The Surgeon's Meant-To-Be Bride. Amy Andrews

Rose started it—how could you not want a baby when you look into Tom’s beautiful chubby face? But if you can’t understand why discovering that I only have one ovary and Fallopian tube could knock me for six, maybe I don’t know you either. I’m sorry I changed the plot on you, but when a gynaecologist tells me I might have trouble conceiving, it comes as a bit of a shock. Surely you can see that?’

      No, he couldn’t. He was a man. And not just that but a man who didn’t have a paternal bone in his body. Sure, babies were cute—Tom was very cute. But their appeal had more to do with being grateful he could hand them back than any pleasure he took from holding them.

      He’d had a close call as a med student that had scared the hell out of him. There had been no feelings of joy or expectancy, just a horrible sinking feeling that his life was over. He’d carried that experience with him always and in his head babies always equalled the end of your life.

      As a doctor he had a great deal of empathy for the plight of the world’s poor and starving children and those working like dogs from dusk to dawn and those torn apart by diseases, war and poverty. He admired their strength and resilience and he’d spent many years patching them up when they were hurt or wounded, caught up in adult wars, but he’d never had the desire to adopt any of them or, God forbid, have one of his own.

      He had such a strong sense of social responsibility. There was so much he could offer this world. Having kids would just be a distraction from that purpose. His grandfather, who had fought with the French resistance before migrating to Australia after the war, had raised him to think of the plight of others and Gill had always felt immensely proud of the work he did.

      But. He was holding his divorce papers in his hand. Before him stood the woman he loved. Who loved him. And she was asking him for something. Was prepared to never see him again, to cut all ties. Was he that strong? Did his career mean more to him than her? Did the world’s children mean more to him than the one she so desperately craved?

      He sighed. Saying goodbye to Harriet for ever wasn’t possible. Being apart from her for a year had been hard, but part of him had felt at ease, unbothered, knowing that it was temporary. That Harriet would get over her problem and come back and they’d continue their lives. But divorce? She was serious.

      ‘Look, OK. You want a baby? All right, then, fine. Let’s have a baby.’

      He didn’t know what he expected but it certainly wasn’t Harriet’s cool, sceptical gaze. He thought she’d leap into his arms and tear the papers up. Instead, she rolled her eyes and her lips flattened into a terse line.

      ‘Don’t do me any favours, Gill.’

      He would have been an idiot to miss the sarcasm. ‘I mean it, Harry. Really.’

      ‘No, you don’t, Gill. You’re just trying to appease me. Well, no, thank you very much.’

      Hell! What did she want from him? ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t offer,’ he said glibly.

      ‘Offer? Offer!’ she raged. ‘I don’t want an offer, Gill. I want you to want a baby with me so much that your breath hurts when you think about it. That your arms ache and your heart feels bereft and your stomach is empty at the thought of not having one. You have to want one with very fibre of your being, Gill. Every cell. Can you offer me that, Gill? Because if you can’t then don’t try and placate me. It’s insulting.’

      ‘Look, OK, you’re right. I don’t. But I’m still willing to give it a go,’ he said quietly.

      Harriet sighed. ‘How willing? Are you prepared to give up your job, your career, this lifestyle?’

      ‘I could have both,’ he said, annoyed at her all-or-nothing attitude. ‘You could go home and have the baby and I could have two months abroad and one month at home.’

      OK, he was just making this up as he went along, but even he had to admit it sounded terrible. He could hardly blame her for her appalled expression.

      ‘No, Gill. You can’t. I don’t want to have a baby and be stuck at home by myself for great chunks of time. I want you to want to be around all the time for me and the baby. I don’t want to have to lie in bed each night worrying that you’re going to get shot by a local warlord or die in a helicopter crash or catch Ebola or something. You forget so easily that this work we do is dangerous. I can’t live like that.’

      ‘I could maybe cut down to just one or two overseas missions a year…’

      He sounded lame and uncommitted. He’d hate it. He’d hate being away from the action so much, and she knew it. ‘And how long would we last, Gill? How long before you resented me? Resented the baby?’

      Gill swallowed as he thought about her question. What an awful situation that would be.

      ‘This isn’t about me forcing you to do what I want. This is me saying I’m sorry, I changed the rules. You didn’t sign up for this and I know this isn’t what you want. I’ve always known. Heaven knows, I never expected to feel this way either. I’ve tried to change your mind but I can’t make you want this the way I want it. And I do want it, Gill. I need it. And I’m asking you to let me go so I can find someone who wants it as much as I do.’

      The thought of her with someone else hurt like a fresh bruise deep inside that someone kept prodding. But she was right. If he couldn’t give her what she wanted then it was wrong to keep her bound to him.

      Gill sighed as he removed the papers from the envelope. He could see her fingers stop their drumming and knew she was holding her breath. His eyes fell on the phrase ‘irreconcilable differences’. How pertinent. That was exactly their problem. They loved each other. They just wanted different things.

      ‘Are you sure, Harry? What we have is pretty special. Are you sure you can find that with someone else?’

      He didn’t mean to sound conceited—he was just stating a fact. And it was buying him time. Putting off the inevitable.

      Harriet shook her head and he was surprised to catch a shine of tears. ‘No, Gill. I’m not sure. I doubt I’ll ever love anybody as much as I love you. I honestly believe there’s only ever one true love for everyone. But that’s OK, I’m not looking for that. I know there’s someone out there that can make me happy and give me what I want the most.’

      ‘So you’re going to settle?’ he asked incredulously.

      ‘No, Gill.’ She shut her eyes briefly, blocking his amazement out, then opened them again. ‘I’m just looking for a different kind of love. One that has room for three.’

      He nodded slowly at her. Their love had always been kind of all-consuming. Blocking everything and everybody else out.

      She looked so lovely, standing in front of him, that the desire to hold her in his arms was overwhelming. She pulled a pen out of her scrubs breast pocket as if she’d read his mind, derailing his base urge. Yes, they’d had a good run but now it was time to let her go.

      He took it from her and signed at the indicated places in his indecipherable doctor’s handwriting next to her neat signature. He placed her copies back in the envelope and handed them back to her, keeping his.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

      He nodded and watched as she turned on her heel and left the room.

      CHAPTER THREE

      0900 HOURS

      IF ANYONE noticed their indifference at the breakfast table, they didn’t say anything. In fact, as each of the team joined them at the communal table, good-humoured jokes were told about their early morning wake-up call.

      ‘Hell,’ said Joan Sunderland, yawning as she pulled out her chair. Joan was the team’s anaesthetist and had been working with MSAA and Gill for ten years. She was English, originating from Liverpool. ‘Parrots were loud this morning.’

      ‘Parrots?’ said