Reunited With Her Brooding Surgeon

Oh, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she thought as she asked, ‘Do you remember me?’

Marcus looked down at the petite redhead standing in front of him. She had her hands on her hips and looked as if she’d like to tear him to shreds. ‘What do you mean? Of course I do,’ he replied, attempting to use his most reasonable tone in an attempt to calm her down. ‘We were just in Connie’s room and I only met you a few hours ago.’

‘I meant from before.’

He watched her with his steady gaze but said nothing. He wasn’t going to admit to anything. Not until he knew what she wanted. She reminded him of a firecracker about to explode.

‘You grew up in Toowoomba,’ she said. It was apparent she wasn’t going to be intimidated and she certainly wasn’t asking him a question. She looked small and easy to handle but, just like a firecracker, he got the impression that once something set her off, you’d know all about it and there’d be nowhere to hide. ‘I lived around the corner from you. You were at school with my brothers, Lachlan and Hamish Gibson.’

It was obvious she knew who he was. He’d suspected as much. He had recognised her too. Well, not her face as such, but her hair matched with her name was a dead giveaway. Her striking copper locks were so distinctive. He hadn’t wanted to think she was the same person even though it was blatantly clear she was, just as it was clear she remembered him.

He cursed his luck. ‘Was I?’

He knew he was being bullish but he couldn’t help it. He’d spent twenty years trying to get away from his past. Twenty years spent reinventing himself and wiping away all traces of his childhood. He hadn’t been back to Toowoomba in all that time and he’d even debated the wisdom of returning to the east coast for this three-month stint but the opportunity of this experience at the Kirribilli General Hospital had been too good to refuse. Guilt and opportunity had brought him back. And now it seemed it was about to make him pay.

He hadn’t expected to run into anyone from his past and he certainly wouldn’t have expected to be remembered. He didn’t want to remember who he had been and the life he’d lived then. He didn’t want to think about it and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it. So he stayed silent, refusing to incriminate himself by admitting any recollection. He couldn’t admit to Grace that he had lied. That he had recognised her.

‘I guess I look a bit different,’ Grace admitted when he stayed mute. ‘I must only have been about seven the last time I would have seen you.’

Was there a question in there? Was she wondering why he’d never come back? Had she even noticed?

He wasn’t going to respond to vague insinuations but she was right. She looked nothing like he remembered. He remembered her brothers and he remembered their little sister with skinned knees and missing teeth. The only thing that remained of the seven-year-old she’d once been was her hair. Her fiery copper locks hung in loose waves over her shoulders, its rich colour bright and vibrant against the contrast of her navy uniform. He’d hadn’t seen a colour like it since leaving Toowoomba.

But everything else about her was different. She no longer looked like anyone’s kid sister. She had filled out in all the right places. She was tiny, a good foot shorter than his six feet two inches, but her proportions were perfect. Her shirt was tucked into navy trousers, pants which would have been unflattering on most figures, yet his eye was drawn to her small waist, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. He felt an unexpected surge of lust. Bloody hell, that was inappropriate. He lifted his head and met her amber eyes. They blazed at him. She appeared to have the fiery temper to match her hair but what was getting her so riled up? Had she noticed his inappropriate once-over? He needed to douse the flames of her temper and make sure he didn’t set her off completely. Something told him there would be no stopping her if he did that.

Or maybe he should take up the challenge he could see in her eyes. She gave off an air of not being one to back down. Of having the courage of her convictions. That didn’t appear to have changed. He remembered more about her than he cared to admit. She’d been loud and boisterous, full of energy; he’d always known when she was around and he suspected that hadn’t changed in twenty years. He wondered what had.

The idea of putting a flame to her wick just to see what would happen was strangely exciting but he resisted the temptation. He didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to the two of them. He didn’t want anyone asking awkward questions. Going under the radar was always best. He’d learnt that from experience.

But what did she want? What was she after? What did she remember of him? What secrets could she spill?

He hoped not many.

