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Miracle: Marriage Reunited
Anne Fraser


Miracle: Marriage Reunited
Anne Fraser







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ub0c9b69a-717d-5971-ac3a-13175c981585)
Title Page (#u56bc0dcc-6069-57d0-8523-1df6fbcb78b1)
About The Author (#ub17c027d-f31d-5aff-8900-6d7c3b3b8c3d)
Chapter One (#u4bb8fb50-9bf4-5ead-8a00-7fed1e0d485b)
Chapter Two (#u0c018fb1-705d-549d-a9ce-e2d0eb724d11)
Chapter Three (#u09c8916f-744c-5cc4-8d4d-57b7aaca4980)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Anne Fraser was born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse, before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.

Chapter One
DR ROBINA ZONDI studied the austere man addressing the conference delegates and sucked in her breath. Dr Niall Ferguson, the keynote speaker and the man on whom the success of her book depended, was disturbingly good looking and surprisingly sexy. Somehow she had expected someone middle-aged, not this Adonis with a beak of a nose that prevented fine features from being too beautiful. He couldn’t be more than thirty—thirty-five tops. Young surely to exude such easy confidence. As he spoke, he pushed a lock of dark hair which kept flopping across his brow aside with impatient fingers.
She had looked him up on the internet, but there had been no photographs accompanying the rather dry but impressively long list of credentials. She certainly hadn’t expected to be enthralled—as everyone else in the conference appeared to be—by his presentation. No polite, bored coughing had interrupted the smooth flow of words, as he emphasised key points in his lilting Scottish accent. It was a flawless and professional performance and as soon as the question-and-answer session was over, he was surrounded by journalists and attendees all vying for his attention.
This was going to be harder than she’d anticipated. The butterflies that had been setting up home in her stomach were creating havoc. It was very likely that he would send her away with a flea in her ear, but Robina had never been one to give up without trying. If her easy-to-read guide on infertility were to be taken seriously, she needed someone of his stature to give it his seal of approval. Her publishing company had sent him a copy, but he hadn’t even had the decency to acknowledge its receipt. To be fair, he probably had loads of people wanting his views or his endorsement. When she had read on the internet that he was to attend a conference in Cape Town, the opportunity to ask him face to face had seemed too good to miss.
Robina waited until he was finally alone before approaching him.
‘Dr Ferguson, may I have a word?’ Blue eyes, the colour of the rarest of Kimberley diamonds, looked up. He frowned as if trying to place who she was.
‘You don’t know me,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m Dr Robina Zondi. I know you’re a busy man, but could I have a minute?’
He stood and Robina was disconcerted to find that he towered over her. Taller than he had appeared at the podium, he had to be at least six feet three. It was all she could do not to take a step back.
‘Of course,’ he said politely. ‘Please have a seat.’
Robina dipped into her briefcase and pulled out a copy of her book.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Dr Ferguson,’ she said quickly before her courage failed her, ‘but I have a favour to ask you.’ She handed him the book.
‘A Guide to Infertility,’ he said quietly, glancing at the cover. ‘How can I help?’ He smiled encouragingly and his face relaxed, making him seem more human and even more devastatingly handsome.
But before she could launch into her carefully prepared speech, a short, dark-skinned man appeared and elbowed his way past Robina. ‘Dr Ferguson, I’m Professor Lessing, based at Groote Schuur Hospital. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks now, and I wondered if I could have a moment?’ He glanced at his watch, making it clear that he was a busy man.
‘I’m 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 I had to. I flew back as soon as the conference finished. I don’t think I saw anything apart from the inside of my hotel.’
‘But you’ve got more time this trip?’ Robina thought it wise to get the subject onto safer ground.
‘I have the rest of the weekend,’ he said. ‘The first flight back I could get is on Monday. So until then, I’m all yours.’ He looked at her and Robina felt the world spin. Never before had she experienced such an instant, overwhelming reaction to a man. ‘So where are we going first? What do you recommend?’
‘What do you want to see? The tourist Africa or the real Africa?’
‘The real Africa, of course, that’s why I’ve kidnapped you.’ Her heart lurched. If only that were true! The thought of being kidnapped by this enigmatic man sent all sorts of fantasies spinning around her brain. Stop being ridiculous, she told herself. He wanted a guide in exchange for his help, nothing more. From the expression on his face when he’d mentioned his wife, he must have loved her very much. And he had a daughter. All very good reasons for Robina to run a mile.
‘So, where to?’ he asked a little later as he put the car into gear and exited the conference car park. They came to a T-junction. ‘Left or right?’
‘Right.’ She paused as a thought struck her. ‘You’re not afraid of heights, are you?’
‘I’m probably going to regret this but, no, I’m not. Why, are you?’
‘Terrified!’ Robina admitted with a smile. ‘But I would never forgive myself if I didn’t take you up Table Mountain—especially on a beautifully clear day like today. I know it’s a bit touristy, but everyone has to go up at least once in their lifetime. So why don’t we start there? And then…’
‘Then we’ll see,’ he finished the sentence for her. There was something in the tone of his voice that sent a shiver up Robina’s spine. It was a promise and a warning. She knew that if she wasn’t to get in too deep, now was the time to call a halt. But even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew it was too late. She could do nothing except allow this man to pull her along in his wake and enjoy the ride. For once she was going to throw caution to the wind and let life take her where it would.
As they waited in the queue for the cable car, they chatted easily about work. When their turn came to board, Robina’s heart began to race. Although she had made the trip many times before, each time she was swamped by a rush of anxiety. The doors opened and Robina immediately clutched the handrail that encircled the oval cable car. But she knew it would be worth it once they got to the top—the views over Cape Town and the South Atlantic Ocean were breathtaking. Niall would be impressed.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly, and she could feel his breath on her neck.
‘I’m fine, really. Like I told you, I’m just not very good with heights.’ She looked up at him and smiled with as much reassurance as she could muster.
‘For some reason, I didn’t think of you as someone who could be afraid of anything.’ He placed a comforting arm on her shoulder and she felt the heat of his fingers burning her bare skin.
And suddenly she wasn’t frightened any more. Before she knew it, they had reached the top and were spilling out onto the flat top of Table Mountain.
Two hours stretched into three then four as they explored the trails along the top of the mountain, eventually retreating to the outside restaurant for a late lunch. A cool breeze tickled their skin and Robina thought she had never felt as happy as she did at that moment.
Niall topped up their water glasses. ‘So is this where you take all your guests?’ he asked.
