Claire poked her head into her mother’s room. She was awake, as Claire knew she would be. ‘Hello, Mum,’ Claire said softly. She opened the curtains to admit the early morning sunshine. ‘How about I read you the paper and then I wash your hair?’
The pump that delivered hourly metered doses of a special nutritional formula into her mother’s feeding tube beeped that it was empty, and Claire switched it off. She opened the newspaper that had been on the front lawn and thumbed through it with one hand and stroked her mother’s hand with the other. Claire picked out stories she felt would interest her mother … had once interested her anyway.
She looked into her mother’s vacant, staring eyes. Who knew what went on inside her head any more? Speech had been difficult for a few years and non-existent for a year now. Did she understand? Claire wanted to believe that she did.
One thing was for sure, seeing her mother like this reinforced her reasons for rejecting Campbell. She’d definitely done the right thing.
Campbell … Would he be awake yet? Would he still be mad with her? Spending time with her mother like this always left her feeling flat. It was like looking into a mirror. She was scared for her mother and anxious of what would become of her father after …
It would have been so nice to go to Campbell, crawl into bed beside him and have him hold her until all her fears went away. To confide in him.
She shook herself. What was wrong with her? Surely years of denial had annihilated such temptations? Had sleeping with Campbell triggered these feelings? She should have known it’d be more complicated than just two people having sex. Intimacy was never that straightforward—that’s why she had avoided it!
She pushed these confusing thoughts aside as she lifted Mary onto the mobile shower chair with ease. Years of nursing had taught her to lift properly and, despite the nightly supplements, her mother had wasted away to practically nothing in the last year.
The en suite bathroom had been modified as her mother had become more dependent, so there was ample room for Claire to shower her mother and wash her hair. She chatted as she saw to her hygiene needs, prattling on about baby Jonathon and baby David.
Claire yearned to tell her about Campbell. Confide in her mother as daughters the world over usually did. But something held her back. Telling her mother made it seem like they were involved. And they weren’t.
All these thoughts whirred around in Claire’s head as she finally collapsed into bed a couple of hours later. Fortunately they weren’t enough to halt the pressing need for sleep. She closed her eyes and for the first time in a long time it was not her mother she dreamed about as sleep claimed her. It was Campbell.
CAMPBELL had no sooner sat down at his desk on Monday morning than the phone rang. It was Martin with a command, poorly disguised as a request, to see him immediately in his office.
Replacing the phone, Campbell decided that Martin could wait until he was good and ready. He’d head up there in a few minutes. He was in no mood to be ordered around, particularly by a pompous fool like Martin.
He drummed his fingers on the desk and then stood abruptly, stalking to the window. He stared with unseeing eyes at the phenomenal view.
Snatches of the incredible experience with Claire on Friday night chased snippets of their argument on Saturday morning around and around his head. So much for the three Ps. If she refused to see him again, his plan would be down the gurgler.
He’d wanted to shake her on Saturday. Grab hold of her arms and shake her until she understood that he loved her and they were wasting precious time, arguing. Time that they could spend loving each other.
Not for the first time, Campbell wished he knew what was eating her. Why did she persist with her no-relationship mantra? Why couldn’t she open up to him? Had Shane hurt her that badly? No. She seemed to be way over that—there had to be something more.
He reluctantly made his way up to the executive offices, still deep in thought. The lift opened just as Campbell was coming to an important decision. Whatever her reasons, they were irrelevant. His objective was still the same—to make Claire West his. If one night of passion wasn’t enough to sway her, then he’d have to go back to basics again.
He heard the raised voices coming from Martin’s office from out in the hallway. He quickened his pace as he realised that one of them belonged to Claire.
Campbell burst through the door just as Martin was saying, ‘If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to see that centre shut down.’
‘Morning, all,’ he said cheerfully, entering the fray.
Martin shot him an irritated look. Claire had murder in her eyes. Her look of relief as she realised it was him was heart-warming. Campbell cautioned himself not to get too caught up by it. She was probably only grateful that his arrival had stopped her from strangling Martin with his own necktie and spending the rest of her life in prison. The cleaner would probably have been given the same treatment.
Hell, she looks tired, he thought. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was secretly pleased that sleep hadn’t come easily to her either. Good. He’d hate to think he was the only one suddenly afflicted with insomnia.
‘So pleased you could join us.’ Martin’s sarcastic comment intruded on Campbell’s thoughts.
Deciding to let that one slip by, Campbell guessed that calm and reason was definitely lacking in their conversation. Luckily, he was very good at calm and reason.
‘Is there a problem here?’
‘You could say that,’ snorted Martin. ‘Were you aware that Sister West delivered a breech baby at the centre on Friday afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you aware that this contravenes the birth centre protocol? A protocol that Sister West herself implemented?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is exactly what I feared would happen. Give them some autonomy and she takes it upon herself to risk the life of a mother and her baby, all in the name of natural birth.’
‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair, Martin.’ Calm and reason.
‘Fair! Fair? How fair would it have been if complications had developed and the baby had died? They would have sued us from here to breakfast-time, and quite rightly, too.’
‘The baby didn’t die.’ Claire tried to keep the exasperation from her voice.
‘Lucky.’
‘No, not lucky. Educated.’
‘Oh … you think you know more than me, Sister West? I’ve been delivering babies for nearly forty years. Your experience is nothing next to mine.’
‘Now, wait a minute—’ Campbell interjected.
‘Campbell, I don’t need you to defend me,’ she snapped. ‘If Martin could just listen for a minute instead of ranting and raving—’
‘I have not ranted or raved,’ he blustered.
‘Martin, I haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise since I got here.’
Martin glared at her and sat down huffily.
‘Firstly, I made every attempt to get Shirley to Labour Ward but that baby wanted out. Would you rather she gave birth in the lift or a corridor?’
‘I think anything is preferable to delivering it yourself.’
‘I am perfectly capable of delivering a breech baby. I’ve delivered more than