The Doctor's Society Sweetheart (7 page)

He didn’t try to shush her, he didn’t try to talk, he didn’t even stroke her back to calm her down. He simply held her and let her cry and that in itself, his pure kindness, only made her cry harder.

It felt as though thirty-two years of pain and frustration came pouring out of her. Emmy had no idea why she suddenly had no self-control. Perhaps it was the fact that she was here, in this jungle village, far from anything remotely familiar. She’d stepped outside of her comfort zone, stepped away from the tight control she usually held over her life, and with a few simple words, words that had revealed a lot about himself, Dart had somehow prised opened her floodgates.

The pain in her chest that came from crying, the way she sucked in a breath only to expel it with more sobs and tears somehow had a calming effect on Dart. He wasn’t sure what to do but he’d seen his father at times holding his mother, just being there for her, letting her cry.

‘Son,’ he recalled his father saying softly to him one night when Dart had been extremely worried about seeing his mother cry. ‘When times are harsh, when things are difficult and there often doesn’t appear to be a way out, your mother needs to get it out of her system. She cries. I go and chop wood. We all have different ways of getting the frustrations
out of our systems and then we can pick ourselves up, lift our chins high and start again.’

As Dart continued to hold Emmy, her sobs starting to slow a little, he realised she was just letting go. Like the rest of the media, he’d incorrectly assumed that simply because she was wealthy, she was happy.

‘Money does not make the man,’ his father had quoted more times than Dart could remember. His father had been quite a man and one Dart still continually strived to be like. He thought of his parents almost every day but in a more general way, doing his best to lift his chin high and start again. Although it had been six years since their deaths, six years since his world had come crashing down around him, Dart’s ingrained perseverance had continued. It was a legacy from his father, as was the advice to simply stay still and let the woman cry.

Lying here in this hut, holding Emmy in his arms, he realised she wasn’t just the socialite from the glossy magazines, or the student who had gone to medical school in search of herself, or the doctor who had come to this country to try and help others.

She was just…Emmy. A woman who had been hurt so badly by the people who should mean the most to her that she’d locked that core part of her away. Now that core was flooding, the tension was being released through her tears. Feeling rather melancholy himself, Dart adjusted the pillow beneath his head and closed his eyes.

He tightened his arms around her, protecting her, making sure she felt secure and safe. Of course, he had to work hard to ignore the way he liked holding her like this. The knight-in-shining-armour rule book stated clearly that sexual attraction played no part when offering comfort to a damsel in distress.

As her sobs changed to quiet hiccups, and her tears dried,
he felt her breathing become more even, more controlled, and soon realised she was asleep.

He had no idea when he’d eventually drifted off, the sweet scent of Emmy’s skin, the soft silkiness of her hair teasing his senses, lulling him into slumber, but when he woke, all he noticed was a throbbing pain in his right arm that was becoming unbearable.

Dart opened his eyes. The sun was starting to pour light into the hut, and he knew instantly where he was but had momentarily forgotten that he held the stunning Emmy Jofille in his arms. That was also the reason his arm appeared to be in pain, a lack of blood in that limb. As he looked at her, her head still resting on his shoulder, her long auburn locks splayed out along his arm, his gut tightened at the perfect picture she made.

When he’d first met her, he’d thought her beautiful. Hearing her talk about her reasons for being here, her desire to really help the villagers, had made him see her as intelligently beautiful. Now, after what she’d shared with him last night, he’d discovered she was as glorious on the inside as she was on the outside. She was stunning to look at and it now appeared she had a sweet and honest personality to match.

Where his life hadn’t been easy due to poverty, hers hadn’t been easy due to wealth. They seemed to be alike in so many ways yet completely different in others. Of one thing Dart was now sure. The woman in his arms wasn’t Emerson-Rose Jofille, daughter of mogul Sebastian Jofille and joint heir to the Jofille family fortune. She was merely Emmy, a doctor who had come to Tarparnii to help out, to throw light on the plight of these people and to raise awareness on the issues that plagued this pain-ridden country.

Pressure once more shot up his arm and he knew, with great reluctance, that he needed to move. He mentally went
through the logistics of shifting without waking her before moving slightly and slowly.

No sooner had he turned than Emmy sat bolt upright, hair going everywhere as she scrambled to push it out of her face, out of her eyes.

‘What? Huh? I’m up. I’m awake. What’s the emergency?’

Dart’s smile was instantaneous. ‘There’s no emergency,’ he murmured, shaking and rubbing his arm to help increase the blood flow. ‘I just had a dead arm. I didn’t want to wake you.’

