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Island Doctor To Royal Bride?
Scarlet Wilson


Working side by side…With a secret prince!In desperate need of staff for her small clinic on a beautiful Malaysian island, Dr Arissa Cotter accepts the help of tourist Dr Philippe Aronaz, little knowing her knight-in-shining-armour is also a prince! But when he sweeps her away to his Mediterranean kingdom she discovers Philippe faces battles of his own. Arissa has always hidden herself away—does she dare step into the spotlight and stand by her Prince’s side?







Working side by side...

With a secret prince!

In desperate need of staff for her small clinic on a beautiful Malaysian island, Dr. Arissa Cotter accepts the help of tourist Dr. Philippe Aronaz, little knowing her knight in shining armor is also a prince! But when he sweeps her away to his Mediterranean kingdom, she discovers Philippe faces battles of his own. Arissa has always hidden herself away—dare she step into the spotlight and stand by her prince’s side?


SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. She’s worked in the health service for twenty years, having trained as a nurse and a health visitor. Scarlet now works in public health and lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons. Writing medical romances and contemporary romances is a dream come true for her.


Also by Scarlet Wilson (#ub05865dc-90ff-59f9-a393-8b6766b442c8)

The Doctor’s Baby Secret

One Kiss in Tokyo…

A Royal Baby for Christmas

The Doctor and the Princess

The Mysterious Italian Houseguest

A Family Made at Christmas

The Italian Billionaire’s New Year Bride

Resisting the Single Dad

Locked Down with the Army Doc

Cinderella’s New York Christmas

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Island Doctor to Royal Bride?

Scarlet Wilson






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-08973-9

ISLAND DOCTOR TO ROYAL BRIDE?

© 2019 Scarlet Wilson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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


For my family’s own little Princess, Taylor Hyndman.

Love you loads gorgeous girl!


Contents

Cover (#u61ffa228-8352-530f-9b83-901ac64e2f76)

Back Cover Text (#uc26e3375-cf50-5cf0-b77b-33455804733a)

About the Author (#u2ab03845-8ae5-5df3-ac6a-3d9b3a156343)

Booklist (#uf3b38b4a-75a2-5d9b-93e6-710167b6b7db)

Title Page (#u51744645-53b0-5fbd-8d7f-9a2b4a077357)

Copyright (#ud5386ca8-2fdd-57c1-a5da-614b073d575f)

Dedication (#u93466335-d3bd-5c56-a409-7a86316fa5a3)

CHAPTER ONE (#u439d17c3-a8c7-50d0-bb79-2d6e2e6d663b)

CHAPTER TWO (#ua833f7bc-1c02-5653-8655-81788cd9500d)

CHAPTER THREE (#uc3b34af9-74f1-5fb4-bc6f-777033882072)

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)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ub05865dc-90ff-59f9-a393-8b6766b442c8)


PHILIPPE SETTLED INTO his seat and pulled his baseball cap over his eyes. It was a four-hour flight to Temur Sapora, the Malaysian island in the South China Sea, and he intended to sleep the whole way.

Two minutes later an ample gentleman tried to slide into the seat next to him. Philippe looked up briefly, shifting a little to allow the man more room to sit down. It was an instant mistake. The red-faced man instantly started talking. ‘Pardon me. I’m a little bigger than the standard-sized airline seat.’ He laughed, then stuck out his hand towards Philippe.

‘Harry Reacher, I’m from Minneapolis in the US. Are you going to Temur Sapora too?’

Philippe let his practised face slide into place. He didn’t say the word obviously that was floating around in his head. This aircraft had only one destination.

‘Philippe,’ he said simply, leaving the last name blank. It didn’t matter that this guy was American. His surname was pretty well known worldwide. The whole point of this trip was to remain anonymous—hence why he was heading to an island in the South China Sea that few people had heard of.

‘I’m a doctor,’ added Harry quickly, pulling a cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘I’m going to work at one of the local medical centres for a couple of weeks. They’ve apparently made huge advances on wound healing.’

‘They have?’ Now Philippe’s curiosity was definitely piqued. He sat up a little in his chair. ‘What are they doing?’

There was a spark in Harry’s eyes. ‘You in the business?’

Philippe nodded. ‘I’m a doctor too.’

‘Ah-h-h.’ Harry gave him a careful stare, which Philippe hoped wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. ‘You here to work too?’

Philippe shook his head and smiled. ‘Absolutely not. This is a holiday. My first in five years. I’m going to lie low for two weeks, drink a few beers and sleep.’ He left out the part about needing a bit of time and head space to regroup after his last patient in the ER. That experience would never leave him.

‘If this is a holiday, where are all your friends?’ Harry looked around in surprise. ‘Don’t you young guys all go on holidays together?’

Philippe gave a shrug. He had years of experience at avoiding questions he really didn’t want to answer. ‘Thanks for the compliment but I’m not that young—thirty-one now. And I can guarantee if my friends were with me I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep and that’s what I need right now. Five years of fifty-hour weeks is enough for anyone. I’m starting another job in a few weeks and just wanted some downtime.’

Harry smiled again. ‘And you chose Temur Sapora? It’s a little off the beaten track.’

Philippe nodded. ‘Which means it’s perfect. Beautiful beaches, perfect ocean and an anonymous luxury resort.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I guess we all need some downtime.’

‘Except you. You’re here to work.’ He was still curious to hear about the advances in wound healing.

Harry smiled again. ‘But it’s for selfish reasons. I’m hoping to learn as much as I can and take it back with me. And for me, coming here, it’s the trip of a lifetime.’ His smile got wider. ‘I can’t wait.’

Philippe settled back in his seat a little as the ‘fasten seat belt’ signs lit up. Harry struggled to fit his around his wide girth, eventually closing it with a bit of a squirm. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Where were we? Ah, yes, let me tell you about the effects of the ointment they’ve developed on necrotising fasciitis.’

Philippe kept a smile on his face as the plane taxied down the runway and the possibility of sleep slipped further and further from his grasp.

* * *

‘Harry, are you okay?’

Three hours later Harry was rubbing at his chest again. He’d hardly touched the food when it had come and had been drinking only water. Sweat was pouring off him and his face was getting redder by the second.

‘It’ll pass. Just a bit of indigestion,’ he said.

Philippe shook his head. ‘Let me take a proper look at you.’ He grabbed his backpack from under the seat in front and pulled out a tiny monitor and a stethoscope. Every doctor’s first-aid kit. Before Harry could say any more, Philippe slipped the tiny probe onto his finger.

‘Do you have any health conditions I should know about?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Just a bit of high blood pressure but it’s been under control for the last few years.’

Philippe reached over to touch him. The skin on his chest was cold and clammy. He positioned the stethoscope, knowing it was unlikely to help. Harry’s lungs were functioning—it was his heart that was having problems.

‘I have to be okay,’ murmured Harry. ‘I’m meeting Arissa Cotter at the medical centre. She’s expecting me. They’re down a doctor right now so the timing has worked out perfectly.’ He gasped as his hand went to his chest. ‘She needs me.’

