damp-looking patches where plaster had fallen off. Vines seemed to be growing out of the top of it, and the overall impression was of desertion and decay.
A tall local man came out to greet the car, holding out his hand to Fran.
‘I am Akila. I am the caretaker here and will also take care of you,’ he said, pride deepening an already deep voice. ‘We are very pleased to have you come and work with us.’
He waved his hand towards the building.
‘Outside this must look bad to you, but wait until you see inside,’ Akila told her, obviously aware of strangers’ first impressions.
And he was right.
The foyer was painted bright yellow, making it seem as if the sunshine from outside had penetrated the gloomy walls. A huge urn of flowers—long stems of something sweet-scented and vividly red—stood against the far wall, grabbing Fran’s attention the moment she came through the door.
A cheerful young woman appeared in a brightly flowered long flowing dress Fran recognised as a muumuu. Zoe hugged Fran as Steve introduced her.
‘This is where we live when we’re here. Zoe will show you our quarters. Both she and Akila live locally and work at the hospital, but come down to help out when we are working on the island,’ Steve said. ‘Zoe keeps the place tidy for us and makes sure there is always food in the cupboards and refrigerator so we don’t starve to death, while Akila is on call for any emergencies—of which we get plenty—power outages, et cetera. But don’t worry we have generators which kick in to keep your incubator warm.’
Fran felt a niggle of apprehension, and for a moment longed to be back in her nice, safe, big, anonymous lab. These people were all too friendly. They were a team, but clearly friends as well. Why hadn’t she considered that it would be a small and intimate staff in this island clinic?
Friendly!
A queasy feeling in her stomach reminded her just how long it had been since she’d done friendly! At first, the pain of the IVF failures had made her curl into herself, erecting a cool polite barrier that outsiders saw.
Then the divorce and the humiliating knowledge that Nigel and Clarissa had been involved for months had made her draw away from the few friends she hadn’t shut out earlier. The only good thing that had come out of the whole mess was a better understanding of her mother, who had also built a protective shell around herself when her husband had departed. At last she now understood her mother’s detached behaviour during her childhood years.
Hurt prevention...
Fran had drifted across the hall to touch the leaves and flowers in the big display while these thoughts tumbled through her head.
‘I will show you your room,’ Zoe said, bringing Fran abruptly back to the present.
‘And I’ve got to check on something but I’ll be over later and will take you through the whole facility then,’ Steve added.
Fran felt a new wave of...not panic perhaps but definite uncertainty. Did she really need to see the whole facility? Of course she wanted to see the laboratory—it was where she would be working—and seeing how the place was set up would be interesting, but...
Something about the warm friendliness of the people was beginning to unsettle her—the realisation that they were all one big happy family, with Steve at the centre of it. It was threatening to cause cracks in barriers she had carefully erected between herself and others.
And all because they were welcoming her, were friendly? She could hardly resent that...
It had to be the heat, she decided, following Zoe across a courtyard filled with rioting plants, most with broad leaves and drooping fronds of flowers, and the same sweet, indefinable perfume.
‘Ginger,’ Zoe explained when Fran asked, and she looked more closely at the plants, not exactly surprised but trying to relate the small, bulbous roots she bought at the greengrocer to these exuberant, leafy plants.
The living quarters were adequate, freshly painted and clean, two bedrooms, a shared bathroom—she could live with that—and a combined living, dining, kitchen area.
‘Steve, he barbecues,’ Zoe told her, leading Fran out the back door onto a beautiful, shaded deck area, with a barbecue bigger and more complex than the kitchen back at her flat. ‘He brought the barbecue here but it is for everyone who stays. Patients bring fish and chicken and he says they are best on barbecue.’
Fran smiled. It was obvious the giant barbecue was the subject of much conversation among the staff at the clinic.
Zoe then indicated which bedroom would be hers and left her to unpack. It was a spacious room, with two beds—king singles or small doubles, she couldn’t tell—two wooden dressers with drawers, and a built-in cupboard. A vase filled with wide leaves and bright flowers stood on one of the dressers, welcoming her.
Uncertain of what lay ahead, Fran opted not to shower but simply to freshen up. She unclipped her hair, then made her way to the bathroom. She’d washed her face and was brushing out her hair when Steve arrived, calling hello from the front door.
She came out of her room, hairbrush still in her hand, anxious to tell him she’d only be a moment.
Steve stood in the doorway. Okay, so he’d assumed she’d be a very attractive woman with her hair waving softly around her face, but this attractive? She was smiling, saying something, but all he could do was stand and gawp.
Fortunately for his peace of mind she disappeared back into her room, returning seconds later with her hair neatly restrained, though this time more casually in a low ponytail at the base of her skull, one tail of the scarf that held it dangling forward over her white shirt, drawing his attention to—
No, his attention wasn’t going there.
‘I’ll show you our set-up,’ he said, aware his voice sounded rough. And why wouldn’t it because his mouth, for surely the first time in his life, had gone dry.
But his pride in the little clinic diverted his mind away from Fran as a very attractive woman—or almost diverted it—while he showed her around the rooms.
‘It’s very well set out, and far more complex than I’d imagined. You spoke about the couple who came to you in Sydney for IVF, and wanting to have something here, but this is impressive—it’s got everything you need, just on a smaller scale.’
‘I wanted to set up a place where couples can come and have their infertility investigated right from the start,’ he explained. ‘I can’t help feeling people are sometimes prey to exploitation. As you know, the most common cause of women not ovulating is PCO, and polycystic ovary syndrome can be treated with drugs. I believe, before IVF is even mentioned, ethical specialists must determine the underlying cause of the problem, and if possible treat it.’
Fran gave a little shake of her head. These were thoughts she’d had herself. Not that any of the specialists she’d seen had been unethical, but it had often seemed to her that they rushed towards IVF as an answer without considering alternatives.
‘I imagine drugs like clomiphene are a case in point,’ she said, seeing the way his mind worked. ‘With very little in the way of side-effects they can encourage the production of follicle-stimulating hormone,