Emmy stopped, hands in mid-air, hair tangled everywhere. It was the least poised she’d ever been and yet seeing her like this only made his attraction to her increase.

She looked down at Dart, lying there, shirtless, rubbing his right arm as though to prove his words. Her eyes widened as she recalled the events of last night.

‘Oh, no,’ she groaned, and covered her face with her hands, this time minus her hair, which she’d managed to at least push out of her eyes.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You. Last night.’

‘Nothing happened, I swear.’

‘I know nothing happened.’ She dropped her hands with a hint of impatience. ‘It’s just…’ She dragged in a breath and slowly let it out. ‘I don’t like to lose control.’

‘Apparently.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Annoyance coursed through her and she stood, straightening her cotton pyjamas as she went.

Dart chuckled. ‘Nothing, really.’

‘Then why is it so funny?’

‘I’m not laughing
at
you, Emmy.’

‘Well, you can’t be laughing
with
me because I’m not laughing.’

His own frustration beginning to increase, Dart sat up, trying not to grimace as pins and needles flooded his arm. ‘Look, I just meant that sometimes we need to lose control so that we can cope with what’s coming next. Last night you let go and it was apparent that you hadn’t let go for quite some time.’

‘Are you calling me repressed?’

Dart rolled his eyes and stood, Emmy instantly backing towards the door. ‘Stop putting words in my mouth.’ And stop backing away from me as though I did something wrong last night, he added silently. ‘If you’re uncomfortable and embarrassed about what happened, about your loss of control or that I was here to witness it, then don’t be.’ He took two steps over to his own sleeping mat, snatched up his shirt and pulled it on, leaving the buttons undone. ‘All I did was offer comfort and support and I won’t let you make me feel like the bad guy. Be embarrassed all you want but don’t go taking it out on me.’

With that, he pushed past her and walked out the door, allowing the screen to slam shut behind him.

Emmy stood there for a minute, biting her lip as contrition flooded through her.

T
HE
morning was quiet as the village got on with their lives, Emmy delighting in each new experience, such as the way the villagers drew water up from the well and made a sort of porridge from dry ingredients, adding fruits and berries to the mix. Others were using a crude form of pestle and mortar, grinding down husks to make a powder, which they mixed with water into a dough. The dough was then kneaded and flattened out with their hands, before being cooked on a frying pan over a fire, the result being a crusty sort of flat bread.

Emmy and her crew, who were looking forward to catching up on their sleep, captured all of this on film, Emmy even helping out with some of the menial tasks. She laughed as the other women showed her what to do, the language barrier not seeming to be an issue. Dart watched her from the sidelines, J’tagnan in his arms as he gave the baby a bottle of milk.

‘She is a very genuine person,’ Meeree said, coming up beside him.

Dart didn’t take his eyes off the bright, smiling woman who’d just accidentally rubbed flour on her forehead as she’d attempted to push a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Yesterday I would have thought she was doing all this for the sake of the cameras.’

‘And now?’

‘She is genuine, just as you say.’ J’tagnan finished his bottle
and Dart shifted the baby around to his shoulder, patting the infant’s back lightly.

‘Your eyes have been opened.’ Meeree sounded very impressed and Dart glanced at her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘That you see a different woman from the rest of the world.’ Meeree’s words were soft. ‘She is lonely, Dartagnan. She has so much pain, so much hurt. You can help her with this.’

He tried not to baulk at the wise woman’s words. ‘I think she’s more than capable of hiring someone to help her through, someone much better qualified than me.’

‘It is not a matter of being qualified or not, child. It is not up to you that her heart has chosen you to confide in.’ Meeree placed a hand on his arm. ‘You are good at listening, Dartagnan. You will do what is right when she is ready.’

He looked back at Emmy, laughing with the other women, bonding with them, really reaching out to them. He recalled how frustrated she’d made him feel earlier on and frowned a little. ‘She can be quite annoying at times.’

Meeree laughed and reached out her hands for the baby. ‘That is the way it is meant to be. The trucks are arriving soon. Go and prepare, Dartagnan. I shall see to the baby and his mother.’

‘Thanks.’ Dart handed the baby over then leaned down and kissed Meeree on her cheek before heading off to do his job. He’d learned in the past not to question Meeree further when she made cryptic comments.

Coming to Tarparnii had helped heal a lot of personal wounds for him, losing his parents and Marta in a devastating bush fire being the main one. While he still missed them all very much, the way Meeree and Jalak treated all PMA helpers as one great big family had been incredible. Being with them, being a part of these people, had made him feel as though he
wasn’t so alone in the world, especially with all his nearest and dearest having perished.