For the first time Philippe could see real fear in Harry’s eyes. He signalled to one of the air stewards. ‘How soon until we land?’

The steward shot an anxious glance at Harry. ‘Another hour.’

‘Anywhere closer we can land?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Not for a plane this size. There’s only the South China Sea. Temur Sapora is the nearest airport from here.’

Philippe grimaced. For the first time he wished he’d taken the royal private jet. It was smaller and could probably have landed on a much shorter airstrip. But he’d wanted to be incognito—he’d wanted to have the chance of having a true holiday before he had to head back home to Corinez to take up his role in spearheading some changes in the healthcare system. The King had trained his children well. One trained in the armed forces to be the next King, one trained as a doctor to help facilitate changes in healthcare, and one trained as an accountant to join the advisory committee on finance.

But bringing the royal jet to Temur Sapora would just have alerted most of the news agencies around the world. Not the kind of holiday he wanted.

‘Give me a number for your chest pain, Harry, between one and ten.’ He couldn’t help it. Moving into complete doctor mode was so natural to him.

The redness started to fade from Harry’s face, replaced by a horrible paleness. Harry didn’t answer.

Philippe’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. As a doctor he’d dealt with many emergencies, but not at thirty thousand feet—and not without any real supplies. He had a horrible sinking feeling that what he needed right now was some kind of anticoagulant to stop the current damage to Harry’s heart. This guy was having a heart attack. And those kind of meds weren’t available at thirty thousand feet.

Within a few seconds Harry slumped over.

The steward panicked and ran to get their emergency kit and defibrillator. Philippe slid Harry to the floor. The passengers close by were wide-eyed but moved swiftly aside to let Philippe work.

Ten minutes later Philippe ran his fingers through his dark hair and let out an angry sigh. It was impossible. The defibrillator wasn’t even picking up a shockable rhythm. CPR was having no effect and they were too far away from landing to continue indefinitely.

He stared down at Harry and withdrew his hands slowly, making a final check of the pulse before he glanced at his watch. ‘Time of death, two-fifty-six,’ he said as he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ he said quietly. ‘I guess you’re not getting the trip of a lifetime any more.’




CHAPTER TWO (#ub05865dc-90ff-59f9-a393-8b6766b442c8)


ARISSA GLANCED AT her watch. It was odd. Harry Reacher’s plane had landed hours ago and he should have been here by now.

Her stomach squeezed. She hoped he hadn’t had a last-minute change of heart. Getting doctors here was difficult enough. As it was, she used all her own holidays to cover here five weeks a year.

She finished scrubbing her hands at the sink and moved over to the small trolley she had set up. ‘Okay, Adilah, let’s get a proper look at that finger.’

She pulled on some gloves and touched Adilah’s finger to ensure the local anaesthetic had taken effect. Her mother adjusted Adilah on her knee. ‘How many stitches do you think it will need?’

Arissa gave a smile. ‘I think about four will be enough. That’s a nasty cut you gave yourself, Adilah. But I’ll have it fixed in no time and it won’t hurt a bit.’

Arissa bent down and started making the tiny stitches as she sang a nursery rhyme that her mother had taught her as a child. Adilah smiled and joined in. Within a few minutes Arissa was done, giving the wound a final check and covering it with a small dressing. She pulled out her prescription pad. ‘I’m going to give you some antibiotics for Adilah, as the wound was pretty dirty when she got here. She’s more liable to infection than most, so hopefully this will keep things at bay.’

Adilah’s mother gave a grateful nod. Arissa noted the dark circles under her eyes. Having a five-year-old with leukaemia was taking its toll. ‘Bring her back if she shows sign of a temperature or any discharge from the wound. Otherwise try and keep the dressing dry for the next few days. It should heal without any problems.’

There was a movement at the door, and Arissa looked up. Darn it. Another tourist, doubtless looking for the luxury resort that had a similar name to their clinic.

‘Give me a minute.’ She waved her hand as she moved to dispose of the items on the trolley and wash her hands again.

Instead of waiting at the door the curious tourist stepped inside, nodding at Adilah and her mother as they left and then turning his head from side to side, scanning the clinic area.

Arissa felt her hackles rise. He was likely looking for luxury Egyptian cotton sheets, straw parasols, cocktails and personal waiters. This simple clinic would be something completely outwith his normal environment.

She sighed and turned around, trying her best to paste a smile on her face. ‘Are you lost?’ Her heart stopped somewhere in her chest. Wow. Okay, Mr Tourist was about to knock Hugh Jackman off her ‘if only’ list and steal his place.

Dark hair and dark eyes, combined with height and a muscular build. He was dragging some kind of backpack behind him. Not like the usual designer luggage she might have expected.

He was holding a baseball cap in his hand. He tilted his head to the side. ‘Arissa Cotter?’

She blinked. This couldn’t be her guy. Wasn’t Dr Reacher in his sixties? She held her breath for a second. ‘Who wants to know?’

Her heart started thudding against her chest as she tried to control her breathing. Was he a reporter? A private investigator? Had the secret she’d tried to hide for the last few years finally tracked her down?

The man crossed the room in three long strides, holding his hand out towards her. ‘Philippe...’ He paused, then gave the briefest shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’

She didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all. She automatically stepped back and he looked a little surprised.

It didn’t matter that his eyes were the darkest brown she’d ever seen. Her breath was tangling somewhere inside her, as she wondered if things were about to come crashing down around her.

She didn’t answer him. Her words caught somewhere between her chest and throat.

He took a deep breath. ‘I’m really sorry to tell you that I was on the plane next to Dr Harry Reacher. He had a heart attack while we were in midair.’

It took a few seconds for the words to process. ‘Wh-what?’

Her brain jumped away from the fear. For a few moments she felt utterly selfish. She’d imagined this was all about her. ‘Is he in the hospital?’

Something flitted across the eyes of the man calling himself Philippe and she knew instantly what came next. A horrible prickling feeling spread over her skin.

‘Oh, no,’ were all the words she could form. She took a deep breath. She’d never had a chance to meet Harry Reacher but his emails over the last few months had brightened her days, his enthusiasm and passion for his work brimming over in every sentence.

The tall stranger was still standing there, watching her with those intense brown eyes. She gave herself a little shake then tried to give him a smile. ‘I’m really sorry to hear about Harry. I was looking forward to working with him.’ Her heart gave a little twist as she realised she’d need to carry the workload here herself for the next couple of weeks.

He nodded too and ran his hand through his thick dark hair. It was the first time she’d noticed the fatigue in his eyes. ‘I’m just sorry I couldn’t save him. But, up there...’ he let out a sigh ‘...I had nothing. No drugs, proper equipment. I don’t have a doubt what the autopsy will show, but I hate the fact that if we’d actually been on the ground and near a hospital, there might have been a chance to save him.’

It was the way he said the words. As if he had an edge of responsibility for what had happened.

‘You had a defib?’ She couldn’t help but ask, she was curious.

He nodded. ‘But no shockable rhythm.’

Arissa pressed her lips together. She knew exactly what that meant. The heart attack must have been catastrophic. Whether they’d been near a hospital or not, it was unlikely that Harry would have survived.

