With Love From Cape Town

‘You want me to talk about the documentary I’m doing?’ she asked.

The presenter frowned. ‘Documentary? No, not really. People are interested in Dr Zondi the woman. Especially your new book. They know about the doctor, now they want to know what makes the woman tick.’

Robina shook her head. ‘I don’t do chat shows,’ she said dismissively.

‘Of course you do.’ Richard Christchurch laughed. ‘You have your own show every week.’

‘That’s different,’ Robina insisted. ‘That’s not about me.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Richard raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s not a chat show,’ Robina persisted. ‘It’s a chance for patients to talk about their medical problems and get some answers. And for viewers to get information. They come on and talk about how illness affects their lives and what help they have found. It’s not entertainment!’

‘Isn’t everything on TV entertainment?’ Richard continued. ‘But if, as you say, your programme is more of a public service, then you appearing on my show can only help get information to the public.’

Robina still wasn’t sure. She didn’t altogether trust Richard Christchurch as he had a reputation for taking cheap swipes at his guests. On the other hand, he was right. If she appeared on his show, it would help raise public awareness about her own show. And that was good. Wasn’t it?’

‘I’ll need to speak to my agent,’ she hedged. ‘But I don’t know if I’ll have the time. I’m in the middle of this documentary, and my own programme returns in a couple of months. And somewhere in between I have to find time to promote my latest book—at least my agent tells me I have to.’

Richard smiled. ‘Of course. It was only a thought, but I’ll get my agent to speak to yours, shall I? In the meantime, perhaps you want to discuss it with your husband?’

Discuss it with Niall? Who was he kidding? Niall was the last person she’d be discussing it with. She glanced across the room to find her husband’s eyes on her. He was too far away for her to read his expression, but as their eyes held, she felt her heart thump against her ribs. There had been a time when their eyes would have met across the room and she would have known exactly what he was thinking. That he wanted to leave, so he could make love to her. At one time, they couldn’t get enough of each other. At one time no words had been necessary.

At dinner, she and Niall were placed at different sides of the table and she was thankful that they wouldn’t have to pretend to everyone to be wrapped up in each other. Throughout the seemingly endless meal she would look up from conversations she was having with the guests on either side to find Niall’s unfathomable eyes on her. Whenever he caught her eye he would smile dutifully and she would grin back as if her heart wasn’t breaking.

After the main course, the band struck up and Niall got to his feet, came over to her side, and held out a hand to her.

‘Shall we, darling?’ he drawled. As usual he was playing the attentive husband role and if he had a sardonic look in his cool blue eyes, only Robina saw it.

Conscious of several pairs of eyes on them, she let him whirl her around the dance floor. His hand was low on her back as he guided her and she could feel his fingers on her bare skin, burning into her. The movement of the dance brought her body tight against his and she let her body melt into him, taking the opportunity to let herself believe, even for a few minutes, that they were a normal couple, still in love.

Her head only reached as far as his shoulder, and she rested her head against the rough material of his suit, breathing in the scent of soap and the faint smell of his aftershave.

‘What did Richard Christchurch want?’ he murmured into her ear, his breath like a caress.

‘He wants me to appear on his show.’ She smiled up at him, conscious that people would be watching.

‘And will you?’ He frowned. ‘Be careful, Robina. He’s a snake.’

The concern in his voice was unexpected. ‘I can look after myself,’ she responded lightly.

Niall’s answer was to pull her closer and Robina let herself relax into his arms, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her, even if it was all for show. All too soon the music ended and they returned to their seats.

The evening was almost over when Robina heard a commotion coming from the rear of the room. Looking across, she noticed several people had jumped out of their seats and were standing about in confusion.

She glanced across at Niall. The noise had attracted his attention too.

‘Someone call an ambulance.’ The voice cutting across the room was shrill, panic not far away.

Wordlessly, she and Niall were on their feet moving swiftly across the room. As the crowd parted, Robina’s heart missed a beat. On the floor lay a middle-aged man, his face grey and his lips tinged with blue. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Immediately Niall took command of the situation. Squatting beside the stricken man, he loosened his tie and felt for a pulse.

