A Miracle for the Baby Doctor Read online

  ‘No definite order, and today just seemed to be a green day. I ate breakfast on the back deck and the green of the foliage out there seemed to glow with intensity—not, I suppose, that plants can really glow with the joy of life!’

  Steve shook his head, surprised that the uptight professional woman he’d first met should be having such flights of fancy.

  He couldn’t put it down to a few kisses surely. Or had she made a decision about where the kisses might lead?

  ‘So, green,’ he said, not wanting to reveal just how far his thoughts had strayed, or wanting to analyse why he found himself thinking about her so much.

  He led Fran into the lab, introduced her to Arthur, another giant islander, who nodded and smiled, taking Fran’s hand so cautiously he might have been handling fragile glass.

  ‘Do you have the key to the special cabinet?’ Steve asked Arthur, who nodded again and pulled at a strip of leather that hung around his neck, producing a bunch of keys.

  He selected one shiny enough to suggest it was rarely used and unlocked a cupboard Fran had previously not noticed, as, unlike the others, it was flush with the wall.

  The new microscope was still wrapped in plastic, its attachments still in their separate compartments in the felt-lined metal case.

  ‘Oh, you little beauty,’ Fran breathed, though she was jolted back to reality by Steve’s laughter.

  ‘So, you talk to your equipment, too,’ he teased, and she turned and smiled at him, suddenly at ease with the situation in which she found herself, at ease with the work ahead of her, and the pleasure she suspected would come from whatever relationship she had with this man, limited though it might be.

  Which meant she’d decided to go where the kisses led? a voice in her head asked.

  She ignored it and concentrated on work.

  ‘I only talk to equipment when it’s top-class, like this one,’ she told Steve, wondering if he was thinking about her decision.

  Work!

  ‘And if we could get some thick rubber matting—is Akila the best person to ask for that?—we could put it under one of the small tables here in the lab. It would provide some cushioning, although with the concrete floor there’s unlikely to be much movement anyway.’

  She could feel the excitement of the challenge building inside her, and wondered if it was brimming over—showing in her face or manner.

  Arthur was studying her with wide eyes, although that might have been confusion, but Steve was definitely smiling.

  Smiling...

  Focus, she told herself, although the warmth the smile had transmitted into her body was extremely pleasant.

  ‘We need the microscope with the micromanipulator attachments,’ she explained to Arthur, ‘because the pipettes we will be using are so fine you can’t actually see the tip with the naked eye. I know Steve has a couple to see, and he’ll want one of us to get the eggs, but if you go with him—we’re using the green pack for them—I’ll see Akila and get the microscope set up and then wait until you come back to do the injection.’

  Arthur’s smile gave her a different flush of warmth and as the two men headed off to the procedure room to deal with Mr and Mrs Green, Fran went in search of Akila to ask about rubber matting.

  Like a conjuror producing a rabbit from a hat, Akila returned before Fran had finished unpacking the microscope’s attachments and together they set four thick rubber mats on the floor then put the table on top of them, Akila finding weights to hold it firm so the four legs sank into the rubber.

  Fran checked the yellow dishes again, but the sperm still hadn’t penetrated any of the eggs.

  They could be slow, she told herself, but years of practice told her that was probably not the case. If Mr and Mrs Yellow wanted a baby, she would have to help fertilise the egg. The good thing was that the percentage of successful fertilisations using the pipette was high—sixty to eighty percent—so as long as she didn’t muck things up, all would be well.

  Arthur returned with Mr Green’s specimen, and Fran washed and checked it while she waited for the eggs. Four eggs, they found, when she and Arthur examined the fluid from Mrs Green. Fran asked Arthur to separate them out into the different dishes she’d already set up with the media they needed to nourish them.

  For all his size, he worked with a delicate precision, so well that Fran congratulated him and won another gleaming smile.

  They tucked all the dishes into the incubator and she was wondering whether Steve might want to watch the manipulation of Mrs Yellow’s egg when Arthur spoke for practically the first time since they’d met.

  ‘I am very excited to be watching you do this. I have read about it, of course, because I am studying to do more lab work, but I have never seen it done.’

  While Arthur retrieved one of Mrs Yellow’s eggs and the remainder of Mr Yellow’s specimen, Fran unwound the layers of wrapping around the pipette and, searching through the refrigerated cabinet, found the viscous fluid into which she could put the sperm.

  ‘It slows them down,’ she explained to Arthur, ‘to make it easier to pick up just one of them. The tip of the pipette is sharp enough to penetrate the shell of the egg, and then a little pressure on the top of the pipette and in it goes. The main thing is to make sure you don’t go in far enough to damage the nucleus of the egg.’

  Forcing herself to concentrate, which meant banishing all wayward thoughts of Steve from her head, Fran went ahead with the delicate procedure, so excited when she succeeded that she moved away from the table to high-five Arthur, who had watched over her shoulder the whole time.

  ‘That is wonderful,’ he said, as they continued their mutual congratulations. ‘We haven’t had the microscope very long and there haven’t been any IVF patients for a few months.’

