With Love From

COLLECTION

January 2020

With Love FromLas Vegas

February 2020

With Love FromCape Town

March 2020

With Love FromSydney

April 2020

With Love FromFlorence

May 2020

With Love FromAthens

June 2020

With Love FromLondon

About the Authors

ANNE FRASER always loved reading and never imagined that one day she would be writing for a living. She started life as a nurse and helpfully, for a writer of medical romances, is married to a hospital doctor! Anne and husband have lived and worked all over the world, including South Africa, Canada and Australia and many of their experiences as well as the settings find their way into her books. Anne lives in Glasgow with her husband and two children.

JOSS WOOD’s passion for putting black letters on a white screen is only matched by her love of books and travelling and her hatred of making school lunches and ironing. Fuelled by coffee and craziness, Joss is a hands on Mum and, after a career in local economic development and business lobbying, she now writes full time. Surrounded by family, friends and books she lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa with her husband and two children.

With Love from Cape Town

Miracle: Marriage Reunited

Anne Fraser

She’s So Over Him

Joss Wood

The Last Guy She Should Call

Joss Wood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90654-2

WITH LOVE FROM CAPE TOWN

Miracle: Marriage Reunited © 2010 Anne Fraser She’s So Over Him © 2012 Joss Wood The Last Guy She Should Call © 2014 Joss Wood

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Miracle: Marriage Reunited

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

EPILOGUE

She’s So Over Him

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Last Guy She Should Call

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

About the Publisher

Miracle: Marriage Reunited

Anne Fraser

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.’

‘I know some people find it distasteful,’ Isabel continued, ‘but the truth of the matter is that we select embryos anyway to put back.’

Robina was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We add sperm to all the eggs we retrieve. Say we have fourteen. Out of those, sometimes only a proportion will fertilise. We study the ones that are under the microscope and grade them according to specific, recognised criteria. We select the ones with the best grades, and choose one from these to replace. So in a way we are already selecting. PGD only takes it a step further.’

Robina was fascinated and knew viewers would be too. Some might find it controversial, but she had never shied away from controversy. She would present both sides of the argument and leave people to make up their own minds.

‘Isn’t destroying perfectly healthy embryos wrong?’

‘Sometimes we freeze the leftover embryos—the ones that are of good quality, that is—in case the women want further treatment. If they don’t, then yes, we dispose of the remainder,’ Isabel continued, her face animated. It was clearly a subject that was close to her heart. ‘In many ways it’s no different to what happens in normal pregnancies. The ovary starts to produce several eggs, but there is always one dominant egg which then releases a hormone that stops the other competing eggs from developing further. In a way we are simply replicating nature.’

‘The issue I have is more of a scientific rather than a moral one,’ Niall said. ‘Not for this gene, which would be present in every cell of the embryo, but when we are testing for other genetic conditions, for example Down’s syndrome, there is the risk that out of the eight cells, we test the one cell that doesn’t carry the genetic abnormality and are led to falsely believe that the embryo is free of the condition. It is important that anyone considering PGD understands this.’

‘She wouldn’t be considering it if she weren’t desperate,’ Mairi interjected. ‘And she’s already shown how serious she is by having a double mastectomy. I’m not surprised she doesn’t want her daughter to go through the same thing.’

Robina leaned back as lively discussion broke out around the table. She wondered how it felt to have to make these kinds of decisions on a daily basis, knowing you held people’s dreams in the palm of your hand. Her heart went out to all the couples. The people in this room had such power over their lives. How could so many women bear to put themselves through so much potential disappointment and heartache? She knew she couldn’t put herself through it again. Never, ever. She had thought she would never get over the pain of losing one baby. How could she possibly risk doing it all over again?

‘Let’s take a vote,’ Niall said. ‘Everyone in favour of my seeing this lady, remembering I intend to make sure she understands the pros and cons before we proceed, raise their hands.’

It seemed that everyone was in agreement.

‘Let’s move on then,’ Niall said, but before he could continue, the receptionist popped her head around the door.

‘Annette has arrived for her scan, Sally. I’ve made her a coffee, but I don’t want to keep her waiting—she looks terrified.’

Sally stood. ‘Are you coming?’ she asked Robina, who immediately got to her feet. ‘Keep your fingers crossed, everyone,’ she added over her shoulder as Robina and her cameraman, John, followed her out of the room.

Sally showed Annette and her husband into one of the consulting rooms and then left them with Robina and John while she went to set up the scan.

Annette was pale and held on to her husband Mike’s hand as if for dear life.

Robina asked the nervous couple if they were sure they were happy to be filmed. ‘You can still change your mind,’ she told them gently.

‘No, we said we’d do it and we will.’ Annette raised her chin. ‘We want people to know what it’s like to go through IVF.’

Robina nodded to John, who focussed the camera on Annette.

‘Only people who have been through this know what it’s like.’ Annette’s voice was so soft, Robina had to strain to catch her words.

‘At first, every month you hope that this will be the month, but you tell yourself not to get too excited, but you can’t help yourself. You just want it so much. And then, when it doesn’t happen, it’s like a dark cloud descending on top of you. So you ask yourself, why me? What is wrong with me? And then eventually you realise that you have to seek help, because it’s not going to happen on its own—no matter how much you want it to. Suddenly, you can’t bear seeing babies. Sometimes you’ll cross the street so you don’t have to look at them, and you even avoid friends and relatives who are pregnant or have young children—even though you know it’s wrong and selfish.’

She took a shaky breath. Robina wanted to reach out and put her arm around Annette’s shoulders and tell her she knew how she felt, but she forced herself to stay still and let her have her say.

‘People tell you to relax, that it will be all right, that there is always adoption, and yes, for some people adoption is the right thing. But although they mean well they just don’t know how much it hurts not being able to have children of your own.’

She paused for a moment, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘And then, when you decide to go for IVF, you think that this is it. That soon you’ll be pregnant. Oh, you know the treatment might be unpleasant, but you don’t care. And they tell you it might not work, but you’re not really listening, cos you have hope again. So you do everything you are told, and loads of other stuff that you read about on the internet and in magazines—just in case. You go through the injections, do the diets, try the alternative treatments—put up with the hormones making you a little crazy, because you just know that soon you’ll be holding a baby in your arms, and you’ll do anything to have that feeling. Then when the drugs work, and they take you to Theatre, the hope is almost painful. So you have your eggs collected, but you have to wait again to see if they fertilise, and if they do, and one or two are replaced, you have to wait again to see if they implant. And even if you know there is still a chance you won’t fall pregnant, you go out and buy the cot, and start to think of names. And it’s the longest two weeks of your life as you wait. You are almost too scared to do anything, even though you know it won’t make a difference, and every twinge and niggly pain terrifies you. Then, at last, it’s pregnancy test day. And you tell yourself you must be pregnant because you couldn’t bear it if you are not.’

Annette took another deep breath. ‘But if you are like me, then the first time the test was negative, and I couldn’t believe it. I was devastated. But Mike wouldn’t let me give up, so we tried again. And this time the test was positive. We were so excited, even though Sally warned us it was only the beginning.’

She paused as Sally re-entered the room. ‘We didn’t listen, did we? We told everyone and they were so happy for us. But something didn’t feel right. I tried to tell myself I was imagining things, but I wasn’t. This time we got as far as the seven-week scan—like the one we are having today. But there was no heartbeat. We had lost our baby.’

Robina swallowed the lump in her throat. She also recognised the terrible feeling of loss; even though her baby had been no more than a few centimetres in length. A baby was no less mourned because it was only a tiny embryo.

‘C’mon,’ Sally said gently. ‘Let’s get you scanned. I think you’ve waited long enough for this moment.’

A few minutes later, Annette lay on the bed looking even paler and on the verge of tears. She’s expecting bad news, Robina thought. It’s written all over her face. Or at least she’s preparing herself for the worst.

The room was deathly silent as Sally ran her probe over Annette’s abdomen. Annette clutched Mike’s hand as if he were a life-raft and if she let go, she would drown.

But a few minutes later a huge smile spread across Sally’s face. ‘A clear, strong heartbeat.’ She swivelled the monitor so the couple could see. ‘See just there.’

Robina craned her neck to see where she was pointing and, sure enough, the steady movement of a heartbeat flickered on the screen.

‘Are you sure?’ Annette whispered.

‘One hundred per cent. You can relax, we’ve got an ongoing pregnancy.’

Annette burst into gut-wrenching sobs and her husband gathered her into his arms. ‘I can’t believe it,’ Annette hiccupped once she had regained her composure. ‘We’re going to have a baby. Thank you, oh, thank you.’

‘Congratulations,’ Robina said. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’ With a bit of luck, in a few months’ time this couple would be holding a much longed-for baby in their arms. Robina’s throat tightened and she knew that tears weren’t far away. Annette’s story had brought too many painful memories flooding back.

Leaving the ecstatic couple with Sally, Robina found the staff in Reception gathered around a woman who was proudly showing off a baby, who, judging by its size, was somewhere around two to three months old.

‘Isn’t he just gorgeous?’ Linda was saying. She noticed Robina. ‘Dr Zondi, come meet our latest arrival, little Matthew.’

She held out the baby and, before Robina could protest, handed her the tiny bundle as everyone looked on. For a second Robina’s heart froze. She hadn’t seen, much less held, a baby since her miscarriage. Now she had no choice but to accept the infant.

John was filming, his camera trained on her face. He was one of the few people who knew about the miscarriage, but the thought probably hadn’t entered his male head that she would find cuddling a baby difficult. She forced herself to look down at the tiny bundle she held in her arms. His eyes were closed, and impossibly long lashes fanned plump cheeks. She inhaled the baby smell of him and the numbness in her throat spread into her chest, making her feel as if she could hardly breathe. If her baby had lived, she would be due about now. Don’t let me cry, she thought. Don’t let anyone speak to me, cos there is no way I could force any words past my throat.

She glanced up and over the heads of the nursing staff and saw Niall watching her intently. Without a word, he crossed the room and gently took the baby from her arms.

‘Ah, let me see,’ he said, holding the baby as if he’d had years of practice, which, of course, he had. ‘What a fine-looking lad. You must be very proud of him.’

Robina backed away as Niall diverted attention away from her. She was shaking and desperately needed some time on her own to compose herself. Mumbling something about the Ladies’ to no one in particular, she walked as steadily as she could, on legs that had turned to mush, towards the bathroom.

Inside, she slumped to the floor and laid her head on her knees, taking deep, gulping breaths. Her hands were still shaking and she could feel the pressure of tears behind her eyes. It should be her, holding her baby. She caught her breath as a fresh wave of grief washed over her. She couldn’t break down, not here. She needed to regain her composure before she went back out. Maybe Niall was right and she should never have agreed to this programme. She was still too raw, too vulnerable. Thank God, he had seen how close she had been back there to losing it, and had rescued her. How on earth was she going to manage weeks of this? Especially if every time she saw a baby, she thought she would disappear inside herself from the pain of it?

But it was too late for second thoughts. She had made a commitment and she never backed out of anything, regardless of the personal cost. Somehow, although she didn’t know how, she would have to lock her feelings back down, deep inside. It was the only way she could continue. She had done it before, and she could do it again. Couldn’t she?

Chapter Four

NIALL sat across the desk from Mr and Mrs Thomas trying, but not quite succeeding, to ignore the cameras. After studying the financial projections, he had been forced to agree with Lucinda. The clinic needed to attract extra funding. So he had agreed to the documentary, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. And to add to his discomfort, Real Life Productions had insisted that Niall, given his international reputation, be the one to appear on camera. Mark, the third doctor, and Elaine had made no secret of their relief that they wouldn’t have to.

‘You’re used to appearing in public,’ they had teased. ‘God knows, your picture has appeared in the press often enough recently.’

They were right, but only because the press wanted pictures of Dr Zondi and her husband, out together and still very much in love. The press hadn’t a clue, Niall thought bitterly, and it was just as well. The thought of having his personal life discussed in the papers made him squirm.

Robina had chosen an unobtrusive spot, just to the left of his patients. She was looking drawn, Niall thought with a stab of anxiety. Holding that baby had hurt—she had put her professional face back on, but the way she was nibbling her lip told him she was struggling to hold it together. Damn it! He should never have agreed to this project. Never mind about the finances of the unit, they would manage somehow—but would Robina? He didn’t care what she had said about being able to cope—she was more affected than she’d imagined she’d be. But the woman was stubborn. He knew that to his cost. He dragged his thoughts away from his wife, concentrating on the anxious man and woman in front of him.

Mrs Thomas, Eilidh, was 38, and her husband already had a child by a previous marriage. Either of these reasons on their own made them ineligible for NHS treatment.