‘What happened?’ he asked the woman who had cried out.

‘Bill…my husband…he said he had indigestion earlier. He took something for it, but then all of a sudden he said the pain was getting worse and he would go to the bathroom. But when he stood he clutched his chest and just dropped to the floor.’ The woman’s teeth were chattering with shock. Niall looked at Robina.

‘No pulse. We need to start CPR.’

‘Call an ambulance,’ Robina told one of the bystanders. ‘Tell them we have a cardiac arrest.’ In the same breath she dropped to Niall’s side. Aware of the eyes of the room on her and the flash of cameras, she shut them out of her mind. First and foremost she was a doctor and this man needed their help. It had been some time since she had done any clinical practice and she was hugely relieved that Niall was with her. She knew that, as a practising clinician, he was required to keep his resus skills up to date.

He was pressing on the stricken man’s chest, counting off the beats under his breath. She waited for him to count to thirty before she bent over the stricken man and, taking a deep breath, tipped his head back and blew twice into his mouth.

The room was deathly quiet as she and Niall worked together, completely in synch as they once had been in everything. As long as they could keep blood circulating in his system until the ambulance arrived, the man had a chance. They worked silently, until after a couple of minutes the man coughed.

‘I’ve got a pulse,’ Niall said. He looked at her and grinned. Robina’s heart rate escalated further. With his help she turned Bill onto his side, into the recovery position. There was little they could do now until the ambulance arrived, but it looked as if Bill would make it.

‘Is he all right?’ his wife was asking frantically. ‘Please tell me he’s going to be okay.’

Robina stood, easing the stiffness from her legs. ‘It’s early days yet, but he’s breathing on his own now. And that’s good. The paramedics will be able to give him something when they arrive, and the sooner he gets to the hospital the better.’

‘Oh, thank God. Thank you. Thank you.’ The woman dropped to her knees and cradled her husband’s head in her lap. She looked up at Robina, her eyes wet. ‘Thank you, Dr Zondi. You’ve saved his life.’

Robina was embarrassed. ‘It’s Dr Ferguson you have to thank,’ she said. But as she smiled into Niall’s eyes she was dismayed to find the shutters had come back down and he looked as distant as he always did these days.

The doors swung open as the paramedics rushed into the room, carrying a portable defibrillator and medical supplies. Robina stepped back, knowing that Bill was in safe hands. She turned to look at Niall, but he had already turned away and was striding away from her. She bit down on her disappointment as the cameras continued to flash.

‘Please,’ she said, suddenly furious. ‘Give this man and his wife some privacy, can’t you? This isn’t a live TV show, for goodness’ sake.’

Chastised, the photographers lowered their cameras and stood about looking shamefaced.

The paramedics lifted Bill onto the stretcher and moved briskly towards the exit, Bill’s wife following closely behind. As they left, the photographers picked up their cameras again and focussed on Robina, the flashes blinding her.

She had to get out of there. She whirled around, trying to remember what she had done with her coat, and then Niall was by her side, holding it out for her to slip her arms into.

‘I think my wife has earned the right to some privacy, don’t you?’ he told the reporters. His tone was even, but Robina could hear the suppressed fury behind the words. He would hate the way the man’s heart attack had turned into a circus. All because she was there, and everything she did was newsworthy. Robina had no doubt that her picture would be splashed all over the morning’s newspaper. It was one thing not to have any privacy, it came with the territory after all, but quite another for photos of the unconscious man to make the news. She felt Niall’s hand on her elbow and then she was being steered out of the room and into their waiting car.

Inside the safety of their limousine, Robina felt the adrenaline seep out of her body. Uncomfortably aware of the length of the hard muscles of his thigh against her leg, she shifted slightly in her seat, wanting to put some distance between them. Despite the tumult of different emotions she felt towards him, he still had the power to send her senses into overdrive. Tonight, working with him over that poor man, she had remembered why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. He was a good man, a kind man. Couldn’t they try to put the past behind them and move on? Try to be friends at least? It had taken little steps to destroy their marriage—could little steps take them back?

