A Miracle For The Baby Doctor. Meredith Webber

great, although it can get a trifle hot at times, and the people are wonderful.’

      She turned towards him, the blue-green eyes taking in his bright shirt and, no doubt, the stubble on his unshaven chin.

      The pelican again...

      ‘Did you holiday here? Is that why you’ve come back here to work?’

      He smiled, remembering his co-workers’ disbelief when he’d told them of his plans to start the clinic.

      ‘No, but we had a couple—Vanuatuans—who came to my clinic in Sydney. They were so desperate to have a child they had sold everything they had, including the fishing boat that was their livelihood, to fund their trip.’

      The words pierced the armour Fran had built around her heart and she felt again the pain of not conceiving. Of not having the child she’d so wanted.

      You’re over this, she reminded herself, and concentrated on Steve’s explanation.

      ‘But to sell their boat—their livelihood?’

      He turned more fully to her now, and the compassion she read in his face warmed her to the man with whom she would work—a scruffy, unshaven, slightly smelly, yet still a darkly attractive man.

      Attractive?

      What was she thinking?

      But he was speaking, explaining.

      ‘Why not sell the boat if they had no child to inherit it?’ he said softly, and she felt the barb go deeper into her heart.

      She nodded, thinking of the couple.

      ‘Few people consider the side-effects of infertility,’ she said softly, remembering. ‘The loss of self-esteem, the feelings of pointlessness, the loss of libido that failure can cause, which must be devastating for any man, but would, I imagine, be even worse for people of proud warrior races like the islanders.’

      He glanced her way, questions in his eyes, and she realised she’d spoken too passionately—come too close to giving herself away.

      Talk work—that was the answer.

      ‘So you came here? But not permanently? How does that work?’

      He smiled.

      ‘You’ll see, but for now you should be looking about you, not talking work. This is Vila, capital of the island nation. You can still see a lot of the old buildings that have survived from the days the French ran the country.’

      Fran looked around obediently and was soon charmed by the riot of colour in the gardens around all the buildings, from small huts to old colonial buildings, no longer white but grey with age, some in a state of disrepair, but all boasting trailing bougainvillea in rich red or purple, and white lilies running riot in unkempt garden beds. Ferns and big-leafed plants provided lush greenery, so altogether Fran’s immediate impression was one of colour.

      They drove up a hill, the buildings becoming smaller and more suburban, and right at the top sat what could only be a mansion with another large building further along the ridge.

      They turned that way and an ambulance streaking towards it told her it was the hospital.

      ‘Is the clinic at the hospital?’ she asked.

      ‘Not quite—but we’re around the back here. A kind of adjunct to it,’ her chauffeur told her. ‘Our building used to be nurses’ quarters but the hospital doesn’t have live-in nurses any more.’

      He pulled up in a driveway beside an enormous red bougainvillea that had wound its way up a tall tree.

      Colour everywhere!

      And warmth, she realised as she stepped out of the vehicle.

      A warmth that wrapped, blanket-like, around her.

      They had stopped beside a run-down building that seemed to ramble down the hill behind the hospital. It had cracks in the once white walls, and dark, damp-looking patches where plaster had fallen off. Vines seemed to be growing out of the top of it, and the overall impression was of desertion and decay.

      A tall local man came out to greet the car, holding out his hand to Fran.

      ‘I am Akila. I am the caretaker here and will also take care of you,’ he said, pride deepening an already deep voice. ‘We are very pleased to have you come and work with us.’

      He waved his hand towards the building.

      ‘Outside this must look bad to you, but wait until you see inside,’ Akila told her, obviously aware of strangers’ first impressions.

      And he was right.

      The foyer was painted bright yellow, making it seem as if the sunshine from outside had penetrated the gloomy walls. A huge urn of flowers—long stems of something sweet-scented and vividly red—stood against the far wall, grabbing Fran’s attention the moment she came through the door.

      A cheerful young woman appeared in a brightly flowered long flowing dress Fran recognised as a muumuu. Zoe hugged Fran as Steve introduced her.

      ‘This is where we live when we’re here. Zoe will show you our quarters. Both she and Akila live locally and work at the hospital, but come down to help out when we are working on the island,’ Steve said. ‘Zoe keeps the place tidy for us and makes sure there is always food in the cupboards and refrigerator so we don’t starve to death, while Akila is on call for any emergencies—of which we get plenty—power outages, et cetera. But don’t worry we have generators which kick in to keep your incubator warm.’

      Fran felt a niggle of apprehension, and for a moment longed to be back in her nice, safe, big, anonymous lab. These people were all too friendly. They were a team, but clearly friends as well. Why hadn’t she considered that it would be a small and intimate staff in this island clinic?

      Friendly!

      A queasy feeling in her stomach reminded her just how long it had been since she’d done friendly! At first, the pain of the IVF failures had made her curl into herself, erecting a cool polite barrier that outsiders saw.

      Then the divorce and the humiliating knowledge that Nigel and Clarissa had been involved for months had made her draw away from the few friends she hadn’t shut out earlier. The only good thing that had come out of the whole mess was a better understanding of her mother, who had also built a protective shell around herself when her husband had departed. At last she now understood her mother’s detached behaviour during her childhood years.

      Hurt prevention...

      Fran had drifted across the hall to touch the leaves and flowers in the big display while these thoughts tumbled through her head.

      ‘I will show you your room,’ Zoe said, bringing Fran abruptly back to the present.

      ‘And I’ve got to check on something but I’ll be over later and will take you through the whole facility then,’ Steve added.

      Fran felt a new wave of...not panic perhaps but definite uncertainty. Did she really need to see the whole facility? Of course she wanted to see the laboratory—it was where she would be working—and seeing how the place was set up would be interesting, but...

      Something about the warm friendliness of the people was beginning to unsettle her—the realisation that they were all one big happy family, with Steve at the centre of it. It was threatening to cause cracks in barriers she had carefully erected between herself and others.

      And all because they were welcoming her, were friendly? She could hardly resent that...

      It had to be the heat, she decided, following Zoe across a courtyard filled with rioting plants, most with broad leaves and drooping fronds of flowers, and the same sweet, indefinable perfume.

      ‘Ginger,’ Zoe explained when Fran asked, and she looked more closely at the plants, not exactly surprised but trying to relate the small, bulbous roots she bought at the greengrocer to these exuberant, leafy