Four Weddings: A Woman To Belong To / A Wedding in Warragurra / The Surgeon's Chosen Wife / The Playboy Doctor's Marriage Proposal. Fiona Lowe
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up?’
He smiled at her. ‘No, this is not bad. It is not predicted to come this way. The wind should not get any stronger.’
Bec wrapped her arms around herself as a small tree became uprooted. ‘Well, that’s reassuring.’
Hin smiled, completely missing the irony in her voice.
The rain had only increased the humidity and she dripped in her dress. Due to the importance of the occasion she couldn’t wear her Vietnamese farming clothes so she was back in Western clothing. It felt odd to have her legs and arms exposed.
‘We’re required on the podium now,’ Tom’s stern voice commanded her from behind.
All traces of affection had faded from his voice. He’d retreated behind the persona of the serious doctor. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before she turned to face him. To face the man she loved.
The man who couldn’t love her back.
Unbearably, her heart tore a little more.
She just had to get through the next six hours. In six hours she would be back in Hanoi. Alone. Only then could she collapse in a flood of tears and give in to her raw and bleeding grief. But right now she was on show and dignity was her only defence.
She walked to the podium flanked by Hin and Tom and took her seat. Hin placed himself between her and Tom. She looked out onto a sea of colour, of flowing fabrics and complex embroidery. Most women wore the ao dai, the graceful and flowing national dress of Vietnam, marking the importance of the occasion. The men wore utilitarian black trousers and white shirts.
Everyone rose to their feet. The Australian flag was hoisted with appropriate pomp and ceremony, taking its place next to the vivid red Vietnamese flag with its central golden star.
The speeches started and Hin translated in a low voice. She took a quick glance sideways at Tom, knowing he had planned to make a short speech in Vietnamese, knowing he’d worried about getting it right. He stared straight ahead through eyes surrounded by deep lines. His shoulders were straight, rigid with tension, while his hands balled into fists and rested on his thighs.
Hands that had caressed her with such tenderness just yesterday.
A lifetime ago.
She sighed. This was all too hard. She would have given anything to hire a driver and go straight to Hanoi. Bypass this excruciatingly public event where they had to be seen together.
But no matter what had happened between them her plans for financing a programme with Health For Life hadn’t changed. Part of her belonged in Vietnam. Children like little Minh needed her.
Falling in love with Tom had forced her to acknowledge her desire for a child. Surely one good thing could come out of this mess. She’d go to Danang tomorrow and make enquiries about adopting Minh.
Tom’s chair scraped against the wooden floor as he rose to give his speech. People in the audience nodded their approval as his deep voice rang out clear and loud, the Vietnamese words flowing from his mouth without a moment’s hesitation.
For a few moments applause drowned out the sound of the rain.
A lump formed in Bec’s throat and she blinked. Nothing in her life had been as hard as right now, watching Tom from a distance and not being able to share this moment of accolade with him.
A children’s choir sang, their voices sweet and high, their red neck scarfs bright against their white school shirts.
Hin leaned over. ‘Now they want us to go and see the first X-ray being taken.’
She nodded numbly and followed the dignitaries off the podium, Tom ahead of her in deep discussion with the chief official and one of the local doctors.
Tom suddenly changed direction and walked hurriedly away with the doctor, disappearing through a side door, just as Hin guided her through another door and out into a long corridor.
Before she had time to wonder what was going on, the chief official was next to her and handing her some scissors.
‘He wants you to cut the ribbon on the machine,’ Hin translated as another door was opened.
Bec walked into the X-ray room and stood before the much-coveted, shiny new machine.
The staff looked eagerly at her. A nervous patient sat waiting for his chest X-ray.
She smiled, nodding at Hin to translate. ‘It is my pleasure to observe the first X-ray being taken.’ She snipped the ribbon.
Everyone clapped and she was ushered into the anteroom.
With much fanfare the X-ray was taken.
And another.
An hour later Bec had observed twelve X-rays being taken and talked to each of the patients. She had a sudden flash of insight into the duties of dignitaries. Her face ached from smiling, her dress stuck to her and she had blisters on her feet.
‘What happens next?’
Hin smiled. ‘They show you the X-rays and then we have tea.’
‘But shouldn’t Tom be reading the X-rays?’ She hadn’t seen him since he’d walked through a different door.
‘He isn’t here. There’s been a motorbike accident.’
The windows rattled as the wind whipped the building. ‘Has he gone to the emergency department? Do they need my help?’
Hin shrugged. ‘He went in the ambulance.’
‘In this weather?’ A slither of fear raced through her. She pushed it down.
‘You just have to look interested at the X-ray picture,’ Hin instructed her mildly, ignoring her question.
Resigned, she turned to face the light box as three chest films were clipped into place and proudly displayed. All films showed evidence of the damage coal dust could do to lungs, fibrous lung tissue making gas exchange difficult and breathing increasingly hard.
The light box suddenly buzzed and went black.
An almighty crack boomed around the room as Bec realized that lightning must have struck the building. The room went black. An ear-splitting crash followed. Rain poured through the roof as the ceiling curled back, ripped open like a sardine can. The wind swirled in, sucking up everything in its path, the noise deafening.
She instinctively reached out, trying to find Hin. Trying to remember the layout of the room. ‘I don’t think this is the edge of a typhoon,’ she yelled over the roar of the wind as fear clawed at her.
Tom was out in this storm.
TOM CROUCHED UNDER a plastic sheet held up by two men to protect him and his patient from the blinding rain. It wasn’t really working. He was as wet as if he’d just got out of a pool. Water dripped off his hair as he shone his torch into the eyes of a young man who had lost control of his motorbike.
The road, if it could be called that, was now almost mud. The bike had gone into a wild skid, and both rider and bike had crashed into a ditch. He’d been pulled out of the water-filled trough by passers-by and now lay by the side of the road.
Tom prayed he had no spinal damage that had been made worse by the rescue attempts of his friends. Squinting in the rain, he watched for pupil contractions in response to the light. Sluggish.
Not good. The law in Vietnam was that riders on country roads had to wear helmets. Unfortunately, this young man had been on a back road up by the mine and hadn’t worn his.
Tom had come ahead in the four-wheel-drive as the ambulance hadn’t been able to negotiate the back road. Even the truck had struggled. He’d arranged to meet the ambulance at the village further down the