‘We only met a year ago,’ Eilidh was saying with a fond look at her husband Jim. ‘I had more or less given up on meeting the man of my dreams. Then he walked into the room and, bam—just like that. We fell in love.’

Niall couldn’t stop himself from sliding another glance at his wife. He knew exactly what Eilidh was talking about.

But if the same thought occurred to Robina there was no sign of it. In the last few moments she seemed to have managed to get her emotions under control. Cool, calm Dr Zondi was back, and she was concentrating intently on what Eilidh was saying.

‘We started trying for a family…when was it, love?’ Eilidh turned to Jim for confirmation. ‘About six months ago. I know it isn’t long, but my GP thought that, given my age, we shouldn’t wait before we sought expert advice. So here we are.’

She’s anxious, Niall thought as Eilidh chewed on her thumbnail. But then again, almost everyone who ever sat in that chair was nervous. They came to him filled with their hopes and dreams, hoping that he’d be able to work some magic that would give them the child they so desperately longed for. And most of the time he did. But not always. However, he knew there was a good chance he could help the hopeful couple in front of him.

‘I have the results of your tests here,’ he said.

Eilidh gripped Jim’s hands and chewed more fiercely on the thumbnail of her free hand.

‘Bill’s sperm test is perfectly normal—that’s the good news. But the test we did for your ovarian reserve, Eilidh, shows that, as we’d expect from someone your age, your fertility is declining.’ Niall kept his voice matter-of-fact.

‘What does that mean?’ Eilidh asked. Her pale face lightened another shade.

‘It means that you are unlikely to conceive naturally, but are a good candidate for IVF,’ Niall explained.

Eilidh sank back in her chair and smiled with relief. ‘Thank God,’ she murmured. ‘I was terrified you were going to tell us it was hopeless. That getting pregnant was impossible for me.’

‘It doesn’t mean I can promise you a pregnancy,’ Niall continued. ‘Sometimes, no matter what we do, women still fail to conceive. And sometimes they conceive but are unable to carry the pregnancy to term. I don’t want to paint a negative picture, but you should be prepared.’

But Niall suspected even as he said the words that Eilidh and Jim weren’t really listening. Like so many couples, they couldn’t bring themselves to think about the possibility of failure. ‘That’s why,’ he added, ‘we suggest you make an appointment with our counsellor. You don’t have to see her but I would recommend it. She’s excellent and is there should you need to talk to someone neutral at any time through this process.’

Niall couldn’t prevent another glance at Robina. Sure enough, her eyes had widened in surprise. When they had first started experiencing problems in their marriage, she had suggested a counsellor. But he had refused. The thought of airing their dirty linen to a stranger was just too much. If she had truly loved him, they should have been able to sort things out themselves. Now he wondered if he should have agreed.

He took the couple through the process; how the clinic would take control of Eilidh’s cycle and give her drugs which she would need to inject every day for roughly ten days. In addition, Eilidh would have to come in for regular scans of her ovaries as well as blood tests.

He went on to describe the side effects of the drugs and didn’t mince his words when he explained the more unpleasant aspects of the treatment.

‘Are you sure you want to put yourself through this, love?’ Jim asked his wife. ‘I didn’t think it would be so…awful for you.’

Eilidh looked her husband straight in the eye. ‘What does it matter if we get a baby at the end? I’ll be all right. I can do anything as long as I have you!’

They smiled at each other and Niall felt a flash of envy. If only he and Robina could share their troubles in the same way.

‘Once your ovaries are producing enough follicles and are at the right stage,’ he continued, ‘we take you to Theatre and you’ll be given a sedative. We remove as many eggs as we can from your follicles and then we will use Jim’s sperm to fertilise them in the lab. At that point the fertilised eggs become embryos. Depending on how many fertilise, we will make a decision on when to put one, or two, back. Either day two, three or day five. Are you following me so far?’

Eilidh and Jim nodded mutely.

‘How do you decide whether to replace one or two embryos?’ Jim asked.

‘Essentially it’s up to you. The HFEA, the UK regulatory body for fertility clinics, recommends that only one embryo is replaced at a time. That’s because twin pregnancies carry a greater risk of complications. However, the chances are smaller of one embryo implanting successfully. We’ll go over it again when we get closer to that time but, as I said, the final decision will be yours.’

Jim and Eilidh nodded sombrely. ‘I think we’d like to know more before we decide how many embryos to have put back,’ Jim answered for them both.

‘Good decision. It’s a lot to absorb in one go,’ Niall said gently, ‘but you’ll be seeing one of our specialist nurses on a regular basis. They will be only too happy to answer any questions you may have as we go along, and they have stacks of literature that you can take away with you. Does that sound okay?’

‘Does it hurt—I mean the bit where you take the eggs?’ Eilidh asked.

‘It can be uncomfortable,’ Niall admitted. ‘That’s why we sedate you. But, I can promise you, you won’t remember a thing about it afterwards. You might be a little sore for a couple of hours, but we’ll give you something for the pain.’

He spent a few more minutes going over the same ground with the excited couple before he called in Mairi, who would be co-ordinating their treatment.

‘Mairi will answer any other questions you might have,’ Niall assured the couple, ‘but if you ever want to speak to me, you have my number.’

‘Thank you, Dr Ferguson.’ Eilidh was beaming and two bright spots of colour stained her cheeks. ‘I know there’s a chance treatment won’t work, but you have given us hope. That’s all we can ask for.’

When the couple had accompanied Mairi from the room, John made to follow, but Robina stopped him. ‘We’ll pick them up later through their treatment,’ she said, ‘but in the meantime, let’s give them some privacy.’

When John left the room in search of some coffee, Robina turned to Niall. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘you kept everything very simple. I’m sure our viewers will appreciate that.’

Niall smiled wryly. ‘It’s the way I speak to all my patients,’ he said slowly. ‘My God, woman, don’t you know me at all?’

And there was the rub. She didn’t really know him or, for that matter, he her. Niall had always thought they would have the rest of their lives and had looked forward to years and years of learning about the complicated, complex woman who had agreed to become his wife. Instead, he thought bitterly, it had all started to go wrong almost as soon as they’d married. Truth was, things hadn’t being going well even before the miscarriage. He had been so busy at work, and Robina’s new career in the media had taken off like a bullet. At first he had shared her excitement about the job, even though it had meant postponing the honeymoon, which had somehow become permanently postponed.

He hadn’t realised how little he would see of her. How much her new job would take her away. Then when, to the delight of both of them, she had fallen pregnant, it had seemed that everything was going to work out fine. After the series finished she would take time off to prepare for their child. At last they could begin to be a family. But, boy, had he got that wrong! Whilst he’d assumed she’d spend less time at work, she had worked even harder, determined to establish her career before the baby arrived.

Two days before she had miscarried they had argued bitterly. Robina had returned home from London looking exhausted. She had barely managed to find the energy to eat and Niall was worried that she was losing weight.

‘You need to slow down, Robina. You can’t keep working at this pace.’ He tossed the words down like a gauntlet.

‘I will, soon. C’mon, Niall, you and I both know that pregnancy isn’t an illness. In Africa, women often keep working until days before the baby is born.’ She touched him gently on the cheek, but he grasped her hand and held it in his. He knew if he allowed her to touch him, he’d end up wanting to take her to bed. God knew, that was the one thing that was still okay, more than okay, between them.

‘You can’t keep burning the candles at both ends. You’re working on the show then on your book and they still want you to do public appearances. It’s too much.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t think I should do the show?’ she retorted, a dangerous glint in her deep brown eyes.

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. It’s all too much. And what about after the baby is born? I thought we agreed you’d be staying at home to look after it and Ella.’

‘Did we?’ Her eyes deepened and her full, generous mouth tightened. ‘Is that why you married me, Niall? To provide a full-time mother for your child and any other children you might want? Because, and let me make this clear, I am not Mairead. I’m not the kind of woman to give up her career just to submit myself to my husband’s wishes.’

‘Leave Mairead out of this,’ he responded furiously.

‘But I can’t, can I? Not when she’s everywhere. I’m living in her house, married to her husband, looking after her child. How can I possibly leave her out of this?’ Suddenly a shadow crossed her eyes. ‘I know she was a wonderful woman. God knows, everyone tells me, and I can see it for myself.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her. She’s dead, for God’s sake.’

‘I’m not jealous of her, Niall,’ Robina responded quietly, ‘I just can’t live up to her any longer. I will never be good at what she was. I can’t cook, I can’t sew, I’m not good at sports, all I am good at is my job. Please don’t take that away from me.’

But he refused to see what she was so desperately trying to tell him. That night they went to bed, but instead of reaching for each other, they lay stiffly side by side, neither prepared to give an inch. Two days later, she went into labour, losing their baby, a little boy, at 12 weeks. The memory of Robina’s face, tight with fear and pain, still tormented him. She had looked at him, needing him to do something, anything, to stop her losing the baby—but for the second time in his life, he had been powerless to help. The sadness in his wife’s eyes when she had known that there was nothing anyone could do had almost torn him apart. When he had tried to comfort her, she had turned away. Then, a few days later, she had been in ITU with an infection, fighting for her life, and he had been terrified he was about to lose her. Robina’s illness had brought back memories of Mairead and the gut-wrenching weeks and days leading up to his first wife’s death. He hadn’t been able to save Mairead and the thought he was going to lose Robina too had almost driven him mad with fear.

Not once had they spoken about their child or the fact that Robina was probably infertile. They had never shared their grief, or given or taken the slightest amount of comfort from one another, and one way or another their marriage had never recovered. When Robina had come home from hospital she had asked him to move into the spare room, saying that she wanted time and space on her own for a while. After a couple of weeks he had suggested he move back into their bed, but she had shaken her head and asked for more time. He didn’t ask her again and that was the way it had been ever since.

Niall dragged a hand through his hair. It was a mess. And for once in his life, he didn’t have a clue what to do.

Robina had been watching him in silence. He wondered what she was thinking.

‘Our baby would be due in a couple of weeks.’ Robina spoke softly, almost to herself. ‘Just about the anniversary of the day we met. Seeing baby Matthew just now…’ Her voice shook ‘…was so hard.’

The familiar mask he had become too used to seeing slipped for a moment. Right now she looked so vulnerable, so sad, so different from the public persona which was all he ever saw these days. For the first time in months he glimpsed the Robina he had met and fallen in love with. He wanted to gather her into his arms but he was afraid to break the spell. It was the first time she had mentioned the baby and Niall felt a surge of hope. Perhaps this documentary wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Not if it meant they would start talking. He sat in silence, waiting for her to continue, but just then there was a knock and Sally burst into the room.

‘Dr Ferguson, I need you to come and see one of our ladies. I think she might have OHSS.’

Niall was torn. He wanted to comfort his wife, seize the moment when she had opened up to him, but if Sally was right and the patient did have ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome, he needed to see her straight away. Although in the early stages the condition was fairly benign, it was still a potentially life-threatening illness.

Robina also jumped to her feet, the professional mask back on her face.

‘I think you should stay here,’ Niall said firmly. ‘I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I can.’

When Sally and Niall left the room, Robina slumped back down in her chair. Just for a moment there she had been ready to talk to Niall, and it looked as if he had been ready to listen. But the moment had passed, and Robina wondered whether she would find the strength to raise the subject again.

After a working lunch, where Robina and John had a look over the clips they had filmed, Robina went in search of Niall.

‘I have decided to admit our lady with the suspected OHSS,’ Niall told her.

‘Would you mind explaining the condition for our viewers?’ Robina asked. When Niall nodded, Robina signalled to John to start filming.

‘Infertility treatment, although fairly benign,’ Niall said thoughtfully, ‘is not without its risks. We do our best to minimise these, which is why we take blood and scan our patients every couple of days and readjust their treatment protocol as appropriate.’ Although his expression was serious, he looked calm and relaxed. This was his field and he knew it well. ‘Sometimes the hormones we prescribe over-stimulate the ovaries and it can lead to very real complications, which if not treated can lead to the kidneys failing, and even death. It is rare, but something we take very seriously. Thankfully, we have never had a full-blown case, but on average one woman dies every year in the UK from this condition.’

‘I wonder how many women know and understand the risk,’ Robina said quietly.

‘We do tell them—we make a point of it. If we didn’t we’d be negligent,’ Niall replied.

‘Does it ever put anyone off?’

Niall smiled wryly. ‘I think you know the answer to that. And anyway, as long as patients are monitored closely, as most are, the chance of it happening is greatly reduced.’

‘But you had a potential case today,’ Robina persisted. ‘So it does happen.’