As a child he’d been quiet, shy and nervous. The complete antithesis to Grace. He’d been nervous around the kids at school and nervous around his father. His life had been unpredictable and devoid of routine but it hadn’t been until he’d been at boarding school as a teenager that he’d realised that not everyone’s lives were like that. He’d never experienced anything different. Most of the time he’d just tried to get from morning to evening without being noticed. It had seemed his presence had irritated people—his classmates and his father—and he had never been sure about what was going to happen, how people were going to react to him, although more often than not it had been unfavourably. He’d learnt to keep his head down, to try to be inconspicuous, but that had never been easy when he’d looked so different.

Thanks to his Caribbean mother he wasn’t white but he wasn’t indigenous either. He was part black but not the black that was common in Toowoomba. There wasn’t another person in the town who had the same genetic mix as him and, if that wasn’t enough to make him stand out, his family history and his unorthodox father had certainly made sure that everyone had singled him out.

His mother had disappeared when he’d been six, leaving him behind with a father who had chosen to develop a relationship with alcohol instead of with his son. His young life had been full of disappointments and he’d learnt early on not to ask for or expect much, and that the only person he could count on not to let him down was himself.

He’d been determined to escape a miserable childhood and to avoid all memories of his past. He’d worked hard over many years to forget who he was and where he came from. He didn’t want to be remembered as that boy. That wasn’t him any more.

And he didn’t want anyone to remind him of it either.

Which made Grace the last person he wanted to see.

CHAPTER THREE

‘I DON’T REMEMBER you from then,’ he told her as he shook his head, but Grace knew he was lying.

She just didn’t know why. Did he think he was above her now that he was a surgeon or was it for a more personal reason? He’d been perfectly pleasant to Connie. Not warm exactly but he was her surgeon and he certainly hadn’t brushed her aside like he’d tried to do with her.

His dark brown eyes challenged her to say something more and for a moment she was tempted to but something stopped her. She couldn’t have said what it was, and it was most unlike her to back down from an argument, but she had a sudden sense that she would regret the words that were itching to come out of her mouth so she bit down on her lip and kept quiet.

And Marcus turned and walked away.

Clearly the conversation was over and this time she didn’t follow him. For some reason he seemed to have an issue with her. She didn’t want it to be personal but, whatever it was, she wouldn’t let it lie. But it would wait for another day. She returned to her office and collected her bag before heading to Billi’s Bar.

As usual the bar was crowded with hospital staff. It was just across the road from the hospital and the staff kept it well patronised. She waved to Gary, who was serving customers, but made her way through the crowd, searching for Lola. She hadn’t intended on calling into the bar tonight but she needed to vent her frustration. She wasn’t sure why she was frustrated and that only made matters worse. Why did she care that Marcus was lying to her? Why did she care that he said he didn’t remember her?

She found Lola towards the back of the room. She smiled in greeting but was looking over Grace’s shoulder.

‘Who are you looking for?’ Grace asked.

‘I thought you might bring the hot doc with you.’

Grace didn’t need to ask who Lola was referring to but it had taken less time than she’d expected for the conversation to turn to Marcus. Was he all people could talk about? First Connie and now Lola.

‘I’m the last person he would want to have a drink with.’

‘Why? You haven’t upset him already, have you?’

Lola’s comment was not without merit. Grace knew she’d upset people before with her quick temper and tongue, but in Marcus’s case she couldn’t think of what she could have possibly done to make him behave so distantly towards her. She sighed and dumped her bag on the table then retrieved her phone. She needed to keep it handy as with so many surgeries scheduled for tomorrow she couldn’t afford to miss a call. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘but I don’t think he likes me.’

Lola frowned. ‘How can he not like you? He doesn’t even know you.’

‘So he says.’

‘What does that mean?’

She pulled out a stool and sat down. She needed to debrief. ‘He grew up in Toowoomba. He went to school with Lachlan and Hamish but he says he doesn’t remember me.’

Lola laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ Grace’s nerves were already frayed and having Lola laugh at her only irritated her more.

‘You’re upset because he doesn’t remember you.’

‘No, I’m upset because he’s lying to me. He lived just around the corner from us. I used to walk past his house every day.’

‘Was he there?’

Grace actually had no idea. She remembered walking past his house because it had always spooked her. The memory from years ago was still vivid in her mind but Lola was right. She couldn’t actually remember if Marcus had been in there. She shrugged and admitted, ‘I don’t know.’

‘Was he friends with your brothers?’

