Part 18 (2/2)

'd.a.m.n you, Charlie. d.a.m.n you for making us love you.'

Carrie felt like someone had put red-hot pokers in her eyes the next morning. She'd been up until four a.m., going over the ideas that Charlie had given her and considering them in context with the centre's current financial woes. Charlie had been right when he'd said she'd know how to fix it. But she'd been impressed with his thoughts and she'd felt a buzz of excitement and possibility course through her bloodstream, which had kept her awake despite her tiredness.

The potential and possibilities for the centre were enormous. But it needed a lot of TLC and someone who had both medical and administration skills. Charlie was hopeless. He was a fantastic doctor, a caring and dedicated advocate for the community. But his business ac.u.men sucked. In short, the centre needed someone just like her! Not her. Someone like her.

She clicked on the 'print' icon on her computer screen and yawned as she waited for the multi-paged doc.u.ment to spit out of the machine beneath her desk. It was her report. Her altered report. It encompa.s.sed the problems but also the solutions and Charlie's grand plans to make it a facility that would do Brisbane proud. She would take it to Charlie and then she would submit it to the board.

She opened another doc.u.ment and clicked on the 'print' icon again. A copy of her resignation was in her hands in a matter of seconds. She looked it over. Fear and uncertainty grasped at her gut. But as she folded it to fit into a sterile yellow envelope she knew she was doing the right thing. This job was slowly strangling her. She knew that now. Thanks to Charlie and the centre. She was ready to go back to the coalface.

She pa.s.sed the boardroom on her way to the medical director's office, envelope in hand. She felt strangely compelled to enter. On this, her last day, she needed to confront a few ghosts.

She looked around at the rich, elegant decor. She inhaled and the smell of leather and wood a.s.saulted her nostrils. Before her current a.s.signment this room had always given her goose-b.u.mps. There was something strangely seductive about the management nerve centre. The room where all the decisions were made. The power was almost tangible. She had known the minute she'd set foot in it that this was her destiny.

Now the room was stifling. Oppressive. The thought of sitting at this table and talking policies and strategic planning left her empty. She left quickly, wanting no reminder of the mistake she'd nearly made, thinking that this was her path in life. If nothing else, and despite her broken heart, she had Charlie to thank for removing her blinkers.

She strode purposefully to her boss's office. He wasn't in. She placed the yellow envelope on his desk, where he couldn't fail to see it when he returned. And then turned around and walked out of the hospital. Today was a new beginning for her. Her personal life may have been a mess but her medical career was finally back on track.

Charlie was in his office, talking to Joe, when Carrie arrived.

'Hi, Joe.'

'Hey, Carrie.' He winked. 'We've missed you around here.'

Carrie nodded distractedly, her eyes barely acknowledging him as she sought the one pair of eyes she'd come there for. 'h.e.l.lo, Charlie.'

Charlie stood up, encouraged by the s.h.i.+mmer in her whiskey-coloured depths. 'Hi.'

They stood staring at each other hungrily for a few moments. She at the door, he at his desk. Joe rolled his eyes and gave Carrie a gentle push inside, closing the door and shutting them away in a bubble of privacy.

Carrie smiled and took a step forward. 'I looked over your ideas.' She threw the doc.u.ment on the table. 'I think we can save the clinic. This is the report that I plan on submitting later this afternoon.'

Charlie's heart beat frantically and his hand shook slightly as he picked up the wad of paper.

'It will take some streamlining. Some adjustment in the way you run things. It certainly involves employing a practice manager. But I think, with the help of some hefty private-sector support, it can be done.'

Carrie paced as she talked in the small s.p.a.ce available. She slipped into businesswoman mode, more nervous than she'd ever been at how he would take it.

Charlie's heartbeat accelerated as he flicked through the report. It was comprehensive and substantive. She must have been up all night.

'Did you sleep last night?'

Carrie gave a wry smile. 'A little.'

It was marvellous. Charlie knew he held in his hands the ability to keep the centre going. And Carrie had given him the way. 'It's amazing! I don't know what to say...how to thank you.'

He rounded the desk and before either of them could caution against it swept her into his arms, enfolding her in a warm embrace.

Carrie hung on, most definitely swept away. This was where she belonged. How unfair was life?

The door barged open and they sprang apart guiltily. 'Charles! What is the meaning of this?' Ignatius Wentworth demanded.

Carrie froze and looked from father to son. She could see all the veins standing out in Charlie's father's neck. But Charlie looked pretty angry also, a nerve twitching at the angle of his jaw. She edged closer to him.

'Exactly what it looks like,' Charlie said calmly, gathering Carrie to his side and placing an arm around her back, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Ignatius looked from one to the other. 'I thought you were just friends. You can't be serious.'

'Perfectly.' Charlie smiled down at the woman he loved and stroked the skin at her nape.

'But...Veronica.'

'We're divorced.'

'You can get her back.'

Charlie laughed. 'I don't want her back. I want Carrie.'

Carrie's heart thundered as Charlie's father gave her a once-over.

'You want to be a father to another man's child? Preposterous!'

The slow stroke of Charlie's thumb on her neck was rea.s.suring and she lifted her chin and looked Ignatius Wentworth straight in the eye.

'I would be Dana's father with pride.'

Carrie looked at him, startled. Was he just saying that to annoy his father? He looked dead serious.

'You can do better than this.'

Charlie felt a flare of anger scorch his cheeks and burn in his stomach. His finger stilled its rhythmic movement. 'I would be very, very careful what you say, Father.'

Carrie s.h.i.+vered at the steel she heard in Charlie's voice. She saw surprise register in the older man's eyes, replaced with a slightly bewildered look.

'Charles...please. You could be a top-cla.s.s surgeon. Have a brilliant career. Why are you wasting your life down here with these people? You could have your choice of specialties.'

Carrie cleared her throat. What was wrong with this oaf? Couldn't he see that what Charlie did was a specialty?

'With all due respect, Dr Wentworth, community medicine is a specialty and a very worthwhile one, too.' Carrie's voice was shaky and Charlie's father was looking at her like she'd just answered the headmaster back.

She pushed on anyway. 'And your son is a brilliant doctor. He may not cut open chests or find cures for cancer, but he's the life force in this community. He's the man these people come to if they're sick, if they're dying, if they're beaten, if they're in trouble, if they've got nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat or even if they've just lost their way. He's got grand plans for this place and he's just the visionary these people need. You want him to forge a brilliant career? Well, he is. It may not be in a glamorous field but you'd better believe he's the best there is. Any father should be proud to call him his son.'

Charlie was speechless. So was Ignatius. They both stared at her. There was silence in the room for a few moments. Ignatius recovered first.

Ignoring Carrie, he said, 'We will talk about this at dinner on Sunday.'

'No, Father. We won't.'

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