Niall narrowed his eyes at her. ‘As I said, it is a risk and one that we manage. I admitted the patient who presented with symptoms of OHSS to the ward this morning, but more because she was anxious. I fully expect her to be discharged tomorrow.’

Robina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Niall held up a hand.

‘Whatever anyone might think, we always have the health of the mother foremost in our minds. But any pregnancy, whether through IVF or through normal intercourse, carries a risk, however careful the expectant mother or however vigilant those looking after her are. We can’t always guarantee a positive outcome.’

This time he looked directly into her eyes and she knew that he meant his words for her. He lowered his voice. ‘No matter how much we wish we could.’ He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, and Robina caught her breath at the intensity in his eyes. For a few moments there was silence, then Niall stood.

‘I will be doing the Strains’ embryo transfer this afternoon,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I understand they are one of the couples who wish to appear on your documentary.’

Hiding the fact that her emotions were all over the place, Robina rifled through her papers and found their name. In total ten couples had agreed to be part of her programme. Most of them already knew her work from television and were keen to do anything to help other couples. One or two of them had even read her Guide to Infertility, the book that had started her new career.

‘Trevor and Christine. They are a lovely couple, I interviewed them yesterday to get their back story. I understand this is their first attempt?’

‘Yes, and I’m optimistic. This time the problem, if you can call it that, lies with Christine’s partner. He has a very low sperm count, so we did a procedure called ICSI. It is where we searched for and selected motile—that is swimming—sperm from Trevor’s semen sample and injected one directly into each of the eggs we retrieved from Christine. She responded well to the drug protocol we prescribed for her, and we managed to remove a good number of eggs. And because we injected the sperm directly into the egg, we managed to fertilise several embryos. You can go into the lab some time if you like to see how it’s done. It involves a high level of expertise and a very steady hand—so no drinking for our embryologists the night before.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, they’ll be here about three for the transfer of their embryo back into the uterus. But I want to make it clear that if they change their mind about you being there, you must respect that. Even if they have given permission before.’

‘Of course!’ Robina replied, stung. ‘Niall, you need to remember that I was a GP—I still am. I have taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. And that means psychological as well as physical.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Niall looked contrite. ‘That was uncalled for. I know you could never be accused of being unprofessional. Forgive me?’ He smiled at her, and her heart flipped.

‘Anyway,’ Niall said, looking serious again, ‘please remember if you are planning to come into Theatre you can’t wear perfume or make-up. Not even deodorant. Is that clear? We don’t want to risk affecting the embryos in any way.’

‘Clear as crystal,’ Robina replied, before turning on her heel and going in search of her team.

Later, in Theatre, Robina watched from a safe distance while the staff prepared Christine for the transfer.

The clinic hadn’t stinted on equipment, Robina thought approvingly, taking in the latest high-tech anaesthetic monitor and ultrasound scanner. Niall, dressed as all the staff were, including Robina and John as well as Mr Strain, in blue scrubs, slowly and carefully replaced the embryo into Mrs Strain’s uterus. The procedure didn’t take long, but although Christine joked with Sally, there was an undercurrent of tension in the room. All anyone could do now was wait.

‘Patients tell us the next couple of weeks are the worst time of the whole process.’ Sally addressed Robina while looking at Mrs Strain. ‘Up until this point it’s all still possible. They see us regularly, but when they go away from here after the ET—the embryo transfer—there is nothing more they, or we, can do. Whether the embryo implants or not is in the lap of the gods. Patients tell us it’s the longest wait of their lives.’

Niall half smiled at Christine. ‘I wish we could make this part easier, but we can’t. If you do want to speak to us—if you have any worries at all—you get on the phone. Don’t worry that we’ll think your question is trivial, we’d rather you asked. Okay?’

Christine nodded.

‘We’ll let you rest for half an hour or so, then you’re free to go,’ Sally said. ‘We’ll see you when you come back for your urine test. In the meantime, we’ll all be thinking of you.’

Once again, Robina marvelled at the way that the staff genuinely seemed to care about every one of their patients. It was as if every pregnancy mattered personally to every member of staff. Niall had managed to gather the best possible team around him. No wonder he was so wrapped up in his work.

Later that evening, Robina was getting Ella ready for bed. Niall had telephoned to say he would be late as he had a paper to finish but he wanted to say goodnight to Ella. Robina couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. Despite everything that had happened, she still missed him when he wasn’t there and she had been looking forward to discussing the day’s events with him.

They had come close to talking back in the clinic. Maybe there was still a chance they could start talking again—maybe even find a way back to each other.

She handed the phone to Ella. ‘It’s Daddy, he wants to speak to you.’

Robina busied herself setting the table, smiling to herself as she caught Ella’s side of the conversation. ‘I love you too, Daddy, and I’m sending you a big kiss down the phone.’ She puckered her lips and blew down the mouthpiece. She giggled at something Niall said. ‘I got your kiss, Daddy, but what about one for Mummy? She needs one too. Hold on a minute, I’ll get her for you.’ Ella turned to Robina. ‘Here, Mummy, Daddy wants to send you a kiss goodnight.’

Robina stared at the receiver, horrified. What could she do? She couldn’t very well refuse—what would Ella think? With a thudding heart, she held the phone to her ear.

‘Well,’ Niall said dryly, ‘are you going to blow me a kiss?’

‘You first, darling,’ Robina replied, forcing her tone to remain light, painfully aware of Ella watching her with delight.

‘This is ridiculous,’ Niall replied, his voice echoing his embarrassment down the wire. ‘That daughter of mine is too smart for her own good. Okay—here goes.’ He made a smacking noise. ‘Now your turn—and remember you’ve got an audience.’

Robina couldn’t help smiling. Niall was right, it was ridiculous, but there was something bitter-sweet about it too. She pursed her lips, emphasising the required smacking sound, playing up to the watching Ella. ‘Mmmmmwhah!’

They both laughed and for the first time in months Robina felt her sadness ease.

When she put the phone down, Ella asked, ‘When will Daddy be home?’

‘After you’re asleep, darling,’ Robina answered. ‘But he’ll be here when you get up in the morning. We both will, so we can have breakfast together.’

‘Then after that can we go ice-skating? Please, Mummy. Sophie went with her mummy and daddy and they had so much fun.’

Robina kissed the top of her stepdaughter’s curly blonde head. She was so like her father it made her heart ache. But her blonde hair must have come from her mother. The sloe-eyed Mairead. Beautiful, maternal Mairead who had been everything she wasn’t.

‘Sure we can, as long as Daddy doesn’t have to work. I know tomorrow is Saturday, but sometimes his patients need him.’

‘I need him,’ Ella persisted. ‘He’s my daddy, not theirs.’

Robina hid a smile. ‘But he’s helping lots of people become mummies and daddies—you understand that, don’t you? People who without his help would never know how wonderful it is to have a lovely little girl like you.’

‘I s’pose,’ Ella said, settling herself in the crook of Robina’s arm. ‘But I need some time with my daddy. They can’t have him all the time. Just some of the time.’

Robina’s heart ached for the little girl. Although their work made enormous demands on both of them, they had to find time to spend with Ella. They had promised her and it was about time they made good on their word. Although Mrs Tobin was great and Ella loved her to bits, it wasn’t the same as having her parents around.

Robina made up her mind. The documentary would take three months, including the follow-up of patients in nine months’ time. The new season of her show wasn’t due to start for a couple of months. Her last book was selling well, and she had almost finished the proofs of her latest. She would put off starting a new one until after the summer. That way she’d have more time to spend with Ella. Robina sucked in her breath. She couldn’t blame Niall for everything that had gone wrong with their marriage. She had, as he had pointed out, been so immersed in her new career she hadn’t given her new marriage, or Niall, the time and attention it had needed. When things had started to go wrong, had she been too quick to lay the blame at Niall’s feet? One thing was for sure, she couldn’t keep going the way she was with a show and book tours and still have enough time for Ella, let alone her marriage. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.

‘Why don’t we ask Daddy whether we can do something next weekend? Just the three of us? We can do anything you like,’ she suggested to Ella.

‘Could we really?’ Ella said, looking up at her with achingly familiar blue eyes. ‘Daddy too?’

‘Yes, darling,’ Robina promised. ‘Daddy too.’

But Robina didn’t get the chance to discuss it with Niall that night. She waited up, reading a book on the sofa of her small sitting room. The room was still exactly the way Mairead had left it, all pale walls and deep rugs. Even the overfilled sofas were pale and there was a wood-burning stove for the cool evenings. The only item Robina had brought with her from her old life was an African stool. She stretched out a finger and felt the deep grooves of the intricate carving. Her father had given her the stool when she had graduated. It had belonged to his father, who had been a master wood cutter, and Robina cherished it. Every time she touched it, she thought of the village where her father had been raised in the old African traditions and could almost feel the heat of the sun and hear the undulating voices of the women as they called to each other. How she missed Africa and especially her mother and grandmother.

Sighing, she glanced around the room that had belonged to her predecessor. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It seemed that along with a similar taste in men, she and Mairead shared the same literary taste. All her favourites were on the bookshelf, from the classics to the contemporary romances she liked to read before bed. Unfortunately, reading them only made her acutely aware of the lack of romance in her own life.

Despite her best intentions, she was unable to stop herself falling asleep and woke to find Niall covering her gently with a blanket. Still half dreaming, she smiled up at him and went straight back to sleep but not before she thought she felt his fingertips like a caress against her skin.

Chapter Five

‘YOU’RE cutting it a little fine, aren’t you?’ Niall said the next evening, glancing at his watch.

Robina had almost forgotten about the charity dinner she had promised to attend. Although it was the last thing she felt like doing, she knew they were expected. She had been called in to work for an unexpected meeting and still hadn’t managed to speak to Niall about the promise she had made to Ella.

‘I can get ready in half an hour if need be. Ella will be in bed before then. Won’t you, darling?’

Niall scooped his daughter into his arms and tickled her until Ella was shrieking with laughter.

Robina watched them for a few moments with an ache in her heart. ‘I’ll start running the bath, shall I?’

As she switched on the taps in the bathroom that had once been Mairead’s, her thoughts turned, as they inevitably did, to her loveless marriage. At least loveless as far as Niall was concerned, she mused, but how did she feel? She had loved him once, loved him so much that she’d thought she’d burst with it. She’d been so happy, never suspecting for one minute how easily it would all come crashing down about her.

Hearing footsteps behind her and the deep growl of Niall’s voice as he teased his daughter, Robina blinked furiously lest he see the moisture in her eyes. She couldn’t bear him to know that she still cared. All she had left was her pride and she was damned if she would let him take that too.

Niall strode into the bathroom and deposited his giggling daughter gently on the bathroom floor.

‘I’ll leave you to it while I get changed,’ he said. Robina ached, knowing that he couldn’t bear to be in close proximity to her. ‘I suppose I have to come?’ he added. ‘Couldn’t you ask someone else to accompany you? I have something I’d really prefer to be doing this evening.’

‘Of course I can’t force you to come,’ Robina said between stiff lips. ‘But you know the press will have a field day if you don’t. They’d like nothing better than to sense trouble between the author of How to keep your man happy—in bed and out of it and her husband.’ How bloody ironic it all was.

It seemed as if the irony wasn’t lost on Niall either. His lips twitched in a half-smile as he looked at Robina, his eyes glinting. To her mortification, she felt her face burn. Was he remembering how good it had been? Her book had been written from memory, it was true, but only because every moment of their love-making was burnt into her brain. She could remember every touch of his lips, the feel of his hands on her skin, the way they couldn’t get enough of each other, and the memories tortured her. Her heart thumped as he held her gaze and something flickered in his eyes. If only he would tell her he still loved her, then sweep her into his arms and take her to his bed, perhaps they could find a way back to each other again. She knew he still wanted her as much as she wanted him. But what good was sexual attraction, however intense, without love? She shook her head slightly.

Niall gave her one last lingering look before he turned and walked away.

‘Dr Zondi and Dr Ferguson, could you look this way, please?’

Cameras flashed in a maelstrom of light and noise. Robina supposed she should be used to it by now. But the speed with which her career had taken off and the media interest had taken her by surprise. She had gone from being a GP to a best-selling author and presenter of Life In Focus all within a few months, and her head still reeled. Never in a million years would she have imagined the life she found herself living. But for all its glamour and wealth and adulation, Robina knew she would have traded it all in a heartbeat for the life she had envisaged when she had fallen in love with Niall.

She sneaked a sideways glance at her husband. Although he hated these functions, no one except her would be able to tell. He cut a devastatingly handsome figure in his tux. Tall, dark-haired and incredibly goodlooking, the media loved him. As a couple they were portrayed as Mr and Mrs Perfect. If only people knew the truth, Robina thought bitterly. They were as far away from perfect as was possible.