But how many people knew it wasn’t a shockable rhythm? She opened her mouth to ask when another priority sprang to mind. Of course.

She straightened up as the logical part of her brain kicked into gear. ‘I should contact the hospital. See about making arrangements regarding Harry—speak to the consulate about contacting his relatives.’

‘I’ve taken care of things,’ he said, somewhat carefully.

She frowned. ‘Really?’

That seemed a little odd. Regulations and red tape were notorious on Temur Sapora. Who on earth was this guy? She looked at him again. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t place him at all. His accent was kind of strange. A mix of French, Italian and Spanish. He was definitely from Europe somewhere but she couldn’t quite place the rich tone in his voice. Whoever he was, he must have money. The luxury resorts here were for the rich, the very rich and, the very, very rich.

Too expensive and exclusive for anyone less than a millionaire. At some point Temur Sapora would be found by the masses, but luckily that hadn’t happened yet. She cringed every time some billionaire businessman mentioned in an interview that they’d visited a ‘luxury Malaysian island’ putting the spotlight on her home.

Part of her wanted the island to remain unspoiled and undiscovered. But part of her wanted it to share some of the distributed wealth of the rich visitors. The tourist resorts had given jobs to many of her friends. Families that had lived in poverty had started to gain a little income and independence. Healthcare had finally started to become a little more accessible. In the last ten years people around her had flourished. Before, Arissa had had to leave the island to train as a doctor. There was no university here, and the local hospitals weren’t properly equipped. But gradual improvements had happened. She was always glad to return now and give back a little to the place she’d left behind. Her last job was in Washington, specialising in paediatrics. But the plane ride back to Temur Sapora with the familiar sight of the turquoise waters and the backdrop of the volcano always made her heart leap a little in her chest. There was no place like home.

There was a crackle above them. The guy started and Arissa gave a rueful smile. She held up one hand. ‘Give it a second.’

He looked confused—his muscles tense in his neck, his hands in fists. Was he afraid? A few seconds later another noise thundered from the sky followed by a sudden torrent of rain deluging the roof above them.

A half-smile appeared on his face as he realised what the sound was, and he glanced outside at the rain thudding down on the ground. The raindrops bounced back up and the street quickly collected water. ‘It almost sounded like gunfire,’ he said softly.

It was a curious thing to say. Arissa glanced at her watch and shook her head. ‘It’s almost like clockwork.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Every day around midday we have the daily deluge.’ She moved a little closer to him, catching a sea-edged scent with a hint of musk. She could feel her senses prickle. Interesting aftershave. She shifted her feet, curious and a little irritated that she’d even noticed. The rain drummed down relentlessly outside, ricocheting off the nearby roofs like a drumbeat. He’d crossed his arms across his body, revealing the muscles in his back visible through his thin cotton T-shirt.

She dragged her eyes deliberately away but immediately found them focusing on his toned, tanned arms. Darn it. What was wrong with her?

She blinked as she took a step forward so she was slightly ahead of him. His eyes were focused firmly on the water rushing past their feet, rapidly turning a sludgy brown as it mixed with the earth from the surrounding streets.

‘Is it always like this?’

She nodded. ‘Yip. This is normal. Give it fifteen minutes and the sun will come back out.’ She took a deep breath and pointed off to the distant volcano, currently with a dark cloud hanging over it. ‘Scientists have studied it and can’t really explain the phenomenon. When I was little, my nenek used to tell me the God of Thunder was a little sad and wanted to remind us he was still there.’

She glanced sideways at him and she could see the amused look on his face. ‘And you believed that?’

Instantly she was annoyed. Her eyes went from his face to the designer emblem on the right side of the T-shirt. She recognised it. That T-shirt cost what she’d normally earn in a month. She was right. He was one of the cocky billionaires that usually frequented the local luxury resort. She’d do well to remember that instead of getting lost in a pair of deep brown eyes.

Memories flooded her brain. Someone like him would never relate to someone like her—abandoned as a baby outside a local shop. She’d been one of the lucky ones. She’d been adopted by a local couple and had a warm upbringing, only ending when they’d both died from ill health a few years ago. But she’d had to fight for everything she’d ever achieved. She loved the local stories and traditions of Temur Sapora. A man of privilege would never relate to a place like this.

She spun away and shot over her shoulder, ‘Give it fifteen minutes and it’ll be finished. Then, you’ll be able to get to wherever you’re going. If you need a taxi you’ll find one at the end of the street.’ She licked her lips, reluctantly adding, ‘Thanks for letting me know about Harry. Have a nice holiday.’

He looked a bit stunned by her sudden dismissal. But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had work to do—more, now that she knew Harry wouldn’t be joining her.

She didn’t have time to waste exchanging niceties with an anonymous stranger—no matter how nice he smelt.

* * *

One day. That was how long he’d been here and he was bored rigid.

The resort was glorious, immaculate and set on a gleaming white sandy beach. Every room had a view of the rippling turquoise ocean. The impeccable staff seemed to anticipate his every need. The beds and sheets were as luxurious as the ones he slept on in the palace. He had everything he could possibly want or need at his fingertips.

He’d picked the resort carefully. It was exactly what he’d wanted. A place he could completely relax and refocus. He knew after finishing his last job in a busy ER that he’d need a chance to reflect and change pace. His final patient in the ER had brought home to him just how important it was to spearhead the changes his country needed in healthcare. Corinez was a playground for the rich and famous. But not everyone who lived and worked there was rich and famous, and healthcare was something that frequently came bottom of the list on people’s daily expenses. After his last case his father had promised him a few weeks’ leeway before he returned to help try and develop free maternity care within Corinez.

He’d prepared for this role his whole life. He’d always known this time would come, as had his brother and sister. There was no doubt that Anthony had the hardest role—as the oldest child he was expected to take over from their father when he abdicated next year.

Philippe nodded as one of the personal concierges set a cocktail down next to him. This was his time to reflect, to plan, to take stock of what he’d learned from around the globe and apply it to the services and people in Corinez.

He had to—because paradise had changed a little over the last few years. Corinez had always been known as an island paradise. For the rich it was well known as a tax haven—the casinos flourished. Lots of celebrities had homes in Corinez. But over the last few years things had changed. The recession had hit areas of Corinez like every other country and, while the fabulously rich still existed, the people who struggled were becoming more noticeable, and those were the ones that Philippe wanted to focus on. He firmly believed that everyone was entitled to healthcare. He wanted to introduce a system in Corinez similar to the NHS in the UK. He had to start somewhere and now, more than ever, he knew that maternity care was the place to begin.

So why was he spending his time thinking about the beautiful Malaysian doctor he’d met yesterday?

Most of his dreams last night had been haunted by her dark hair, serious brown eyes, slim frame, pink shirt and dark figure-hugging trousers. He could remember every detail.

When he’d first watched her, he’d admired her easy manner as she’d interacted with the little girl. But from the second she’d realised he was there he’d almost been able to see the shutters go down over her eyes. He’d been surprised by her instantly suspicious gaze. The truth was—he wasn’t used to it.

