A Courageous Doctor. Alison Roberts
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opening to the long verandah and Maggie had already spotted the casual wicker furniture on the wide outdoor extension to the house. Service areas, including two bathrooms and a laundry, were on the side of the house away from the lake but basically the dwelling was single-room width, built on the lake’s edge like a holiday cottage.
It seemed ancient. The wide, wooden floorboards had the rich patina of age and matched hardwood beams latticed the plaster ceilings of most of the rooms. The bathrooms and kitchen were up to date, however, and the old coal range that was keeping some delicious-smelling soup hot looked as though it had been kept purely for its aesthetic value. Furnishings appeared to have been chosen for comfort rather than style and the huge leather chair beside the woodburner looked as inviting as the soup smelt.
Maggie was tired. She had started the long drive down from the ferry terminal at Picton yesterday and had stopped overnight in Christchurch. She thought she’d paced the journey well but the interruption of dealing with that accident had drained any remaining energy. She pulled only the bare essentials of her possessions from her car to put in the spare bedroom with the pale, blue walls and darker blue bed covering, and then went to explore more thoroughly what the kitchen had to offer. A loaf of bread topped a wooden board beside the stove and Maggie helped herself to a thick slice, breaking off a piece of crust to nibble as she hunted for a suitable mug to ladle soup into. She noticed the eyes then. Four of them, with another two lurking a little further back. She grinned.
‘Oh…I’m not so bad now that I’m holding food, is that the story?’
A tail thumped. Then another. Maggie could have sworn the dogs exchanged vaguely embarrassed glances before sidling closer. Maggie held out what was left of the crust. ‘So, who’s going to be brave enough to go first, then?’
She hoped Hugo wasn’t a big eater. If he’d intended that loaf of bread for his breakfast he might be annoyed to find that Maggie had shared so much of it with his pets as she’d bribed them into friendship.
‘Mind you, we don’t have to tell him, do we?’ Maggie put the empty soup mug down on top of the pile of medical journals covering the table beside the chair. She curled her legs up so that she could lean more comfortably into the lovely old leather cushions. She scratched the set of ears that stood out from the rest by having one black and one white. The dog closed its eyes wearily.
‘Come on, then.’ Maggie drew her legs into a tighter ball and patted the space she had created on the chair beside her. ‘You look like you need a rest as much as I do.’
It was later than Hugo had intended by the time he headed home but he hadn’t expected to have to spend his evening making amends. He still wasn’t quite sure what he had been trying to atone for. His lateness, initially, but then what? Not Joan’s suspicions about him having a female house guest. He had no reason to feel guilty about that. It was more likely to have been the revelation of how little they really knew each other that had made him feel so guilty.
Hugo suspected he had spent the last three hours or so trying to do something about his lack of involvement in the relationship. Trying to let Joan know that he hadn’t been simply stringing her along for reasons of personal convenience. He had even kissed her with more enthusiasm than usual, too, but the lack of any overwhelming ambition to take her to bed still hadn’t changed. It had been Joan who had decreed that they take things slowly but a year was a bit ridiculous in anyone’s book, wasn’t it? And why hadn’t he felt inspired to do something about it?
He was too tired to worry about it now and it was irritating to feel like he had something else he would need to make amends for when he went into his own home. Maggie had probably felt unwelcome, arriving to an empty house with an impersonal note taped to the door. But she wasn’t welcome, was she? Maggie Johnston carried with her too many reminders of things Hugo had done his best to move on from. The thought of stirring parts of his soul best left to lie in peace was disturbing. It had been tough enough telling Joan the bare facts. Hugo realised then that that was the reason he had spent so long in Joan’s company tonight. He would have denied it strongly but he had been nervous about going home.
What was he going to find? A Mack truck filling the woolshed? An older but still stroppy female who might make demands on the strength of their past association? Trouble had always followed Maggie like a boisterous puppy, ready to leap unexpectedly and over-enthusiastically into prominence but never causing major damage. At least, not until that ill-fated trip overseas. Hugo shook his head. There was no point revisiting any of that again until he had to.
And maybe Maggie had changed. There was no vast truck parked in his woolshed. Just a very ordinary, small Toyota hatchback. And his house looked perfectly peaceful. Quiet. Too quiet, maybe. Where were the dogs? Had Maggie given up waiting for him to come home and taken herself off to bed? Hugo let himself into the house carefully so as not to disturb his guest if she was asleep. He clicked the front door shut quietly and trod softly across the short hallway to enter the living room. Then, two steps into the room, he stopped.
Maggie was asleep. Curled up in his big, leather chair. Two dogs lay guarding her feet, including Tuck—the dog who accepted no stranger but now had his nose resting on the chair’s cushion. And Lass, who was so shy it had taken Hugo weeks to win her trust, was actually on the chair with Maggie, coiled into a ball that fitted neatly behind Maggie’s knees. The gaze she bestowed on Hugo was frankly guilty and the white-tipped tail waved apologetically.
It was the movement of the dog that woke Maggie. She blinked in confusion for a long moment as Hugo stared back at her but then her face came alive, the smile extending to a delighted grin as she scrambled to her feet, scattering reluctant dogs.
‘Hugo!’
And with the sound of her voice myriad memories rushed at him. He could hear two voices. Young girls of about eight or nine. Teasing him as he arrived home from school.
‘Hugo!’
‘No, you go!’
‘No! Hugo!’
He could hear the echo of giggles but he could also remember the welcome that had lain beneath the teasing. Who else had ever been that pleased to see him? Had lain in wait to tease him unmercifully but had also sought him out to share something new and exciting or seek assistance when, once again, they had landed themselves in some kind of trouble?
Only Maggie and Felicity, that was who. And now it was just Maggie, but the pleasure of seeing him was there in her eyes and it was just the same. Hugo had to breathe in past the painful constriction his throat was experiencing.
‘Oh, Maggie,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’ And to his astonishment, he found the words were true.
He held out his arms and then, to his consternation, Maggie’s grin faded and gold-flecked hazel eyes sparkled with gathering tears. But then Maggie was in his arms and Hugo was being hugged with breathtaking enthusiasm and he was aware of nothing but the feeling that a huge chunk of his life that he had believed had gone for ever had just—miraculously—been given back to him.
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