Niall took her elbow and steered her through the photographers and into the hall. As Robina had expected, it was filled with a veritable who’s who from the TV world. Instantly they were surrounded, and Robina felt a pang as Niall moved away, leaving her to talk with the presenter of one of TV’s most popular chat shows.

‘Ah, Dr Zondi,’ the presenter, a grey-haired distinguished-looking man in his early fifties, was saying. ‘I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. I would love it if you would do a slot on my show as one of the celebrities.’

Robina nodded distractedly, watching Niall from the corner of her eye as he was cornered by a journalist from one of the national newspapers. Niall had recently published a paper on a new treatment for infertility, which was causing quite a stir. She watched him bend his head to listen to what the journalist was saying, before he threw his head back and laughed. Whatever his feelings about events like this, he would play his part. Robina knew he would never do anything to embarrass her publicly. She felt the familiar stab of regret. Once she had made him laugh like that. Robina swallowed a sigh, before turning her attention back to the presenter, who was still speaking. She was on duty, and for the time being, at least, would forget about the mockery that was her private life.

‘You want me to talk about the documentary I’m doing?’ she asked.

The presenter frowned. ‘Documentary? No, not really. People are interested in Dr Zondi the woman. Especially your new book. They know about the doctor, now they want to know what makes the woman tick.’

Robina shook her head. ‘I don’t do chat shows,’ she said dismissively.

‘Of course you do.’ Richard Christchurch laughed. ‘You have your own show every week.’

‘That’s different,’ Robina insisted. ‘That’s not about me.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Richard raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s not a chat show,’ Robina persisted. ‘It’s a chance for patients to talk about their medical problems and get some answers. And for viewers to get information. They come on and talk about how illness affects their lives and what help they have found. It’s not entertainment!’

‘Isn’t everything on TV entertainment?’ Richard continued. ‘But if, as you say, your programme is more of a public service, then you appearing on my show can only help get information to the public.’

Robina still wasn’t sure. She didn’t altogether trust Richard Christchurch as he had a reputation for taking cheap swipes at his guests. On the other hand, he was right. If she appeared on his show, it would help raise public awareness about her own show. And that was good. Wasn’t it?’

‘I’ll need to speak to my agent,’ she hedged. ‘But I don’t know if I’ll have the time. I’m in the middle of this documentary, and my own programme returns in a couple of months. And somewhere in between I have to find time to promote my latest book—at least my agent tells me I have to.’

Richard smiled. ‘Of course. It was only a thought, but I’ll get my agent to speak to yours, shall I? In the meantime, perhaps you want to discuss it with your husband?’

Discuss it with Niall? Who was he kidding? Niall was the last person she’d be discussing it with. She glanced across the room to find her husband’s eyes on her. He was too far away for her to read his expression, but as their eyes held, she felt her heart thump against her ribs. There had been a time when their eyes would have met across the room and she would have known exactly what he was thinking. That he wanted to leave, so he could make love to her. At one time, they couldn’t get enough of each other. At one time no words had been necessary.

At dinner, she and Niall were placed at different sides of the table and she was thankful that they wouldn’t have to pretend to everyone to be wrapped up in each other. Throughout the seemingly endless meal she would look up from conversations she was having with the guests on either side to find Niall’s unfathomable eyes on her. Whenever he caught her eye he would smile dutifully and she would grin back as if her heart wasn’t breaking.

After the main course, the band struck up and Niall got to his feet, came over to her side, and held out a hand to her.

‘Shall we, darling?’ he drawled. As usual he was playing the attentive husband role and if he had a sardonic look in his cool blue eyes, only Robina saw it.

Conscious of several pairs of eyes on them, she let him whirl her around the dance floor. His hand was low on her back as he guided her and she could feel his fingers on her bare skin, burning into her. The movement of the dance brought her body tight against his and she let her body melt into him, taking the opportunity to let herself believe, even for a few minutes, that they were a normal couple, still in love.

Her head only reached as far as his shoulder, and she rested her head against the rough material of his suit, breathing in the scent of soap and the faint smell of his aftershave.

‘What did Richard Christchurch want?’ he murmured into her ear, his breath like a caress.

‘He wants me to appear on his show.’ She smiled up at him, conscious that people would be watching.

‘And will you?’ He frowned. ‘Be careful, Robina. He’s a snake.’

The concern in his voice was unexpected. ‘I can look after myself,’ she responded lightly.

Niall’s answer was to pull her closer and Robina let herself relax into his arms, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her, even if it was all for show. All too soon the music ended and they returned to their seats.

The evening was almost over when Robina heard a commotion coming from the rear of the room. Looking across, she noticed several people had jumped out of their seats and were standing about in confusion.

She glanced across at Niall. The noise had attracted his attention too.

‘Someone call an ambulance.’ The voice cutting across the room was shrill, panic not far away.

Wordlessly, she and Niall were on their feet moving swiftly across the room. As the crowd parted, Robina’s heart missed a beat. On the floor lay a middle-aged man, his face grey and his lips tinged with blue. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Immediately Niall took command of the situation. Squatting beside the stricken man, he loosened his tie and felt for a pulse.

‘What happened?’ he asked the woman who had cried out.

‘Bill…my husband…he said he had indigestion earlier. He took something for it, but then all of a sudden he said the pain was getting worse and he would go to the bathroom. But when he stood he clutched his chest and just dropped to the floor.’ The woman’s teeth were chattering with shock. Niall looked at Robina.

‘No pulse. We need to start CPR.’

‘Call an ambulance,’ Robina told one of the bystanders. ‘Tell them we have a cardiac arrest.’ In the same breath she dropped to Niall’s side. Aware of the eyes of the room on her and the flash of cameras, she shut them out of her mind. First and foremost she was a doctor and this man needed their help. It had been some time since she had done any clinical practice and she was hugely relieved that Niall was with her. She knew that, as a practising clinician, he was required to keep his resus skills up to date.

He was pressing on the stricken man’s chest, counting off the beats under his breath. She waited for him to count to thirty before she bent over the stricken man and, taking a deep breath, tipped his head back and blew twice into his mouth.

The room was deathly quiet as she and Niall worked together, completely in synch as they once had been in everything. As long as they could keep blood circulating in his system until the ambulance arrived, the man had a chance. They worked silently, until after a couple of minutes the man coughed.

‘I’ve got a pulse,’ Niall said. He looked at her and grinned. Robina’s heart rate escalated further. With his help she turned Bill onto his side, into the recovery position. There was little they could do now until the ambulance arrived, but it looked as if Bill would make it.

‘Is he all right?’ his wife was asking frantically. ‘Please tell me he’s going to be okay.’

Robina stood, easing the stiffness from her legs. ‘It’s early days yet, but he’s breathing on his own now. And that’s good. The paramedics will be able to give him something when they arrive, and the sooner he gets to the hospital the better.’

‘Oh, thank God. Thank you. Thank you.’ The woman dropped to her knees and cradled her husband’s head in her lap. She looked up at Robina, her eyes wet. ‘Thank you, Dr Zondi. You’ve saved his life.’

Robina was embarrassed. ‘It’s Dr Ferguson you have to thank,’ she said. But as she smiled into Niall’s eyes she was dismayed to find the shutters had come back down and he looked as distant as he always did these days.

The doors swung open as the paramedics rushed into the room, carrying a portable defibrillator and medical supplies. Robina stepped back, knowing that Bill was in safe hands. She turned to look at Niall, but he had already turned away and was striding away from her. She bit down on her disappointment as the cameras continued to flash.

‘Please,’ she said, suddenly furious. ‘Give this man and his wife some privacy, can’t you? This isn’t a live TV show, for goodness’ sake.’

Chastised, the photographers lowered their cameras and stood about looking shamefaced.

The paramedics lifted Bill onto the stretcher and moved briskly towards the exit, Bill’s wife following closely behind. As they left, the photographers picked up their cameras again and focussed on Robina, the flashes blinding her.

She had to get out of there. She whirled around, trying to remember what she had done with her coat, and then Niall was by her side, holding it out for her to slip her arms into.

‘I think my wife has earned the right to some privacy, don’t you?’ he told the reporters. His tone was even, but Robina could hear the suppressed fury behind the words. He would hate the way the man’s heart attack had turned into a circus. All because she was there, and everything she did was newsworthy. Robina had no doubt that her picture would be splashed all over the morning’s newspaper. It was one thing not to have any privacy, it came with the territory after all, but quite another for photos of the unconscious man to make the news. She felt Niall’s hand on her elbow and then she was being steered out of the room and into their waiting car.

Inside the safety of their limousine, Robina felt the adrenaline seep out of her body. Uncomfortably aware of the length of the hard muscles of his thigh against her leg, she shifted slightly in her seat, wanting to put some distance between them. Despite the tumult of different emotions she felt towards him, he still had the power to send her senses into overdrive. Tonight, working with him over that poor man, she had remembered why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. He was a good man, a kind man. Couldn’t they try to put the past behind them and move on? Try to be friends at least? It had taken little steps to destroy their marriage—could little steps take them back?

She reached for his hand as she prepared the words in her head.

Niall brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, the feel of his lips sending shock waves through her body. But then, his eyes glinting in the semi-darkness, he took her hand and replaced it in her lap with a little pat, as if she were a child.

‘Well done, darling,’ he drawled. ‘Another opportunity to get your name in the press. You must be delighted.’

She glared at him. Every time she thought she was softening towards him, he would do, or say, something that would cause her to clench her fists in fury. How was it possible to lust after your husband, even though you weren’t even sure you liked him? And what kind of woman did that make her? In that respect she was just like him.

‘Yes,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘How very clever of me to arrange for that man to have a cardiac arrest. Just for another photo opportunity. God, Niall, what kind of person do you take me for?’

‘A woman who would do anything to promote her career.’ His voice was gentle, almost caressing. ‘As we both know very well.’

Stunned, she edged even further away from him. ‘At least you know now who you married—just as I know the kind of man I married.’ Why had she thought even for a minute they could be friends when clearly he despised everything about her? It seemed the only way she could save her marriage was by giving up work and becoming some sort of earth mother. And there was no chance of that.

Niall closed his eyes as they sped towards home.

Why had he said that? It was grossly unfair and he knew it. But she got under his skin. When he had seen her dressed in a gown of simmering bronze that fell to her feet, her short black hair highlighting that impossibly beautiful face, the diamonds he had given her as a wedding present sparkling at the base of her long neck, she had taken his breath away.

He had needed every ounce of self-control he could muster to stop himself from picking her up and carrying her off to…to where? His bedroom? Hers? And there it was. She hadn’t spent a night in his bed since the night they’d argued before the miscarriage. She had made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t bear him to touch her. He had tried to be patient, hoping she just needed time. He smothered a groan, thinking back to the night he had gone into the room they had once shared, thinking—hoping—they could comfort each other. But when he had reached out for her, she had recoiled and the look of fear in her eyes had shocked him. He clenched his teeth, pushing away the bewilderment and pain of her rejection. Although he had known it would take time for her to recover from the miscarriage, that had gone deeper. He was sure of it. It was almost as if she hated him. Every day she had drawn further and further away from him, throwing herself back into her work. If he’d hoped that with time she would come round, he had been badly mistaken. All that time had done was to drive a wedge between them. A wedge the size of the Grand Canyon. And as far as he could see, there was no way across.

Chapter Six

IT WAS the second week of filming and, once again, Robina was sitting in with Niall as he consulted with couples. At home, everything had carried on the same as it had before, with the two of them spending as little time together as possible, meeting only over breakfast or when Ella’s school functions demanded their presence. She had spoken to him about her promise to Ella and Niall had wholeheartedly agreed that they needed to make some time for the three of them to spend together. Despite this, they still hadn’t managed an outing as a family. Niall had been on call the day after the charity dinner and had spent the whole day seeing emergencies at the hospital.

The patients they were seeing today, the Davidsons, were an ordinary couple with an ordinary life. Patricia, an anxious looking woman with short brown hair, was a primary school teacher and her husband, Luke, was a farmer.

Niall introduced her as usual, although she had met the couple before, and reminded them that they could withdraw from the filming at any time. Then he leaned forward and asked them to explain why they had come to see him. Once again Robina was struck by his warm, encouraging manner with his patients. How could she have forgotten the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way his mouth lifted when he smiled, how sympathetic he could be?