By the time their colleagues returned from their impromptu callout yesterday, he had the supplies they would need all packed up inside the medical hut, ready to be loaded onto the trucks. Emmy walked into the medical hut as he was securing the last waterproof container.

‘Oh, you’re done.’ She sounded disappointed.

‘Wanted to film me packing things up? Getting ready to take medicines out to the sick and dying?’ There was a clipped note in his tone, one even he was surprised to hear, but his walls were still up and firmly in place, especially after Meeree’s words of wisdom. He was trying to keep his distance from Emmy, trying to ignore the invisible tug he felt towards her. Meeree’s suggestion that he needed to help Emmy in a personal capacity only made him feel vulnerable and inadequate and they were not emotions he wanted to feel around her.

‘No,’ she replied simply, trying not to wince at his words. ‘I wanted to help you.’

He shrugged. ‘All done.’ He reached for his hat, jamming it on his head, and went to heft the first container.

‘Dart? Could you wait a second, please?’ She spoke softly and clearly.

Dart straightened and turned to face her, leaning one arm on the top container, giving her his full attention.

‘Uh…I just wanted to say that I was sorry about what happened this morning. You were right. I was embarrassed and it was a reflex action to take it out on you.’

‘OK.’

He nodded once then turned to give his attention to moving the containers.

‘I really am sorry,’ she said again, not sure he understood that she was apologising for her uncalled-for behaviour. ‘It’s
just I’m not used to being vulnerable, at least not in front of strangers.’ She paused for a second, a small smile touching her lips. ‘Although as we’ve basically slept together—literally—I guess I can’t really call you a stranger any more and uh…’

He’d turned back to look at her again, his hands going into the pockets of his shorts, listening to what she was saying while trying to hide a touch of impatience. She’d apologised. He’d accepted. The trucks were waiting. There was work to do.

There was also the problem of how incredible she looked, standing there, hands clasped uncomfortably in front of her, as though she was channelling all her embarrassment and nervous energy into her fingers. Her shoulders were straight, her head was held high. Perfect posture. Perfect breeding. She knew how to charm and to placate. She’d no doubt been taught at an early age how to put people at ease, how to smile at them and listen so intently, making them feel as though they were the only person on earth who mattered.

This time, though, the hands that she seemed to be twisting within each other were the only real indication of just how hard this was for her. In all honesty, though, Dart wasn’t sure why she was prolonging her own torture. She’d apologised. He’d accepted. As far as he was concerned, that was all that was needed.

No explanations, no reminders of the way they’d woken up in each other’s arms. No need to be standing here, alone, the air between them crackling with repressed tension and desire, desire he was doing his best to control, but when she looked all cute and alluring standing there, making sure he understood her apology…well, it only made him want to haul her right back into his arms and protect her from anything and everything this cruel world could throw at her. Clenching his jaw, he shoved his hands further into his pockets and tried again.

‘It’s OK, Emerson.’

‘I just want to make sure you understand that I hadn’t meant that to happen.’

‘What? Waking up in my arms?’ As he said the words, he watched as a tinge of pink started to colour her cheeks, only making her look more beautiful.

‘Well…uh…there is that. I don’t usually do things like that—crying, I mean. I’m normally quite in control of my faculties and so I can stifle any urge to sob my heart out.’ She angled her head to the side and thought for a second. ‘In fact, I can’t ever remember crying like that before. Not even when I was a little girl.’

‘Repression isn’t good for the soul.’

‘That sounds like something Meeree would say.’

‘Or my mother.’ The words were spoken softly, barely audibly, but even the mere mention of his mother brought a hint of reverence to his tone. It was Emmy’s first clue that something was wrong. She’d been taught how to read people’s body language, to know when they were uncomfortable, and she’d also been taught not to pry but to put them at ease. Prying and talking and discussing feelings were actively discouraged in her family.

Emmy could easily recall her own mother’s words. ‘Just our presence, just being there for people, is often enough to give them a hint of hope.’ Lessons like that had made up an enormous part of her childhood. ‘There are other people, professionals, who are trained to deal with people’s problems, not us. In turn, no matter what anyone tells you, or what they attempt to share with you, your responses must always be polite yet impersonal.’

Emmy looked at Dart, seeing his own discomfort at being here, hearing the love in his voice as he mentioned his mother, and knew she wasn’t going to give a polite yet impersonal response. She was trying to apologise to him, trying to get
him to understand how embarrassed she was with her own behaviour.

‘It’s wonderful to see a grown man who’s so close to his parents. The way you speak of them, it’s clear you loved each other.’

