you’d be staying at home to look after it and Ella.’

‘Did we?’ Her eyes deepened and her full, generous mouth tightened. ‘Is that why you married me, Niall? To provide a full-time mother for your child and any other children you might want? Because, and let me make this clear, I am not Mairead. I’m not the kind of woman to give up her career just to submit myself to my husband’s wishes.’

‘Leave Mairead out of this,’ he responded furiously.

‘But I can’t, can I? Not when she’s everywhere. I’m living in her house, married to her husband, looking after her child. How can I possibly leave her out of this?’ Suddenly a shadow crossed her eyes. ‘I know she was a wonderful woman. God knows, everyone tells me, and I can see it for myself.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her. She’s dead, for God’s sake.’

‘I’m not jealous of her, Niall,’ Robina responded quietly, ‘I just can’t live up to her any longer. I will never be good at what she was. I can’t cook, I can’t sew, I’m not good at sports, all I am good at is my job. Please don’t take that away from me.’

But he refused to see what she was so desperately trying to tell him. That night they went to bed, but instead of reaching for each other, they lay stiffly side by side, neither prepared to give an inch. Two days later, she went into labour, losing their baby, a little boy, at 12 weeks. The memory of Robina’s face, tight with fear and pain, still tormented him. She had looked at him, needing him to do something, anything, to stop her losing the baby—but for the second time in his life, he had been powerless to help. The sadness in his wife’s eyes when she had known that there was nothing anyone could do had almost torn him apart. When he had tried to comfort her, she had turned away. Then, a few days later, she had been in ITU with an infection, fighting for her life, and he had been terrified he was about to lose her. Robina’s illness had brought back memories of Mairead and the gut-wrenching weeks and days leading up to his first wife’s death. He hadn’t been able to save Mairead and the thought he was going to lose Robina too had almost driven him mad with fear.

Not once had they spoken about their child or the fact that Robina was probably infertile. They had never shared their grief, or given or taken the slightest amount of comfort from one another, and one way or another their marriage had never recovered. When Robina had come home from hospital she had asked him to move into the spare room, saying that she wanted time and space on her own for a while. After a couple of weeks he had suggested he move back into their bed, but she had shaken her head and asked for more time. He didn’t ask her again and that was the way it had been ever since.

Niall dragged a hand through his hair. It was a mess. And for once in his life, he didn’t have a clue what to do.

Robina had been watching him in silence. He wondered what she was thinking.

‘Our baby would be due in a couple of weeks.’ Robina spoke softly, almost to herself. ‘Just about the anniversary of the day we met. Seeing baby Matthew just now…’ Her voice shook ‘…was so hard.’

The familiar mask he had become too used to seeing slipped for a moment. Right now she looked so vulnerable, so sad, so different from the public persona which was all he ever saw these days. For the first time in months he glimpsed the Robina he had met and fallen in love with. He wanted to gather her into his arms but he was afraid to break the spell. It was the first time she had mentioned the baby and Niall felt a surge of hope. Perhaps this documentary wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Not if it meant they would start talking. He sat in silence, waiting for her to continue, but just then there was a knock and Sally burst into the room.

‘Dr Ferguson, I need you to come and see one of our ladies. I think she might have OHSS.’

Niall was torn. He wanted to comfort his wife, seize the moment when she had opened up to him, but if Sally was right and the patient did have ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome, he needed to see her straight away. Although in the early stages the condition was fairly benign, it was still a potentially life-threatening illness.

Robina also jumped to her feet, the professional mask back on her face.

‘I think you should stay here,’ Niall said firmly. ‘I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I can.’

When Sally and Niall left the room, Robina slumped back down in her chair. Just for a moment there she had been ready to talk to Niall, and it looked as if he had been ready to listen. But the moment had passed, and Robina wondered whether she would find the strength to raise the subject again.

After a working lunch, where Robina and John had a look over the clips they had filmed, Robina went in search of Niall.

‘I have decided to admit our lady with the suspected OHSS,’ Niall told her.

‘Would you mind explaining the condition for our viewers?’ Robina asked. When Niall nodded, Robina signalled to John to start filming.

‘Infertility treatment, although fairly benign,’ Niall said thoughtfully, ‘is not without its risks. We do our best to minimise these, which is why we take blood and scan our patients every couple of days and readjust their treatment protocol as appropriate.’ Although his expression was serious, he looked calm and relaxed. This was his field and he knew it well. ‘Sometimes the hormones we prescribe over-stimulate the ovaries and it can lead to very real complications, which if not treated can lead to the kidneys failing, and even death. It is rare, but something we take very seriously. Thankfully, we have never had a full-blown case, but on average one woman dies every year in the UK from this condition.’

‘I wonder how many women know and understand the risk,’ Robina said quietly.