‘We’ve been trying for ages to have a baby,’ Patricia was saying. ‘We wanted to wait until my career was established first. Then one thing after another happened. My mother became very ill and I had to look after her as well as work full time, so we kept putting it off. Sadly she passed away just over a year ago, but as soon as everything settled down we started trying. But months have passed and nothing.’ She glanced over at Robina. ‘I saw you on the telly, talking about your book on infertility, and I went out and bought it. It made me realise we had to do something, and quickly. So that’s why we’re here. To see why it isn’t happening.’

‘I see from your notes that you are forty-three,’ Niall said gently.

‘That’s not too old, is it?’ replied Patricia anxiously. ‘I mean, I don’t feel old. I’m fit, I exercise regularly. I feel as good as I did in my twenties. Anyway, don’t they say your forties are the new thirties?’

‘Yeah, she even drags me to the gym,’ Luke added. ‘I don’t know where she gets her energy from.’ He smiled fondly at his wife. ‘She’ll be a great mother. We’re even looking forward to the sleepless nights.’

Robina felt a pang of envy. Whatever difficulties these couples were experiencing, it was obvious they loved and supported one another.

‘Unfortunately, people don’t realise that a woman’s fertility begins to tail off once they are thirty-five,’ Niall said quietly. He passed the couple a chart illustrating his point. ‘And once they get to forty, their fertility is dramatically reduced. It doesn’t really matter how fit and healthy they are, although for younger women, being a reasonable weight does help.’

‘What are you saying?’ Luke was frowning. ‘Are you telling us you can’t do anything for us, that you won’t treat us?’

‘Not at all,’ Niall said. ‘But I do have the results of your fertility tests here; the semen analysis from you, Luke, and the blood test we did on you, Patricia, at your first visit.’

Patricia grabbed Luke’s hand. It was clear to Robina that she was beginning to realise that she wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Niall had to tell her.

‘Go on,’ Patricia said quietly. Robina could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘Luke’s tests came back normal, but I’m afraid, Patricia, that your ovarian reserve is so low as to make the possibility of you falling pregnant, even with IVF, just about zero.’

Robina could tell he was choosing his words carefully, and that he knew he was giving the couple the worst possible news.

‘Just about zero?’ Patricia echoed, clearly shocked. ‘Are you sure?’ Her voice cracked. ‘No chance at all?’ Her eyes shimmered.

‘I’m sorry,’ Niall said. ‘There really is no point in going down the IVF route. It’s not just the number of eggs you have left, it’s the quality. In my opinion, even if we did manage to collect some eggs from you, and I think that is extremely unlikely, there is every chance that they won’t fertilise. And even if they do, the chance of you miscarrying is about sixty per cent. And lastly, even if a pregnancy were to continue, there is the much increased risk of foetal abnormality. I’m sorry if all this sounds harsh, but you need to know the truth.’

Patricia started crying in earnest, deep, racking sobs as if her heart was being shattered, which it very probably was, Robina thought sadly. Luke placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Is that it then?’ he said. ‘We have to give up? Never have a family?’

Robina ached for them. She felt a lump the size of a pebble form in her throat. She knew only too well how the couple would be feeling, especially Patricia. It was a devastating blow to their hopes and dreams. She gripped her hands together tightly, not wanting to let Niall see how much she was affected.

‘I think it’s only fair to be brutally honest with you, no matter how difficult it is for you to hear. But there are other options.’

Patricia looked up and Robina shied away from the naked hope in her eyes. ‘But I’m warning you—what I am about to suggest is not for everyone. You would need to think about it very carefully, and before we went ahead, you would have to talk it through with a counsellor.’

‘Please, tell us.’ Luke spoke for his wife.

‘The only way your wife could get pregnant is by using donor eggs. That’s where we use the healthy eggs of another woman, fertilise them with your sperm, Luke, and then place one of the embryos back in you, Patricia.’

Patricia glanced at her husband and then back at Niall. ‘But it wouldn’t be my baby.’

‘Not genetically, no. It would, of course, have half of Luke’s genes, but, no, none of yours. The positive thing about using donor eggs is that the chances of achieving and maintaining a pregnancy are the same as if you were the donor’s age. And since we don’t accept donors over thirty-five, there is a greater than fifty per cent chance of you falling pregnant on your first cycle.’

‘I don’t know,’ Patricia said slowly. ‘It’s all so much to take in. I never imagined for one moment that I wasn’t going to be able to have children of my own. I guess I knew it wouldn’t happen naturally, but I wasn’t prepared to find out that it wouldn’t happen at all except with another woman’s eggs.’

‘I don’t expect you to make a decision right away,’ Niall said. ‘In fact, I would actively encourage you to have a long hard think about it. As I said, it’s not for everyone. But if you think it is something you might consider, I suggest you put your name on our waiting list. I’m afraid it’s about a year’s wait at the moment.’

‘A year! As long as that?’ Patricia’s face fell. Then she looked curious. ‘Do these women sell their eggs? Is that how it works? Maybe if we paid someone more…’

Niall shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s illegal. There is no money involved. The women either donate their eggs because they have had their families and want to help someone else achieve their dream, or they are women who donate a proportion of their eggs in order to help fund their treatment. There are very strict regulations around all of this. No clinic in the country can try and get around them without running the risk of losing its licence. The regulations are there to prevent women, who are often pretty desperate, from exploiting or being exploited.’

Robina was conscious of leaning forward in her chair. Of course she knew that couples could use donated eggs or donated sperm, she had written about it in her book after all, but that had been before…before she had known that there was every possibility she had joined their ranks. Listening to Niall talk to the couple was almost as if he was talking to her.

‘There is one other option, and I am not necessarily recommending it either, but I think you have the right to know. There are other clinics, overseas, that have more donated eggs than we do in this country. Not all of these clinics are above board, but there is one which I’d be happy to refer you to, if you want. You need to think about it. Speak to the nursing staff who will be able to put you in touch with others who are going through the same thing. Most people find that it helps. Then, if you think you may want to go forward, make an appointment to chat things over with the counsellor. She’ll help you decide whether it’s the right thing for you.’

After answering several other questions from the shaken couple, Niall showed them out to where one of the nurses was waiting to talk to them.

By the time he returned, Robina had managed to get her trembling hands under control. How on earth was she going to manage another couple of months of this? When every patient’s story left her feeling like a wrung-out rag. But over the last couple of weeks Robina had known that something was shifting inside her. Seeing the way couples were able to deal with their grief and move on with their lives—together—was planting the tiniest seed of optimism inside her. Maybe, in time, she too could come to terms with her loss. And if she was too scared to risk another pregnancy, or if her tubes had been damaged by the infection, there were other options. None of which she’d even considered. But then, unlike her, all these women had loving, supportive marriages. And that made all the difference.

‘So you are saying that women are encouraged to donate a proportion of their eggs in order to fund their treatment?’ she said, signalling to John to keep filming.

Niall sat down in his chair and stretched his long legs in front of him before regarding her steadily over steepled fingers.

‘You’d prefer women not to have the opportunity?’ he said quietly. ‘Do you have any idea how short the supply of donor eggs is? There are so many women, like Patricia, whose only hope of having a child is through the generosity of those women who are prepared to donate their eggs.’

‘I can see the point when it comes to altruistic donors…’ Robina replied. ‘Those women who have nothing to gain except the satisfaction of helping someone else, but these other women, the egg sharers—aren’t they under impossible pressure to donate in order to fund their own treatment? Is that morally correct?’

Niall brought his brows together. ‘Don’t you think we’ve considered all that?’ Underlying his calm tone was a thread of steel. ‘Do you think for one moment that any of us here would force women, or even steer them, towards a decision that wasn’t right for them? And as I explained to Patricia, it’s not only the recipients who have to undergo counselling. The donors aren’t permitted to donate unless we are absolutely convinced that they know exactly what they are letting themselves in for.’

‘But,’ Robina persisted, ‘I can see how desperate these women are to have children. Surely you are taking advantage of that?’

Niall stood. He towered over her, his eyes glinting. He signalled to the cameraman to stop filming. ‘Could you leave us for a moment, John?’ He waited until John, after a nod from Robina, left the room.

‘Don’t make this about us, Robina,’ he said. When she opened her mouth to protest he held up his hand. ‘I told you that I thought this was too close to home for you, but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘It isn’t about us,’ Robina retorted. ‘There is no us. Oh, we may be married but we both know it’s in name only. We haven’t been married, not truly, since…’ She broke off, unable to bring herself to say the words. ‘Actually, I can’t even remember if I ever felt married.’ Furious with herself, she tried to blink away the tears before Niall could see, but it was too late.

He crouched down by her side and touched her arm. She looked into his diamond eyes. ‘Are you sure?’ he said quietly. ‘We were happy once. We can be happy again. If we are both prepared to try.’

Robina’s skin burnt at his touch and she desperately wanted to say, Yes, let’s start again, go back to where we were, before it all went so badly wrong. But she couldn’t. She was no longer the woman he’d married.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Niall. So much has happened. You know you want more children, but I don’t. I won’t risk it.’

‘We could adopt.’

‘We could. But do you think having children would sort what’s wrong with our marriage? Because I don’t.’

He dropped his arm and turned away, but not before she saw the flash of disappointment in his eyes. Despite herself she felt a flicker of hope. Was there a chance? Did he still care? Even after everything?

‘But maybe,’ she said tentatively, ‘maybe we can be friends. Not just pretend like we do around Ella but really try. Maybe make a start this weekend. Like we promised Ella. Do you know how long it’s been since we did something all together?’

Niall’s expression was hooded. ‘You know I’d do anything to make my child happy. And if having you and me spend time with her together makes her happy then naturally I’ll do whatever she wants. You know that.’

And just like that the flicker of hope was snuffed out. Whatever Niall said, the reason he wanted her in his life was to be a mother to his child. And she’d do well not to forget that, even for a moment.

‘Come on, Daddy,’ Ella demanded. ‘Robina’s programme is about to start.’

Niall switched on the TV and sank into the leather sofa. Richard Christchurch had phoned Robina the Monday after the charity dinner, explaining that a scheduled guest had been unable to appear on the show later that week due to a family crisis. The presenter had wheedled and begged a resisting Robina to step in at the last minute. When her agent had added her entreaties, Robina had eventually agreed.

Ella cuddled in beside Niall, popping her thumb into her mouth. He resisted the temptation to pull it out again. She’d get over the habit in her own good time.

They were just in time to watch Robina’s entrance into the studio. She paused and smiled as the camera focussed in on her. She looks every bit the TV star, Niall thought proudly. She looked elegant in a floor-length gown that clung to her curves, a simple gold necklace highlighting the length of her neck, her height putting her at least a couple of inches above her host. For the programme she had chosen to dress in traditional African style and Niall thought she looked stunning.

As she settled into the chair the host Richard Christchurch held out for her, she appeared cool and at ease. They shared a couple of words off camera as they waited until the applause died down.

‘Robina. May I call you Robina?’ Richard asked. When she nodded he continued. ‘For those few viewers who don’t know you, could you tell us a little bit about your work?’

‘I present a weekly show called Life In Focus,’ Robina answered. ‘It’s a programme that covers a different medical topic every week.’

‘Could you tell us how you came to present the show?’

‘I am a qualified GP,’ Robina answered. ‘About a year ago, I had a book published—an-easy-to-read guide on infertility. When it came out, it was very well received and I was asked onto the show to talk about it. Shortly afterwards, the producer offered me the opportunity to present Life In Focus.’

‘Aren’t you a bit young to be offering medical advice on a range of topics?’

Robina smiled, her perfect teeth a flash of white against her deep copper skin. Niall felt something shift low in his belly. God, he loved her smile. It was one of the first things he had noticed about her. It lit up the room.

‘I have a team of experts who work with me. They provide most of the answers because you’re quite right—there is no way I could be an expert on all the different conditions we cover. All I do is translate the medical jargon into simple language the patients and viewers can understand. All of us have been in situations where we didn’t grasp everything the doctor was telling us, partly because we didn’t know the right questions to ask.’

‘I have a clip from one of your programmes to show the audience.’

The snide smile on Richard’s face made Niall uneasy, and he wondered if his wife knew what she could be letting herself in for. A couple of minutes of a show Robina had presented on autism came up on the screen. She was sharing a sofa with parents who had children with the illness. Opposite them on a separate sofa were the experts who were there to answer questions. It was evident as the couples spoke that Robina’s empathy was genuine. As the screen faded Richard turned to her again.

‘Before we talk about your future projects and your books, tell us a little about yourself. What about the woman behind the medical degree?’

‘I was born in South Africa,’ Robina answered with a smile. ‘My mother is a journalist, and my father was Xhosa. He used to be a lawyer and a political activist. He died just over five years ago.’

‘Isn’t that how you started? As a journalist? What made you decide to take up medicine?’