Robina took a sip of her drink and pointed to an island in the distance. ‘Do you see that strip of land over there?’
He nodded.
‘That’s Robben Island. Where Nelson Mandela was incarcerated.’ She felt the tears prickle behind her eyes and she blinked furiously.
But she was too late. Niall touched her hand. ‘Hey, are you all right?’ he said gently.
‘I come here at least once a year,’ Robina said.
Niall raised an eyebrow in a silent question. ‘On the anniversary of my father’s death,’ she continued.
‘Was he there too?’ Niall probed gently.
‘For six months. When he was a young man.’ She turned to face him. ‘It’s open to the public now, but I somehow can’t bring myself to go there. It would be too painful. So I come up here and pay my respects instead.’ Robina took a deep breath.
‘You know the prisoners spent their free time teaching each other whatever they knew, so that by the time they were released, they would have the skills and knowledge to lead a government. My parents had to leave South Africa when they got married. At that time it was still illegal for a white woman and a black man to marry. They continued their work in the UK, before returning here in the early eighties. My father said not living in Africa was like not being able to breathe.’
‘He sounds like a remarkable man.’
‘He was. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be someone he could be proud of.’
Niall grinned and, taking her hand in his, rubbed her fingers. ‘It looks like you succeeded.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Perhaps if he were here to tell me himself…’ She shook her head. ‘Anyway, enough about me.’ Suddenly she was appalled. How had she let herself go on like that? She never discussed her private thoughts with anyone, yet here she was spilling her heart out to a relative stranger. ‘I just wanted you to experience Table Mountain—even if you see nothing else,’ she added lamely.
‘Thank you for showing me. And sharing with me.’ Gesturing the waiter over, Niall peeled off a pile of rand notes.
‘Where to next?’ he asked as they stood up. When he took her hand, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
‘I want you to meet my grandmother,’ Robina said impulsively. ‘She lives about an hour’s drive from Cape Town.’
‘I’d like that,’ Niall said simply.
As they drove into the township, leaving a flurry of dust in their wake, Niall kept glancing at the woman sitting beside him. It wasn’t just that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, with her exotic almond eyes, smooth dark skin and elegant long limbs, but her strange mix of nervousness and passion enchanted him. Every minute he spent with her, he felt himself falling more and more under her spell. Never in a million years had he ever thought he would meet anyone again who made his pulse race the way this woman did.
Now that the heat of the day had passed, people were beginning to emerge from the cool shelter of their houses. Women were returning from the well, balancing enormous pots on their heads, while still others carried long sheaves of firewood in the same way. A number of schoolgirls mimicked the older women, balancing their school books in neat piles on top of their heads. It could have been a different world.
Robina pointed to a mud house with a neat fence and a small verandah where an old woman was rocking gently as she worked with her hands.
As Robina got out of the car, the old woman stood unsteadily, leaning heavily on a stick. When she saw Robina, a smile spread across her broad face. ‘Mzukulwana!’
Niall waited as Robina hugged her grandmother. There followed a long stream of words incomprehensible to Niall. Finally Robina stood back and beckoned him forward.
‘Niall, I’d like you to meet my grandmother. Makhulu, this is Dr Niall Ferguson.’ She repeated her words in the same language she had used to greet her grandmother and listened carefully to the reply.
‘My grandmother says you are welcome to her home and asks if you would sit. I’m afraid she only has a little English—she speaks mainly Xhosa.’
‘Could you tell her that I’m honoured to meet her?’ Niall said, taking the older woman’s hand. The old lady shook his hand warmly.
They sat on the verandah drinking tea as the shadows began to lengthen. Before long there was a group of curious women gathered in front of the house.
‘Sisi,’ they called. ‘Who is this good looking man you have brought to meet your grandmother?’ And then they added something in Xhosa that made Robina blush. She replied in the same language and it seemed from the appreciative laughter that she was giving as good as she got.
Niall could have sat there all afternoon just listening to the babble of voices and looking at Robina. He had never met anyone like her before—she was a strange mix of the modern and the traditional. One moment shy, the next joking with her grandmother’s neighbours and friends. He was happy, he thought, surprised. He hadn’t felt like this since Mairead had died.
Eventually Robina stood. ‘I have one more place to show you,’ she said as she kissed her grandmother goodbye. ‘Unless you want to get back to the hotel?’ she added anxiously. ‘Perhaps you’ve had enough for one day?’
Niall shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Right now there is nowhere I’d rather be than with you.’ Robina blushed again at his words and Niall knew she wasn’t immune to him either.
By the time they arrived at their next destination, the sun was beginning to set, casting a rosy hue over the mountains and turning the sea red-gold.
They pulled up outside a house set on its own, almost overhanging a cliff. Niall got out of the car and drank in the views. The front of the house seemed to be almost suspended over the waves that crashed against the rocks, spraying a fine mist. Below was a stretch of beach as far as the eye could see. There were no other houses in sight. They could have been the only people left on the planet. Perfect.
A notice-board outside the house proclaimed that the house was for sale and gave a number for enquiries.
Curious, Niall raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘This was my mother’s parents’ house,’ Robina said. ‘They lived here up until they retired to Gauteng a couple of years ago. They passed it on to my parents after that to use as a holiday cottage. It’s where I spent all my school holidays. Mum and Dad planned to move here when he retired, but then he died. Mum only recently got around to putting it up for sale—she can’t bear the thought of living in it without him. I’ll miss it when it sells.’
Niall followed her down a steep path by the side of the house onto the beach. Robina looked out at the ocean. ‘In spring and summer the whales come in here. When I was a little girl I would sit out here for hours watching them.’
Niall studied her. All of a sudden he had an image of the girl she must have been, sitting on the rocks, her knees pulled to her chest as she dreamed her childhood dreams. He smiled. The image was so different from this cool, elegant woman standing beside him.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Robina asked.
‘I don’t know. This, you, everything. It’s the first time I’ve felt…’ he struggled to find the right words ‘…at peace since Mairead died.’
Niall sat on a rock and threw a stone into the sea, where it skidded across the water.
‘Tell me about her,’ Robina said, finding her own rock close to him to perch on. They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Niall started to speak.