‘We do tell them—we make a point of it. If we didn’t we’d be negligent,’ Niall replied.

‘Does it ever put anyone off?’

Niall smiled wryly. ‘I think you know the answer to that. And anyway, as long as patients are monitored closely, as most are, the chance of it happening is greatly reduced.’

‘But you had a potential case today,’ Robina persisted. ‘So it does happen.’

Niall narrowed his eyes at her. ‘As I said, it is a risk and one that we manage. I admitted the patient who presented with symptoms of OHSS to the ward this morning, but more because she was anxious. I fully expect her to be discharged tomorrow.’

Robina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Niall held up a hand.

‘Whatever anyone might think, we always have the health of the mother foremost in our minds. But any pregnancy, whether through IVF or through normal intercourse, carries a risk, however careful the expectant mother or however vigilant those looking after her are. We can’t always guarantee a positive outcome.’

This time he looked directly into her eyes and she knew that he meant his words for her. He lowered his voice. ‘No matter how much we wish we could.’ He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, and Robina caught her breath at the intensity in his eyes. For a few moments there was silence, then Niall stood.

‘I will be doing the Strains’ embryo transfer this afternoon,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I understand they are one of the couples who wish to appear on your documentary.’

Hiding the fact that her emotions were all over the place, Robina rifled through her papers and found their name. In total ten couples had agreed to be part of her programme. Most of them already knew her work from television and were keen to do anything to help other couples. One or two of them had even read her Guide to Infertility, the book that had started her new career.

‘Trevor and Christine. They are a lovely couple, I interviewed them yesterday to get their back story. I understand this is their first attempt?’

‘Yes, and I’m optimistic. This time the problem, if you can call it that, lies with Christine’s partner. He has a very low sperm count, so we did a procedure called ICSI. It is where we searched for and selected motile—that is swimming—sperm from Trevor’s semen sample and injected one directly into each of the eggs we retrieved from Christine. She responded well to the drug protocol we prescribed for her, and we managed to remove a good number of eggs. And because we injected the sperm directly into the egg, we managed to fertilise several embryos. You can go into the lab some time if you like to see how it’s done. It involves a high level of expertise and a very steady hand—so no drinking for our embryologists the night before.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, they’ll be here about three for the transfer of their embryo back into the uterus. But I want to make it clear that if they change their mind about you being there, you must respect that. Even if they have given permission before.’

‘Of course!’ Robina replied, stung. ‘Niall, you need to remember that I was a GP—I still am. I have taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. And that means psychological as well as physical.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Niall looked contrite. ‘That was uncalled for. I know you could never be accused of being unprofessional. Forgive me?’ He smiled at her, and her heart flipped.

‘Anyway,’ Niall said, looking serious again, ‘please remember if you are planning to come into Theatre you can’t wear perfume or make-up. Not even deodorant. Is that clear? We don’t want to risk affecting the embryos in any way.’

‘Clear as crystal,’ Robina replied, before turning on her heel and going in search of her team.

Later, in Theatre, Robina watched from a safe distance while the staff prepared Christine for the transfer.

The clinic hadn’t stinted on equipment, Robina thought approvingly, taking in the latest high-tech anaesthetic monitor and ultrasound scanner. Niall, dressed as all the staff were, including Robina and John as well as Mr Strain, in blue scrubs, slowly and carefully replaced the embryo into Mrs Strain’s uterus. The procedure didn’t take long, but although Christine joked with Sally, there was an undercurrent of tension in the room. All anyone could do now was wait.

‘Patients tell us the next couple of weeks are the worst time of the whole process.’ Sally addressed Robina while looking at Mrs Strain. ‘Up until this point it’s all still possible. They see us regularly, but when they go away from here after the ET—the embryo transfer—there is nothing more they, or we, can do. Whether the embryo implants or not is in the lap of the gods. Patients tell us it’s the longest wait of their lives.’

Niall half smiled at Christine. ‘I wish we could make this part easier, but we can’t. If you do want to speak to us—if you have any worries at all—you get on the phone. Don’t worry that we’ll think your question is trivial, we’d rather you asked. Okay?’

Christine nodded.

‘We’ll let you rest for half an hour or so, then you’re free to go,’ Sally said. ‘We’ll see you when you come back for your urine test. In the meantime, we’ll all be thinking of you.’

Once again, Robina marvelled at the way that the staff genuinely seemed to care about every one of their patients. It was as if every pregnancy mattered personally to every member of staff. Niall had managed to gather the best possible team around him. No wonder he was so wrapped up in his work.

Later that evening, Robina was getting Ella ready for bed. Niall had telephoned to say he would be late as he had a paper to finish but he wanted to say goodnight to Ella. Robina couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. Despite everything that had happened, she still missed him when he wasn’t there and she had been looking forward to discussing the day’s events with him.