‘I was sent to Sudan to cover a refugee camp there,’ she said. Niall saw something shift in his wife’s eyes. ‘The conditions were awful, completely unbearable. There was so little anyone could do. But there was a team of doctors and nurses and other outreach workers who were there, doing a tremendous job. I watched them work for three weeks and realised that medicine was the career for me. I wanted to do something—not just report it.’

‘But yet here you are, working as a high-profile TV personality. Not exactly front line medicine, is it?’

Ouch, Niall thought. He’d suspected all along that Richard hadn’t brought Robina onto the show for a cosy chat. He felt his fingers curl into fists.

‘No.’

Niall sighed with relief when Robina refused to let the presenter rattle her.

‘But one thing I did realise, after working as a doctor in a similar scenario when I finished my training, was that what really makes a difference is education and information. Doctors do what they can in these situations, but really it’s just like sticking plaster on a wound. Without going to the source of the problem, we will never reach a long-lasting solution.’

‘So tell me how all this relates to your work here in the UK.’

Richard’s smile made him look like a shark. Niall would have given anything to wipe the supercilious grin off his face.

‘It doesn’t,’ Robina admitted. ‘But what I do is provide information to as many people as I can. Take my book on infertility, for example. If it helps even one person understand what the process involves, or points them in the right direction to find help, it can only be good. And as for the clip we have just seen, autistic spectrum disorder affects far more of the general population than most people realise. There was so much incorrect information given out about the MMR vaccine and its association with ASD that people stopped immunising their children, with a resultant increase in measles. The clip you have just seen is an attempt to share the challenges of living with an autistic child as well as debunking some of the myths that have sprung up around this condition.’

‘Apart from making you a substantial amount of money,’ Richard said snidely.

‘Most of which I put into programmes that provide immunisations and clean water to the people in war-torn countries such as Sudan,’ Robina replied without missing a beat.

Niall was taken aback. She had never told him that. It was hardly surprising since they barely spoke let alone discussed their individual bank accounts. He was beginning to realise that there was a lot more to his wife than he had suspected.

Her answer obviously took Richard by surprise too. For a moment the smile faltered, but then it was back. ‘That’s not public knowledge,’ Richard said.

‘No reason it should be.’ Robina smiled sweetly, but Niall could see a hint of iron in her eyes. ‘What I choose to do with my money is private.’

Niall was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Way to go, Robina!’ he called out, only to find Ella looking at him with bafflement.

‘Way to go, Mummy,’ she chimed in anyway, making Niall laugh. God, he loved his daughter.

‘Let’s discuss your latest project,’ Richard continued. ‘I understand you are doing a documentary following women undergoing IVF treatment?’

‘That’s right. It will be airing in the autumn.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a little invasive? After all, these women are going through a particularly difficult time in their lives.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. That’s why only those women who wish to take part are filmed. We make it clear they can withdraw their consent at any time. But most of them want others to know what it’s like to undergo treatment. A book can’t really show the reality. It can be a terribly difficult and unpleasant experience for women and as my documentary will show, women are only prepared to put themselves through it because their need for a child is so overwhelming.’

‘Do you think IVF is good use of scarce resources?’ Once again the shark-like glint was back in Richard’s eyes. ‘After all, as you have so eloquently pointed out, there are so many other places where funding is needed.’

‘Do you have children of your own, Richard?’ There was a dangerous sparkle in Robina’s eyes.

He nodded.

‘When you watch my documentary, one of the things that will become clear is how much these women want children. If they can be helped, why deny them?’

‘Especially when it helps make your husband richer. I understand he works in the private sector as well as the NHS. I’m sure the publicity of your film will do his business no harm. Quite the contrary, it’s bound to generate quite a bit of income for him, wouldn’t you say?’ This time there was no mistaking the look in Richard’s eyes—he had pinned his prey, now he was going to finish her off. Niall groaned aloud. He’d had a bad feeling about this appearance all along. He should have listened to his gut and tried to talk her out of it.

But it seemed once more he had underestimated his wife. She smiled. ‘Yes, I can see why you might think there is a conflict of interests. But I can assure you, my husband makes no personal profit from his private work. He uses any income from fee-paying patients to subsidise those who can’t afford it and who aren’t eligible for treatment on the NHS. Any funding left over goes to research. I’m sure you know that he is a world leader in this area? His research has involved looking at taking ovarian tissue from teenage girls with cancer prior to treatment. This may be the only way these young women will be able to have children. Before, it was an impossibility, now there is hope. His research also involves polycystic ovary syndrome, one of the main causes of infertility but also a factor in significantly increasing morbidity in this group of women.’

Niall sat bolt upright. How did she know all this? Not about his reputation, that was why she had sought him out back when they had met, but about him not taking any profit from the business? Just as she hadn’t shared her finances with him, neither had he felt the need to share his with her. She must have winkled the information out of Lucinda, he guessed. Part of her journalistic training. That would teach him to underestimate his wife.

‘I should also tell you that my husband takes none of the profit from any new treatments his research generates. He believes that new discoveries in science shouldn’t belong to an individual but to society as a whole.’

Could he be hearing right? Niall thought, growing more surprised by the minute. But was that pride he heard in her voice?

Applause broke out from the audience. Robina had clearly disconcerted Richard. Her response not what the presenter had expected.

‘Oh? But you live an affluent lifestyle, don’t you? A large house in one of the more expensive parts of Edinburgh, a couple of flash cars, holidays abroad.’

‘I have explained my finances as far as I’m prepared to,’ Robina replied coolly. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to ask you publicly about yours.’ She arched an eyebrow at Richard. Once more Niall felt like cheering. Obviously she knew something about Richard that wasn’t in the public domain. Once again, it seemed that she had put her investigative skills to good use.

‘Returning to your documentary for a moment,’ Richard continued. Although the famous smile was still fixed to his face, the strain was beginning to show. ‘Do you really think that you can empathise with the women appearing in your documentary? What would you know about the pain they are going through?’

Niall caught his breath. This was different, much more dangerous. Ella who, since his outburst, had been watching quietly, eyes fixed to the screen, looked up at her father.

‘What is it, Daddy? What did that man say to make you angry?’

Niall put his finger to her lips. ‘Not now, darling.’ He could hardly bear to watch as he saw the emotions flit across his wife’s face. He saw shock, pain and confusion. It seemed, like Niall, she had realised that Richard knew about the miscarriage. The presenter was too clever to ask her outright, knowing that she would wonder how he had found out. Apart from the hospital staff involved in her care, only Robina, her mother and he knew. But clearly there had been a breach of confidentiality somewhere.

For a long moment Robina sat in silence and Niall wanted to put his hand through the TV screen and strangle Richard Christchurch. But then she sat up straight and slowly crossed one leg over another, only the tell-tale nibbling of her lower lip indicating to Niall how anxious she was.

‘I can empathise,’ she said slowly, ‘because following a miscarriage a few months ago, which resulted in an infection, the likelihood is that I too am infertile.’ Her eyes shimmered and she blinked furiously.

Niall could only guess at the strength it had taken her to say the words live on TV. Especially when she had been unable to even talk to him about it. Hadn’t talked to anyone as far as he knew, except perhaps for her mother, but he didn’t even know that for certain.

Richard’s jaw dropped, her response apparently not what he was expecting, or hoping for.

‘I am sorry,’ he said insincerely. ‘I had no idea.’

‘It’s not really something that has come up,’ Robina said quietly. ‘Obviously it is not a secret, but neither is it something I have spoken about in public before. But I think you would agree that I am well placed to be doing the documentary.’

She turned and looked directly into the camera, raising her chin. ‘When my show returns, we will be covering miscarriage. I ask anyone who has gone through this and wishes to share their experiences on TV to get in touch with the producers of my show. But for you out there, for whom it is all still too raw, you are in my thoughts and my prayers.’ She blinked rapidly once or twice. Niall knew that anyone else would have let the tears fall, letting their public know that they too were human. But not his Robina. She could never pretend in public what she could barely allow herself to feel in private, and he admired her for it. But at the same time he wondered what keeping it all inside was costing her.

After Ella was in bed, Niall poured himself a whisky, stoked the fire and waited for his wife to come home.

He looked around the small sitting room she had made her own and felt a wave of sadness wash over him.

The cosy room was still exactly how it had been when Mairead had been alive except for one item; a small, intricately carved African stool Robina had brought with her.

It hit him like a sledgehammer. He’d never really thought about it before, but what had it been like for her to live here surrounded by his first wife’s belongings and her taste in furnishings? Although he liked the little room with its plain white sofas, elegant furnishings and pale walls, it wasn’t Robina’s taste. He knew enough about his wife to know she preferred richer, more vibrant colours, abstract paintings instead of landscapes. In fact, her taste couldn’t be further from his first wife’s.

Picking up his whisky, he started pacing. What a blind, stubborn fool he had been. Why hadn’t he realised what it must have been like for Robina? To come to a strange country, to live in the house he had once shared with his wife, to look after her child? He had been only too glad to know that Ella had someone who loved her, but if he were honest with himself he had been resentful of the way Robina’s career had got in the way of the life he had thought they had mapped out. He had treated her as if she were some kind of replacement for his first wife. Not a woman in her own right with her own needs and desires. Stupidly he had thought that their love for one another was enough. Seeing her on TV just now had removed the last vestige of self-delusion from his eyes. She was lonely and lost and he had failed her when she had needed him the most. He had refused to see how much living Mairead’s life had eaten away at her confidence. They had married without really knowing each other, and again that had been his fault. Having fallen deeply in love with her, he hadn’t been able to bear her living several thousands of miles away, and had persuaded her to marry him, although they had barely known each other. And she had unquestioningly uprooted herself from everything she had known and loved to live with him and his daughter in Scotland.

And she had mentioned the miscarriage. Publicly. What strength that must have taken when she couldn’t even talk to him about it. Did that mean she was beginning to come to terms with it at last?

He drained his whisky. Somehow he needed to win his wife back, make her believe he loved her and only her. Make her understand that he could no more live without her than cut off his right arm. It was probably too late, he thought miserably, but he was going to try. Damn it! He was going to do more than try. Suddenly inspiration hit him. He had a plan. All it would take would be patience.

Chapter Seven

‘DADDY says we’re going out all together today. And I can choose.’ Ella was practically hopping from foot to foot in her excitement. It was Saturday and for once neither Robina nor Niall planned to go into work.

Niall lowered his paper and looked at Robina. ‘If that’s all right? We did promise her.’

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Robina said, ruffling Ella’s hair. ‘We’re all yours, sweetheart. Where do you fancy going?’

‘I can’t make up my mind. Swimming or ice-skating or the beach.’

Robina shuddered. ‘I think it’s a little cold for the beach. And I’m a hopeless ice-skater and not much cop in the water either.’

‘How do you know you can’t ice-skate?’ Niall asked, cocking his eyebrow at her. ‘Have you ever tried?’

‘Not exactly,’ Robina admitted. ‘But I have two left feet, so I’m bound to be hopeless.’

‘You can’t be hopeless. You are good at everything,’ Ella replied. ‘Anyway, Daddy can’t skate either. Can you, Daddy?’

‘That’s what you think, pumpkin.’ Niall chucked his daughter under the chin. ‘Just wait until you see my moves.’

‘He can’t even dance,’ Ella said scornfully. ‘My first mummy said he always stood on her feet.’ She looked glum for a moment. ‘At least I think she said that. I can’t really remember her any more.’

‘Tell you what,’ Robina interrupted hastily, hoping to distract Ella. ‘There’s a place I know, not too far from here, that I hear has a swimming pool with lots of slides, and an ice rink. What if I go swimming with you and Daddy takes you ice-skating, then we can all have dinner together? How does that sound?’

But to her dismay, Ella shook her head. ‘You said I would have both of you—together.’

Niall rose from the table. ‘So we did. And so you shall. If we have to pull Robina around the rink, so be it. Off you go then, and get your costume.’

Ella shot upstairs as if she were scared Niall would change his mind.

Niall grinned at Robina and her heart flipped. Damn the man, why did he still have the power to make her pulse race? It would be so much easier if she didn’t still fancy him rotten. It had been so long since they had spent any time together and, despite the horrors of the ice-rink in store, Robina couldn’t help but look forward to spending time with Niall and Ella. Perhaps this could be the start of them being a proper family?

‘I’ll just go and get my costume as well then,’ Robina said, feeling suddenly shy under Niall’s amused stare. ‘I may not be able to ice skate, and not be much of a swimmer, but I can paddle with the best of them.’

The pool was busy with schoolchildren and the noise was deafening when Robina and Ella emerged from the changing rooms. Ella was wearing water-wings, but Robina warned her to stay close in case she got into difficulty. As soon as they spotted Niall, looking lean and sexy as hell in his Bermudas, Ella ran up to him, dragging Robina by the hand.

