A Doctor, A Fling & A Wedding Ring. Fiona McArthur
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and his eyes were clear.
‘Is he getting German measles? He has spots,’ his mother said again, clasping and unclasping her hands, and Tara felt the pull of sympathy for Tommy and his obviously distressed mum.
‘You poor thing. Imagine that on the first day of your holiday. But I think he’s fine. It may be a heat rash. Does he seem unwell to you?’ She looked at the reading from the digital thermometer she’d just used in Tommy’s ear.
Tara had seen more than enough German measles to be fairly certain this wasn’t a case. The rash wasn’t typical, barely visible and mildly pink, and the little boy didn’t present as being unwell, but she gave the mother a list of other signs and suggested she bring him back if they manifested.
The mother nodded her head with concern. ‘He’s normally a little terror. Are you sure the spots are okay?’
‘Yes, but you did the right thing bringing him in to check. Especially if he’s going into the child activity centre.’
Gwen shook her head vehemently. ‘Oh, no. I’d never do that. There’s just the two of us. His dad left us, you see, and we’re visiting my sister in Mykonos on holiday. Sometimes he’s not a well little boy and on the ship I don’t have to travel without being safe. It’s Tommy’s holiday too.’
Tara smiled at the pair. ‘He’s very lucky to have you. Bring him back if you’re worried, Gwen.’
Tara showed them out and Marie sent in an older lady who wanted her ear looked at for wax. Marie was chewing her lip, trying not to laugh, and Tara pretended to frown at her. This was not life-threatening stuff at all but the waiting room was emptying. Still no crew and at this rate they’d be clear of patients before the two hours was up.
Wilhelm was still sequestered with his previous patient so Tara took the older lady in with her.
Wilhelm and Tara had planned to catch up on the in-service needed with the new ECG machine, as well as go through the cases from the day before, and Marie planned to venture ashore to peep into the casino in Monaco.
Tara couldn’t help but wonder what a certain bar-staff member was doing because most of the bars were shut when the cruise ship was in port. No doubt by the end of the cruise she’d have a fair idea. She even toyed with the idea of looking for him after tea, she’d seen the bar on the wall directions, but a swell came up and the hospital was inundated with motion-sickness sufferers and that put paid to that. Good thing too.
* * *
On the second morning when Tara woke they were tied to the wharf at Livorno, the gateway to Florence, the leaning tower of Pisa and Tuscany, none of which she’d seen. Or would.
But Tara was off duty later in the morning and quite happy to explore the less-crowded ship.
She ventured through the main passenger areas in civilian clothes and gazed around at the surprising throng of passengers foregoing the shore excursions.
Up in the sunlight, at one of the few open bars on board, Nick lorded it behind the Casablanca Bar like a sheikh in a harem. Tara stepped back behind one of the ship’s columns on the swimming-pool deck and watched him work.
She had to admit he filled his blue T-shirt admirably and the muscles in his chest and those arms were blatantly provocative as he shook his cocktail shaker and grinned at the world.
Why weren’t these women off visiting the city where they were docked? The rattle of ice carried across the hum of conversations that floated above the deckchairs and his teeth flashed as he theatrically poured the contents into a glass from a great height without a splash.
Well, she guessed Nick was one reason. She had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud, which kind of surprised her because the little bubble of excitement that surfaced just by seeing him was totally unexpected.
She frowned and looked away but there was nothing quite as much fun to look at. She couldn’t dispute she was feeling better than she had been when she’d stepped on board but this guy was nobody to her. And she was certainly a nobody to him.
Her gaze drifted back to Nick as he scooped up a decorative skewer of pineapple and cherry and garnished a creation with a flamboyant wave.
He was so confident, Tara could feel her lips tug again, so clearly a showman and ladies’ man, she probably didn’t have a hope of practising her extremely rusty wiles on him, but if she got the chance, at least it meant he couldn’t be hurt if she did get to first base with him.
Still she hung back. Watched the woman he’d served walk away with an exaggerated wiggle, and noted with approval Nick’s attention was on cleaning his cocktail equipment, not on her bikini bottom. So he took the rules for consorting with passengers seriously. She’d been surprised how severely intimacy with passengers was dealt with on the ship. No doubt instant dismissal wouldn’t look good on his résumé.
Or maybe he just wasn’t interested. He didn’t look gay. At all. She smiled to herself. She wondered how he would look at her if she asked for one of those non-alcoholic ‘mocktails’ they served to teetotallers? She’d never been much of a drinker, most alcohol gave her a headache, and during college she’d usually offered to be the designated driver if she’d gone out.
Maybe that was what Vander had liked about her. She’d often wondered because she’d certainly felt she’d let him down in some way, though he’d never said.
Nick glanced up, saw her skulking behind the pillar, and gestured her over. Well, maybe he wasn’t totally disinterested.
She straightened away from the column and smiled shyly. Funny how that little tug in her stomach made her mouth curve. Her feet seemed pretty eager to move his way too and she tried not to wiggle like the last woman had.
He gestured to a stool at the side of the bar. ‘Hello, there, Dr Tara. Fancy a drink?’
She smiled back. ‘Non-alcoholic?’
‘Sure.’ He gestured to his makings. ‘I’ll have you know there is just as much skill needed for a really top mocktail, if not more.’
‘You reckon you’re pretty good at these, do you?’
‘The best.’
‘I see you lack in confidence.’
‘I know. Sad really. How about a No-jito?’ His white teeth flashed and she had to grin and the extraneous noises faded until it was as if the two of them were in a private little bubble. She bet all the girls behind her at the pool felt like that too. He went on to explain. ‘Crushed mint, loads of limes, sugar syrup and soda?’
‘Sounds great.’ She shook off her absorption of him and glanced around. ‘How’s the bar-manager gig going?’
He smiled at the half-naked women on loungers spread out in a fan in front of him. ‘Always fun.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Tsk, tsk. Men.’
He leaned towards her. ‘Perhaps it should be “Tsk tsk, women”? Though I don’t mean that. I love women. I have sisters I adore and a new girlfriend every month.’
Tara wondered if he was warning her. Temporary. Don’t plan a wedding. Nice if he was. Because that suited her down to the ground!
* * *
Nick wondered if he was warning her. Bit of an exaggeration, that monthly girlfriend thing, but he certainly wasn’t into permanence. Had discovered long ago that even the most likely couple would stretch to find eternal happy-ever-after. But to warn about his preference for the short term was not his usual tactic when he was trying to chat up a woman.
What made this one different? He’d kept an eye out for her but had been unexpectedly busy with his duties and he’d have much preferred it if his sister had decided on a position with less responsibilities.
Dr Tara had intruded into his thoughts persistently last night when the sea had played games. He’d bet