‘I’d known her since I was a child. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t around. We both grew up in a place called Applecross in the far north-west of Scotland. Our parents were good friends. She was younger than me, and at first she used to irritate me the way she kept hanging around. But eventually, as boys do, I started to notice that she wasn’t a pesky kid any more but a pretty teenager with a mind of her own. I went away to university and when I came back after qualifying I discovered that the once irritating tomboy had turned into a beautiful, funny and amazing woman. We fell in love, married and moved to Edinburgh. We tried for kids for years—I guess that’s what sparked my interest in fertility—and finally we were blessed with Ella. It seemed as if life couldn’t get any better. My career was going well, Mairead loved being a stay-at-home mum, and she seemed content to have only one child. I have never known a woman so satisfied with her lot.’
The familiar ache seeped into his chest. This was the first time he had talked about his wife. He had never been a man to talk about himself and was surprised he could now. Robina, listening in silence, made it easy.
‘That’s more or less it. Two years ago she started getting bruises. She told me it was nothing, just her being clumsy, and I guess I chose to believe her. But one day the bruising was so bad, I forced her to see a colleague of mine. He diagnosed aplastic anaemia. Three weeks later she was dead. Ella was only two years old.’
He felt a cool hand slip into his. ‘I’m so sorry, Niall. It must have been hard.’
But Niall felt he had said more than enough—too much, in fact. Whatever he wanted from this woman, it wasn’t pity. Something stirred inside as he looked at her. For the first time since Mairead had died, he wanted another woman. This woman. Before he could stop himself he leaned towards her and found her lips. They were cool under his own and as they parted he groaned and kissed her with a hungry need he’d thought he’d never feel again.
His heart was pounding as she returned his kisses with a passion that matched his own. Eventually they broke apart, both breathing heavily. As Robina looked at him shyly, he stood and pulled her to her feet.
‘Come back with me,’ he said, knowing that he couldn’t bear to leave her.
‘What? To your hotel room?’ She blushed, the redness darkening her honey skin.
‘Yes. There first.’
Robina shook her head, her blush deepening. ‘I’m sorry…I can’t.’
He froze. It hadn’t crossed his mind that she wouldn’t be free. But why not? A woman like her was bound to be involved. ‘Why?’ He forced the words past a throat gone dry. ‘Are you in love with someone else?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ Squaring her shoulders, she tilted her chin proudly. ‘I know it may be old-fashioned, but I don’t believe in sex before marriage,’ she said primly.
Niall threw back his head and laughed, pulling her back into his arms at the same time. He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Then we are going to have to spend a lot more time together.’ He cupped her face and traced her high cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. ‘I’m going to enjoy getting to know everything about you.’ Then he remembered they had hardly any time. ‘Will you come and see me in Scotland?’ he asked urgently.
Robina’s lips parted as she turned her face to his. ‘Just try and stop me,’ she said before he brought his mouth back down on hers.

Chapter Two
‘NO WAY! It’s out of the question!’ Niall slammed his mug down on the desk, noticing but not giving a damn as the coffee splashed across his desk.
‘Really?’ Robina raised perfectly groomed eyebrows. ‘Why not?’ she asked, her calm, cool tones underpinning the determination in her dark eyes. Niall leaned back in his chair. The woman he had met a year ago was almost unrecognisable behind the practised, almost cold, façade.
‘Why not?’ he echoed incredulously before lowering his voice. ‘Surely you can see why it’s impossible?’
‘Let’s keep this professional,’ she responded calmly, but he flinched inwardly from the reproach in her eyes. How could brown eyes, the colour of acacia honey, which had once sparkled up at him with suppressed laughter, now look so distant? ‘Why don’t you give me your reasons and I’ll respond to each one in turn?’
‘For a start, there’s patient confidentiality. Then there is the fact that these are a particularly vulnerable group of women, and then finally, if all that weren’t enough, how do you expect us to work with cameras in our faces? We’d be tripping over wires, sound recordists and God knows who all else. That’s why it’s impossible.’
‘Quite the opposite.’ Robina crossed one slim leg over the other, only the tightening of her lips giving away her determination to have her own way. ‘But let’s take each of your objections in turn, shall we?’ She tapped her pen against her lips. ‘Patient confidentiality; we will, naturally, check with the patients whether they are prepared to appear on camera. Only those who are one hundred per cent happy and who our company psychologist thinks can handle it will be asked to participate, and they will be allowed to withdraw their permission at any time. Secondly, yes, they are a particularly vulnerable group of women, I agree. Anyone going through or considering IVF has usually been on a very emotional journey before seeking treatment. However, that is the very reason why making a documentary of this kind is important. It will provide an insight into the process that cannot be gleaned from books on the subject, no matter how detailed or how professional.’ She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Even my book on infertility, popular though it is, cannot truly prepare women for what it is really like to undergo treatment. Following the actual experiences of other women, on the other hand, will. That’s why this documentary should be made.’ She tilted her head, and raised a questioning eyebrow at him, daring him to find a fault in her argument.
Niall started to interrupt, but she held up a manicured hand, stopping him. ‘And papers published in medical journals, no matter how worthy or how accurate, simply do not deal properly with the emotional aspect of infertility. And that is the angle we wish to focus on. Women considering IVF will be able to see first hand what a roller-coaster ride it can be, and the effect failed treatment can have on couples, before they decide whether or not to proceed with treatment. Of course we will portray the other side too. The fact that IVF has given so many women—and their partners—the opportunity to have the children they so desperately want.’
He had to admire the way she demolished his arguments. But he had seen her in action before. In front of the camera, faced with an expert from a medical field, she never let them bamboozle her or the audience with science. No, he had to admit, although it pained him, she had a knack of making even the most complicated medical condition understandable to the layperson.
‘And as for staff getting in the way, you’ll hardly know we’re there, I promise you.’
‘The answer is still no,’ he said. ‘This is my unit and as long as I’m in charge, I will decide what is and what isn’t allowed.’
Once again the eyebrow was raised. ‘I have to say that view sounds a little dictatorial. Is that really how you like to run things?’ Her lips twitched. ‘And I thought you took pride in being up to date, cutting edge in fact.’
Niall gritted his teeth. It was a sly dig and they both knew it. Just as he opened his mouth to retaliate there was a brief knock on the door and Lucinda Mayfair walked into the room. The unit’s general manager was in her early fifties with short grey hair and a wide, determined mouth. Niall had worked with her for a number of years and although they had had their differences of opinion, he had enormous respect for her skills. Without her fighting their corner it was unlikely that the unit would have gained the recognition it had as the foremost centre in the UK, even given his international reputation.
‘I’m sorry I had to leave you to get started without me.’ Lucinda’s smile relaxed the severe contours of her face. Despite her fearsome reputation, and her forbidding exterior, she had a soft heart. More than once he had seen her eyes suspiciously moist when a patient had been given the news they so desperately wanted or sometimes, sadly, dreaded.