Robina was acutely aware of Niall’s eyes raking her body. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks as his eyes travelled from her face down to her toes and back up to her face. He could only have looked at her for a couple of seconds, but to Robina, her body tingling under his gaze, it felt like for ever. She resisted the impulse to shield her body from his gaze. Once he had known every inch of her, and she of him. She recalled the scar he had below his left shoulder, where he had fallen from his bike as a child. She remembered tracing the grooves with her tongue, after tracing the contours of the raised skin with her fingertips. And how Niall had whipped over and grabbed her hands, pulling her down on top of him, kissing her until she was breathless. And then slowly, ever so slowly he had…She shook her head, horrified to feel languorous warmth spreading across her body. She had to stop thinking like that. She had to stop thinking of how it used to be, or she would go mad. But from the way his eyes darkened she guessed he was remembering too. Whatever their differences now, there had been a time when they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other.

Thankfully, Ella was oblivious to the tension between her parents and was soon dragging them up several flights of steps to the slide. Robina tried to protest, the thought of being even the height of the slide frightening her, but one look at Ella’s face and she knew she had to put her fears aside. This was Ella’s day and Robina wanted it to be perfect.

Ella insisted that Niall go down the slide first, and then she followed, leaving Robina to go last. Telling herself she was being ridiculous to be scared and holding her nose, Robina flung herself down the slide and was soon caught up in a circular basin which spun her around in everdecreasing circles. Taken by surprise, she let go of her nose and by the time she plunged into the bottom pool, she was gasping and spluttering. Her head popped up and then Niall was by her side, grabbing her under her arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep her head out of the water. Niall’s hands tightened around her waist and she felt her body being pressed into his. Despite her panic, she could feel the heat of his muscles through the cool water and the solid strength of his hips supporting her. Again there was that dizzying sense of the world spinning. She looked down to find Niall looking up at her, his expression unreadable. All of a sudden he released her and in her surprise she sank beneath the water again. This time he grabbed her arms and dragged her unceremoniously to the edge of the pool where Ella was waiting in fits of giggles.

‘I thought you said you could swim,’ Ella accused Robina, still laughing.

‘I can swim,’ Robina said, trying to hang onto her dignity. ‘But no one told me about that bowl thing. It took me by surprise.’ She was damned if she was going to admit there was another thing she couldn’t do. Mairead probably swam in the Olympics, she thought bitterly. And then as Ella and Niall shared a grin, she had to laugh. She wagged her finger at the pair of them. ‘Just you wait, you two, I’ll get my own back.’

But her fear had left her, and for the next hour they swam and slid down slides and splashed each other in the wave machine. Robina couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. It was the first time since she had lost the baby that she hadn’t felt an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. It was almost as if they had put the last few terrible months behind them and were the family they had been in those early, blissful weeks following their marriage. Seeing Niall laugh, Robina realised that it had been a long time, far too long, since she had seen him so relaxed and carefree. Why hadn’t they tried to do something like this before? How could they both have been so stubborn? Even if their marriage was dead, was there a chance that they could be friends at least?

Ice-skating turned out to be just as embarrassing as Robina had expected. She just couldn’t get the hang of gliding forward on her skates; instead she pushed herself around like a baby giraffe finding its legs for the first time, while holding onto the side. Niall and Ella, on the other hand, soon had the hang of it, and while not contestants for the next celebrity ice-skating TV programme, were making valiant attempts at getting around the rink.

Eventually they skated up to her.

‘If we hold your hand, can you let go of the side?’ Ella asked.

Robina could see that Niall was having difficulty controlling his amusement.

‘I don’t think so, darling.’ Robina said. ‘I will definitely fall on my bottom if I do.’

‘No, you won’t. Not if we hold onto you.’

Reluctantly Robina gave in and with Niall holding one hand and Ella on the other they skated off, with Robina doing her best not to wobble. Soon they had completed a circuit, but just when she thought she might be getting the hang of it, she tripped, pulling Niall and Ella down in an untidy heap beside her.

Robina hoped that with her woolly hat pulled low on her ears, no one would recognise her. The last thing she wanted was to spoil the day, or to have pictures in the press of her collapsed on the ice. Somehow she doubted her viewers would be impressed to see the normally cool and collected Dr Robina Zondi making an enormous idiot of herself.

Still grinning, Niall got to his feet and helped Robina to stand. But as he pulled her up, she lost her footing again and fell against him, knocking him to the ice with her on top of him. Ella stood by, watching, in a fit of giggles.

The world stopped as Robina felt the length of Niall’s body underneath hers. Once again, the feel of him brought vivid memories back of their love-making. She looked into his eyes to find him regarding her with what? Pain? Hurt? Desire? She couldn’t tell. Hastily, she scrambled to her feet.

‘I think I’ve had enough,’ she said, hoping that Niall would put her breathlessness down to her exertion. ‘You two carry on for a bit while I grab us some burgers and drinks.’

Ella protested half-heartedly, but Robina could tell she was happy to have her father to herself for a little bit. They accompanied her back to the side, and she left them to it.

As she waited for them to join her, Robina thought back to her earlier resolve. She was the one who had pushed Niall away after the miscarriage and it was up to her to make the first move. On the other hand, Niall wanted more children, children she couldn’t give him…She shook her head. What was the point? She kept going round in circles. She needed to speak to someone. Maybe her mother? Although she hated the thought of revealing the pathetic state of her marriage to Grace, she had to talk to someone. Later that evening, once a happy but tired out Ella was in bed, Niall joined Robina in her sitting room. She had showered and was wrapped in her silky dressing gown, toasting her feet in front of the fire.

‘It was a good day,’ he said softly, coming to stand beside her. ‘We should do it more often.’

‘I know,’ Robina said equally softly. ‘Ella had so much fun.’

‘Why don’t we rent a cottage near Ella’s grandparents for the weekend?’ Niall suggested. ‘Ella hasn’t seen Mairead’s parents since we got married and they are desperate to see her and her them.’

Robina’s heart skipped a beat. Did he want to spend time with her or with Ella? And did it matter? She had promised Ella a trip, but the thought of being away with Niall was unsettling.

His eyes were on hers, and if she hadn’t known better, she would think that her reply really mattered.

‘There are some great easy walks, and some of the most beautiful hills in Scotland to climb. I haven’t really had a chance to show you my country,’ he coaxed.

‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘Why not? I’ll ask my PA to try and find something in the area, shall I?’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll arrange it. I have the perfect place in mind.’

‘Oh?’ Robina felt a chill run down her spine. ‘Somewhere you and Mairead stayed?’

‘For God’s sake, Robina. Of course not. I’m not that insensitive.’ He pulled a hand through his thick dark hair then smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry. I know I deserved that. No, it’s nowhere Mairead and I have ever been and you don’t have to do anything except pack a bag. I’ll see to everything else. In fact, I’ve already booked it for this weekend.’

Monday was spent watching Niall in Theatre as he collected eggs from three patients. He looked more relaxed than Robina had seen him for a long time. Gone was the distant, polite man she shared her home with. Instead, here was the man she had met twelve months before—the man she had fallen in love with.

As he worked he seemed oblivious to the camera, explaining to each of the patients exactly what he was doing and why. Every now and again he would catch Robina’s eye as if he wanted to be reassured that she was okay.

The last patient of the day was a young, single woman. Maisie had been an unexpected appointment so Robina hadn’t had the opportunity to meet her in advance. However, as soon as the woman, a pretty redhead in her mid twenties, had heard about the filming she had been adamant she wanted to be part of it.

‘I want other people in my situation to know if there is anything that can be done,’ she said firmly.

Maisie was attending with her mother. At twenty-four, Maisie wasn’t married, not even in a relationship, but earlier in the week she had received the devastating news that she had cervical cancer. Luckily the doctors had caught it in time, so while Maisie would need to undergo chemotherapy, as well as radiotherapy, the prognosis was very good. However, the treatment that would save her life would destroy her ovaries and any chance of her having children. Maisie was still reeling from the news that she had cancer, but she was friendly with one of the specialist nurses at the clinic who had suggested she see Niall.

‘They’ve told me that it’s likely I’ll go through the menopause as a result of the treatment,’ she said quietly, but Robina could see from the whiteness of her knuckles as she gripped her hands together that she was struggling to maintain her composure. ‘And that it means that it is unlikely I’ll be able to have children. Hearing that was almost the worst thing about finding out about the illness. The doctors reckon that with treatment I should make a full recovery, but that I should accept that children aren’t for me.’ Her voice cracked a little. But she took a deep breath and continued. ‘I have always wanted children. Ever since I can remember. I can’t bear it if I can’t. Mairi said you might be able to help me.’

Niall leaned forward in his chair. His voice was gentle. ‘The most important thing is to ensure that your illness is treated successfully. You do realise that?’

‘Of course. I know that they wouldn’t recommend I have chemo and radiotherapy unless it was necessary, but they say they won’t be starting until next month.’

‘When I read the referral letter from your GP, I phoned your oncologist,’ Niall continued. ‘I wanted to be clear what the treatment plan was before we spoke. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’

The spark of hope in Maisie’s eyes cut Robina to the core. Why was life so unfair? Just when the woman in front of her thought she had everything to look forward to, her dreams were snatched away.

‘When did you last have a period?’ Niall asked.

When Maisie told him, Niall looked satisfied. ‘The timing is good, then,’ he said. ‘What we can do is to stimulate your ovaries to produce eggs, then freeze them using a process called vitrification. Then later, when you are ready, we could thaw them and fertilise them with your partner’s sperm. It would give you a chance at a pregnancy. Your oncologist would be happy for us to treat you as long as we act quickly. I’m afraid it doesn’t give you much time to think, but it is an option.’

Tears were rolling down Maisie’s cheeks and Robina felt tears prick her own eyes. She blinked rapidly. Despite the tears, hope had brightened Maisie’s eyes. Robina just hoped Niall knew what he was doing. Surely he wouldn’t take chances with this young woman? What use would she be to a child if she were no longer alive to care for it?

‘But won’t the hormones you need to give her speed up the spread of her cancer?’ Maisie’s mother asked anxiously. ‘Because, darling, if they do, can’t you see it’s not worth taking the chance?’

‘I wouldn’t recommend this course of action if I wasn’t absolutely certain that it won’t affect the outcome of Maisie’s treatment,’ Niall said. ‘The level of hormones we use in order to stimulate your own hormones is tiny compared to that which floods a pregnant woman’s body. The latest research shows that the amount we would be giving you, along with the very short time span you’d be receiving the hormones, has no material effect on your cancer, but of course it’s entirely up to Maisie. All I can do is tell you what is possible, along with the pros and cons—but the decision is entirely up to you.’

‘Mairi said if anyone could help, it would be you.’ Maisie smiled before turning to her mother and taking her hand in hers. ‘Mum, I need to do this, do you understand? Can you support me? I don’t want to live if it means not ever being able to have children. And my treatment won’t be starting for a few weeks anyway.’

‘You can always adopt, darling. Have you thought about that?’

‘I could, Mum. Possibly. But who knows if it would ever happen? There’s such a shortage of babies. Besides, I know this is really selfish of me, but I want a child that is mine genetically. If it is at all possible.’

‘Well then, my love, it’s up to you.’ Maisie’s mother tried a smile, but it didn’t quite work. ‘I’ll go along with whatever you want.’

Maisie hugged her mother. ‘Thanks, Mum. I don’t want to go through this alone. I need you with me every step of the way.’ Then the two women were in each other’s arms, crying as if their hearts would break. Niall indicated with a nod of his head that they should be left in privacy.

Robina mumbled an excuse and fled for the privacy of the ladies’ toilet. How could Niall do this every day and not be affected? she wondered. And what about the nursing staff? They saw the patients on a regular basis throughout their treatment, became involved, she knew they did, because they had told her it was impossible not to. But they had all said that for each sad and disappointing outcome, there would be successes, some against all odds. And they had hundreds of photographs of happy families to prove it.

She had to keep believing that. Just because life had been unbearably cruel to her, it didn’t mean that these women didn’t have every chance. The irony was that it was Niall who was helping them when he was patently unable to help her.

Chapter Eight

BY THE time Robina finished for the day, she was emotionally exhausted and looking forward to spending some time with Ella. After she had read her a story, she would work on her book before collapsing into bed. Sometimes she wondered if it was all too much, the filming and the writing. Most people would be happy with just one career and she had two. Perhaps she was tearing herself into pieces just trying to prove she could do it all? But prove it to whom? Niall, herself—or her dead father? The time off she had promised Ella was her first break from work since her marriage. Robina felt a shiver of guilt, remembering that she and Niall hadn’t even taken a honeymoon because of her work schedule.

