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.
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
