The Australian's Bride. Alison Roberts

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      Was it the way he was walking? A mixture of casual grace but purpose with an unmistakable air of being very accustomed to attracting a spotlight. Demanding it, almost.

      OK, maybe the man was a highly acclaimed neurosurgeon from Sydney and maybe he was a key figure in tomorrow’s opening ceremony because he had donated enough money to help make the new, fabulous medical facilities on Wallaby Island a possibility in the wake of Cyclone Willie, which had devastated the area six months ago, but this wasn’t about him right now, was it?

      It was about Stella. The girl nervously standing beside her. Without the aid of her crutches. Waiting for the most important person in her life to applaud what was, quite literally, a huge step forward.

      The nerves were contagious. Or maybe it was a trickle of apprehension that made Susie’s stomach tighten and her mouth feel dry as Alex Vavunis strode closer. The phone was snapped shut and he was close enough now for Susie to take in the clearly defined lines of his face, the jaw softened slightly by heavy shadow and far more by a charming smile. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. Lines on his forehead that suggested this man was used to frowning.

      Not that he was frowning right now. Susie was invisible, standing outside a kind of forcefield created by the palpable bond between this father and daughter. What would it feel like, she wondered a little wistfully, to be so important to a man like this?

      But then the lines deepened, confirming Susie’s impression, and the smile of pride and delighted greeting faded as he focused intently on his daughter’s face. For the briefest moment he looked taken aback. As though he didn’t quite recognise the person he was looking at. Almost as though he was seeing a ghost.

      ‘Stella! What’s all this?’

      Stella’s tentative smile widened hopefully. Look at me, Daddy, it said. Tell me it’s OK to feel this proud of myself.

      Susie’s smile widened, too. She did this by herself, it said. Isn’t it wonderful?

      But Alex Vavunis didn’t even seem to notice the absence of the crutches. He was staring at Stella’s face. Susie watched, transfixed by the changing expression on his face, not wanting to believe what she could see happening. Pleasure giving way to a blink of readjustment. Pride being tarnished by what could only be interpreted as disappointment. Surely not. How crushing would that be?

      ‘You’re…’ Alex paused, and the transformation from loving parent to authoritarian figure appeared complete. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’

      Stella’s smile wobbled. ‘I… It’s the camp disco tonight. I told you…’

      ‘And what are you wearing? Whose clothes are they?’

      ‘Mine.’

      Her father made a faint sound—of irritation perhaps. As though he knew every item of clothing in his teenage daughter’s wardrobe and didn’t recognise these.

      Maybe he did, in which case Susie might label him as a control freak rather than a caring parent. It was possible to give him the benefit of some doubt, though. What Stella was wearing at the moment was very different to anything she had brought with her to camp but, then, variations on a theme of denim jeans, oversized T-shirts and baseball caps were hardly what a girl would want to wear to her first disco, were they?

      ‘There’s a shop at the resort,’ Stella was continuing bravely. ‘You said I could buy anything I needed and put it on your room account.’

      ‘Yes, but…’ Alex took another look at his daughter’s attire and sighed.

      The sigh seemed to hang over them. The sound of a man who was capable of dealing with any amount of stress and decision-making in matters of life or death but who had not expected and certainly did not welcome having to deal with this particular issue.

      Stella didn’t sound so brave now. There was uncertainty in her voice. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

      ‘Nothing,’ Susie muttered.

      The skirt was gorgeous. Layers of brightly coloured gypsy ruffles that ended at mid-calf. The perfect length and shape for making the first public appearance of that prosthesis discreet.

      The lacy white camisole top was also perfect. Just what most teenage girls wore, and while the shop hadn’t run to much in the way of lingerie, Susie knew Stella had been secretly thrilled at the boost from the lightly padded and underwired white bikini top.

      ‘It looks like underwear,’ Alex Vavunis decreed. He shook his head in a single, incredulous movement. ‘Good Greek girls do not appear in underwear in public, Stella.’

      ‘But…’

      Susie could feel Stella’s confidence draining. All the excitement and anticipation from revealing her progress and new, grown-up look was evaporating like the hiss of air from a pricked balloon. She glared at Stella’s father. How could he do this? Did he have any idea how hard it had been to get to this point? How fragile his daughter’s self-esteem was?

      A degree of disapproval would have been understandable. Acceptable even. She had been prepared for that after more than one reference from Stella about how strict her father could be, but Susie had brushed aside the warnings. She had heard enough to convince her how proud Stella was of her famous father and how much she loved him. Any parent who inspired such loyalty had to be doing something right and it had been easy to convince herself that he would be as thrilled as she was at the extraordinary progress Stella had made this week.

      Oh, Lord! This was her fault.

      Susie still had her arm around Stella’s shoulders and she could feel the gathering tension. Any second now and her arm could be shrugged off as blame was apportioned. There would be tears, no doubt. What should have been a joyous reunion would be a scene of misery and confrontation for everybody concerned.

      ‘Charles Wetherby was supposed to meet me and arrange transport,’ Alex said. ‘We’ll go straight to the hotel and you can get changed.’ He frowned at his mobile phone then looked over Stella’s shoulder.

      Susie followed the glance. Sure enough, there was Charles in his wheelchair a little further up the path that led to the medical centre. How long had he been there? How much had he overheard?

      Enough, she suspected, aware of a wash of relief. The medical director of Crocodile Creek Base Hospital had earned his position as the heart of this community. He never ceased to keep his fingers on the pulse of his realm. Not just the running of a large base hospital that provided a rescue base for the whole of far North Queensland. Or its satellite and now considerably upgraded facilities on Wallaby Island that meant they were able to expand the camps run for sick kids and their families. He also seemed to know anything important that was happening in the lives of his staff.

      Susie sent a smile in his direction. A probably unnecessary plea for assistance in defusing this situation. Charles СКАЧАТЬ