The thought of the weekend away was becoming more appealing by the minute. Even if it did mean Niall and her circling each other like two wary tigers. But since their day out with Ella the tension between them had eased. So perhaps it was what she and Niall both needed. But how would they cope? Thrust into one another’s company for two whole days? Her heart rate upped a notch. Maybe they could build on the fragile truce of the day out.

Her thoughts turned to her mother. She missed her terribly. Something was worrying her—that much was obvious to Robina from their last phone call, no matter how much her mother tried to pretend nothing was wrong. Perhaps she should go and see her? They were due to have a break from filming in a couple of weeks. She could take Ella with her—show her Africa, and introduce her to her family. Her spirits lifted. It was an appealing thought—a couple of weeks back in the country she yearned for, with her mother, would give her time to think at least.

Once Ella was tucked up in bed, Robina popped a lamb joint into the oven and left it cooking while she ran herself a bath. Perhaps Niall would be home in time to join her for dinner. If so, she could discuss her plan with him then. It would give them something to talk about and would make a change from the usual fraught mealtimes where they both struggled to find something uncontroversial to talk about.

The slamming of the door signalled Niall’s arrival home and Robina felt the predictable squeezing of her heart. This was the bit where he should be calling out to her, running up the stairs to take her in his arms…then they would make love, uncaring that dinner was ruined.

Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she went to greet him. He was shaking the rain off his coat. Robina’s breath caught in her throat as she took in his damp hair. He looks tired, she thought anxiously. Tired, but devastatingly handsome. As she looked at him the thought hit her like a sledgehammer. She still loved him. Completely and hopelessly. All this talk about staying together for Ella’s sake was only half-true. A life without Niall was no life at all.

‘Robina! Is something wrong? Is Ella all right?’

He looked surprised to see her waiting for him. Once again her heart contracted. They had both been so stubborn. They had been in love once; surely he couldn’t have lost all feeling for her?

‘Ella’s fine. She’s sleeping. I thought we might have dinner together,’ she said, feeling a blush steal over her cheeks. ‘And have a chat.’

‘What about?’ His voice was flat. ‘Is there something about the documentary you want to discuss? Because I have to tell you, I’m tired and not really in the mood.’

‘No, it’s not work,’ Robina retorted, disappointment making her brusque. ‘I was thinking of taking a couple of weeks and going to see Mum. I wondered about taking Ella with me.’

They moved into the kitchen where delicious smells were emanating from the oven. Niall cocked an eyebrow in Robina’s direction, but said nothing, instead taking his place at the table.

‘Why now?’ he asked. ‘I thought we agreed that we both needed to spend time with Ella. Or had you forgotten?’

‘I miss Mum,’ Robina said as she removed the lamb from the oven. She had made dauphinoise potatoes and green beans to go with the roast. Somehow the potatoes looked more like mash and the lamb was burnt at the edges, but at least the beans were fine, if a little limp and anaemic-looking.

‘I just know something’s bothering her, and I’d like to find out what. Apart from my brothers, who have their own families, she’s all I’ve got.’

Neil winced then dragged his hand through his hair.

‘We’re your family now, Robina,’ he said quietly.

‘Are you? I want to believe that, but I don’t know if I can.’

‘I thought that’s why we were going away this weekend. So we can try to be a family again. Or have you already decided that it’s not going to work?’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Are you thinking of going back to South Africa for good, Robina? Because if you are, you’d better tell me.’

‘No! Of course not!’ Robina replied. ‘I told you and Ella I wouldn’t leave, and I have no intention of doing so. Niall, why are we going round in circles like this? All I want is some time with my mother. I thought Ella would enjoy the trip. We’re still going away this weekend, aren’t we? And I have every intention of making it a happy couple of days.’ She pushed the lamb towards Niall. ‘Would you carve?’ she said.

Niall attacked the roast with the sharp knife and manfully tried to cut a slice, without much success.

‘Shall I get the saw from the garden shed?’ Robina suggested, and suddenly they were both laughing. Niall managed to carve enough for them to share and the earlier tension drifted away as they chatted about the documentary. Watching Niall as they talked, Robina revelled in the companionship she had missed for so long. It was a start; a small step in the right direction. Her sore heart began to ease.

It was late on Friday by the time they set off. Niall had been held up at the hospital. Although he wasn’t on call, one of his patients had gone into labour and Niall had stayed to do her C-section.

‘I’m sorry, Robina,’ he had apologised when he’d eventually made it home. ‘I promised her I’d deliver her baby and I just couldn’t let her down.’ He sat down at the kitchen table and rubbed a tired hand across his forehead.

‘What happened?’ Robina asked. There had been a time when they’d spend the evenings discussing their patients, sharing the ups and downs of their medical lives, but it had been a long time since they had done that. Robina handed Niall a coffee and waited.

‘She had a stillbirth at thirty-five weeks in her last pregnancy. We don’t know why. God, Robina, it still beats me that we lose babies, even now when we have all this technology at our disposal, and we don’t know why.’

Robina felt the familiar sharp stab of pain.

‘I would have done anything to have been able to save our baby. You do know that, don’t you?’ Niall said gently.

Robina closed her eyes, hearing the undercurrent of sadness in his words. ‘I know, Niall. There was nothing anyone could do.’ She took a deep breath, summoning her courage while trying to find the words to tell him how she felt, but before she could say anything, Ella skipped in and sidled up to her father. Niall put his arm around his daughter and pulled her close.

‘Every baby we lose is a blow.’ He glanced up and Robina sucked in her breath at the naked pain in his eyes.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Ella, who had climbed up on a chair and was rooting around in the kitchen cupboards.

‘Sabrina was naturally worried the same thing would happen in this pregnancy,’ Niall continued. ‘So I agreed to let her have an elective section. It was supposed to be this afternoon, but then I had to take another patient to Theatre who was an emergency. I’ll tell you about that later,’ he said with a quick glance at Ella, who appeared to have found what she was looking for—her favourite mug. ‘Anyway, the emergency took most of the afternoon, so we couldn’t do Sabrina’s section until after five. But, she had a healthy baby girl and is absolutely delighted. So all’s well that ends well.’ He grinned at her and Robina’s heart did a flip-flop. The way he cared about his patients was one of the things she loved most about him.

‘Maybe we should leave tomorrow morning instead?’ Robina suggested. ‘Ella will be ready for bed by the time we get there.’

‘No,’ Ella protested. ‘I want to go tonight. You promised. And I’m all ready to go now I’ve got my cup.’ She set her mouth in a mutinous line. She had been excited all day and Robina knew they couldn’t let her down. Ella had even packed her own suitcase, although when Robina checked it she found it full of books and toys and not much else, and had had to pack another, more appropriate case for her.

‘It’s not too late, surely?’ Niall said. ‘I packed before I left for work this morning, so I’m ready.’

Robina gave in and soon they were following the winding roads that led them to the Highlands. She had never been to the north of Scotland before and she was looking forward to seeing more of her adopted country.

After a couple of hours they pulled up outside a cottage that seemed to be set in the middle of nowhere. Dark, gloomy mountains rose out of the darkness. There were no lights to be seen for miles. Where had Niall brought them? Where were the shops, the restaurants? What on earth were they going to do for the two days?

Predictably, Ella had fallen asleep and they left her in the car while they went to open up the cottage. As promised, keys had been left in the door.

The cottage was tiny and freezing. Again Robina wondered what Niall had been thinking. There was a stove on one side of the kitchen and an open fire on the other side, which obviously served as a small sitting room. Upstairs, Robina was aghast to find that there was only one bedroom.

‘Where is the other bedroom?’ she said to Niall. ‘I imagined there would be at least two.’

Niall was looking baffled and dismayed. ‘I’m sorry, Robina. Believe me, it’s not what I expected. The website described it as luxurious with all mod cons.’ He grimaced. ‘I guess we can say they were a little economical with the truth.’

He looked so woebegone that Robina had to laugh. ‘Never mind. We’ll just have to make the best of it. We can all sleep together in the bed—it’ll be a bit of a squash but, seeing as it’s just for a couple of nights, I’m sure we’ll manage.’ All the same, a little part of her felt disappointed that she and Niall wouldn’t be sleeping together alone. Even so, the thought of sharing a bed with Niall again, even with Ella beside them, was making her pulse race.

‘Why don’t you bring Ella in while I make us something hot to drink?’ she said, keeping her voice steady. ‘Then we’ll see what can be done about the fire.’

Once Ella was tucked up in bed, Robina and Niall set about the fire. But the old-fashioned stove was nothing like either of them had ever seen before and soon they were forced to concede defeat.

‘I’ll have a look at it in the morning,’ Niall said. ‘There’s not much point in persevering at the moment. Let’s go to bed.’

There was nothing else for it. Robina was freezing and there was no way either of them could spend the night in the chair.

‘I’ll just use the bathroom, unless you want to go first?’ she said. The room was suddenly alive with unbearable tension. Niall simply nodded.

Robina spent ages in the bathroom, first trying to get warm water out of the shower and when that didn’t happen making do with lukewarm water at the sink. After washing as best she could, she slipped on the warm flannel pyjamas she had brought, refusing to think about the silky nightdress she had also packed in her suitcase. Eventually, realising she couldn’t possibly spend any more time lurking in the bathroom, Robina abandoned the sanctuary. Niall was exhausted and would no doubt be looking forward to a good night’s sleep—even if she wouldn’t get a wink.

She slipped out of the bathroom, feeling ridiculously self-conscious. She hadn’t felt this way since the night of their wedding—the same unsettling mixture of excitement and nerves. Niall had respected her views on sex before marriage and although it had been hard on both of them, the wait had made that night even more special. Not just special—sensational. Just thinking about it sent waves of heat and desire coursing through her body.

But she needn’t have worried. Niall had obviously become fed up waiting for her to vacate the bathroom and had used the kitchen sink to clean his teeth before slipping into bed, with Ella curled up beside him on the far side. In the semi-darkness, Robina couldn’t tell if he was asleep, but from the sound of rhythmic breathing it appeared he was.

Tentatively, trying not to disturb him, she slipped under the blankets, shivering as she felt the cool sheets on her skin. She lay there for a few seconds scared to move a muscle in case she woke Niall.

But it seemed as if she had been mistaken.

‘You’re cold,’ Niall’s deep voice said. ‘Come here and let me warm you.’ Robina felt his hand touch her shoulder and the shock of it was almost enough to make her leap out of bed. ‘You’re perfectly safe,’ he said, and she could hear a hint of laughter under his words.

He rolled over and pulled her into the crook of his arm. She lay there rigidly, breathing in the familiar scent of soap from his skin. From his touch she knew he was naked—above the waist at least. Niall never wore pyjamas, and she absolutely refused to think about the lower half. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the hard muscle of his shoulder underneath her, his fingertips just brushing her arm.

Robina was trembling but she knew it wasn’t from the cold. It felt so good to be back in his arms, deliciously warm and safe, and she wondered what would have happened if Ella hadn’t been sleeping right next to them. Would she have been able to stop herself from snuggling closer and running her fingertips over the hard, once-so-familiar contours of his body? Would they have made love, then talked into the night? Would Niall have told her he still loved her? But to her dismay and chagrin, she heard his breathing deepen and realised he had fallen asleep. Suddenly she was furious. How could he? How could he just fall asleep with her in his arms? As if it meant nothing and he was completely unaffected by her? Grumpily, she rolled away from him and onto her side. It was more proof, as if she needed it, that their marriage was dead in the water.

On the other side of the bed, Niall was acutely aware of every inch of his wife’s body as she lay next to him. He smiled, thinking that everything was going according to plan. Well, almost. Okay, the cottage wasn’t exactly the way he had thought it would be, but he had known it only had one bed and that they would have to share it. He had already suggested to Ella’s grandparents that Ella stay with them tomorrow night, giving him the opportunity to get his wife on her own. He bit back a groan. If it wasn’t for Ella, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from seducing his wife and, remembering the feel of Robina’s hammering heart underneath his fingertips when he had held her close, he doubted if this time she would have pushed him away. As it was, he could do with a cold shower or a freezing walk, because there was no way he was going to be able to sleep feeling the way he did. It was driving him crazy, seeing her every day and not being able to make love to her. He couldn’t stop the memory of her long legs wrapped around his, her head thrown back, her long neck arched as she lost herself in their love-making. Did she have any idea what sweet torture it was having her back in his bed but not able to touch her? Sweet God, the sooner he had his wife back—heart and soul—the better.