He’d spent his life in two roles. Prince Philippe or Dr Aronaz. Neither of which was usually met with suspicion. But he hadn’t introduced himself to Arissa as either. Which for him was unusual. He was trying hard to keep a low profile. But now he was here?

The clientele were clearly exclusive. He’d recognised an actor hiding from a scandal. An unscrupulous politician. An author who seemed to spend all day furiously typing her latest novel. And several well-known business associates who were obviously trying to take some time to relax—even though they had phones pressed permanently to their ears.

Truth was, he really didn’t want to spend time with any of these people. Particularly the blonde actress who seemed to be trying to attract his attention right now. His last experience of a relationship with an actress hadn’t gone so well. She’d relished dating a prince. She’d loved the attention. The constant media coverage. What she hadn’t loved was how dedicated Philippe was to his work. Or that his plans for the future had included even more work. When he’d refused to choose her over his day job she’d dumped him mercilessly. He wasn’t afraid to admit he’d been hurt. He might even have loved her a little, but her hour-long interview about him on prime-time TV had killed that feeling completely. He was wary now. He wasn’t ready to put his heart on the line in such an obvious way again. Here, he could just be Philippe, not a prince of Corinez. That felt surprisingly refreshing.

He looked around again. What exactly was he going to do? There was a gym—been there, done that. A business centre—no way. A beauty salon—no. A masseuse—he shuddered. He’d never been one for a stranger’s hands on his skin. As for the tennis and squash courts? It was hard to play tennis or squash solo. He stretched out his arms, feeling the sun continue to heat his skin. Arissa’s face flooded into his brain again.

He’d seen the disappointment on her face yesterday when she’d realised Dr Reacher wouldn’t be joining her. Philippe hadn’t even asked what impact that might have on her. To be honest he’d been a little stung by her sudden dismissal.

He wasn’t used to being treated like that. Sure, like any doctor he’d dealt with drunk or difficult patients. As a prince he’d dealt with arrogant or obnoxious dignitaries. But Arissa? That was something a little different. It was almost as if he’d done something to offend her—and he was sure that he hadn’t.

He straightened on his sunlounger. There was a chance she could be responsible for the clinic on her own. His legs swung off the bed automatically. He took one glance at the bright orange cocktail and shook his head as he grabbed his T-shirt. He could still keep a low profile. He could introduce himself to Arissa with his Dr persona while just leaving out the part he was a prince. Temur Sapora was an island just like Corinez, albeit on the other side of the planet. Thoughts started to form quickly in his head. He could help out while learning more about their health system—treat it as a research trip. He could give her references, leaving out his last job at a hospital in Corinez. If she called there, she would find out instantly he was a prince. The others would only mention him as Philippe Aronaz.

He strode through to his suite, quickly changing as he wondered who he was trying to convince. His real focus was that slight frame and those deep brown eyes. He smiled as he strode out of the door.

No one would turn down a free doctor—would they?




CHAPTER THREE (#ub05865dc-90ff-59f9-a393-8b6766b442c8)


ARISSA WAS TIRED. More than tired. The next two days were going to be the busiest. The annual carnival was due to start tomorrow and it looked as if she was going to be the only doctor available for the clinic.

It was unfortunate. She’d hoped to use technology to review some of the cases like Adilah’s. There were seven kids on the island with some kind of blood cancer that she could discuss with a specialist back at her training hospital. She’d really wanted to use time to ensure they were getting the best treatments available. But now, as the only doctor at the clinic, she was unlikely to get time to do that.

She stared at the stack of photos in front of her. The clinic had negotiated sponsorship into research regarding the new ointment made from natural substances found on the island that seemed to have remarkable healing abilities. Part of her role was to help with the documentation. But it seemed that the doctor that had been here before her had fallen behind. The work was vital—the sponsorship helped keep this clinic open and full of supplies. She’d need to play catch up. It would have been possible with two doctors—particularly when Harry had been so interested in the subject matter—but now, with just her?

It didn’t help that she couldn’t find the digital files on the computer. If her predecessor had saved them he must have used the weirdest filing system in the world.

A shadow fell over her desk and she looked up just as her stomach rumbled loudly. Lunch. She’d forgotten about that too.

She frowned as she recognised the face. She couldn’t help herself. ‘Lost again? Or do you need a doctor?’

He was dressed in light trousers and a pale blue shirt. Relatively smarter than his jeans and T-shirt yesterday.

‘Do you?’ Was his reply.

Her brain tried to compute, but hunger and fatigue were making her grumpy. ‘What?’

‘A doctor? Do you need one—you know—to replace Harry for the next two weeks?’

The frown stayed in place. ‘Well, of course I do. But it’s not likely. So—’ she pushed herself up from the chair ‘—what exactly do you want, Mr...?’ She couldn’t remember his name from yesterday.

He held out his hand towards her. ‘Dr—Dr Aronaz. Here to help—if you want it.’

She stared at the outstretched hand and, slowly, put her hand out to meet his. His grip was firm, his hand warm. She ignored the little buzz up her arm. ‘What kind of a doctor are you?’

‘Mainly ER, but I do have some surgical experience, and I’ve had some obstetric experience too.’

‘Where did you work?’

‘I’ve worked lots of places.’

‘I need specifics.’ She couldn’t help but fire questions at him. While she was desperate, she wasn’t that desperate. She didn’t want some lazy, rich guy who’d flunked out of every job that he’d had.

‘I spent a spell in an ER in Chicago. I can give you my head of department’s number. Before that I was in Italy in Verona, before that I was in Sarajevo in Bosnia.’

‘Where did you train?’

A smile started to dance around the corners of his lips at her rapid-fire questions. ‘I trained at Harvard.’

Of course. Money was practically stamped all over this guy. She shifted her feet. But there was something else. It was old-school money.

Somehow she knew he hadn’t had to work as hard as she had to get grants and loans to pursue her dream of being a doctor. In fact, she was quite sure he hadn’t had to do that at all.

She was still working to pay off her loans. Goodness knew when that would finally come to an end. But it had been worth it for her. She’d achieved her dream. Her dream of being a doctor. A good doctor—a focused doctor who did the best she could for her patients. She’d even managed to introduce a system for babies who’d been abandoned like her. The safe haven project held a big piece of her heart.

People who’d trained at Harvard probably couldn’t begin to understand that. She hated that money made the world go round. As a capable and competent doctor whose reputation went before her, Arissa had had more than one offer of a job if she’d agreed to work entirely privately. She’d also had a few very rich businessmen try and convince her that she wanted to work in their specialist clinics. It was almost as if they didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t chase the money, and come exactly where the high salaries were.

But the biggest part of the population didn’t have a high salary. As it was, she considered her normal doctor salary to be good. She didn’t want to fold and end up working for the rich and famous.

She didn’t need the drama. She didn’t want the attention—no matter how fleeting. She was an ordinary person. And that was what she wanted to be—an ordinary person, leading an ordinary life. She’d been particularly careful not to let the media know she’d been an abandoned baby herself when she’d set up the safe haven project—she didn’t want her story to be the news. This was all about the mothers and babies of now.