She reached for his hand as she prepared the words in her head.

Niall brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, the feel of his lips sending shock waves through her body. But then, his eyes glinting in the semi-darkness, he took her hand and replaced it in her lap with a little pat, as if she were a child.

‘Well done, darling,’ he drawled. ‘Another opportunity to get your name in the press. You must be delighted.’

She glared at him. Every time she thought she was softening towards him, he would do, or say, something that would cause her to clench her fists in fury. How was it possible to lust after your husband, even though you weren’t even sure you liked him? And what kind of woman did that make her? In that respect she was just like him.

‘Yes,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘How very clever of me to arrange for that man to have a cardiac arrest. Just for another photo opportunity. God, Niall, what kind of person do you take me for?’

‘A woman who would do anything to promote her career.’ His voice was gentle, almost caressing. ‘As we both know very well.’

Stunned, she edged even further away from him. ‘At least you know now who you married—just as I know the kind of man I married.’ Why had she thought even for a minute they could be friends when clearly he despised everything about her? It seemed the only way she could save her marriage was by giving up work and becoming some sort of earth mother. And there was no chance of that.

Niall closed his eyes as they sped towards home.

Why had he said that? It was grossly unfair and he knew it. But she got under his skin. When he had seen her dressed in a gown of simmering bronze that fell to her feet, her short black hair highlighting that impossibly beautiful face, the diamonds he had given her as a wedding present sparkling at the base of her long neck, she had taken his breath away.

He had needed every ounce of self-control he could muster to stop himself from picking her up and carrying her off to…to where? His bedroom? Hers? And there it was. She hadn’t spent a night in his bed since the night they’d argued before the miscarriage. She had made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t bear him to touch her. He had tried to be patient, hoping she just needed time. He smothered a groan, thinking back to the night he had gone into the room they had once shared, thinking—hoping—they could comfort each other. But when he had reached out for her, she had recoiled and the look of fear in her eyes had shocked him. He clenched his teeth, pushing away the bewilderment and pain of her rejection. Although he had known it would take time for her to recover from the miscarriage, that had gone deeper. He was sure of it. It was almost as if she hated him. Every day she had drawn further and further away from him, throwing herself back into her work. If he’d hoped that with time she would come round, he had been badly mistaken. All that time had done was to drive a wedge between them. A wedge the size of the Grand Canyon. And as far as he could see, there was no way across.

Chapter Six

IT WAS the second week of filming and, once again, Robina was sitting in with Niall as he consulted with couples. At home, everything had carried on the same as it had before, with the two of them spending as little time together as possible, meeting only over breakfast or when Ella’s school functions demanded their presence. She had spoken to him about her promise to Ella and Niall had wholeheartedly agreed that they needed to make some time for the three of them to spend together. Despite this, they still hadn’t managed an outing as a family. Niall had been on call the day after the charity dinner and had spent the whole day seeing emergencies at the hospital.

The patients they were seeing today, the Davidsons, were an ordinary couple with an ordinary life. Patricia, an anxious looking woman with short brown hair, was a primary school teacher and her husband, Luke, was a farmer.

Niall introduced her as usual, although she had met the couple before, and reminded them that they could withdraw from the filming at any time. Then he leaned forward and asked them to explain why they had come to see him. Once again Robina was struck by his warm, encouraging manner with his patients. How could she have forgotten the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way his mouth lifted when he smiled, how sympathetic he could be?

‘We’ve been trying for ages to have a baby,’ Patricia was saying. ‘We wanted to wait until my career was established first. Then one thing after another happened. My mother became very ill and I had to look after her as well as work full time, so we kept putting it off. Sadly she passed away just over a year ago, but as soon as everything settled down we started trying. But months have passed and nothing.’ She glanced over at Robina. ‘I saw you on the telly, talking about your book on infertility, and I went out and bought it. It made me realise we had to do something, and quickly. So that’s why we’re here. To see why it isn’t happening.’