Lucinda had shared his dream of making the unit the best in the UK, and so far, working together, with the support of their hand-picked team, they had succeeded. Which, he thought grumpily, they couldn’t have done, if it had been anything except cutting edge.
‘Don’t you think Robina’s idea is great, Niall?’ Lucinda continued.
Niall frowned. It seemed that they were on opposite sides in this argument. Still, they had been before and he had always managed to talk Lucinda round. He didn’t foresee any difficulties this time either.
‘I have just been telling Robina that it’s impossible. We’re a working unit. We certainly don’t have time to appear on a TV show. God, is there no aspect of life that reality TV doesn’t want to ferret around in?’
‘Niall,’ Lucinda said warningly, ‘you and I need to talk about this. And as for people ferreting around, as you so elegantly put it, Robina’s a doctor and completely professional. She’s not going to go about this in an insensitive manner. You know that.’
Robina stood, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from her beautifully cut Chanel suit. Every inch the professional media woman, Niall thought. Looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But there had been times lately when he’d thought he’d seen naked pain in the depths of her deep brown eyes.
‘Why don’t I leave you two to discuss it? I need to get back to the office. We can speak later.’
As she bent to drop a kiss on Lucinda’s cheek, Niall studied Robina surreptitiously. Her closely cropped dark hair, long neck and high cheekbones, along with her chocolate skin, all added to the exotic look known to thousands, if not millions, of viewers. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. At least five-ten, she was slim, recently almost painfully so. If she had chosen a life as a model, Niall had no doubt she would have been equally successful.
Robina walked around to Niall’s side of the desk and bending, kissed him on the cheek.
‘I’ll see you at home, darling. Try not to be too late. You know Ella won’t go to sleep unless she can kiss you goodnight. Make sure he leaves on time, won’t you, Lucinda?’
And with that, Niall watched his wife sweep out the door.
‘Robina gets more beautiful every day,’ Lucinda said wistfully. ‘How she manages it, looking after a young child with a full-time job and her writing, is beyond me. She must be some kind of superwoman! I hear she has a new book coming out in the spring.’
The last thing Niall wanted to talk about was his wife and her career, particularly since she hadn’t even mentioned until now that her company was thinking of doing a documentary in his unit. There was no doubt in his mind that the two women had been planning the project long before he had been told about it, and he was furious. How had Robina managed to get to Lucinda without him knowing? Robina must have known damn well he would oppose the project, and not just for the reasons he’d outlined earlier. For her even to be thinking about doing the documentary was crazy. It was far too soon and far too close to home. But that was probably why she had gone directly to Lucinda. The unit’s general manager didn’t know about the baby and even if she did, it wouldn’t have crossed her mind that he and Robina hadn’t discussed the documentary beforehand. Neither could Lucinda even guess that he and his wife were barely on speaking terms these days, and that the kiss Robina had deposited on his cheek had all been part of the façade they kept up in front of others.
‘What in God’s name made you think I would agree to this?’ he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. ‘We should have discussed it before you set up the meeting with Robina.’
Lucinda looked at him warily. ‘Money,’ she said flatly. ‘Real Life Productions will be paying a lot for this. Money that we could use either for research or to help sponsor more women into the programme.’
Niall hated the funding aspect of the unit, hated anything that took him away from his patients or his research, and was only too happy to leave the finances of the unit in her capable hands.
‘I was sure you and Robina had talked about this.’ Lucinda’s grey eyes were puzzled. ‘Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with the meeting. I assumed when Robina came to me that you must have agreed in principle.’
Niall returned her gaze steadily. The last thing he was prepared to discuss was his personal life.
‘Money isn’t the only issue here,’ he said evasively. ‘I see no reason why we should be selling our soul to the devil, and believe me that’s exactly what we’d be doing. We’d be exploiting the very women who come to us for help.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t see it that way. Not at all.’ Lucinda regarded him severely and Niall groaned when he saw the determination in her eyes. ‘We do need the money, Niall. You are always waiving fees.’ She threw up her hands anticipating his protest. ‘And I support you. But we can’t keep doing it. If we don’t generate some extra funding, and soon, we’ll have to start turning away all non-paying patients, and neither you nor I want to do that.’
Niall was stunned. He’d had no idea that the unit was in financial difficulty.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he demanded. ‘You and I are supposed to be partners.’
‘I tried to tell you.’ Lucinda drew a weary hand across her brow. ‘But it is so hard to pin you down these days. You are always so damned preoccupied with one thing or another.’
Niall looked at her sharply. Her eyes looked hollow; her mouth pinched with fatigue. He felt a pang of guilt. Why hadn’t he noticed? But even as he thought the question he knew the answer—because he had been too busy trying to block out everything except his work.
‘The trouble is, Niall, between your patients and your research, it’s almost impossible these days to catch you so we can have a discussion about the business side of things.’
Niall knew she was right. He had little patience for the business side of things, as she put it, at the best of times. And lately, well, he’d had other stuff on his mind. But nevertheless he should have noticed that something was wrong. He shouldn’t have let Lucinda carry the burden on her own. The trouble was that he had become used to her taking care of the financial aspects of running the unit and had been only too happy to let her get on with it. He felt a fresh spasm of guilt.
‘We can find the extra funding from elsewhere, from my own pocket if necessary.’
Lucinda half smiled. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but your pocket—generous as it’s been—isn’t enough any more. The kind of money we need has to come from ongoing investment. The kind of investment that would come from a documentary such as the one your wife, or at least the company she represents, is proposing. But,’ she continued, ‘that aside, I would never even consider it, not even for millions of pounds, if I didn’t think it was a good idea. But I have to agree with Robina. Infertility is something so many women suffer from, and I think it is in the public interest to inform a wider audience of the reality. As for your concerns, I’m sure Robina has told you that only patients who are willing to share their experiences on TV will appear and we will, of course, ask them to sign the appropriate waivers. It will be an inconvenience to us, I admit that, but there must be ways we can minimise the disruption. At least say you’ll think about it.’
Niall stood and crossed over to the older woman. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. ‘I’ve been selfish,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about funding on your own. Why don’t you give me a copy of the latest financial forecast and I’ll look at it over the weekend? Then we will talk again,’ he promised. ‘But in the meantime I have a clinic about to start. Could we discuss this again on Monday?’
Lucinda nodded and then smiled up at him. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘don’t beat yourself up. If you weren’t so obsessed with work, the clinic wouldn’t have such a fine reputation.’