She folded her arms across her chest and stared up at Philippe. Mr Old-School Money. He shook his head a little. ‘What’s wrong? Looked like I’d lost you there. Did I say something to offend you?’

She paused, trying to find words.

Philippe filled the uncomfortable gap. He looked around. ‘I’m not quite sure what services you offer in the clinic, but I’m sure my ER experience will be sufficient to give a good service. Harry told me a little of the reasons he was coming here. He was excited about a research project on healing. I’m happy to help with that too. I carried out a few research projects as part of my training.’

It almost sounded as if the guy was trying to schmooze her. And why should he? He’d just offered his doctor services for free for the next two weeks, she should be jumping all over him. But...there was just something she couldn’t put her finger on. As if there were something he wasn’t quite telling her.

Arissa’s instincts had always been good. She’d learned not to ignore them.

‘What kind of projects?’ She didn’t quite mean the way the words came out—as if she didn’t quite believe him.

But he kept his cool even though he looked slightly amused by her questioning. ‘I did one in West Africa looking at polio and smallpox vaccination, encouraging uptake. It was hugely successful. I did another in London, working at a specialist centre that diagnosed PoTS—you know, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. Fascinating.’

She pressed her lips together. He’d gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. If the guy actually showed her his résumé she was pretty sure it was far more impressive than hers.

A pager started sounding at her waistband.

Oh, no.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘What is it?’

She started moving, crossing her room and grabbing her jacket and keys. ‘We need to go. We need to go now.’ This was exactly the reason she could do with another doctor. She tried not to smile as she turned her head. ‘If you want to start—Dr Aronaz—you start now.’

* * *

Philippe was slightly confused. He watched as Arissa changed her flat shoes for a pair of runners and pressed the button on her pager to stop it sounding. A pager in a community clinic? He wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Community clinics didn’t normally cover any kind of emergency service.

Arissa didn’t hang around. She was out of the door in a flash. For the briefest of seconds he’d felt as if he’d had to convince her to let him work alongside her. He still wasn’t entirely sure she had agreed to it. What was it about him that put her hackles up?

For another few seconds there he’d thought she was almost smiling at him. But, it had vanished in an instant. And she was already climbing into the old-style Jeep that sat outside the clinic. He didn’t hesitate. He climbed in next to her.

‘Where are we going?’

She didn’t answer as she started the car and pulled out onto the road, glancing at her watch.

He looked around him. ‘Do we have any supplies?’ If they were heading to some kind of accident they’d want a minimum amount of supplies.

She pressed her lips together. ‘There’s an emergency kit in the back. Hopefully we won’t need it.’

He leaned back into the seat, still trying to work out what was going on. The streets of Temur Sapora blurred past. Arissa kept glancing at her watch, going around a few corners practically on two wheels. Philippe gripped the handle on the inside of the door. Wherever it was they were going, she wanted to get there quickly.

He frowned as they pulled up outside a fire and rescue centre. The front door was down, the rescue truck visible through the upper windows. It didn’t look as if it was going anywhere. Whatever they were doing it didn’t involve other emergency services.

Arissa jumped out of the car and ran over to the wall. A few seconds later another black car pulled up alongside them. A fire and rescue guy jumped out too; he nodded at her. ‘Arissa.’ His footsteps slowed. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’

Philippe was more confused by the second. ‘What on earth are we doing here?’

Arissa looked over her shoulder towards him. ‘Lim, this is Dr Aronaz. My temporary workmate for the next two weeks.’ She pulled a key from her pocket. ‘Okay?’

Lim gave a nod and stood alongside Philippe, staring at the red panel on the brick wall expectantly.

There was a noise. Something he didn’t expect. His stomach clenched. Was that a baby crying? Lim glanced at him, realising his confusion.

He pointed to the pager on his belt, then gestured towards the red panel that Arissa unlocked and pulled towards her.

‘This is our safe haven. A place that someone can come and leave their baby. No questions asked. As soon as a baby is left, our pagers go off. We aim to get here within five minutes.’

Philippe couldn’t move. He was fascinated. Arissa slowly pulled out the red panel in the wall, and he realised it was a carefully constructed shelf. Inside was a squirming baby, wrapped in a thin cotton blanket. Arissa lifted the baby out gently. ‘Hello, honey,’ she said quietly, gathering the baby in her arms, and stroking its head with one light finger. The baby instinctively turned its head towards her finger—rooting. Trying to find food. This baby was hungry.

Philippe stepped forward, his curiosity too much for him. Arissa nodded. ‘Get me a pack,’ she said to Lim, who disappeared and grabbed something from the boot of the Jeep.

Arissa carried the baby over to the Jeep and laid it down gently in the back, opening the blanket and giving the baby a quick visual check. The umbilical cord was tied with a piece of string and the baby was still smeared in some vernix. ‘It’s practically a newborn,’ Philippe said, looking over her shoulder.

‘Do you have much experience with newborns?’ she asked.

He gave a little shrug. ‘I’ve delivered three babies in the ER.’

She zipped open a tiny pack, pulling out a tympanic thermometer, a collection of wipes, and a tiny finger probe. ‘Give me a hand,’ she said quickly.

The baby started to squirm. Lim stood back and let Philippe move forward. He pulled a pen torch from his back pocket—it was amazing the things you kept on you when you were a doctor—and leaned forward, doing a quick check of the baby’s pupils. They had no idea how this baby had been delivered, or if there had been any trauma. ‘Both pupils equal and reactive,’ he said, doing a manual APGAR score in his head. The skin colour was good, muscles reactive, the baby kicking as he examined it. He slipped on the finger probe and glanced at the screen for a reading. ‘Do you have a stethoscope?’ he asked Arissa. She smiled and pulled a bright pink stethoscope from her pocket.

‘Don’t you believe the monitor?’ she asked.

He smiled as he took the stethoscope. ‘I like to do things the old-fashioned way,’ he said. The monitor reading said a pulse of one-forty and an oxygen saturation of ninety-eight per cent. This baby was doing fine.

He listened for a few seconds, checking the lungs, making sure the baby hadn’t inhaled anything untoward during delivery, then listening to the heart, checking for any heart murmurs or any other abnormality. He hoped Arissa couldn’t see the beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. An abandoned baby, albeit in a safe place. This was bringing back so many memories for him—of a baby that wasn’t healthy and pink like this one.

The baby let out an angry yelp as he lifted the stethoscope away from its chest. He did one final check. ‘Well, she seems like a perfectly healthy little girl.’ He inadvertently tucked the stethoscope into his back pocket. ‘I just hope mum is doing so well.’ His stomach squirmed as he said those words.

Arissa turned her eyes to Lim, who gave them both a nod. ‘I’ll put the word out. You okay?’ he asked.

Arissa nodded as she wrapped the baby back up and put her to her shoulder. ‘I think we’ll be good. I’ll take her back to the hospital and get her admitted and fed.’

Lim unlocked the door to the fire and rescue station and came back out a few minutes later with a car seat in his hand. He nodded towards them both. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Will let you know if we hear anything.’

He climbed into his black car and disappeared into the distance. Philippe turned to Arissa, his mind whirling. He pointed to the red panel on the fire station. ‘What on earth is this?’

