With Love From Cape Town. Joss Wood

sorry, Professor,’ Dr Ferguson said in his deep lilting voice that made Robina think of water rushing over rocks, ‘but I’m afraid this lady got here first. Perhaps we could schedule a time later on?’

      ‘Please, go ahead,’ Robina interrupted. ‘I can wait. Actually, I’m dying for something to drink, so can I get you something while you speak to this gentleman?’

      ‘You wouldn’t mind? In that case a glass of iced water would be great.’ He grinned and a dimple appeared at the side of his mouth. Robina’s heart skipped a beat. She tried to tell herself it was just nervousness about her book that was turning her legs to jelly and her mouth to dust. February in Cape Town was hot enough without being in a crowded room where the air-conditioning had broken down. If Dr Ferguson was feeling the heat, he gave no sign of it.

      By the time she fought her way back through the crowds with three glasses of iced water on a tray, it looked as if whatever the professor had been discussing with their guest speaker hadn’t made him very happy. Just as Robina approached, the older man leapt to his feet, knocking the tray of drinks from her hands. Robina watched in horror as three glasses spun in the air, spilling ice cubes and water over Dr Ferguson and his companion.

      ‘For God’s sake, woman,’ Professor Lessing growled, dabbing at his suit. ‘How can you be so careless?’

      Robina glared back. It hadn’t been her fault. If he hadn’t jumped to his feet without looking, the drinks would have stayed on the tray. She bit back the words and glanced at Niall. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

      ‘I don’t know about anyone else,’ he said slowly, ‘but a cool shower was just what I needed.’ He looked at Robina and grinned.

      ‘Stupid girl,’ the professor muttered irritably, still dabbing at his suit.

      All of a sudden the smile left Dr Ferguson’s face. ‘What did you say?’ he asked quietly.

      ‘She should have looked where she was going.’

      Dr Ferguson’s eyes glittered. ‘I think we all know whose fault it was. Now, Professor, if you would excuse us?’

      The older man looked as if he were about to protest, but something in Niall’s expression stopped him in his tracks. ‘I don’t see any further need to meet again,’ he said tightly. ‘You’ve made your position quite clear.’ And with that he turned on his heel and left.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ Robina said.

      ‘Don’t be. The man has an over-inflated opinion of himself. And he’s a bore—even more unforgivable. You did me a favour, actually. He wants me to put my name to some paper he’s presenting, but I told him I’m not interested. I’m afraid he wasn’t too happy.’ He sat back down in his chair, indicating to Robina that she sit too. ‘Now, where were we?’

      Robina wiped droplets of water off the front of her book and pushed it across the table. ‘I know I have a cheek asking, but I wondered…’ She paused. Now it came to actually asking the question it seemed ridiculously forward. But she was here now and she could hardly just get up and leave. ‘I wondered if you would read my book and consider writing the foreword?’ There, it was out. He could laugh in her face, or send her packing, but at least she had asked.

      He turned the book over in his hands. ‘As a matter of fact, I have already read it. It was sent to me by your publisher. I’ve been kind of busy, otherwise I would have replied by now.’ He leaned back in his chair and scrutinised her face. Robina felt her pulse kick up a gear. What if he’d hated it?

      ‘I thought it was well written,’ he said, to her relief, ‘and very accurate. I particularly liked the style—informal without being patronising. I can see the need for a book like this. We specialists aren’t always the best people to explain complicated medical issues to the general public.’ He grinned and Robina’s heart somersaulted.

      ‘But what makes you qualified to write it? I haven’t heard your name associated with the sub-specialty, and I know most people,’ he continued, his eyes never straying from hers. The way he was looking at her made her feel they were the only two people in the room. Her heart thudded against her ribs.

      ‘I’m a doctor—a GP—but before that I was a journalist.’

      ‘And being a GP makes you qualified to write such a book?’ he queried, his eyes drilling into hers, but then his gaze softened. ‘Or is there a more personal reason?’

      She shook her head. ‘Purely professional. I saw loads of women at my surgery who wanted to know about infertility, but didn’t know where to go. Often they didn’t know if they even needed treatment. Their questions were what gave me the idea for the book.’ She stumbled slightly over the words. When she said it like that, it did sound a little simplistic. He wasn’t to know about the hours she had spent researching the area and more particularly, talking to women, finding out what they wanted to know rather than what the experts thought they should know.

      His eyes dropped to the bare fingers of her left hand and then he looked up at her and grinned again. Robina caught her breath. Never in her twenty-eight years had a man had such an effect on her and suddenly, crazy though it was, Robina knew that she was smitten.

      Niall looked over her shoulder and Robina turned to see a group of people bearing purposefully down on them. Niall stood suddenly and whispered in her ear.

      ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, ‘before I get trapped.’

      Robina could no more have refused him than she could have walked across the Atlantic. She tried to pretend to herself that the opportunity to have access to one of the leading lights in infertility was the reason, but gave up that notion the second he gripped her elbow and steered her outside. Suddenly the last thing she wanted to talk about was work. Instead she wanted to know every personal detail about this man, down to the name of his first pet.

      He led her to an open-top sports car and helped her into the front seat.

      ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, not really caring.

      ‘I thought you could show me a bit of your country. In return for me endorsing your book?’

      ‘So you’ll do it, then, Dr Ferguson?’ Her heart was still doing its ridiculous pitter-patter and it had nothing to do with the relief she felt at his words. What was the matter with her? She was reacting like some star-struck groupie.

      ‘Yes, but only if we have a deal. And by the way, it’s Niall.’

      Robina forced herself to breathe normally before she replied. ‘Have you been to Cape Town before?’

      ‘Once, but I never got out of the hotel.’

      ‘You are kidding, right?’ she said incredulously. ‘You came all the way here and didn’t see anything? Not Table Mountain, Chapman’s Peak, the vineyards? Nothing?’

      All of a sudden his smile vanished and his expression turned bleak. ‘There wasn’t time,’ he said shortly. ‘I had…’ he paused ‘…only a couple of days. I didn’t want to leave my daughter for too long.’

      So he was married, Robina thought, aware of a crashing sense of disappointment. He hadn’t been wearing a ring, but many men didn’t.

      ‘And your wife?’ she said lightly. ‘Did she come with you?’

      ‘My wife’s dead,’ he said quietly. ‘She died two years ago.’

      This time there was no mistaking the raw pain that shadowed his face.

      Before she could help herself, she reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m so sorry. She must have been very young.’

      ‘Thirty.’ He sucked in a breath as if it hurt him to say the words. ‘Mairead died just six months before that last conference. Unfortunately, these things are arranged months—even years—in advance. I couldn’t get out of it, but I didn’t want to leave my daughter for a second longer than