‘Not really.’ From what she could remember, he hadn’t really been friends with anyone. She couldn’t remember seeing him with friends. She thought he had played rugby but she could be imagining that.

‘So maybe he really doesn’t remember you. When did you see him last?’

‘He left when I was about seven, so he would have been twelve. I haven’t seen him since.’

‘That’s years ago! You can’t blame him if he’s forgotten you.’

But Grace didn’t think she was wrong. She was certain he remembered her. There was something she couldn’t put her finger on but she knew he wasn’t telling her the truth.

‘Where did he go when he left Toowoomba?’ Lola asked.

‘I have no idea. He just disappeared.’

‘The whole family?’

Grace shook her head. ‘No, just him. His father was still there.’ Grace realised she hadn’t thought about Mr Washington for years and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him either. Was he in a nursing home? Dead? She wouldn’t have been surprised. Marcus’s old house had been bulldozed after Grace had moved to Sydney and a new one was now in its place. With another family in it. But she had no idea what had happened to Marcus’s father.

‘So he left with his mother?’

‘No. I never knew his mother. She disappeared years before.’

Lola leant forward, resting her elbows on the table. ‘So his mother left suddenly, and then him? That sounds intriguing.’

‘I really don’t know much about it.’

There had been plenty of rumours about the family. Grace had grown up hearing them and then when Marcus had disappeared as well, the rumours had only intensified. The most popular theory amongst the kids at school had been that Marcus’s father was responsible for the disappearances. They’d said he’d killed his wife and then he’d killed Marcus. As a seven-year-old that had frightened Grace immensely, and because of those stories it was unlikely she’d ever forget about Marcus Washington. The story of his disappearance had become an urban myth. The kids had been fascinated by it and Grace’s imagination had led her to not only believe the stories but to embellish all sorts of gory details.

Her parents had told her and her brothers that Marcus had gone to live with his aunt but at the age of seven she’d put that story in the same category as the one about the fate of their pet roosters. Her parents had told her that the roosters were sent away to live on a farm because they were happier there, but her brothers had gleefully informed her that they really ended up in someone’s pot with their heads chopped off. Grace feared Marcus had met the same fate and that her parents were lying to protect her because, surely, if he had gone to live with his aunt he would still come back to visit his father. And he never did. In Grace’s seven-year-old brain this meant the rumours must be true. Marcus was dead.

It wasn’t hard for her to believe the rumours and to imagine that Mr Washington had somehow played a hand in the disappearance of his family. When they were never seen again that story made sense. And, in Grace’s young opinion, Marcus’s father was a strange man. Walking past Marcus’s house had always spooked her and after his disappearance things had only got worse. The house had been untidy and unloved. Paint had been peeling off the woodwork, the iron roof rusty and the front garden overgrown with weeds. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Mr Washington had often sat or slept on an old sofa on the front veranda you would have thought the house had been abandoned. He’d always looked dishevelled and, if she saw him on his feet, unsteady.

She’d had to walk past the house on her way to and from school and after Marcus’s disappearance she had always crossed to the opposite side of the road just in case Mr Washington was out the front. Lachlan, who was then twelve, had told her not to be ridiculous. He’d insisted that if Marcus’s dad had killed him he’d be locked up, not wandering the streets, but Grace had remained wary for many years until she’d been old enough to understand Lachlan’s logic and recognise the rumours for what they were.

Later she’d understood that Marcus’s father had been an alcoholic but at the age of seven she hadn’t got any of that. When she’d learned the truth she’d then wondered what had made him drink. Had it been losing his wife and son that had done that to him?

But Grace didn’t share her thoughts with Lola. Normally she wouldn’t hesitate to gossip with her but something about this felt wrong. Obviously Marcus hadn’t been murdered and all her thoughts were based on rumour and supposition. She was sorry she’d brought up the topic now. She recalled the look in Marcus’s eyes. The look that she’d thought had been daring her to say something. Maybe it hadn’t been a challenge but fear? Was he afraid of what she might say about him?

What could she possibly say? What did he think she knew?

