The Australian's Desire. Marion Lennox

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      ‘I’ll take him through to the nursery in a minute, but apart from horrible nappy rash he seems OK. You know Davy’s been dripping water into his mouth? What a hero.’

      ‘He is,’ Alistair said, and he thought back to the frail child sitting in the middle of the bridge and felt stunned. Awed.

      ‘You remember Charles Wetherby—our director? Charles has Lizzie in his charge,’ Georgie continued. She’d walked over to a drip stand and he moved with her, taking the saline bag from her shoulder and hanging it on its wheeled hook. ‘It looks like severe infection. Charles is continuing the IV antibiotics and the nurses are cleaning her up. She’s a mess.’

      ‘When did she have the baby?’

      ‘Four days ago.’

      The image of Davy was still in the forefront of his mind. Lizzie, going home to the care of a six-year-old. ‘You let her go home to that?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Did you know her circumstances?’

      It wasn’t implied criticism. It was a direct attack.

      Back home Alistair was head of a specialist neurosurgery unit. He had hiring and firing capabilities and he used them. The voice he had used then was the one that had any single subordinate—and many who weren’t subordinate—shaking in their shoes. At least cringing a little.

      Georgie didn’t cringe. She met his gaze directly, as if she had nothing to search her conscience over.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What were you thinking?’

      ‘I wasn’t thinking anything. I was making the best of a bad situation. I spent the whole of Lizzie’s pregnancy convincing her to come to the hospital for the birth. She’s had the last three children at home. But this time I succeeded. She came in. I was hugely relieved, but when her partner insisted she go straight home I sent her with everything she needed. Including a course of antibiotics. No, at that stage she didn’t need it, but I knew the hut.’

      ‘It was criminal to let her go back there. You know the little girl’s been burned. That’s a cigarette burn.’

      ‘I know. That’s new. Up until now Lizzie would have stood up to him if he’d hurt the children. It’s a sign of how sick she is.’

      ‘But you let her go back.’

      ‘You think I should have chained her up?’

      ‘Surely a woman with sense—’

      ‘Lizzie is a woman of sense,’ she said, practically spitting. ‘She’s had a lousy childhood, she has a dreadful self-image and her partner …’

      She broke off. Someone was coming into Emergency—no, two men, a uniformed police officer with a younger man in front of him. The young man was dark, but not the dark of the Australian indigenous people, as Lizzie was. He looked European. Mediterranean? He was dressed in filthy fishing clothes, he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a week, and the smell of him reached them before he did.

      He didn’t look like he wanted to be there, but the policeman was behind him, prodding him forward, giving him no choice. ‘Hi, Georgie,’ he said, but he didn’t smile. ‘You wanted to talk to Smiley?’

      ‘Smiley,’ Georgie said, and Alistair stared. Georgie was tiny, five feet two in her bare feet. She looked like you could pick her up and put her wherever you wanted. Not with that tongue, though. What she unleashed on the man before her was pure ice.

      ‘Thanks, Harry,’ she said, and nodded to the policeman with what was to be the last of her pleasantries. ‘Alistair, can you take Thomas for a minute?’ Before he could answer she’d handed over the sleeping baby, forcing Alistair to move closer to the drip stand. Then she poked her finger into the middle of Smiley’s chest and pushed him backward.

      ‘What the hell did you do with Lizzie’s antibiotics?’ she demanded, and although she spoke softly her words were razors. ‘And the supplies we gave her. The nappies. The canned food.’

      ‘I …’

      ‘You sold them, didn’t you?’ she snarled. ‘I don’t even have to guess. I know. You took them down to the pub because someone might give you a buck for them. You thieving, filthy piece of pond scum. You nearly killed Lizzie. If Alistair here hadn’t found her today, she’d be dead. She’d be dead because you stole her medicine. There’s no food in your house. The kids are starving. You spent today on the river and Harry’s just pulled you out of the pub. And Megan’s bruised arm and burned hand … You did that, didn’t you? You stinking, bottom-feeding low-life.’

      ‘Hey—’

      ‘Enough,’ Georgie snarled. ‘That’s enough. Lizzie’s conscious—only just, but she’s conscious enough to agree to press charges. You stole her medicines and you hit your kids and you burned Megan.’

      ‘I didn’t hit anyone. If she says I did then she’s lying. And can I help it if the kid plays with matches? I didn’t touch her.’ The man’s reply was scornfully vituperative.

      ‘Oh, yes, you did.’ Georgie was still prodding the man in the chest, poking with her finger to emphasise every word. The policeman appeared watchful but he was standing back, letting Georgie have her say.

      Alistair was stuck by the drip attached to the baby in his arms. He didn’t like this. The man looked … evil?

      Georgie obviously thought he was. ‘You hit Lizzie all the time, don’t you, Smiley? You keep her starving. You thump her around and when she’s not looking, you thump your kids. You’re nothing but a cowardly—’

      ‘There’s no way she’ll press charges.’

      ‘Because you’ll hit her again if she does? Of course you will. But you never hit anyone bigger than you, do you, Smiley? You’re a snivelling coward.’

      ‘Shut up, bitch,’ he snarled, but she wouldn’t shut up. It was as if she was driving him.

      ‘So what happened on the river today, Smiley?’ she spat, continuing to prod him. ‘Did you catch any fish? Or did you come last as usual? You play the big man but you’re nothing but a loser. The whole town thinks you’re a loser and the only way you can big-note yourself is to hit women and kids.’

      ‘Georg,’ Harry said urgently, and the policeman took a step forward. So did Alistair but he was holding Thomas, and Thomas was attached to the drip.

      ‘Don’t push me,’ Smiley yelled.

      She pushed him. Hard.

      No, Alistair thought. He moved—but he was caught by the drip stand.

      ‘Georg, no,’ Harry yelled, and lunged forward.

      He was too late.

      Smiley hit her. Just like that, Smiley’s fist came up and smashed into the side of her face with a sickening crunch. Georgie fell sideways. She’d barely hit the floor before Harry had Smiley, hauling him away, and Alistair was just as fast. In one swift movement he’d hauled the drip stand over so it was lying on the floor and baby Thomas was lying safely beside СКАЧАТЬ