Page 31 of Stranded with the Surgeon

Not that she’d want to live here, of course, but it was a great place to visit, and thank goodness some people didn’t want to live anywhere else. The medical care she’d received at the gentle but highly competent hands of both Maggie and Hugh Patterson had been as good as she could have wished for in her own large department. Better, even, thanks to the caring staff who had both the time and inclination to become personally involved with their patients.

The district hospital wasn’t that isolated either, judging by the number of reporters who had flocked in as news of the survival of plane crash victims became the story of the week. The first television film crew had been waiting when the helicopter had landed, but Jennifer had been barely aware of their presence. She had spoken to several people since, however. Drowsy conversations snatched between long intervals of deep slumber, but they had been enough to provide news footage for television and front-page coverage in every major newspaper in the country.

Several of those newspapers lay discarded on the end of her bed, but Jennifer had no desire to scan them again. The sight of her photographs and reading her quotes had left her vaguely embarrassed. Why hadn’t Guy allowed his picture to be taken? Or given more than a terse comment about it being ‘No big deal. He’d only done what had to be done and they’d been bloody lucky.’

The impression that Jennifer was whingeing about how much of an ordeal it had been or that she was claiming the spotlight to further a personal profile was unavoidable and rather disturbing. It highlighted the vast difference between herself and Guy. He was a loner. A man of the mountains. She hated the absence of crowds and a hectic lifestyle. Her own life was calling her, signalling the end of this interlude of rest and recuperation.

Jennifer sat up. It was early evening, judging by the play of twilight on the mountain peaks outside. Not too late to get herself up and start moving enough to iron out the residual stiffness in her limbs.

Personal items had been brought here from the hotel in which the conference had been held, and Jennifer chose casual woollen trousers and a silk shirt, leaving one sleeve unbuttoned to accommodate the cast on her left arm. Stroking the soft warmth of the bright red Merino sweater she had purchased in the hotel boutique the day she’d arrived, Jennifer decided the hospital’s central heating system made it unnecessary. She certainly wasn’t intending to set foot outside.

It was, in fact, far more of an effort than she’d anticipated to simply get any distance along the corridor. She almost regretted not using the set of crutches the physiotherapist had left in her room. Her feet felt like wooden blocks with something unpleasantly sharp coating the soles. She would never have lasted even one more day out in the bush. Guy was right. They had been incredibly lucky.

Jennifer sank down onto the cushions of a small couch that marked the bend in the corridor leading to the main staircase. A nurse came out of a nearby room and paused, having spotted her.

‘You’re up, Jennifer! Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, thanks, Sue. Thought I’d better test out my feet.’

‘You might be better to use those crutches to start with. Shall I get them for you?’

‘I’ll just have a rest for a bit. If I don’t make it back to my room, I’ll yell for help.’

‘Make sure you do.’ Sue’s smile acknowledged the unlikelihood of someone like Jennifer yelling for help. She walked away, passing the single rooms that led to the main ward. Guy had to be in one of those rooms, and at some point Jennifer would have to visit him to say goodbye.

To thank him for saving her life.

But he hadn’t been in to see her and the embarrassment factor was becoming increasingly hard to overcome. What could she say?

Thanks for saving me, Guy, and, oh, yeah, thanks for the sex. It was great.

Jennifer’s soft snort was more for the unsuitability of the adjective than imagining its delivery. ‘Great’ didn’t touch the impact of that experience. It had been incomparable. Jennifer had never been touched quite like that – either physically or emotionally. The place in her soul that had been touched still felt raw, in fact, and Jennifer shied away from prodding it. Her smile was wry. Maybe she should make sure she was at the point of total collapse, having survived a life-threatening situation, before she went to bed with anyone else.

The thought was distasteful enough to be disturbing. Even more disturbing was the conviction that having experienced that extraordinary night with Guy, she would never find anyone who had a hope of delivering anything remotely similar.

Guy Knight. Or should that be Night? Any visions of a medieval warrior riding to her rescue were easily replaced by the picture of that lean body, with flickering dim light playing over fluid muscles as it moved over hers.

Jennifer closed her eyes with a silent groan. No. There was no way she could just pop in to visit Guy for a casual farewell. But she couldn’t leave without seeing him, could she? Why the hell hadn’thetaken the initiative and broken that barrier? Because he was also embarrassed? Because he wished it hadn’t happened?

Because it wasn’t actually worth acknowledging as far as he was concerned?

Fingers of shame clutched at something deep, and Jennifer snapped her eyes open to distract herself. She watched a couple of elderly women pause as they reached the top of the stairwell.

‘It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?’ one of them said.

‘The funeral? Yes.’ Her companion paused to unbutton a woollen coat. ‘My, it’s warm in here, isn’t it?’

‘So sad.’ The first woman rearranged her hold on a large handbag and a bunch of flowers. ‘He was the only real father that poor boy ever had.’

Jennifer’s interest piqued despite herself. So they were talking about Digger rather than Bill and Shirley. She would like to go to the funeral herself, but maybe it wasn’t appropriate. Not if Guy didn’t even want to talk to her.

‘He’s got no one now. No family.’

The woman holding the flowers sniffed audibly. ‘That isn’t a great loss if you remember his mother.’

The judgemental tone triggered something like anger in Jennifer. Memories of the kind of interference and gossip that were part of the fabric of a small community and one of the things she had been happy to escape. What had been so wrong with Guy’s mother? She’d been the woman Digger had loved, hadn’t she? Diana.The goddess, he’d called her.

The women were moving towards Jennifer now so, despite their lowered voices, she could still overhear their conversation.

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