They had come close to talking back in the clinic. Maybe there was still a chance they could start talking again—maybe even find a way back to each other.

She handed the phone to Ella. ‘It’s Daddy, he wants to speak to you.’

Robina busied herself setting the table, smiling to herself as she caught Ella’s side of the conversation. ‘I love you too, Daddy, and I’m sending you a big kiss down the phone.’ She puckered her lips and blew down the mouthpiece. She giggled at something Niall said. ‘I got your kiss, Daddy, but what about one for Mummy? She needs one too. Hold on a minute, I’ll get her for you.’ Ella turned to Robina. ‘Here, Mummy, Daddy wants to send you a kiss goodnight.’

Robina stared at the receiver, horrified. What could she do? She couldn’t very well refuse—what would Ella think? With a thudding heart, she held the phone to her ear.

‘Well,’ Niall said dryly, ‘are you going to blow me a kiss?’

‘You first, darling,’ Robina replied, forcing her tone to remain light, painfully aware of Ella watching her with delight.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Niall replied, his voice echoing his embarrassment down the wire. ‘That daughter of mine is too smart for her own good. Okay—here goes.’ He made a smacking noise. ‘Now your turn—and remember you’ve got an audience.’

Robina couldn’t help smiling. Niall was right, it was ridiculous, but there was something bitter-sweet about it too. She pursed her lips, emphasising the required smacking sound, playing up to the watching Ella. ‘Mmmmmwhah!’

They both laughed and for the first time in months Robina felt her sadness ease.

When she put the phone down, Ella asked, ‘When will Daddy be home?’

‘After you’re asleep, darling,’ Robina answered. ‘But he’ll be here when you get up in the morning. We both will, so we can have breakfast together.’

‘Then after that can we go ice-skating? Please, Mummy. Sophie went with her mummy and daddy and they had so much fun.’

Robina kissed the top of her stepdaughter’s curly blonde head. She was so like her father it made her heart ache. But her blonde hair must have come from her mother. The sloe-eyed Mairead. Beautiful, maternal Mairead who had been everything she wasn’t.

‘Sure we can, as long as Daddy doesn’t have to work. I know tomorrow is Saturday, but sometimes his patients need him.’

‘I need him,’ Ella persisted. ‘He’s my daddy, not theirs.’

Robina hid a smile. ‘But he’s helping lots of people become mummies and daddies—you understand that, don’t you? People who without his help would never know how wonderful it is to have a lovely little girl like you.’

‘I s’pose,’ Ella said, settling herself in the crook of Robina’s arm. ‘But I need some time with my daddy. They can’t have him all the time. Just some of the time.’

Robina’s heart ached for the little girl. Although their work made enormous demands on both of them, they had to find time to spend with Ella. They had promised her and it was about time they made good on their word. Although Mrs Tobin was great and Ella loved her to bits, it wasn’t the same as having her parents around.

Robina made up her mind. The documentary would take three months, including the follow-up of patients in nine months’ time. The new season of her show wasn’t due to start for a couple of months. Her last book was selling well, and she had almost finished the proofs of her latest. She would put off starting a new one until after the summer. That way she’d have more time to spend with Ella. Robina sucked in her breath. She couldn’t blame Niall for everything that had gone wrong with their marriage. She had, as he had pointed out, been so immersed in her new career she hadn’t given her new marriage, or Niall, the time and attention it had needed. When things had started to go wrong, had she been too quick to lay the blame at Niall’s feet? One thing was for sure, she couldn’t keep going the way she was with a show and book tours and still have enough time for Ella, let alone her marriage. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.

‘Why don’t we ask Daddy whether we can do something next weekend? Just the three of us? We can do anything you like,’ she suggested to Ella.

‘Could we really?’ Ella said, looking up at her with achingly familiar blue eyes. ‘Daddy too?’

‘Yes, darling,’ Robina promised. ‘Daddy too.’

But Robina didn’t get the chance to discuss it with Niall that night. She waited up, reading a book on the sofa of her small sitting room. The room was still exactly the way Mairead had left it, all pale walls and deep rugs. Even the overfilled sofas were pale and there was a wood-burning stove for the cool evenings. The only item Robina had brought with her from her old life was an African stool. She stretched out a finger and felt the deep grooves of the intricate carving. Her father had given her the stool when she had graduated. It had belonged to his father, who had been a master wood cutter, and Robina cherished it. Every time she touched it, she thought of the village where her father had been raised in the old African traditions and could almost feel the heat of the sun and hear the undulating voices of the women as they called to each other. How she missed Africa and especially her mother and grandmother.

Sighing, she glanced around the room that had belonged to her predecessor. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It seemed that along with a similar taste in men, she and Mairead shared the same literary taste. All her favourites were on the bookshelf, from the classics to the contemporary romances she liked to read before bed. Unfortunately, reading them only made her acutely aware of the lack of romance in her own life.