‘You’ve made your point,’ Niall said, smiling. ‘The last thing I want to do is turn patients away, knowing that we are their last hope.’
‘Like the Dougans?’ Lucinda said, referring to a couple Niall had talked to her about the day before. Ineligible for treatment on the NHS, they had paid for one cycle of treatment, which hadn’t worked. Mr Dougan had recently lost his job, and there was no way the couple could afford to pay for another cycle of IVF.
‘I did tell them we’d only be able to offer them one cycle free—we still have enough in our endowment pot for that, surely?’
Lucinda smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, but barely. Without raising more funds, the Dougans might be the last couple we’ll be able to subsidise. I know you mean well, Niall, but we have salaries to pay as well as our not inconsiderable overheads. We are a business after all.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’d better get to your clinic. We’ll discuss it again after the weekend. I’m a great believer that, one way or another, things have a habit of working out.’
When she’d left the room Niall closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the image of his wife from his mind. If only Lucinda knew the truth she wouldn’t be so quick to tell him things had a habit of working out. It was ironic, really. He and his wife spent so much time trying to help others with their lives, yet they couldn’t seem to do a thing about the almighty mess they had made of their own.
Robina rushed into the house, glancing at her watch. It was almost seven! She had planned to be home earlier so she could sit with Ella while she had her supper and then read her a story before bed. It was the one time in the day that was precious to her. When she was in the middle of filming, she’d often have to spend the night in London, returning late the following evening. So while her show was off the air, and when she was based at home in Edinburgh, she tried to be home at a decent hour whenever she could—especially when it was unlikely that Niall would be home before her. He often worked late particularly when he knew she was around, so that he could have most of the weekends free to spend with his daughter.
But to her surprise, as she flew into the kitchen discarding her bag and coat in the hall, she saw his dark head bent over Ella as he helped her cut up her fish fingers. Robina’s heart squeezed as she paused in the doorway. They were so alike, from the determined mouth to the clear blue eyes. Similar too in temperament. Both equally stubborn. Both so dear to her.
Niall looked up. For a second she thought she saw a flicker of warmth in his blue eyes, but she knew she was mistaken when the familiar coolness cloaked his expression. Despite herself, her spirits drooped with disappointment. When would she ever truly accept that it was over between them? They were married, but for the last few months in name only. God, they could barely be civil to each other these days.
Niall looked at his watch. ‘We expected you home earlier,’ he said.
‘Sorry, I got caught up at the office.’ Robina bent to kiss her stepdaughter, who flung her arms around her neck. She savoured the feel of the little girl’s marshmallow-soft skin under her lips and the dear, familiar smell of her. Whatever differences she and Niall had, she couldn’t love Ella more had she given birth to her, even if she were a constant reminder of Niall’s first wife—and an even more painful reminder of the baby she had lost too early, five short months after their marriage. But all that would have been bearable if only she could be coming home to a husband who loved her. Someone who would want to know about the trivia of her day and would rub the tension from her shoulders, making everything seem all right.
But shoulder rubs and evenings by the fire, sharing the day’s stresses, was never going to happen. Had rarely happened even when they had first married, and certainly not these days. The breakdown of her marriage had happened in such little steps she had hardly noticed until—well, until the miscarriage when it had all fallen completely apart.
‘Would you like me to read to Ella while you have dinner?’ Niall asked formally, as if they were complete strangers, which in a sense she supposed they were. Falling in love, her coming to Scotland for a visit, Niall proposing to her, their marriage, it had all happened so fast they hadn’t really had time to get to know each other. They had both thought—if they had thought about it at all—that there would be plenty of time later to get to know each other properly. But to her delight and amazement, the book for which Niall had written the foreword had been an immediate run-away success and she’d been asked to appear on a show to talk about it. The producer had been so impressed with the way she had been able to translate medical jargon into simple language he’d asked her to stand in for the presenter of the show, Life In Focus, who had to unexpectedly withdraw. The timing hadn’t been great, coming right on the heels of their wedding, but she and Niall had both agreed it was too good an opportunity to miss. And that was when it had all started to go wrong.
‘No, I’d like to read Ella her story, if that’s okay,’ she said, realising Niall was waiting for a response. She hated the way her tone was equally formal.
‘I told Mrs Tobin that it was okay for her to leave. She’s left a casserole in the oven,’ Niall continued, referring to their housekeeper, who had stayed on after they had married and also doubled as a childminder for Ella.
‘Oh, Daddy.’ Ella looked up at him imploringly. ‘Can’t I stay up later tonight, with you and Robina? I never get to be with both of you at once any more.’
A flash of regret darkened Niall’s eyes.
‘Not tonight,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s a school night. But why don’t I get you ready for bed and then Robina will read to you before lights out? How does that sound?’
Ella pouted, but the little girl knew her father well enough to know he wouldn’t budge. She scrambled to her feet. ‘Come on, Daddy. Let’s hurry up, then.’ Taking her father by the hand, she led him upstairs.
Robina sat at the table and picked at the beef casserole. Most evenings, Niall arrived home after she and Ella had had supper, then one or the other of them would organise Ella for bed. When Niall’s daughter was asleep, they would retreat to separate rooms, Niall to his study and Robina to the small sitting room that had, over the last few months, become hers. When the interminable and lonely evening had dragged to an end and they were ready for bed, she would go to the room they had once shared, while Niall slept in the spare room. It was a cold, unhappy home these days and if it hadn’t been for Ella, perhaps she would have found the strength to leave—even if it would have shattered her already fractured heart.
Scooping the remains of her half-eaten meal into the dustpan, Robina took her coffee into her sitting room. Before she had left for the night, Mrs Tobin had lit a fire against the cool of the late February evening and Robina warmed her chilled hands. If only she could so easily chase away the chill in her heart, she thought as she picked up the proofs of her latest book. She sighed when she saw the title. How to keep your relationship happy—in bed and out of it. If her readers knew the truth, they’d be astonished. She flung the book aside, in no mood to concentrate.
She looked around the room with its tasteful carpets and elegant furnishings. It was beautiful, she admitted, but not really her taste. Perhaps if she hadn’t moved into the home Niall had shared with his first wife, things might have been different. But Niall hadn’t wanted to unsettle Ella so soon after their marriage, and Robina had wholeheartedly agreed it was the right thing to do. She had been so in love, she would have lived in a cave if Niall had asked her to. What did it matter as long as she and Niall were together? But it had come to matter—a lot. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of the woman who had been the perfect wife and mother. A woman who was as unlike her as it was possible to be.
