Wildfire Island Docs. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Caroline answered plaintively. ‘Maybe he was telling the truth.’
‘That man wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him on the butt,’ Jill retorted, then fortunately stopped talking.
Caroline wasn’t sure if it was because Jill was concentrating on her landing, or if she didn’t want to hurt her friend even more.
Although she’d realised later—too late—that Steve had been inordinately interested in the mine her family owned …
The little plane bumped onto the tarmac, then rolled along it as Jill braked steadily.
‘Strip’s in good condition,’ she said as she wheeled the craft around and stopped beside the shed that provided welcome to visitors to Wildfire Island.
But the shed needs repainting, Caroline thought, her elation at being home turning to depression because up close it was obvious the place was run-down.
Although the strip had been resurfaced.
Could things have come good?
No, her father had confirmed the mine was in trouble when she’d spoken to him about the article in the paper. Although all his time was spent in Sydney, working as a specialist physician at two hospitals, and helping care for Christopher, her twin, severely oxygen deprived at birth and suffering crippling cerebral palsy, the state of the mine was obviously worrying him.
He had been grey with fatigue from overwork and his fine face had been lined with the signs of continual stress from the hours he put in at work and worry over Christopher’s health, yet with the stubborn streak common to all Lockharts he’d refused to even listen when she’d asked if she could help financially.
‘Go to the island, it’s where you belong,’ he’d said gently. ‘And remember the best way to get over pain is hard work. The hospital can always do with another nurse, especially now clinical services to the outer islands have expanded and we’ve had to cut back on hospital staff. Our existing staff go above and beyond for the island and the residents but there’s always room for another pair of trained hands.’
Losing himself in work was what he’d done ever since her mother had died—died in his arms and left him with a premature but healthy baby girl and a premature and disabled baby boy to look after.
‘Maybe whoever owns that very smart helicopter has an equally smart plane and needed the strip improved.’
Jill’s comment brought Caroline out of her brooding thoughts.
‘Smart helicopter? Our helicopters have always been run-of-the-mill emergency craft and Dad said we’re down to one.’
But as she turned in the direction of Jill’s pointing finger, she saw her friend was right. At the far end of the strip was a light-as-air little helicopter—a brilliant dragonfly of a helicopter—painted shiny dark blue with the sun picking out flashes of gold on the side.
‘Definitely not ours,’ she told Jill.
‘Maybe there’s a mystery millionaire your shady uncle Ian has conned into investing in the place.’
‘From all I hear, it would take a billionaire,’ Caroline muttered gloomily.
She’d undone her seat harness while they were talking and now opened the door of the little plane.
‘At least come up to the house and have a cup of tea,’ she said to Jill.
Jill shook her head firmly.
‘I’ve got my thermos of coffee and sandwiches—like a good Girl Scout, always prepared. I’ll just refuel and be off. It’s only a four-hour flight. Best I get home to the family.’
Caroline retrieved her luggage—one small case packed with the only lightweight, casual summer clothes she owned. Her life in Sydney had been more designer wear—Steve had always wanted her to look good.
And I went along with it?
She felt her cheeks heat with shame as yet another of Steve’s dominating characteristics came to mind.
Yes, she’d gone along with it and many other ‘its’, often pulling double shifts on weeknights to be free to go ‘somewhere special’ with him over the weekend.
The fact that the ‘something special’ usually turned out to be yet another cocktail party with people she either didn’t know or, if she had known them, didn’t particularly care for only made it worse.
But she’d loved him—or loved that he loved her …
Jill efficiently pumped fuel into the plane’s tank, wiped her hands on a handy rag, and turned to her friend.
‘You take care, okay? And keep in touch. I want phone calls and emails, none of that social media stuff where everyone can read what you’re doing. I want the “not for public consumption” stuff.’
She reached out and gathered Caroline in a warm, tight hug.
‘You’ll be okay,’ she said, and although the words were firmly spoken, Caroline heard a hint of doubt in them.
Dear Jilly, the first friend she’d made at boarding school so many years ago, now back in the cattle country of Western Queensland where she’d grown up, married to a fellow cattleman, raising her own family and top-quality beasts.
Caroline returned the hug, watched as Jill climbed back into the plane and began to taxi up the runway. She waved to the departing plane before turning to look around her.
Yes, the shed was a little run-down and the gardens weren’t looking their best, but the peace that filled her heart told her she’d done the right thing.
She was home.
Bending to lift her suitcase, she was struck that something was missing. Okay, so the place wasn’t quite up to speed, but where was Harold, who usually greeted every plane?
Harold, who’d told her and Keanu all the legends of the islands and given them boiled lollies so big they’d filled their mouths.
Her and Keanu …
Keanu …
She straightened her shoulders and breathed in the scented tropical air. That had been then and this was now.
Time to put the past—all the past—behind her, take control of her life and move on, as so many of her friends had advised.
And moving on obviously meant carrying her own suitcase up the track to the big house. Not that she minded, but it was strange that no one had met the plane, if only out of curiosity.
Had no one seen it come in?
Did no one care any more?
Or was Harold gone?
How old had he been?
She didn’t like the tightening in her gut at the thought that someone who had been so much part of her life might have died while she’d been away …
Impossible.
Although all adults seemed old to children, she doubted Harold had been more than forty when she’d left—
The blast of a horn sent the past skittering from her mind, and she turned to see a little motorised cart—the island’s main land transport—racing towards her from the direction of the research station.
‘Are you the doctor?’ the man driving it yelled.
‘No, but I’m a nurse. Can I help?’
The driver pulled up beside her and gestured towards his passenger.
‘We phoned the hospital. Someone said the doctor would come to meet us on the way. My mate was fine at first but now he’s passed out, well, you can see …’
He gestured towards the man slumped in the back of the little dark blue vehicle. He had no visible injury—until she looked down and saw his foot.