Despite her best intentions, she was unable to stop herself falling asleep and woke to find Niall covering her gently with a blanket. Still half dreaming, she smiled up at him and went straight back to sleep but not before she thought she felt his fingertips like a caress against her skin.

Chapter Five

‘YOU’RE cutting it a little fine, aren’t you?’ Niall said the next evening, glancing at his watch.

Robina had almost forgotten about the charity dinner she had promised to attend. Although it was the last thing she felt like doing, she knew they were expected. She had been called in to work for an unexpected meeting and still hadn’t managed to speak to Niall about the promise she had made to Ella.

‘I can get ready in half an hour if need be. Ella will be in bed before then. Won’t you, darling?’

Niall scooped his daughter into his arms and tickled her until Ella was shrieking with laughter.

Robina watched them for a few moments with an ache in her heart. ‘I’ll start running the bath, shall I?’

As she switched on the taps in the bathroom that had once been Mairead’s, her thoughts turned, as they inevitably did, to her loveless marriage. At least loveless as far as Niall was concerned, she mused, but how did she feel? She had loved him once, loved him so much that she’d thought she’d burst with it. She’d been so happy, never suspecting for one minute how easily it would all come crashing down about her.

Hearing footsteps behind her and the deep growl of Niall’s voice as he teased his daughter, Robina blinked furiously lest he see the moisture in her eyes. She couldn’t bear him to know that she still cared. All she had left was her pride and she was damned if she would let him take that too.

Niall strode into the bathroom and deposited his giggling daughter gently on the bathroom floor.

‘I’ll leave you to it while I get changed,’ he said. Robina ached, knowing that he couldn’t bear to be in close proximity to her. ‘I suppose I have to come?’ he added. ‘Couldn’t you ask someone else to accompany you? I have something I’d really prefer to be doing this evening.’

‘Of course I can’t force you to come,’ Robina said between stiff lips. ‘But you know the press will have a field day if you don’t. They’d like nothing better than to sense trouble between the author of How to keep your man happy—in bed and out of it and her husband.’ How bloody ironic it all was.

It seemed as if the irony wasn’t lost on Niall either. His lips twitched in a half-smile as he looked at Robina, his eyes glinting. To her mortification, she felt her face burn. Was he remembering how good it had been? Her book had been written from memory, it was true, but only because every moment of their love-making was burnt into her brain. She could remember every touch of his lips, the feel of his hands on her skin, the way they couldn’t get enough of each other, and the memories tortured her. Her heart thumped as he held her gaze and something flickered in his eyes. If only he would tell her he still loved her, then sweep her into his arms and take her to his bed, perhaps they could find a way back to each other again. She knew he still wanted her as much as she wanted him. But what good was sexual attraction, however intense, without love? She shook her head slightly.

Niall gave her one last lingering look before he turned and walked away.

‘Dr Zondi and Dr Ferguson, could you look this way, please?’

Cameras flashed in a maelstrom of light and noise. Robina supposed she should be used to it by now. But the speed with which her career had taken off and the media interest had taken her by surprise. She had gone from being a GP to a best-selling author and presenter of Life In Focus all within a few months, and her head still reeled. Never in a million years would she have imagined the life she found herself living. But for all its glamour and wealth and adulation, Robina knew she would have traded it all in a heartbeat for the life she had envisaged when she had fallen in love with Niall.

She sneaked a sideways glance at her husband. Although he hated these functions, no one except her would be able to tell. He cut a devastatingly handsome figure in his tux. Tall, dark-haired and incredibly goodlooking, the media loved him. As a couple they were portrayed as Mr and Mrs Perfect. If only people knew the truth, Robina thought bitterly. They were as far away from perfect as was possible.

Niall took her elbow and steered her through the photographers and into the hall. As Robina had expected, it was filled with a veritable who’s who from the TV world. Instantly they were surrounded, and Robina felt a pang as Niall moved away, leaving her to talk with the presenter of one of TV’s most popular chat shows.

‘Ah, Dr Zondi,’ the presenter, a grey-haired distinguished-looking man in his early fifties, was saying. ‘I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. I would love it if you would do a slot on my show as one of the celebrities.’

Robina nodded distractedly, watching Niall from the corner of her eye as he was cornered by a journalist from one of the national newspapers. Niall had recently published a paper on a new treatment for infertility, which was causing quite a stir. She watched him bend his head to listen to what the journalist was saying, before he threw his head back and laughed. Whatever his feelings about events like this, he would play his part. Robina knew he would never do anything to embarrass her publicly. She felt the familiar stab of regret. Once she had made him laugh like that. Robina swallowed a sigh, before turning her attention back to the presenter, who was still speaking. She was on duty, and for the time being, at least, would forget about the mockery that was her private life.