Did it matter? Even imagining she had tales to tell could be enough. She knew what that was like. After her boyfriend had taken his own life Grace had felt the eyes of a small town on her. Mostly the town had been supportive of her and her grief after Johnny’s death but she’d still felt horribly exposed. That had been one reason why she’d wanted to leave Toowoomba. Too many people knew too much about her. She knew what it felt like when others made assumptions about you. How it felt when things you’d rather keep to yourself were discussed in public.

Was that what Marcus was worried about? That she would reveal his secrets?

But what did she know about him? What could she know about him when she hadn’t seen or heard anything about him for twenty years?

Nothing.

The truth of the matter was it wasn’t her story to tell and she was sorry she and Lola had even been discussing him. She knew he wouldn’t like it and for some reason that bothered her. She picked up her bag and tucked her phone inside it. ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘I have a big day tomorrow.’

* * *

Grace was at the hospital bright and early the following morning. She had checked on her patients and found them in varying degrees of anxiety but otherwise okay. She’d contacted the renal transplant co-ordinators at the other hospitals, double-checking and making sure there were no last-minute problems, and now she was heading for the conference room to prepare her notes in anticipation of the doctors’ meeting that was scheduled for half past seven to have a final run-through of the day’s proceedings.

She scrolled through the messages on her phone, making sure again that she hadn’t missed anything important as she waited for everyone to arrive. Elliot was first, followed by Janet and then Marcus. She wasn’t watching the door but she knew the minute Marcus entered the room. She looked up to find him watching her. Was that what she could sense? The feeling of being watched? No, it was more than that. Her body recognised him. Her body responded to his proximity. But she suspected she was being fanciful. It was nothing more than an awareness of an extremely good-looking man. Who had absolutely no time for her.

He didn’t hold her gaze. Didn’t acknowledge her in any way. He didn’t smile. Or nod. He gave her nothing and she was disappointed. He greeted his colleagues as he found himself a seat but he did not make eye contact with her again. Was that deliberate or not? She wanted him to like her but she got an uneasy sense that something about her irritated him and that bothered her. She wanted him to like her but right now she didn’t have time to think about why that might be. She lowered her eyes and looked over her notes. She refused to waste any more time wondering about Marcus. She was just as capable of ignoring him as he was of her.

She listened as Elliot ran everyone through the day’s schedule. He was following the notes she had written on the whiteboard as soon as she’d confirmed every patient’s status and he checked a couple of minor details with her. The surgeries were scheduled to commence at eight o’clock with concurrent harvesting of the kidneys. The donor patients were being prepped for surgery as he spoke and once Grace received confirmation that every patient was anaesthetised the surgeries would begin. The timing and, in a way, the success of the surgeries depended on her. She controlled the process and she needed to focus.

The actual transplant timeline varied and was dependent on when the donated kidneys arrived at their respective hospitals. There was still a lot to co-ordinate and it was going to be a long day for her. She would be on deck until the last patient went to Recovery. She was the link not only between the surgeons and the hospitals but also between the patients and their families. It was going to be hectic but while she would co-ordinate the surgeries the actual outcomes of them would be out of her hands. It was almost over. The final day was here and all that was left for her to do was to continue to liaise and to watch and to hope. And to wait. She crossed her fingers and hoped the day would be successful.

The medical staff split into their surgical teams at the conclusion of the meeting and Grace headed for the observation gallery that overlooked two of the theatres. She watched as the patients were wheeled in, Rosa in one theatre to her left, Rob in the other. She would be able to communicate with the operating teams via an intercom and she waited and watched as the anaesthetists began their job. The surgeons hovered, gloved and gowned.

She held her mobile phone in her hand, waiting for the sound of incoming text messages and constantly scanning the screen to check she hadn’t missed anything. She saw Rosa’s eyes close as the anaesthetic took hold and then, one by one, the messages started coming in. One, two, three and four. She waited for confirmation from the two theatres in front of her before sending her own reply.

‘All donors confirmed asleep.’

Until everyone was under anaesthetic there was always a chance that one or more donors could change their minds. But no one could back out now. The six harvesting surgeries could begin.

Grace waited again, holding her breath until she got confirmation that all surgeries had begun. She breathed out and sank into a seat behind the viewing glass. Technically she could watch both Rosa’s and Rob’s operations but she concentrated on Rosa’s. That was where Marcus was. She had vowed to ignore him but her eyes were repeatedly drawn to him regardless of her decision.

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