CHAPTER THREE

      ARISSA WAS TIRED. More than tired. The next two days were going to be the busiest. The annual carnival was due to start tomorrow and it looked as if she was going to be the only doctor available for the clinic.

      It was unfortunate. She’d hoped to use technology to review some of the cases like Adilah’s. There were seven kids on the island with some kind of blood cancer that she could discuss with a specialist back at her training hospital. She’d really wanted to use time to ensure they were getting the best treatments available. But now, as the only doctor at the clinic, she was unlikely to get time to do that.

      She stared at the stack of photos in front of her. The clinic had negotiated sponsorship into research regarding the new ointment made from natural substances found on the island that seemed to have remarkable healing abilities. Part of her role was to help with the documentation. But it seemed that the doctor that had been here before her had fallen behind. The work was vital—the sponsorship helped keep this clinic open and full of supplies. She’d need to play catch up. It would have been possible with two doctors—particularly when Harry had been so interested in the subject matter—but now, with just her?

      It didn’t help that she couldn’t find the digital files on the computer. If her predecessor had saved them he must have used the weirdest filing system in the world.

      A shadow fell over her desk and she looked up just as her stomach rumbled loudly. Lunch. She’d forgotten about that too.

      She frowned as she recognised the face. She couldn’t help herself. ‘Lost again? Or do you need a doctor?’

      He was dressed in light trousers and a pale blue shirt. Relatively smarter than his jeans and T-shirt yesterday.

      ‘Do you?’ Was his reply.

      Her brain tried to compute, but hunger and fatigue were making her grumpy. ‘What?’

      ‘A doctor? Do you need one—you know—to replace Harry for the next two weeks?’

      The frown stayed in place. ‘Well, of course I do. But it’s not likely. So—’ she pushed herself up from the chair ‘—what exactly do you want, Mr...?’ She couldn’t remember his name from yesterday.

      He held out his hand towards her. ‘Dr—Dr Aronaz. Here to help—if you want it.’

      She stared at the outstretched hand and, slowly, put her hand out to meet his. His grip was firm, his hand warm. She ignored the little buzz up her arm. ‘What kind of a doctor are you?’

      ‘Mainly ER, but I do have some surgical experience, and I’ve had some obstetric experience too.’

      ‘Where did you work?’

      ‘I’ve worked lots of places.’

      ‘I need specifics.’ She couldn’t help but fire questions at him. While she was desperate, she wasn’t that desperate. She didn’t want some lazy, rich guy who’d flunked out of every job that he’d had.

      ‘I spent a spell in an ER in Chicago. I can give you my head of department’s number. Before that I was in Italy in Verona, before that I was in Sarajevo in Bosnia.’

      ‘Where did you train?’

      A smile started to dance around the corners of his lips at her rapid-fire questions. ‘I trained at Harvard.’

      Of course. Money was practically stamped all over this guy. She shifted her feet. But there was something else. It was old-school money.

      Somehow she knew he hadn’t had to work as hard as she had to get grants and loans to pursue her dream of being a doctor. In fact, she was quite sure he hadn’t had to do that at all.

      She was still working to pay off her loans. Goodness knew when that would finally come to an end. But it had been worth it for her. She’d achieved her dream. Her dream of being a doctor. A good doctor—a focused doctor who did the best she could for her patients. She’d even managed to introduce a system for babies who’d been abandoned like her. The safe haven project held a big piece of her heart.

      People who’d trained at Harvard probably couldn’t begin to understand that. She hated that money made the world go round. As a capable and competent doctor whose reputation went before her, Arissa had had more than one offer of a job if she’d agreed to work entirely privately. She’d also had a few very rich businessmen try and convince her that she wanted to work in their specialist clinics. It was almost as if they didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t chase the money, and come exactly where the high salaries were.

      But the biggest part of the population didn’t have a high salary. As it was, she considered her normal doctor salary to be good. She didn’t want to fold and end up working for the rich and famous.

      She didn’t need the drama. She didn’t want the attention—no matter how fleeting. She was an ordinary person. And that was what she wanted to be—an ordinary person, leading an ordinary life. She’d been particularly careful not to let the media know she’d been an abandoned baby herself when she’d set up the safe haven project—she didn’t want her story to be the news. This was all about the mothers and babies of now.

      She folded her arms across her chest and stared up at Philippe. Mr Old-School Money. He shook his head a little. ‘What’s wrong? Looked like I’d lost you there. Did I say something to offend you?’

      She paused, trying to find words.

      Philippe filled the uncomfortable gap. He looked around. ‘I’m not quite sure what services you offer in the clinic, but I’m sure my ER experience will be sufficient to give a good service. Harry told me a little of the reasons he was coming here. He was excited about a research project on healing. I’m happy to help with that too. I carried out a few research projects as part of my training.’

      It almost sounded as if the guy was trying to schmooze her. And why should he? He’d just offered his doctor services for free for the next two weeks, she should be jumping all over him. But...there was just something she couldn’t put her finger on. As if there were something he wasn’t quite telling her.

      Arissa’s instincts had always been good. She’d learned not to ignore them.

      ‘What kind of projects?’ She didn’t quite mean the way the words came out—as if she didn’t quite believe him.

      But he kept his cool even though he looked slightly amused by her questioning. ‘I did one in West Africa looking at polio and smallpox vaccination, encouraging uptake. It was hugely successful. I did another in London, working at a specialist centre that diagnosed PoTS—you know, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. Fascinating.’

      She pressed her lips together. He’d gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. If the guy actually showed her his résumé she was pretty sure it was far more impressive than hers.

      A pager started sounding at her waistband.

      Oh, no.

      He wrinkled his nose. ‘What