he didn’t quite recognise the person he was looking at. Almost as though he was seeing a ghost.
‘Stella! What’s all this?’
Stella’s tentative smile widened hopefully. Look at me, Daddy, it said. Tell me it’s OK to feel this proud of myself.
Susie’s smile widened, too. She did this by herself, it said. Isn’t it wonderful?
But Alex Vavunis didn’t even seem to notice the absence of the crutches. He was staring at Stella’s face. Susie watched, transfixed by the changing expression on his face, not wanting to believe what she could see happening. Pleasure giving way to a blink of readjustment. Pride being tarnished by what could only be interpreted as disappointment. Surely not. How crushing would that be?
‘You’re…’ Alex paused, and the transformation from loving parent to authoritarian figure appeared complete. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’
Stella’s smile wobbled. ‘I… It’s the camp disco tonight. I told you…’
‘And what are you wearing? Whose clothes are they?’
‘Mine.’
Her father made a faint sound—of irritation perhaps. As though he knew every item of clothing in his teenage daughter’s wardrobe and didn’t recognise these.
Maybe he did, in which case Susie might label him as a control freak rather than a caring parent. It was possible to give him the benefit of some doubt, though. What Stella was wearing at the moment was very different to anything she had brought with her to camp but, then, variations on a theme of denim jeans, oversized T-shirts and baseball caps were hardly what a girl would want to wear to her first disco, were they?
‘There’s a shop at the resort,’ Stella was continuing bravely. ‘You said I could buy anything I needed and put it on your room account.’
‘Yes, but…’ Alex took another look at his daughter’s attire and sighed.
The sigh seemed to hang over them. The sound of a man who was capable of dealing with any amount of stress and decision-making in matters of life or death but who had not expected and certainly did not welcome having to deal with this particular issue.
Stella didn’t sound so brave now. There was uncertainty in her voice. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’
‘Nothing,’ Susie muttered.
The skirt was gorgeous. Layers of brightly coloured gypsy ruffles that ended at mid-calf. The perfect length and shape for making the first public appearance of that prosthesis discreet.
The lacy white camisole top was also perfect. Just what most teenage girls wore, and while the shop hadn’t run to much in the way of lingerie, Susie knew Stella had been secretly thrilled at the boost from the lightly padded and underwired white bikini top.
‘It looks like underwear,’ Alex Vavunis decreed. He shook his head in a single, incredulous movement. ‘Good Greek girls do not appear in underwear in public, Stella.’
‘But…’
Susie could feel Stella’s confidence draining. All the excitement and anticipation from revealing her progress and new, grown-up look was evaporating like the hiss of air from a pricked balloon. She glared at Stella’s father. How could he do this? Did he have any idea how hard it had been to get to this point? How fragile his daughter’s self-esteem was?
A degree of disapproval would have been understandable. Acceptable even. She had been prepared for that after more than one reference from Stella about how strict her father could be, but Susie had brushed aside the warnings. She had heard enough to convince her how proud Stella was of her famous father and how much she loved him. Any parent who inspired such loyalty had to be doing something right and it had been easy to convince herself that he would be as thrilled as she was at the extraordinary progress Stella had made this week.
Oh, Lord! This was her fault.
Susie still had her arm around Stella’s shoulders and she could feel the gathering tension. Any second now and her arm could be shrugged off as blame was apportioned. There would be tears, no doubt. What should have been a joyous reunion would be a scene of misery and confrontation for everybody concerned.
‘Charles Wetherby was supposed to meet me and arrange transport,’ Alex said. ‘We’ll go straight to the hotel and you can get changed.’ He frowned at his mobile phone then looked over Stella’s shoulder.
Susie followed the glance. Sure enough, there was Charles in his wheelchair a little further up the path that led to the medical centre. How long had he been there? How much had he overheard?
Enough, she suspected, aware of a wash of relief. The medical director of Crocodile Creek Base Hospital had earned his position as the heart of this community. He never ceased to keep his fingers on the pulse of his realm. Not just the running of a large base hospital that provided a rescue base for the whole of far North Queensland. Or its satellite and now considerably upgraded facilities on Wallaby Island that meant they were able to expand the camps run for sick kids and their families. He also seemed to know anything important that was happening in the lives of his staff.
Susie sent a smile in his direction. A probably unnecessary plea for assistance in defusing this situation. Charles had been the point of contact for the neurosurgeon two years ago when Alex Vavunis had been checking out the possibility of a respite for his daughter who had been undergoing intensive chemotherapy for a type of bone cancer. He would know more about the man’s personality than Susie did, so he would be aware of the undercurrents.
And everybody had seen how Susie had been drawn to this prickly teenager in the first week of this current camp. Charles had commented only yesterday about the extra hours Susie was spending on the island this time, but the twinkle in his eye had been approving.
He had seen what Stella’s father was apparently blind to. Susie’s smile suddenly felt crooked. Maybe Charles had also seen that the project was helping Susie as much as Stella. That she’d been drawn to the teenager because some of the events of this week had left her feeling just as forlorn and left out of the good things in life as Stella clearly did.
Charles rolled onto the planks at the land end of the jetty. The seaplane pilot had finished securing the moorings and was walking towards them from the other end, carrying a suitcase. She and Stella were a little island of femininity getting closed in by men. No wonder Stella trembled and seemed to lose her balance. Standing unaided was new enough without this sense of threat. That was why Susie had the elbow crutches clutched in her free hand. Hidden behind her back.
Amazingly, though, Stella straightened. Regained her balance. Susie loved the way her chin rose defiantly.
‘No,’ she told her father.
‘No?’ The echo was dumbfounded. ‘What do you mean, “No”?’
‘I’m not going to the hotel.’
‘It’s all arranged.’ The words were impatient. ‘We have a suite. You didn’t want to stay in the dormitories with the other children, remember?’
Of course she didn’t, Susie thought angrily.