Arissa tossed her car keys towards him. ‘It’s a safe haven. We set it up last year. Someplace safe that a woman can leave her baby. No questions. No prosecutions. An alarm goes off as soon as the panel is opened.’ She shook her head as he frowned and looked above the panel. ‘Not at the station,’ she said and pointed to her belt. ‘To our pagers. There’s always a doctor and a member of the fire and rescue crew who have the pagers. One, or both of us, aim to get here within five minutes.’

Philippe was still surprised. ‘How many babies does this happen to?’ Why hadn’t he heard of this before? This was exactly the kind of thing he needed to know about. Ideas were already forming in his head.

Arissa gave a shrug. ‘There’s only been three since we started. But having a safe haven to leave a baby is organised in lots of places.’ For a second he thought something flickered across her face but she pressed her lips together, then started talking again. ‘When I was a little girl, there was a baby left outside the old clinic. It was there all night. The clinic isn’t staffed overnight and I’m not sure that people knew that. Anyway, the baby nearly died. My mother told me about it. Everyone was upset. They never found out whose child it was. But the story stayed with me. And over the years I’ve often thought it should be something that we should start here.’ There was something in the way she said the words that sounded a little off. From the little he knew of her, Arissa normally seemed quite comfortable, but those words had come out hard and stiff.

But Philippe was frozen to the spot as the memories flooded through him again. So many things about this were familiar. Only a few weeks ago something similar had happened in Corinez. But Corinez had a different climate from Temur Sapora. The baby left in Corinez had suffered from hypothermia. It had been touch and go. Philippe had been on duty. He’d spent the next two days trying to revive the child and had failed. He’d never lost a child before and it had moved him in ways he’d never expected. It had seemed such a random act. And it had enforced for him even more the glaring need for free maternal healthcare in Corinez. Had the mother not presented at hospital because she couldn’t afford to pay the bill? Maybe she had no help at home. Maybe she hadn’t known she was pregnant, or hadn’t told anyone. Whatever the reasons were, try as he might, he hadn’t been able to track her down to ensure her safety. He’d asked questions around the hospital. It hadn’t been the first abandoned baby—but it had been the first who’d been exposed to adverse weather conditions. Maybe it was time to set up a scheme like they had in Temur Sapora?

‘They have these all over the world. In France, the USA, Italy, Hungary, Russia, Japan, Switzerland and the Philippines. They have a whole host of names—baby windows, baby cots, cradles of life, safe havens. But they all have the same function. A safe place for a mother to leave a baby.’

She fitted the car seat into the back of her own car and climbed in next to the baby. Philippe looked at the car keys in his hand and gave a little shake of his head as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

‘The fire station here isn’t always staffed and it’s in a quieter street. That’s why we decided this was a more appropriate place than the clinic. If someone wants to leave their baby, they won’t do it while the world is watching. Our clinic is right in the middle of the main street. The rest of the crew who work here are on call. So, someone will always be able to attend quickly to any baby left in the safe haven.’

He started the engine. ‘I take it I’m driving you both to the local hospital?’ His brain couldn’t stop turning over and over.

Arissa was bending over the baby strapped into the back seat. She looked up and smiled. ‘Well, look at that, little Dee, our new doctor is a resident genius.’

He sighed and smiled as he shook his head. ‘Dee?’

She nodded as he followed the signs on the road to the local hospital. It was only a few minutes away. ‘This is our fourth baby. The first two were boys. We decided just to go with the alphabet. Our first was called Amir, our second Bahari. Our third baby was a girl. We called her Chi-tze, and this time, we’ll pick a name beginning with D.’

Now he understood. ‘The babies never have a letter or a note? Something to tell you what their name is.’

He was doing his best to keep his eyes on the road. But he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at the woman with dark curls looking down at the tiny baby. He could see the compassion and empathy in her face, making his stomach twist in a way he just hadn’t expected.

She gave a sad kind of smile as she stroked the little girl’s face. ‘Not yet,’ she sighed. ‘I wish they would.’

‘Have you ever managed to reunite a mother and baby after they left the baby at the safe haven?’

Arissa shook her head. ‘I’d love to tell you yes, but the honest answer is no. For two of the babies we never found their mother. Another one, she got admitted with an infection. But...’ he could hear the waver in Arissa’s voice ‘...she didn’t want to be reunited with her baby. She had a difficult history. Even with the offer of support, she just didn’t want to go down that road.’

Philippe turned into the hospital and found a space in the car park. He switched off the engine and turned around. Arissa was talking quietly to the baby. ‘So, have you picked a name yet?’ he asked quietly.

She glanced over at him. There was a smattering of freckles on her pale brown skin, over her nose. Her eyes were the deepest brown he’d ever seen. It was almost as if they sucked him in, holding him in place. For the briefest of seconds their gazes locked in a way that made him hold his breath.

‘I think you should pick the name,’ she replied, the edges of her lips turning upwards. ‘As long as you stick to the rules and pick something with a D.’

He got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door and looking down at the little baby. Her face wrinkled and she let out a yelp. He reached down and picked her up as Arissa released the harness on the car seat. He put the baby on his shoulder and patted her back as she continued to yelp. ‘I think she’s hungry,’ he said with a smile. Then something else crossed his mind. ‘We don’t even know if she’s been fed at all. Maybe we should hurry up with the admission process and prioritise the food.’

Arissa closed the car door and walked alongside him. ‘I think we can manage that.’ She gave him a wink. ‘I might know someone.’

It was the oddest feeling. This morning he’d been lying at a luxury resort with two weeks of fine dining and relaxation ahead of him. Now, he had a tiny newborn baby snuggling into his neck and—from what he could feel—currently trying to latch on to him. A beautiful woman, surrounded by the scent of freesias, was walking next to him and making him strangely curious about her, and this place.

It was the oddest sensation. He’d thought he’d wanted to come here to sort out how he felt about the next part of his career—the next part of his life. But here he was, volunteering to work on a day job. Wanting to spend the next two weeks finding out more about this woman and this place.

He almost laughed out loud. No wonder his ex had complained he couldn’t switch off from work. He just didn’t want to. Being a doctor and doing his best for other people was ingrained in him, running through his veins in his blood.

As they walked inside the front doors of the hospital he turned to Arissa. ‘Hey, I don’t know any Malaysian names. I can’t pick a name for this little cutie.’

‘Give it some thought. You’re about to meet a million new people.’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘I’ll warn you now, they’ll all start campaigning for their own name.’

His footsteps faltered a bit. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. ‘They’ll know we’re looking for a name?’

He looked down at the little face. So innocent. So pure. A little girl abandoned by her mother for a million reasons he didn’t know about.

Arissa reached over and touched his arm. He almost jerked at the feel of her warm fingers on his skin. ‘Our babies are special,’ she said softly. ‘Everyone in the hospital supports the safe haven project. As soon as they see us, you’ll feel like a superstar.’

There was an edge to the way she said the words. A touch of sadness. He looked at her curiously. ‘Does the publicity help?’