She became aware of a presence in the doorway and, looking up, found Niall standing there, watching her intently. He hesitated as if unsure he was welcome in her domain.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly, and for a moment Robina could almost make herself believe he still cared. Almost, but not quite.
‘Just tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long and…’ she slid him a look ‘…difficult day. And I still have the proofs of my book to finish. My editor expects them early next week and…’ She bit off the rest of her sentence. Why was she even bothering to tell him? He wasn’t remotely interested in her work.
He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind.
‘Ella’s waiting for you,’ was all he said.
Robina’s heart felt as heavy as her legs as she slowly mounted the stairs. This wasn’t the life her parents—particularly her father—had envisaged for her, surely? Away from her country, her people, her family. Unable to carry a child—and perhaps never able to conceive again. Robina sighed. Perhaps she should end her marriage, even though it went against every grain of what she believed. She could return to Africa and give Niall a chance of one day finding happiness with someone else, even if the thought of leaving him almost tore her in two. Robina blinked hot tears away. They couldn’t go on this way, she decided. She had to do the right thing. And ask him for a divorce.
She paused for a moment outside Ella’s bedroom and composed herself, wiping away any evidence of her unshed tears. Pushing the door open, she saw that Ella was snuggled under her duvet, her favourite soft toy cuddled in her arms.
‘Can we have Mr Tickle?’ her stepdaughter asked, holding out the well-thumbed book.
Robina smiled as she inwardly suppressed a groan. They had already read Mr Tickle three times that week. Surely Ella was tired of it? But it seemed not. Robina climbed onto the bed and waited until Ella made herself comfortable in the crook of her arm.
She read the story as Ella’s eyes drooped. When she had finished, she gently eased Ella out of her arms. But as two bright blue eyes fluttered open, it seemed the little girl wasn’t quite ready for sleep.
‘Robina,’ Ella whispered. ‘I’ve been thinking. Would it be okay if I called you Mummy?’
Robina’s breath stopped in her throat. ‘Of course, darling. If you would like to.’ Her heart twisted. Why now? When she had been gathering the strength to leave?
‘It’s not as if I will ever forget I had another mummy. But I can hardly remember her. I used to ask Daddy about her, but it made him sad to talk about her, so I don’t ask any more.’
‘I think,’ Robina said carefully, ‘that you could talk to him now. At first, when somebody dies, it hurts so much that it’s difficult to talk about it. But in time it becomes easier. So maybe you should try talking to him again. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to forget.’ As she said the words her heart ached. She should try taking her own advice! She and Niall had never talked about the loss of their baby either.
‘You won’t leave me too?’ Ella asked. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose another mummy.’ She looked at Ella, her eyes—so like her father’s—round with anxiety. Robina squeezed her eyes shut, forcing away the wave of sadness that washed over her as she pulled the little girl into her arms and kissed the top of her head. She chose her words carefully. ‘I’ll always be here for you, mntwana—little one,’ she promised. ‘For as long as you need me. So whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. Just like a piece of chewing gum on your shoe. Only much nicer, I hope.’
Ella giggled and snuggled down in bed. ‘Okay, Mummy. Night-night.’
Robina stayed on the bed until she was sure Ella had fallen asleep. How could she ask Niall for a divorce now, when she had just promised Ella that she would never leave her? Whatever mess she and Niall had made of things, the little girl had been through enough heartbreak in her short life.
Her head throbbing with unanswered questions, Robina returned downstairs to her sitting room. To her surprise Niall was still there, gazing into the fire, apparently deep in thought.
He flung another couple of logs on the fire. The flames lit the room, chasing the shadows away.
‘I told Lucinda I would think about your proposal,’ he said. ‘We should have an answer for you by Monday.’ He stretched. He had changed out of his suit into more casual gear and his T-shirt lifted slightly with the movement, revealing a glimpse of his muscular six-pack. A memory of the sensation of his muscles tightening under her fingertips as she trailed a hand across the dark hairs of his abdomen flashed across Robina’s mind. Whatever their difficulties, she knew she still wanted him. Up until the miscarriage, sex had been what had kept them together even as emotionally they had drifted apart. Was it possible, she thought, to still fancy someone like mad even when you weren’t sure that you still loved them? Or them you?
Niall crossed the room, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. ‘Are you sure that doing this documentary is the right thing for you? Isn’t it too soon? Too close to home?’
Robina flinched and backed away from him. She could just about cope with anything these days—except his kindness.
She turned her back to him and watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. ‘Perhaps my…’ she took a breath to steady her voice ‘…experience makes me the best person to be doing this.’
‘Maybe it does,’ he said gently. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t know how you feel. You’ve never told me.’
Robina shied away from his words. She had never talked to him about the loss of their baby, because she had refused to let herself think about it. It was still too raw. Every time she thought about the baby that almost was, the pain threatened to crush her. So it was easier, and better, not to think about it at all. But was he right? Should she be doing the documentary when she still felt so wretched? But all she had left right now was her career and she would do nothing to jeopardise it. And she needed to keep busy. It was the only thing that stopped her from going crazy.
‘I’m a professional,’ she countered. ‘I’m still a doctor. My personal feelings don’t come into it.’
He made no attempt to hide his disbelief.
‘I just wish you had discussed it with me first,’ he said tersely.
Robina swung round to face him.
‘I would have,’ she retorted. ‘If we ever spoke these days. I know you don’t want to hear about my work. You’ve made it clear enough that you don’t approve of what I do,’ she added bitterly.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Niall protested. ‘I only ever worried that you were doing too much, especially when…’ He stopped.
‘Especially when I was pregnant and should have known better,’ Robina flashed back at him. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it right now.’
‘When are we going to talk about it? You’re never here to talk about anything.’ Niall’s voice was cold. ‘Maybe if you were…’
That was rich, coming from him. Why did he think it was okay for him to work most evenings just because he was a man? It was an old argument. She knew he held her responsible for the miscarriage—and she could hardly blame him. God knew, she blamed herself. He had asked her enough times to slow down. But she’d refused to listen. Her fledgling career had just been taking off and she hadn’t wanted to take time off. She had argued that millions of women worked until just before their babies were born. She had thought there would be plenty of time to take it easy after the baby was born. How terribly wrong she had been, and if she could have the time over, she would do it all differently. But thinking like that was pointless. What was done was done.
‘It’s no use, Niall. Perhaps it’s time we both accepted our marriage is over.’
The shock on Niall’s face was unmistakeable.
‘Divorce—is that what you want? Is life with me so unbearable?’