‘I see from your notes that you are forty-three,’ Niall said gently.

‘That’s not too old, is it?’ replied Patricia anxiously. ‘I mean, I don’t feel old. I’m fit, I exercise regularly. I feel as good as I did in my twenties. Anyway, don’t they say your forties are the new thirties?’

‘Yeah, she even drags me to the gym,’ Luke added. ‘I don’t know where she gets her energy from.’ He smiled fondly at his wife. ‘She’ll be a great mother. We’re even looking forward to the sleepless nights.’

Robina felt a pang of envy. Whatever difficulties these couples were experiencing, it was obvious they loved and supported one another.

‘Unfortunately, people don’t realise that a woman’s fertility begins to tail off once they are thirty-five,’ Niall said quietly. He passed the couple a chart illustrating his point. ‘And once they get to forty, their fertility is dramatically reduced. It doesn’t really matter how fit and healthy they are, although for younger women, being a reasonable weight does help.’

‘What are you saying?’ Luke was frowning. ‘Are you telling us you can’t do anything for us, that you won’t treat us?’

‘Not at all,’ Niall said. ‘But I do have the results of your fertility tests here; the semen analysis from you, Luke, and the blood test we did on you, Patricia, at your first visit.’

Patricia grabbed Luke’s hand. It was clear to Robina that she was beginning to realise that she wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Niall had to tell her.

‘Go on,’ Patricia said quietly. Robina could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘Luke’s tests came back normal, but I’m afraid, Patricia, that your ovarian reserve is so low as to make the possibility of you falling pregnant, even with IVF, just about zero.’

Robina could tell he was choosing his words carefully, and that he knew he was giving the couple the worst possible news.

‘Just about zero?’ Patricia echoed, clearly shocked. ‘Are you sure?’ Her voice cracked. ‘No chance at all?’ Her eyes shimmered.

‘I’m sorry,’ Niall said. ‘There really is no point in going down the IVF route. It’s not just the number of eggs you have left, it’s the quality. In my opinion, even if we did manage to collect some eggs from you, and I think that is extremely unlikely, there is every chance that they won’t fertilise. And even if they do, the chance of you miscarrying is about sixty per cent. And lastly, even if a pregnancy were to continue, there is the much increased risk of foetal abnormality. I’m sorry if all this sounds harsh, but you need to know the truth.’

Patricia started crying in earnest, deep, racking sobs as if her heart was being shattered, which it very probably was, Robina thought sadly. Luke placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Is that it then?’ he said. ‘We have to give up? Never have a family?’

Robina ached for them. She felt a lump the size of a pebble form in her throat. She knew only too well how the couple would be feeling, especially Patricia. It was a devastating blow to their hopes and dreams. She gripped her hands together tightly, not wanting to let Niall see how much she was affected.

‘I think it’s only fair to be brutally honest with you, no matter how difficult it is for you to hear. But there are other options.’

Patricia looked up and Robina shied away from the naked hope in her eyes. ‘But I’m warning you—what I am about to suggest is not for everyone. You would need to think about it very carefully, and before we went ahead, you would have to talk it through with a counsellor.’

‘Please, tell us.’ Luke spoke for his wife.

‘The only way your wife could get pregnant is by using donor eggs. That’s where we use the healthy eggs of another woman, fertilise them with your sperm, Luke, and then place one of the embryos back in you, Patricia.’

Patricia glanced at her husband and then back at Niall. ‘But it wouldn’t be my baby.’

‘Not genetically, no. It would, of course, have half of Luke’s genes, but, no, none of yours. The positive thing about using donor eggs is that the chances of achieving and maintaining a pregnancy are the same as if you were the donor’s age. And since we don’t accept donors over thirty-five, there is a greater than fifty per cent chance of you falling pregnant on your first cycle.’