She shuddered. She actually shuddered. ‘No. We don’t talk outside the hospital about the babies. We don’t want to do anything to compromise the safety of the person who has left their baby. It’s just internal. Word spreads fast. Everyone always comes to see the new baby.’ She sighed. ‘There’s a lot of love around here. By tomorrow, they’ll have an emergency foster carer ready to take her.’

He gave a nod. Did they have all this set up in Corinez? Was this something he could add into his newly purposed health system? His brain was spinning. He had to make some links. He had to talk to some of his advisors—and to some of the staff and ministers he would be working with.

It was weird. He’d resigned himself to this new life. But he’d never really felt the spark of excitement for it that he did now. The truth was he’d felt a little bitter about his future plans. Or maybe bitter was the wrong word, maybe it was overwhelmed. It was easy to work as a doctor somewhere and complain about lack of supplies or long hours. To be tasked with trying to implement change in a system that was so focused on finance? That was something else entirely. Free healthcare—even just maternity systems—would cost Corinez in a way that hadn’t been experienced before. He had to pitch things just right.

The one thing he was sure about was that he wanted to do well.

And for the first time, things were starting to take shape in his mind.

Thanks to this. Thanks to Harry. Thanks to Arissa.

Her hand was still on his arm and it tightened a little as they walked through the next set of doors. She gave him a smile. Ahead of them was a whole heap of expectant waiting faces. Nurses, admin staff, kitchen aides and cleaning staff were all standing at the nursing station.

‘Word does travel fast, doesn’t it?’ he said in wonder as they all started walking towards him.

‘Welcome to Temur Sapora,’ Arissa said as she raised her eyebrows.

Philippe surprised her. Of course, she’d pulled out her phone and emailed and checked his registration and references—which were all glowing. There was a small gap in the dates in his CV. But she wasn’t concerned. Lots of doctors took a few months out at some point in their lives. Maybe that was why he was here?

After he’d done the obligatory baby checks under her scrutinising gaze, she’d almost expected him to disappear back to his luxury resort. But no.

He stayed at the hospital while the paediatrician did their own assessment of the little girl then admitted her overnight for observation. Instead of leaving, Philippe settled down in a chair next to the cot in the nursery. He even asked if he could give the baby her first feed, which she gulped hungrily.

He wasn’t flustered when crowded by all the other staff who were anxious to see the new baby. In fact, he dealt with it like an old pro, smiling, answering politely and giving everyone a chance to see the new arrival. But what she did notice was the way he expertly circumvented answering specific questions about himself. It made her curious because she recognised the skill—it was something she’d done herself on occasion. How much did she actually know about this guy—apart from the fact he was a real doctor with good references? She made a note to try and find out if he’d been working in the last few months—that was where the gap in his CV was.

Eventually, they were left alone to get the baby settled. She still had half a mind that Philippe would make an excuse and go back to his bed in the luxury resort. But he didn’t. He finished feeding the baby and changed her nappy, all the while firing questions at Arissa about the safe haven scheme and the outcomes for babies like this.

They finally settled on a name—suggested by one of the nursing staff—Dian.

Philippe rested back in the wide armchair and nestled Dian into the crook of his arm, stroking his finger across her forehead and down her nose. ‘Well, little Dian, you’ve had an unusual start in this life. But you’re here, you’re safe, and hopefully your mum is too.’

Arissa could see a million things swirling around in his mind. Part of her wondered if a man who obviously came from money would be judgemental about what led a woman or girl to abandon their baby. But nothing like that came from his lips. All she could read on his face was empathy and part of her heart swelled in her chest at his reactions to little Dian.

In fact, he’d really surprised her. He sat there all night, asking a few questions about what would happen now with Dian, but mainly just holding the baby and talking to her.

‘Aren’t you tired?’ Arissa asked finally.

‘Sure.’ He shrugged, but his dark brown eyes still had a bit of sparkle in them. ‘But no more than usual.’ He looked around. ‘And this...’ he smiled down at Dian ‘...is different. How many times as a doctor have you cursed yourself because you haven’t had enough time to do something? How many times have you wanted a few more hours just to spend with a family, and give them some comfort?’ He gave a little nod as he looked at Dian again. ‘Tomorrow, Dian will go to a foster family, who’ll hopefully have all the time in the world to support her. But for now...’ his gaze met hers again ‘...it’s you, and me.’ Dian gave a little whimper and he tucked her up onto his shoulder and gently rubbed her back. ‘And let’s face it—this isn’t so bad?’ He stretched out his legs and put them on the low table in front of him. ‘What else would a guy do? Eat fancy dinners? Drink champagne cocktails?’ He winked. ‘That is how you think I spend my time, isn’t it?’

Her stomach gave a little flip. Maybe it was time to start making her facial expressions less obvious. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded, a gleam in his eye. ‘You did. But let’s just call it getting-to-know-you time.’

Heat rushed into her cheeks and she gave an embarrassed shudder, before biting her bottom lip and trying to get comfortable in the chair next to him.

She didn’t want to leave Dian either. It just seemed wrong that this poor little girl would spend her first day on this earth without someone to cuddle her during the night. The hospital staff knew her. They weren’t the least surprised to see her settle in for the night, and a few were already casting interested glances in Philippe’s direction. By morning, tongues would be wagging. She’d just have to make sure she introduced him formally as the temporary clinic doctor.

* * *

He was singing. And it totally wasn’t what she’d expected.

But to be honest she wasn’t sure what she’d expected at all. All the preconceived ideas she might have had about her upper-class guest were rapidly disappearing out of the window.

They’d come straight here from the hospital and had a quick chat first thing about the types of patients who normally attended the clinic. Temur Sapora had once had a mining industry, so chest complaints were common in the older population. Philippe had volunteered to see all the respiratory complaints and he seemed to be doing well. Until she heard him singing...

She pulled back one of the curtains. ‘What is that?’ She couldn’t help but ask.

Philippe was sitting next to an elderly local man whose shirt was open. Philippe had a stethoscope pressed to the man’s chest and both were singing along and laughing. Philippe turned towards her. ‘That,’ he said in mock horror, ‘is Frank Sinatra. You mean you didn’t recognise it?’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘Youngsters these days, Rahim. They don’t recognise one of the greats when they hear it.’

Arissa couldn’t help the smile on her face. ‘Oh, I recognise the greats, but no one could recognise that,’ she said.

Rahim erupted in laughter, than started coughing and spluttering. Philippe shot her a look and stood up, moving to the nearby sink to wash his hands. ‘It looks like Rahim has another chest infection. We were trying singing to see if it could help his lung capacity.’

He was choosing his words carefully. It was clear that Rahim, like many of the people around here, had chronic obstructive airways disease. His colour was poor and his breathing rapid. Any delay in treatment could end up in a hospital admission. Philippe moved over to the medicine cabinet. ‘I’m going to dispense some antibiotics for Rahim to take away with him, so we can get him started on treatment without delay.’

She liked the way he was obviously trying to put the man at ease.