Yes, she wanted to shout. Living with you, living like this, knowing you don’t love me any more—if you ever did—is tearing me apart. But she just looked at him in silence. Perhaps if they had shouted, argued when things had started to go wrong, they might have been able to fashion some sort of life together. As it was, they had barely been speaking when she had miscarried.
‘No, I don’t want a divorce. Upstairs, just now, I promised Ella I’d never leave her. But we have to find a way of living together—for Ella’s sake. You can’t be happy either.’
‘Why did you marry me, Robina?’ Niall ground out. ‘I thought you wanted the same things I did. A home and a family.’
‘Instead you got landed with a woman who can’t have children and whose career is important.’ Despite her best intentions, Robina felt her voice rise. They stood glaring at each other.
‘Daddy, Robina.’ A small voice broke into the room. ‘Why are you shouting? Why are you angry? Did I do something wrong?’
‘No, oh no, Ella,’ Robina said, turning to the forlorn figure in the doorway. Niall held out his arms and Ella flew into them, burying her head in his shoulder.
‘You could never make me angry, pumpkin,’ he said. ‘Never, ever. Not in a hundred years. Not unless you don’t go to bed when I say so, or hide my newspaper or…’ He pretended to look cross.
Unconvinced, Ella lifted her head from his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Then you must be angry with Robina. What has she done?’ Her face crumpled. ‘You’re not going to divorce, are you? My friend Tommy’s parents are getting a divorce and he has to stay with his mummy during the week and go and live with his daddy at the weekends and he doesn’t have any friends where his daddy lives and his mummy is always crying and his daddy is always angry. That’s not going to happen to us, is it?’ She placed her small hands on either side of her father’s face. ‘Robina isn’t going to go away and leave us, is she, Daddy? Not like Mummy did. Robina promised me she would always be here for me.’
Niall looked at Robina across the top of his daughter’s head, the anguish in his eyes like a kick to her solar plexus. He was a proud man, and Robina knew he would never beg, but he was pleading with his eyes. Not because he wanted her to stay for himself but because he knew it would break his daughter’s heart if she left, and one thing Niall loved more than anything else in the world was Ella. She had thought that she had managed to reassure Ella, but she obviously hadn’t. Ella had taken her words literally. She’d always be here for her. And she wouldn’t break that promise, no matter how much living with a man who no longer loved her was eating her up inside.
‘We are not going to divorce, silly,’ Robina said firmly, aware of the relief in Niall’s eyes as she said the words. ‘Grown-ups argue sometimes, but then they make up and everything’s all right again.’ She flicked a glance in Niall’s direction, knowing he wouldn’t fail to notice the irony of her words. ‘We are a family and families stay together, just like I told you. Your mummy wouldn’t have left you if she’d had any choice and now I am here to look after you and love you for ever. Or at least until you are a big girl and have a family of your own.’
‘I’m glad,’ Ella said with a tentative smile. ‘Cos I’m never going to get married. I’m going to stay with you and Daddy for ever. Because I love Robina very much, Daddy. Not as much as my real mummy, but almost.’
The flash of anguish in Niall’s eyes made Robina’s heart twist.
‘And you love Robina too, don’t you, Daddy?’ Ella persisted. Robina realised she wasn’t going to give up until she had the reassurance she craved.
‘I married her, didn’t I?’ Niall said evasively. He tossed his daughter into the air. ‘Remember? You were there.’
Robina’s heart cracked a little more as she remembered their wedding day, only three months after they had met. The spring day brilliantly bright, not a cloud in the sky. The pipers, wearing full highland dress, playing them in and out of the small seventeenth-century church; dancing with Niall, who had held her close in his arms as if he couldn’t bear to let her go; everyone so happy for them, her silent toast to her absent family, and her dead father the only shadow on an otherwise perfect day. With her new family around her, and her new, exciting career ahead of her, she hadn’t thought it was possible to be so happy.
Oh, yes, he had married her. But how quickly it had all gone wrong. Niall had spent so much time at work and her career had taken up so much time that they had barely seen each other after the wedding. Slowly the doubts had started to creep in. Then in one awful series of events, it had all come crashing down. She closed her eyes against the familiar sweep of pain. Would she ever get used to the gut-wrenching sense of loss?
‘So why don’t we do anything together any more?’ It seemed Ella still wasn’t convinced. They had completely underestimated how much the sensitive child was picking up of the strain between them.
‘Robina and Daddy are busy,’ Niall replied. ‘But we still have the weekends. Last weekend we went to the zoo. Or have you forgotten?’ He wriggled his eyebrows at her in an attempt to make her laugh. But Ella was having none of it.
‘No, we don’t. Sometimes I have you, like at the zoo, and sometimes I have Robina—I mean Mummy—but I don’t have you together. And you just said we were a family.’
Niall’s eyes darkened when he heard Ella call Robina Mummy for the first time in his hearing. How did he feel about his daughter’s explicit acceptance of Robina? Did it make it that much harder for him to acknowledge their marriage had broken down? Possibly irretrievably? There was no way of knowing. The little girl had picked up on the tension between her parents and it had obviously been worrying her for a while. It shamed Robina that they had been too busy, too wrapped up in their own problems, to notice.
‘Then we will have to do something about that,’ Niall said firmly. ‘But right now it’s bedtime, pumpkin. Come on, let’s get you tucked in.’ And before Ella could protest further, he carried her out of the room and up the stairs.
Robina sank into her favourite chair and stared into the fire. Whatever she and Niall felt about each other, however angry they were, they needed to make sure Ella was happy. It wasn’t fair to let the child sense that they were having problems. And for the little girl to worry it was her fault! That was unforgivable.
In keeping with her mood, the wind hurled rain against the window and Robina wrapped her arms around her body in a bid to draw some warmth into her chilled soul.
‘She wants you to go up and say goodnight again.’ Niall’s voice came from the doorway. Despite his size he moved quietly.
Robina eased herself out of her chair. ‘Of course,’ she said.
But as she passed him he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to stop. The touch of his hand sent shock waves through her body. How long had it been since he had touched her?
‘If you want a divorce, I won’t stand in your way.’
‘Is that what you want?’ Robina said tiredly, not knowing if she had the strength to fight him any longer.
‘No, you know it isn’t.’ It sounded as if the words were being dragged from his lips. Her heart lifted. Did he still care? Enough not to want to let her go?
‘I don’t want my daughter to lose another mother—and you are her mother now. God knows, she’s known enough sadness in her short life already. I’d do anything to protect her.’
