Winter Wonderland Wishes. Abigail Gordon
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appreciated her wit, but made no retort.
An hour later they were still at the café. Once they had agreed to their working arrangements Heath had dropped all other lines of questioning and given Phoebe the low-down on the city she would call home for a few months.
Despite the ease with which they spoke, Heath had still not had his questions answered about Phoebe’s motives for relocating. But he did know she was a lot more adaptable than he was. It made him curious, although he didn’t verbalise it.
With her academic record the surgical world was quite literally her oyster. There would be few, if any, practices or teaching facilities that would not welcome her into their fold with open arms. There was no ring on her finger, but he would not be arrogant enough to assume that there was no man in her life. If there was then he too must be as adaptable as Phoebe, and willing to compromise and let her travel to the other side of the world for work. He was not that type of man.
‘Adelaide is very quiet, I assume?’ she asked as she relaxed back into her chair and admired the artwork on the café walls.
‘Yes—a little too relaxed in pace for me. It’s very different from Sydney, which I prefer. I grew up here, but moved to Sydney about ten years ago when I finished my internship. I was offered a position on the east coast and I took it.’
‘I’d like to see Sydney one day, but I think Adelaide will be lovely for the next six months.’
‘Adelaide’s like a very large country town,’ Heath replied. ‘And that’s the reason I never stay too long.’
‘A large country town suits me. It isn’t the size of the town but more the attitude of the people that matters.’
Heath watched Phoebe as she studied the eclectic collection of watercolour paintings and charcoal sketches on the wall. She was smiling as she looked at the work of novice artists and he could see her appreciation of the pieces. There was no sign of the big town superiority that he had thought she might display, and she didn’t launch into a spiel about comparisons with Washington, as he had expected.
‘That’s what my father keeps telling me when I try to get him to relocate to Sydney. He won’t budge. He likes the growing medical research sector in Adelaide, even if it’s a small city by comparison.’
‘From all reports he’s one of the finest podiatric surgeons in the southern hemisphere. I look forward to meeting him when he’s up to it.’ While Heath had not enquired more about her reasons for relocating, to cement that line of questioning shut she added, ‘Your father’s work is revolutionary in its simplicity, and I respect his conservative approach of proceeding, where possible, with surgery as the second not the first option. His expertise in soft tissue manipulation and trigger point therapy is impressive. A lot of practitioners routinely go for surgery, but your father is quite the opposite, preferring to view his patients through a holistic filter and follow a slightly more protracted but less invasive treatment plan.’
Heath could see that his father’s work had made quite an impression on Phoebe. ‘I hope you’re not disappointed that you’ll be working with me. It’s like ordering Chinese takeout and having pizza arrive on your doorstep.’
Phoebe liked his quirky analogy, although it seemed at odds with his less than lighthearted nature. He was far from a poor second, and she silently admitted that pizza was a favourite of hers. Heath was charming and knowledgeable, and his reserved demeanour was a pleasant change.
Although his rigid viewpoint might possibly test her reserves of patience in the long term, she was very much looking forward to working with him in the short term. She doubted he would disappoint on any level, but professional was the only level she was interested in exploring.
Heath considered the woman sitting opposite him for a moment. She was a highly regarded surgeon in their mutual field, but there was a mixture of strength and frailty to her. It was as if she was hiding, or running away from something. And he wasn’t sure why he wanted to work her out, except that it was as if she was second-guessing herself on some level. He had no idea why she would.
Heath knew that she was an only child, that her father was a Presidential advisor and her mother a Washington socialite, and that she’d spent her high school years at a prestigious private school in Washington. She had openly chatted about that. He also knew that she had graduated top of her class from her studies at the New York College of Podiatric Medicine, and had done her three-year residency at the university hospital.
It would appear she had the makings of someone who could be quite consumed with their own self-importance, but she wasn’t. She was, he’d realised quickly, very humble—because Heath knew of her Dux status from his father, not from her. Phoebe hadn’t brought it up. It was a huge honour and she was omitting it from her abbreviated life story over morning coffee.
In that way she was not unlike his wife, Natasha—a former model and fashion designer who had also been very humble about the accolades she’d been given both on and off the runway.
Natasha had not been at all what Heath had imagined a model would be like the night he’d met her at a fundraising event. He’d been thirty and she only twenty-three. After a whirlwind courtship they’d married, and Natasha had fallen pregnant soon afterwards. They’d both been so excited and looking forward to growing their family.
Heath had come to learn that she worked actively and tirelessly for many causes—including one to support research into a cure for the disease that had eventually claimed her life. And from that day, Heath’s purpose in life—his only focus outside of his work—had been raising their beautiful little boy, Oscar, who had been given life by the only woman Heath had ever loved.
And nothing and no one would ever come between them.
Not his work and not a woman.
It was a promise he’d made to himself five years earlier. The day he lost his wife. The day he’d walked away from the hospital without her and realised he would never again hold her in his arms or wake next to her in the bed they had shared. He’d vowed that day that he would dedicate his life to being the kind of father to their son that Natasha would have wanted.
And he would never wake with another woman in his arms.
He had been true to both promises.
Oddly, sitting with Phoebe, he felt almost comfortable, more at ease than in a long time, and he suspected their mutual professional interests had a lot to do with that. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken in depth to a woman about his chosen career and engaged in a meaningful conversation. He had taken lovers over the years, but nothing more than a shared night. He left before dawn, and conversation was at the bottom of the list of his needs on those occasions.
‘I’d better let you go and I’ll head back to the practice and sort out the air-con, or we’ll have melted patients for the next few months,’ Heath told her in a matter-of-fact tone as he stood. ‘It’s only December, and both January and February are hotter months in general.’
Phoebe was taken aback by the way Heath ended their time together. He had invited her to go for a drink and now he was excusing himself quite abruptly. Not that she minded at all. In fact she was relieved, as it gave him no further opportunity to quiz her about her personal life.
‘You mean hotter than this?’ Phoebe asked.
‘Not hotter, but hot for longer stretches.’
Phoebe shrugged. ‘Well, then, I really hope you get the air-conditioner working.’
He paid the tab and walked Phoebe to the door and then out into the street. His body language was stiff and distant again. Any hint of being relaxed had evaporated.
‘I’ll see you in a few days. Take some downtime to recover from your trip and I’ll see you on Thursday morning at eight. If you get a chance, try to head to the beach or a pool. It will do you the world of good.’
Phoebe nodded. ‘Okay, thanks—maybe I will.’ She walked away, then suddenly