Now she really did smile. He knew that for a patient like Rahim, writing a prescription that would have to be taken to a pharmacy and dispensed wasn’t the way to go. More often than not, patients like Rahim wouldn’t fill their prescriptions. Some might assume it could be down to cost—and it could be, but not always. Other times some of the older patients didn’t want to be a nuisance, or forgot to fill their prescriptions. There was a whole variety of reasons. But Philippe was doing exactly what she would have done—making sure the medicine was in the hands of the patient who required it.

The very fact that she didn’t have to explain any of this to Philippe made her wonder about him a little bit more.

She gave him a nod and let him finish, moving on to the next patient.

A few hours later he appeared behind her, an empty coffee cup in his hand. ‘Okay, I’ve snagged a cup. But where do we find the coffee?’

She glanced out at the waiting room that had finally quietened after her morning’s immunisation clinic.

She gestured with her head. ‘Come on. I’ll take you to the magic.’

She led him through to the small kitchen at the back of the clinic, switched on the percolator and flicked open the nearest cupboard, which was stocked from top to bottom with a variety of coffee.

Philippe blinked, then laughed. He lifted his hand. ‘What is it? Did some kind of rep come here and give you his whole supply?’

Arissa folded her arms and leaned against the wall, watching him for a few moments. ‘Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a rule that every doctor that works here has to buy their favourite kind of coffee before they leave.’

His eyes widened. ‘Exactly how many doctors have you had working here?’

She gave a sigh. ‘A lot. There are no permanent doctors here. Haven’t been for years.’

He frowned as he pulled one of the packets of coffee from the cupboard, gave it a quick appreciative sniff and loaded it into the machine. ‘So how on earth do you keep things running?’

She shook her head as she grabbed another mug. ‘I don’t. We...’ she held out her hands ‘...the community does. I commit all my holidays to working here.’

He stared at her for a few seconds. ‘All of your holidays?’

She nodded. ‘Sure. Have done for the last five years. Temur Sapora is home. This is where I’d come for my holidays anyway—so why not come here and work? We have lots of volunteers. Though I have to admit that the wound-healing project has definitely been a boost.’

The smell of coffee started to fill the room. ‘So, you’re telling me that this whole clinic is staffed by volunteers?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, and no. There are three permanent nursing staff and two administrators. They’re actually the most important people of all—they handle the rota.’

‘So, there are more doctors like you?’

She could see just how many questions he wanted to ask.

She nodded. ‘There’s no university training for medicine on Temur Sapora. Anyone who wants to train as a doctor has to leave.’

He tilted his head to the side. ‘And no one wants to come back full time?’

She instantly felt her hackles rise. He probably didn’t mean to offend but she couldn’t help how she felt.

‘Hey.’ He moved in front of her, his fingertips connecting with her arm. As she breathed she inhaled his sea-edged aftershave. ‘That didn’t quite come out the way it should.’

For a few seconds she didn’t move, conscious of the expanse of his chest moving up and down under the pale blue shirt right in front of her face. She hadn’t realised she was quite so short compared to him. She tipped her head upwards. Now she was this close, she could see the emerging stubble on his jawline—apparent after a night spent in the hospital. It rankled that he still managed to look this good with no real sleep or a change of clothes. It suddenly made her conscious of her own appearance.

His dark brown eyes smiled down at her apologetically. ‘Sometimes things just come out a little awkwardly,’ he said.

‘They didn’t seem to earlier. You had all the hospital staff practically sitting in the palm of your hand. Charm seemed like your main offensive.’

‘Ouch.’ He laughed, then ran his fingers through his dark hair. He hadn’t moved. He was still only a few inches from her. ‘I guess when I’m tired then the charm slips.’ He held out both hands. ‘What I meant to say is that I’m impressed. I’ve only been here two days and I’m impressed already. By the clinic, by the safe haven project. You’re making me think about things. Work I could do back home.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on holiday?’

‘What can I say? I got bored.’ The percolator started to bubble and this time he did step back.

It was the oddest sensation. She was almost sorry that he did.

She blinked and turned away, feeling instantly self-conscious. She fumbled in her trouser pocket to find a ponytail band, then tried to capture the errant curls that had escaped around her face. She pulled her hair upwards, then stared down at her wrinkled pink shirt. ‘Maybe I should take five minutes and go home and change.’

He handed her a cup of steaming coffee. ‘Why? You look fine. Gorgeous as ever.’

Her stomach clenched. The man who’d displaced Hugh Jackman from her ‘if only’ list had just called her gorgeous. As soon as the thought appeared in her head she pushed it away. She didn’t have time to think like that. There was too much work to be done. Too many other things to sort out. He might be a doctor, but he was still a tourist. Temur Sapora would be just a fleeting visit to him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

She pulled herself back to the conversation from earlier. ‘If I came back here permanently, then I’d have to work as a generalist. I’ve spent the last year specialising in Paediatric Oncology. It’s where my heart lies. But because there’s a smaller population on Temur Sapora there wouldn’t be that opportunity to specialise.’ The aroma of coffee was drifting around her, overpowering the teasing smell of his aftershave and allowing her to concentrate again. ‘It’s the same for the rest of my colleagues who volunteer here. One is a surgeon, another a cardiologist, another an endocrinologist. In fact—’ she gave a little smile ‘—we probably cover just about every speciality that there is—and that has its benefits too.’

She glanced through the glass-panelled door to the waiting room outside. It was the first time in days there hadn’t been a number of patients waiting to be seen—partly because Philippe was proving so useful. She gave a little nod and sat down on the comfortable sofa in the staff room. ‘There’s a few children whose cases I can review and treatment plans I can look over while I’m here.’

Philippe settled onto the sofa beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. ‘They don’t go to the mainland for treatment?’

She shook her head. ‘The mainland is a four-hour flight away. The truth is it’s expensive, and it’s not just the flights. It’s the hospital treatment once you get there, and room and board for the families. It all adds up.’

He took a sip of the coffee, sighed and rested back on the sofa, closing his eyes for a second. ‘You’re right, it does. I guess none of us has really mastered the healthcare system yet of our countries.’

It seemed an odd thing to say. She let out a little laugh. ‘And why would that be our job? We just have to work in the system. Not design it.’

It was as if she’d just given him a sharp jab. His eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright again. ‘What? Oh, of course, yeah. You’re right.’

She frowned. ‘Dr Aronaz? Are you okay? Do you want to get some sleep?’

He shook his head. For the briefest of seconds he’d had that rabbit-caught-in-the-headlights kind of look. But he seemed to shake it off as quickly as it had appeared. This guy had a real talent for smoothing things over.

Something prickled in the back of her brain. Something vaguely familiar that she just couldn’t place. But before she could think about it any more, Philippe had turned to face her. ‘Hey, we haven’t had a chance to discuss the research project on wound healing yet. Why don’t you run me through it and tell me what you need me to do to assist?’

Of course. For the last few days there hadn’t really been a chance to keep things as up to date as she wanted. The project was proving really successful and it was vital she made sure the research was recorded accurately. If things worked out, it could eventually lead to better funding for the clinic. She had to keep the long-term goal in mind. She set down her coffee and pulled over a laptop from the nearby counter. ‘Sure, let me show you what we’re doing...’




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