Robina’s heart plummeted. Was that the only reason he wanted her to stay? For his daughter’s sake? Not for the first time, she wondered sadly if that was the real reason he had married her. Wasn’t that what he had just said? He wanted a home, and by that she assumed he meant someone to run it, and a family. Things hadn’t exactly turned out the way he had expected.
‘Neither do I want to cause Ella any more pain,’ she said sadly. ‘As she said, I promised her I would never leave her. You know I love her. So no, we’re married and we’ll stay married. I made my vows and I’ll stick by them. For better or for worse. We’ve had the better, let’s deal with the worse.’ She pulled her hand away. ‘Goodnight, Niall, I’ll see you at breakfast.’ Knowing that she was moments away from breaking down and that all she had left was her pride, she hurried away to the sanctuary of her room.

Chapter Three
‘MOST of you have met my wife.’ Niall indicated Robina with a nod of his head. ‘And you all know why she is here.’
There were a number of smiles and nods of recognition from around the room. It was the first day of filming and Robina and her cameraman, John, who would be doubling up as sound recordist, were sitting in on the clinic’s regular update meeting. Niall had told her that he was reluctantly—and he had emphasised the word reluctantly—agreeing to let filming go ahead, but he would stop it if he thought it was no longer in his patients’ best interests.
‘We meet once a week to discuss cases,’ Niall explained. ‘This gives everyone an opportunity to share any concerns they may have about patients’ treatment. It is also where we discuss the more complex cases and agree on a way forward.’ Niall folded his hands on the table and leaned forward.
He looks so distant, Robina thought, at least when he looks at me. Dressed in his dark suit, his shirt blindingly white and with a dark blue tie, he was the epitome of the successful doctor and Robina was reminded of the first time she had seen him. He had seemed intimidating then too, at least until she had spent time with him and realised that under that formal, serious demeanour was a man who had a dry sense of humour, who was kind and thoughtful and who could make her pulse race like no other. Where had that man gone?
She glanced around the room. There was an embryologist, whose name she hadn’t quite caught, Niall and one of the other doctors, a part-timer called Elaine, two specialist nurses, Sally and Mairi, as well as the nurse manager, Catriona. All the other staff were busy in the lab or seeing patients.
‘I would guess that not everyone is happy that we are being filmed, but now that we have agreed to go ahead, I know you will all do your best to make it as smooth as possible,’ Niall continued easily.
He knows his staff will do whatever he asks, Robina thought as everyone nodded. They trusted him completely.
‘I’ve contacted all our patients who are either on treatment or scheduled for an appointment, asking whether they wish to take part,’ Catriona said. ‘And have passed the names of about ten patients to Robina.’ The older woman smiled at her. ‘For what it’s worth, I think it’s an excellent idea—as long as the patients are happy and as long as I don’t have to appear on camera.’
‘I don’t mind being filmed,’ Sally, the dark haired nurse with an impish grin, said, smoothing her hair, ‘I just worry I might say something daft.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Robina reassured her, ‘you’ll soon forget about the camera, believe me. And if you say something daft, we’ll edit it.’
‘I’m not appearing, if that’s okay,’ Mairi chipped in. ‘They say the camera puts on ten pounds, and with the extra weight I’m carrying already, I don’t think I could face it.’
Everyone laughed and a spate of good-natured teasing broke out.
‘Can we move on?’ Niall said when everyone had settled again. ‘We have a number of cases to discuss before I have to check on my patients in the labour ward.’
On top of his patients at the clinic, Niall still carried a full workload of obstetric cases. No wonder we hardly see each other, Robina thought sadly. Either she was working, or he was, and that included most evenings and weekends.
‘Annette is coming in for her seven-week scan this morning,’ Sally announced. ‘Keep your fingers crossed, everyone.’ The mood in the room turned sombre.
‘This is Annette’s third attempt,’ Catriona explained to Robina. ‘The first time the embryos didn’t implant, the second time, she had a positive pregnancy test, but her seven-week scan, the one we do to determine whether the pregnancy is ongoing, showed no evidence of a heartbeat. As you can imagine, she was distraught. She and her husband have agreed that this will be their last attempt—she was thrilled when this most recent pregnancy test was positive—but they are naturally extremely anxious. I think she might be one of the women who said they’d be happy to talk to you.’
‘Who’s doing the scan?’ Niall asked.
‘I am,’ replied Sally. ‘I looked after her through her other treatments.’ She chewed on her lower lip. ‘I don’t know how she’ll cope if we don’t find a heartbeat. And I will hate being the one that has to tell her.’
‘Let’s just wait and see,’ Catriona said soothingly. ‘There’s no point in getting ahead of ourselves.’
‘I have a patient I’d like to discuss,’ Niall said. ‘It is a difficult case and I’d like to know how everybody feels—particularly the embryologists—before I see this lady.’
Everyone turned curious eyes on Niall.
‘I have been approached by a woman who wants us to carry out PGD—pre-implantation genetic diagnosis,’ he said to Robina, for the benefit of the camera. ‘She has a family history of breast cancer in the family and all the female relatives in her family have either died or have had the disease. As a precaution, she decided to have a prophylactic double mastectomy when she was eighteen, after genetic testing showed that she carried the variant BRCA1 gene.’
There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a murmur of sympathy from around the room.
‘Now that Isabel has joined us…’ he smiled at the curly-haired embryologist sitting on his right ‘…we are in a position to offer this service. But I want to know how everyone feels about it.’
‘Could you explain what it involves, Niall?’ Robina asked, knowing that this was exactly the kind of thing her viewers would be interested in. She only had a vague memory from researching her book of what the procedure involved and progress in this area was rapid.
‘I’ll let Isabel explain, as she’s the one who’d be doing the procedure.’
‘I’ll try and make it as simple as possible.’ Isabel took a sip of water. ‘We stimulate the ovaries, in the same way we do for our infertile ladies, and then fertilise the eggs in the lab. Once the eggs are fertilised they start dividing—one cell becomes two, two become four and so on. We wait until we have eight cells, then we remove one and test for the BRCA1 gene. If it’s positive, we move on to the next embryo and so on until we find one that doesn’t carry the gene. When we do, that is the embryo we replace.’
‘Don’t some people think this is too close to eugenics?’ Robina asked. ‘As in designer babies?’
‘Not at all,’ Niall interrupted quietly. ‘This isn’t selecting embryos based on hair colour or intelligence or anything like that. This is selection that will prevent someone almost certainly suffering from breast cancer later on in life.’

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