  His words intrigued her.

  ‘Don’t other doctors come when Steve’s not here?’ she asked. ‘I understood he wasn’t the only visiting specialist.’

  ‘Others come but sometimes not for a while. Steve says it’s hard to get a regular commitment—the doctors have wives and families, you see, and it isn’t always convenient. He’s looking now at doctors nearing retirement, or using doctors with young families to come in the summer holidays. Steve comes three times a year. He says it’s easy for him, not having a family so no ties to anyone, but he is a kind man and clever, so he should have a family.’

  A strange sensation stirred in Fran’s stomach.

  Regret?

  Impossible!

  If the kisses led to anything, it would be a holiday romance, nothing more. She had known that since he’d first talked to her about his list.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  APPARENTLY STILL EXCITED at having seen the procedure, Arthur became positively chatty as he washed Mr Green’s sperm while Fran separated Mrs Green’s eggs into different dishes.

  ‘So, are you ready for my IVM patient?’

  Steve’s voice made them both turn towards the door.

  ‘She’s here? Now?’ Fran managed, although the lingering excitement from the ICSI success together with Steve’s sudden appearance had sent both her mind and her body into a spin.

  Think work!

  The reminder wasn’t quite enough to stop the bodily excitement, but it did snap her mind back into action.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a pack of purple equipment—the colour of royalty for a very special couple.’

  Dazzled by the happy smile that accompanied the words, Steve could only stare at her.

  Could this be love, this strange new emotion he was feeling?

  Of course not! He barely knew the woman, and, yes, he was attracted to her, but love?

  ‘Good,’ he managed when he realised she obviously needed some reply. Then, encouraged by managing one word, tried a few more. ‘Will you colle
ct them for me?’

  Another smile, another missed beat in his heart.

  Ridiculous!

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’d love to.’

  Love to?

  Love?

  ‘Good,’ he managed, monosyllabic again—pathetic really! ‘Alex is here to man the ultrasound.’

  Hoping he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself, he headed back to his clients, but an image of Fran as she had flashed that smile persisted in his head.

  She was in a bog standard lab coat, with, no doubt, her sensible uniform of shirt and shorts underneath. Her hair was pulled back in the neat scroll affair she’d been wearing when he’d first seen her, and it was covered with a lab cap!

  Hardly the clothing of an enticing siren!

  Yet his body couldn’t have reacted more strongly if she’d been stark naked.

  He had to get past this, as it was just too distracting.

  After the one disastrous relationship he’d had with a colleague—ending in a broken engagement—he’d avoided mixing work and pleasure. In fact, he’d found that he enjoyed getting right away from work when he had leisure time, enjoyed the company of women who had little to no idea of what his job entailed and even less interest in it.

  Relaxation.

  That’s what he’d sought! Companionship, a bit of fun, evenings out and, yes, some healthy sex thrown in...

  ‘So, have you checked on the ultrasound for immature follicles?’

  Now her voice made him start, and it was only with considerable effort he suppressed a groan.

  ‘Yes, they’re fine. I think I can take two. Though I think that when they mature, you’ll have to use ICSI on them.’

  She smiled again, this time the happiness shining in her eyes.

  ‘A doddle,’ she said. ‘Arthur and I have just fertilised one of Mrs Yellow’s eggs. The equipment you were given is top-class.’

  Which explained her excitement.

  And why should that make his spirits flag?

  She followed him up to the treatment room, where the Hopoates waited, the powerful mix of tension and excitement vibrating in the air around them.

  Once again, he was impressed by how naturally Fran could put people at ease. A few kind words, a smile, a joke, and they were eating out of her hand.

  She told him she was using purple colours because it was the colour of royalty.

  ‘But we are royal, though you didn’t know,’ Mr Hopoate said. ‘We are from the southern islands, so not royal like your Queen but descended from what would be considered royal in other places. In our island group we are called the Masters of the Heavens and the Masters of the Canoes.’

  ‘Master of Heaven and Canoes, I like that,’ Fran said, and Steve could tell her interest was genuine.

  ‘These are our titles from the old times,’ Mr Hopoate said. ‘That is why it is important to us to have a child. Royal blood should be passed down, even now, because it is important our history and traditions are carried into every generation.’

  He was so serious, Steve felt his heart falter. And he, who prided himself on remaining detached, uttered a silent prayer to whatever fates watched over these beautiful islands, a prayer that the Hopoates would be blessed with a child.

  ‘Ready?’ Alex said to him, reminding him he was here to work, not rely on prayer.

  He nodded.

  With IVM, Mr Hopoate’s specimen would not be needed until the eggs matured, so his role was just supportive.

  And support he did, holding his wife’s hand and telling her how much he loved her and how, even if this didn’t work and they couldn’t have children he would still love her.

  Steve glanced up as he was depositing the precious eggs in the purple-marked dish Fran was holding for him and was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

  So he wasn’t the only one who’d got emotional...

  The urge to touch her, comfort her in some way, was strong, but at the same time he wondered if it was more than the sentimentality of Mr Hopoate’s words that had upset her.