‘I don’t know,’ Patricia said slowly. ‘It’s all so much to take in. I never imagined for one moment that I wasn’t going to be able to have children of my own. I guess I knew it wouldn’t happen naturally, but I wasn’t prepared to find out that it wouldn’t happen at all except with another woman’s eggs.’

‘I don’t expect you to make a decision right away,’ Niall said. ‘In fact, I would actively encourage you to have a long hard think about it. As I said, it’s not for everyone. But if you think it is something you might consider, I suggest you put your name on our waiting list. I’m afraid it’s about a year’s wait at the moment.’

‘A year! As long as that?’ Patricia’s face fell. Then she looked curious. ‘Do these women sell their eggs? Is that how it works? Maybe if we paid someone more…’

Niall shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s illegal. There is no money involved. The women either donate their eggs because they have had their families and want to help someone else achieve their dream, or they are women who donate a proportion of their eggs in order to help fund their treatment. There are very strict regulations around all of this. No clinic in the country can try and get around them without running the risk of losing its licence. The regulations are there to prevent women, who are often pretty desperate, from exploiting or being exploited.’

Robina was conscious of leaning forward in her chair. Of course she knew that couples could use donated eggs or donated sperm, she had written about it in her book after all, but that had been before…before she had known that there was every possibility she had joined their ranks. Listening to Niall talk to the couple was almost as if he was talking to her.

‘There is one other option, and I am not necessarily recommending it either, but I think you have the right to know. There are other clinics, overseas, that have more donated eggs than we do in this country. Not all of these clinics are above board, but there is one which I’d be happy to refer you to, if you want. You need to think about it. Speak to the nursing staff who will be able to put you in touch with others who are going through the same thing. Most people find that it helps. Then, if you think you may want to go forward, make an appointment to chat things over with the counsellor. She’ll help you decide whether it’s the right thing for you.’

After answering several other questions from the shaken couple, Niall showed them out to where one of the nurses was waiting to talk to them.

By the time he returned, Robina had managed to get her trembling hands under control. How on earth was she going to manage another couple of months of this? When every patient’s story left her feeling like a wrung-out rag. But over the last couple of weeks Robina had known that something was shifting inside her. Seeing the way couples were able to deal with their grief and move on with their lives—together—was planting the tiniest seed of optimism inside her. Maybe, in time, she too could come to terms with her loss. And if she was too scared to risk another pregnancy, or if her tubes had been damaged by the infection, there were other options. None of which she’d even considered. But then, unlike her, all these women had loving, supportive marriages. And that made all the difference.

‘So you are saying that women are encouraged to donate a proportion of their eggs in order to fund their treatment?’ she said, signalling to John to keep filming.

Niall sat down in his chair and stretched his long legs in front of him before regarding her steadily over steepled fingers.

‘You’d prefer women not to have the opportunity?’ he said quietly. ‘Do you have any idea how short the supply of donor eggs is? There are so many women, like Patricia, whose only hope of having a child is through the generosity of those women who are prepared to donate their eggs.’

‘I can see the point when it comes to altruistic donors…’ Robina replied. ‘Those women who have nothing to gain except the satisfaction of helping someone else, but these other women, the egg sharers—aren’t they under impossible pressure to donate in order to fund their own treatment? Is that morally correct?’

Niall brought his brows together. ‘Don’t you think we’ve considered all that?’ Underlying his calm tone was a thread of steel. ‘Do you think for one moment that any of us here would force women, or even steer them, towards a decision that wasn’t right for them? And as I explained to Patricia, it’s not only the recipients who have to undergo counselling. The donors aren’t permitted to donate unless we are absolutely convinced that they know exactly what they are letting themselves in for.’

‘But,’ Robina persisted, ‘I can see how desperate these women are to have children. Surely you are taking advantage of that?’

Niall stood. He towered over her, his eyes glinting. He signalled to the cameraman to stop filming. ‘Could you leave us for a moment, John?’ He waited until John, after a nod from Robina, left the room.