Dart didn’t say anything, he also didn’t miss the past tense reference. Had she guessed? Given how good she was with people, she’d no doubt been able to figure it out. Still, he kept his gaze fixed on hers. Emmy tried not to be affected by it.

‘Do you have any siblings?’

‘No.’ He knew he should turn, give his attention to the containers that needed to be loaded onto the trucks, but he couldn’t look away from her, from those amazing blue eyes and the way she was making him feel. He didn’t want to feel this way. He wanted to stay locked up in the pain from his past, from the great losses he’d suffered in losing those he’d loved most to the horrific flames of the bush fire.

She was drawing him out. He could feel that too and part of him wanted to run towards her, to see where this frightening natural chemistry that seemed to exist between them would lead. The other part of him felt guilty at even contemplating moving on, moving away from the memories of Marta, of the times they’d shared, of the life they’d planned together.

The memories of his parents were something that would always stay with him, for ever, no matter what he did in life, and somehow, right now, knowing Emmy didn’t have a strong and loving relationship with her own parents, the need to share the parental love he’d been shown all his life seemed like the right thing to do.

‘My parents couldn’t have children, or so they thought. My mother became pregnant with me when she was forty-two. The birth was difficult. Both she and I almost died but by some miracle we survived.’ His voice was soft, his words a little stiff, as though he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure why he
was telling her this, but he’d loved his parents so much and he hardly ever spoke of them, of the incredible people they’d been.

‘It took her a good two years to recover from the ordeal but in the end she was a strong, upstanding woman.’ A sad smile touched his eyes. ‘She cared for her community, volunteered when she could, gratefully accepted handouts when they were needed. She would tell me that pride was a waste of time and all it ever did was get you into trouble. Loving people, caring for them, making a difference—those were the things that mattered most.’

‘She sounds…incredible.’ Tears had welled in Emmy’s eyes as he’d spoken. Hearing his words, noticing he spoke in the past tense, only confirmed to her that something dramatic had happened to his parents. It only made her heart reach out to his even more.

‘She was. So was my dad. We lived on the land, travelling from farm to farm, working as hired hands, cooking, shearing, mustering, whatever needed to be done.’

He was looking at her but not seeing her. Emmy didn’t mind, honoured that he was opening up to her, that he was sharing this most special part of himself with her. It also made her own embarrassing outburst last night seem not so embarrassing. She’d opened herself to him and it was as though, to make her feel less uncomfortable, he was opening himself to her. He wasn’t worrying about his pride, he was doing just as his mother had taught him.

‘I didn’t attend a proper school for years. I either joined in with the other country kids for School of the Air or took my lessons from my parents.’ Dart smiled. ‘I had a good life with them.’

‘You make me feel quite envious.’

Emmy’s words jolted him back into the present, back to where she stood, looking at him with glistening tears in her
eyes. Had she moved closer? Had he? Somehow the distance between them seemed to have decreased and if he took another step forward, he’d be able to reach out and touch her, put his hands on her arms, draw her close, hold her gorgeous body against his once again.

He straightened his back, ordering his brain to shift back into protection mode, for the walls he usually kept firm around him to stand tall, to not let her in. The strange thing was that since meeting Emerson-Rose, he’d let her in far more then he’d let anyone in, especially during the past six years.

Marta’s death had been something he’d thought he’d never recover from. When the tragedy had happened, everyone had told him that he’d feel better…in time. He hadn’t cared too much for the counselling he’d received but now, so many years later, what he’d hardly dared to believe was actually happening. He could feel that instant tug, that instant attraction, that instant desire to press his lips to another woman’s. Emmy. Emmy standing there and looking at him as though she felt exactly the same way.

Marta was in the past. Coming here to Tarparnii had helped him to get some distance so his heart could heal. Six years. Six long years he’d been without Marta, feeling as though he would never be truly alive again. And now here was Emmy. He’d seen her in magazines, he’d flicked through newspapers and seen her picture on many occasions. He roughly knew the history of her family and never once had he been intrigued to look closer.

Now he couldn’t help but look closer.

Before him stood a woman who had been given an upbringing most children would dream of. She’d no doubt had every toy, every piece of clothing, every gadget she’d ever wanted. Her parents had been able to pay for her education at the most expensive schools in the country. On graduating, they’d probably given her a car—and an expensive one at that. Anything
and everything the world had on offer had been offered to her on a silver platter…and she was telling him that she was envious of his simple, often poverty-ridden lifestyle?

‘Poor little rich girl.’ He’d murmured the same words last night and still they were spoken with sympathy rather than derision.

He looked at the woman she’d become, the one searching for the truth of this world, the one looking to be accepted for who she was, the one who had the courage to be different, to change her fate.