The Doctor's Outback Baby. Carol Marinelli

was going to propose.

      It was like an awful mantra resounding in her head. Biting on her bottom lip to fight the sting of tears, Clara could feel her face reddening with the effort of not crying. She wished they’d all just leave her alone. Go and do whatever needed to be done on a Saturday morning and let her get on with her day.

      Let her get on with her life.

      A life without Kell.

      ‘If the Flying Doctors haven’t come by the time the balls starts, Irene can still watch him and give me a call when they get here. We’ll hear the plane coming in anyway. It will only take half an hour or so to hand over.’

      ‘But, Ross…’ Shelly protested.

      They were all on the floor, kneeling down and pretending not to notice Clara’s red face and shaking hands.

      ‘No buts,’ Ross said firmly, standing up and shuffling the mass of papers into a pile that would take for ever to sort out. ‘Have you told Bill’s daughter the news?’

      Clara shook her head, grateful for the change of subject. ‘I’ve been ringing all morning but I can’t get through.’

      ‘No doubt she’s out on the farm. It’s probably best someone tells her face to face, given that she’s pregnant and everything. I might head over now. Do you want to come, Timothy?’

      ‘Where do they live?’

      ‘Just out of town.’

      Timothy gave a small grimace. ‘Which in the outback means a couple of hours’ drive. Sorry, Ross, would it be a terrible career move if I turned you down, given that I’ve just spent the last twenty-four hours bumping along in my ute to get here?’

      ‘Of course not.’ Ross laughed. ‘I just feel guilty, leaving you on your own on your first morning here. Shelly’s got a hairdresser’s appointment, Kell and Abby are off duty…’

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ Timothy said assuredly. ‘A shower and a sleep are top of my list at the moment. Still…’ those green eyes turned to Clara, who was attempting to fashion Bill’s notes into some sort of order ‘…I wouldn’t say no to a quick guided tour of the clinic, if Clara doesn’t mind. I’d hate for something to happen and not have a clue where anything’s kept.’

      ‘Good idea,’ Ross said enthusiastically, obviously thrilled to have Timothy on board. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Clara?’

      There it was again, the automatic assumption that she’d come good. ‘You don’t mind’ was up there with ‘I hate to ask’ and Clara’s personal favourite, ‘Oh, Clara will do it’.

      Well, she did mind.

      Right now she wanted some peace, wanted to sort out Bill’s notes, wanted some time to gather her thoughts and figure out what on earth she was going to do, not hold yet another new doctor’s hand and show another fleeting visitor the ropes, only to have them leave again.

      Of course she didn’t say as much. Instead, she nodded, her clear blue eyes briefly meeting Timothy’s. ‘Sure, I’d be happy to.’

      ‘Great.’

      ‘Sorry about this,’ Timothy ventured once they were alone. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a million and one things to do without taking me around. It’s just that I went for an interview at a bush hospital up in Queensland when I first came to Australia. I got there early, as you do for interviews, and a patient went and had a cardiac arrest while I was sitting outside the interview room.’

      Clara was only half listening as she pushed open the coffee-room doors and pointed in the vague direction of the staff kitchen before heading towards the main work area. Timothy’s backpacking stories really held no interest for her.

      ‘Anyway, it turns out I was so early the doctor interviewing me wasn’t in the hospital yet.’

      ‘Really?’ Clara said distractedly, turning up the volume on Bill’s cardiac monitor before she crossed the room as Timothy hovered annoyingly over her right shoulder, watching her every move. ‘I’ll take you though to our treatment room.’

      ‘So there I was, going over my interview technique, the ink on my medical certificate barely dry, and this nurse came running up.’

      ‘Two beds,’ Clara said, pushing open the heavy back swing doors as Timothy carried on nattering. ‘This sometimes doubles as a second resuscitation area if we get a major incident…’ Her voice trailed off in mid-sentence and she turned around sharply. ‘You were the only doctor in the hospital?’

      ‘Barely a doctor, really.’ Timothy nodded as Clara’s mouth fell open. ‘I came to Australia as soon as I finished med school—I hadn’t even had my new cheque books delivered.’ He watched a frown pucker her freckled face. ‘One of life’s better moments.’ Timothy smiled. ‘Ringing up the bank and asking them to change the Mr to Dr. You’d be amazed how that surly voice on the other end of the phone changes when they realise your rather shaky bank balance is in for some serious improvement.’

      ‘But you’re too…’ Snapping her mouth closed, Clara didn’t finish her sentence, but Timothy had already got the gist.

      ‘Too old to be an intern?’ he finished for her with a grin. ‘I was a mature student. In fact, a student’s practically all I’ve ever been. I spent three years at uni fiddling around doing a business and finance degree, then two months out in the big wide world made me realise the family business just wasn’t for me. They’re financial planners.’ Timothy grimaced. ‘My parents get the same thrill watching the stock market that I get watching a cardiac monitor.’

      Clara laughed, actually laughed. ‘Sounds as if you could use some financial planning yourself.’

      But Timothy just shook his head. ‘Heaven forbid. Sure, I could ring them up and ask them to wire me some money but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘There’s the rest of my life to worry about mortgage payments and retirement funds. When I get back to England I’m hoping to study to become a surgeon so there’s years of being sensible ahead, but for now I intend to enjoy myself, despite my parents’ objections.’

      Clara sensed the edge of his voice but chose not to push. ‘So what happened?’ She registered his frown. ‘At your interview in Queensland?’

      ‘Oh, that!’ Timothy grinned, his easy smile back in place now. ‘Well, this nurse comes rushing up and tells me that Mr Forbes in bed four has gone into a cardiac arrest.’

      ‘So what did you do?’ There was impatience to her voice, which Timothy seemed not to notice.

      ‘Well, for starters I asked just where bed four was, and while she was at it would she mind telling me who the hell Mr Forbes was and, perhaps more pointedly, if there was another doctor in the house.’

      ‘But what did you do with the patient?’ Clara pushed, genuinely enthralled now, as any nurse would have been at such a story. ‘What on earth happened?’

      ‘I took a crash course in crash calls.’ He laughed. ‘Thank heavens I watch ER. I was giving out orders, calling out to charge the defibrillator, massaging Mr Forbes’s chest. I even intubated him.’

      ‘Really?’ Clara asked, suitably impressed, but Timothy shrugged modestly.

      ‘I’d had a few goes in Theatre.’

      ‘But still,’ Clara enthused. ‘There’s a big difference between the controlled setting of Theatre with an anaesthetist over your shoulder and running your first cardiac arrest on your own. You did really well.’

      ‘Not that well,’ Timothy groaned. ‘The patient died.’

      ‘Ouch.’

      ‘And I didn’t get the job.’

      ‘But why?’ Clara protested. ‘That’s so unfair.’

      ‘That’s