  After all, what did he know of this woman to whom he was becoming increasingly attracted?

  Fran took the eggs back to the lab, adding some serum from Mrs Hopoate’s blood, which Alex had prepared for her.

  ‘These,’ she said to Arthur, ‘are extremely precious. This is the first time Steve has taken immature cells so it’s up to us to see they’re given every chance to mature, after which we’ll use ICSI on them, so watch carefully when I do it, so you can do it next time. I’m sure with the skill Alex already has, and your help in the lab, it won’t be long before you don’t need Steve or any other visiting doctor. You’ll have your very own IVF unit and be the envy of all the South Pacific nations!’

  ‘I think that would please Steve,’ Arthur said, ‘because, although he likes coming here, I think he’d also like to settle down and start a family. I see the way he handles the babies people bring in to show him—babies he’s helped create. He is a man who wants babies of his own.’

  Fran closed her eyes. Gentle Arthur had no idea of the wounds he’d just dealt her—stab wounds in her chest, her lungs, her heart.

  Not that Steve wanting babies was anything to do with her. All they’d done was kiss...

  And if the kisses made her burn all over, then that was her problem!

  * * *

  ‘Mr and Mrs Green brought two small chickens, denuded of feathers, cleaned and even boned,’ Steve said when she had finished work, showered, changed, and wandered out onto the deck.

  He was standing by the giant barbecue, the luckless birds plastic-wrapped and sitting in a cool box beside him.

  ‘Without the bones they’ll squash flat to make it easy to barbecue them. I’ve just rubbed a few herbs and some lemon and oil over them and left them to marinate for a while. I’ll cook them both then there’ll be cold chicken for lunch tomorrow.’

  Fran studied him, sensing some change in his mood. No, more behaviour...

  She’d spent the day with a stomach knotted by anxiety over the decision she had made—to let the kisses lead where they may. And now he was acting as if there’d never been a kiss, let alone the possibility of something to follow it.

  He put the chickens on the hot plate and gave them his full attention so all she could see was his back, and what could you glean from a broad, straight back?

  ‘There’ll be things for a salad in the refrigerator if you wouldn’t mind putting one together to go with these,’ he said, throwing the words casually over his shoulder.

  Fran left, only too happy to get away from what felt like a particularly tense situation.

  Though why?

  Steve heard her footsteps retreating to the kitchen and let out a sigh of relief.

  He hadn’t seen that much of her during the day, but when they had been working together it had been as if the kisses of the previous afternoon and evening had never happened.

  He should have forgotten Hallie’s dictum about decisions made in the evening and taken her to bed when their kisses had prompted it.

  Now he had no idea where they stood. Had she thought about it, made a decision? If so, she’d given no indication of it.

  Maybe he’d imagined the previous afternoon and evening—imagined the heat of the kisses they’d shared...

  He reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out a light beer, then put it back, deciding he didn’t really need it.

  Maybe wine with dinner...

  Maybe nothing.

  Dear heaven, but he was making a mess of this!

  And where was Fran?

  Surely mixing a bit of lettuce and tomato together couldn’t take this long?

  He turned the chickens, the aroma of their crispy skin making his mouth water.

>   Then, suddenly, she was beside him, close but not touching. Close enough for every nerve in his body to be aware of her.

  ‘Salad’s on the table and I ducked back to the lab to check on our purple eggs. It’s too early to say but they seem to be maturing happily.’

  ‘Happily?’ he echoed, turning to her so he caught her smile, and her lips were right there, and everything was all right.

  ‘Must rescue the chickens,’ he muttered against her lips when they’d been kissing with a desperation he’d never felt before.

  She drew away, half smiling though there was a faint frown line between her eyebrows and a bemused look in her eyes.

  He lifted the chickens onto a platter and followed her towards the table, where she’d not only left the salad but had scattered flowers, as he had done the night before.

  He selected the most perfect of the hibiscus and held it in front of her.

  ‘Which ear?’ he asked, and her smile improved.

  ‘I suppose left on a temporary basis,’ she murmured.

  ‘A temporary basis?’

  The smile had faded, and the faint frown line had reappeared.

  ‘It’s all it can be, Steve,’ she said firmly. ‘A holiday romance, a little fling. It’s this place and its magic that’s drawn us together. To try and make it more back in the real world would spoil, probably destroy, something wonderful.’

  Well, at least she thought their ‘fling’ would be wonderful.

  But why the proviso?

  They were two adults—mature adults, even—who were attracted to each other. Why should it not continue when they returned to Sydney?

  But something in her demeanour told him not to query it so he slid the vivid flower into her hair, settling it behind her ear, wanting to draw her close, to hold her, but aware they’d miss their dinner if they kissed again.

  He served her a tender chicken breast, and they ate, and talked of work, of family, and the meal done, the debris cleared away, they relaxed. He told her of Liane, the damaged foster sister he’d adored, who’d turned to him again and again when she’d lost her way, but somehow he had failed to save her.