Melting The Trauma Doc's Heart. Alison Roberts

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       CHAPTER TWO

      RURAL NEW ZEALAND was a lot wilder and emptier than English countryside.

      Olivia Donaldson had had memories of the country’s biggest city, Auckland, because she’d lived there until she was about eight years old but she’d never been to a small town like Cutler’s Creek.

      The main street boasted a church, community hall, petrol station and a pub. A war memorial marked the start of the more intensive commercial area that was, surprisingly, big enough to warrant a decent-sized supermarket amongst cafés and quirky-looking second-hand shops and, on the other side of town before the buildings changed from shops to houses, Olivia spotted the fire station, where an ambulance was parked alongside the fire truck.

      She pulled in to stop and stretch her legs after the drive, which had taken a fair bit of concentration—especially that last winding stretch through a gorge. She needed a moment to take a deep breath, too, before she followed the yellow road sign that indicated she would have to turn right off the main road to find the local hospital. Her heels tapped on the paved footpath as she walked a few steps to have a closer look at what seemed to be a deserted emergency response station. Were there people in there, she wondered, or were the firies and ambulance officers here all volunteers who would only come in if needed? She was pretty sure that would be the case. Government funding didn’t run to luxuries like paid staff for emergency services in every small town in the back of beyond. It was astonishing, in fact, that Cutler’s Creek still had its own hospital.

      There was an equally deserted rugby field and clubrooms between the fire station and the first of the small wooden villas that were homes to the local people who weren’t farmers. Smoke curled from a chimney or two but no other signs of life. The place was dead. Eerily so, compared to Auckland’s bustling inner-city streets. Oh, wait…someone was coming towards Olivia now, on the other side of the road, walking a big, black dog. A middle-aged woman, wearing gumboots and a long, oilskin raincoat, who gave Olivia a hard stare as she went past. Even the dog seemed to be staring at her and it made Olivia feel suddenly even more of a fish out of water. Why had she chosen to wear a tailored pencil skirt and its matching jacket today? Had she really thought that swapping her stilettos for shoes with a lower heel were enough of a nod to country casual?

      She turned her back on the woman and lifted her gaze for a moment before she got back into the rental car. She had to admit that the scenery was quite extraordinary with that imposing skyline of snow-peaked mountains looming over the town. On top of being an object of such curiosity for a local, the natural grandeur around Olivia was making her feel rather small and insignificant.

      Vulnerable, even? No. She got back into the car and took the next right-hand turn. She had every right to defend herself and she was here to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Vulnerable people didn’t do that kind of thing, did they?

      The houses in this new street had big gardens. Some had empty sections beside the houses and there were animals in them. Goats on chains, a pig, a pony wearing a canvas coat to protect it from the weather. The pony Olivia had had as a child had never needed a canvas coat like that. It had lived in a warm stable, as pampered as Olivia had been herself in that exclusive, private boarding school an hour’s drive out of London. She hadn’t thought of that beloved pony for years and the memory, closely followed by the feeling of loss, was unwelcome—a bit like being poked with a sharp stick.

      There was an older man working in a garden as Olivia turned into the grounds of Cutler’s Creek Community Hospital but he stopped for a long moment to lean on his long-handled hoe and watch her drive slowly past.

      ‘What?’ Olivia muttered aloud. ‘Do you never get unannounced visitors here?’

      He was wearing gumboots, too. If he turned up on an Auckland street in that footwear, he’d get stared at, as well. Or maybe not. The bigger the city, the harder you had to work to get noticed. Her mother, Janice, had taught her that. She’d been very proud of how much notice Olivia had always garnered. Prizes in her school subjects and in the show-jumping ring at weekends or holidays, top marks at medical school, a career choice in a field as prestigious as plastic surgery and, most recently, for making such a good choice for a life partner in Patrick.

      But she hadn’t enjoyed the spotlight of being noticed for her own achievements any more than for being her famous mother’s daughter. You got stared at when you were under any kind of spotlight and—like this place—the stares always had an element of judgement about them.

      How different was this old, sprawling, wooden building that looked like an oversized villa from the gleaming modern structure that was the private hospital Olivia had been working in only yesterday? There were several parking slots designated for visitors near the front door of the hospital so she took one of them. A quick check of her lipstick in the mirror on the back of the sun flap and Olivia took another deep breath and slammed the car door shut behind her. She might be beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of doing this but she was here now so she might as well get it over with.

      The grey-haired, bespectacled woman coming out from behind the desk in the large foyer looked as surprised to see Olivia as the gardener and the dog walker had but at least she wasn’t wearing gumboots.

      ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

      ‘I hope so,’ Olivia answered. ‘I’m here to see Dr Donaldson. Don Donaldson.’

      The woman blinked. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

      Olivia raised her eyebrows, summoning every ounce of confidence she could. ‘Do I need one?’

      ‘Ah…’ The woman’s gaze flicked over Olivia’s suit. ‘Are you a drug rep?’

      A good part of Olivia’s confidence was starting to ebb away. Did she look like a drug company representative who was here to peddle her company’s drugs or medical products? A salesperson?

      ‘My name,’ she said coolly, ‘is—’

      ‘Olivia.’ The deep voice coming from behind her was astonished. ‘It has to be.’

      Olivia swung around to see who had followed her in through the front door. A tall man, with rather disreputably rumpled hair and looking like he could do with a shave to get rid of that designer stubble, was wearing a white coat over…good grief…jeans?

      He was looking at her as if she was the last person he’d expected to see standing in the foyer of this hospital. Or the last person he wanted to see?

      ‘And you must be Isaac Cameron.’

      The curl of one side of his mouth was nothing short of downright cheeky. Impertinent, actually. ‘Spot on. How did you guess? I have to admit I had the advantage of having seen your photograph when I stalked you online yesterday.’

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