Florrie gave him a frowning look. ‘How old are you, Dr Steel?’
‘Thirty, Florrie. Why?’
‘A man shouldn’t get too old before marrying,’ she advised. ‘Otherwise he gets too set in his ways. And too selfish. Still, don’t be pressured into marrying the wrong girl, now. Marriage is a serious business. But a fine, intelligent man like you knows that. Probably why you’re being so choosy. Oh, goodness, look at the time! I must go. The Midday Show will have started and I do so hate to miss it.’
Florrie hurried off, leaving Jason to consider what she’d said.
Actually, he agreed with her wholeheartedly. About everything. His life would be complete if he could find a good woman to share it with. He might have come to Tindley disillusioned with a certain lady doctor he’d left behind, but his disillusionment hadn’t extended to the whole female race. He wanted to marry, but not just anyone.
He shook his head at how close he had come to marrying Adele. What a disaster that would have been!
Admittedly, she’d been a very exciting woman to live with. Beautiful. Brilliant. Sexy as hell. He’d been blindly in love with her, right up till that awful day when the wool had finally fallen from his eyes and he’d suddenly seen the real woman beneath the glittering façade: a coldly unfeeling creature who’d been capable of standing there and dismissing the death of a child with such chilling nonchalance, taking no blame whatsoever for her own negligence, saying that was life and it wouldn’t be the last time such an accident happened.
He’d decided to walk away from her then, as well as from his own increasingly selfish and greedy lifestyle. And it had cost him plenty. Rather than fight Adele in court for his half, he’d given her the place at Palm Beach, and the Mercedes, walking out with little in the way of material possessions. After paying Doc Brandewilde for his half of the practice, Jason had arrived in Tindley with nothing but his clothes, his video collection and a car which was as far from a red Mercedes sports as one could get. White, four-doored and Australian-made. Reliable, but not flashy. The sort of car a country doctor should drive.
Adele had thought him insane, had given him six months to come to his senses. But Jason knew he’d already done that. He wanted no more of the fast life, of the obsessive acquiring of wealth, or even the sort of wild, often kinky sex that women like Adele liked, and demanded. He wanted peace of mind and body. He wanted a family. He wanted marriage to a woman he could respect and like.
Being in love, however, he could do without.
Naturally, he wanted to want his wife. Sex was as important to Jason as any other red-blooded man. The town wasn’t the only thing being warmed up by spring, and, quite frankly, his celibate lifestyle was beginning to pall. He needed a wife and he needed one soon!
Unfortunately, his chances of marrying the only girl to seriously catch his eye since he’d come to Tindley were less than zero.
He glanced down the road to the small shop on the corner. Its doors were still firmly shut. Understandable, he supposed. Ivy Churchill’s funeral had only been last week.
Would Emma stay on and run her aunt’s sweet shop? Jason wondered. Even if she did, where would that get him? Her heart belonged elsewhere, stolen by some local creep who’d done her wrong and left town some time back. According to her aunt, she was still madly in love with this rotter, and probably waiting for him to return.
Jason had been told these scant but dismaying details on his second home visit to the old lady, perhaps because he’d cast one too many admiring glances Emma’s way during his first visit.
Not that the girl had noticed herself. She’d seemed oblivious of his admiration as she sat by the window in her aunt’s bedroom, doing some of her much admired tapestry work.
It had been impossible, however, not to look at her. Jason’s eyes had been drawn again and again to the exquisite picture she’d made, sitting there with her long, slender neck bent in an elegant arc, her eyes downcast, long curling eyelashes resting against her pale cheeks. She’d been wearing a white ankle-length dress with a lacy bodice and a flowing skirt. The setting sun’s rays had been shining over her shoulder, turning the soft fair curls hanging around her face into spun gold. A gold chain had hung around her throat, falling slightly away from her skin, swaying with each movement of the large needle she was moving in and out of the canvas.
Jason could still recall how he’d felt as he’d watched her, how he’d ached to slide his hand up and down the delicate curve of her neck, how he’d imagined taking that chain and pulling it gently backwards till her head tipped up and back. In his mind’s eye, he’d bent his lips to her startled mouth, before something his patient said had snapped him out of his dream-like, yet highly erotic reverie.
His thoughts had aroused him then. They aroused him now.
Scowling, Jason launched himself across the road and up onto the verandah of the bakery shop. But as he reached to open the shop screen door, he swiftly replaced the scowl with a more pleasant expression.
One minor drawback to life in Tindley was that nothing went unnoticed, not even a passing scowl. He didn’t want it getting around town that poor Dr Steel was having personal problems. He also knew not to ask any questions which might be misinterpreted. He was dying to enquire about Emma’s intentions, but suspected this might raise a few eyebrows.
‘Mornin’, Dr Steel,’ Muriel chirped straight away on seeing him. ‘The usual?’
‘Yes, thanks, Muriel.’ And he threw her a smile.
By the time he’d selected an orange juice from the self-serve fridge in the corner, his ‘usual’ of a steak and mushroom pie along with two fresh bread rolls was perched in paper bags on the counter. He was about to pay for it and just go, when curiosity got the better of him.
‘I noticed the sweet shop’s still closed,’ he said, as casually as he could.
Muriel sighed. ‘Yes. Emma said she just couldn’t face it this week. I feel so sorry for that girl. Her aunt was all she had in this world and now she’s gone too. Cancer is a terrible disease. Truly terrible!’
‘That it is,’ Jason agreed, and handed over a five-dollar note.
Muriel busied herself at the cash register. ‘When I go, I’d like to pop off in my sleep with a nice heart attack. Nothing slow and lingering. Frankly, I was surprised Ivy lasted as long as she did. When Doc Brandewilde sent her up to that hospital in Sydney last year for chemotherapy, I wouldn’t have given her more than a few days. But she lingered on for over a year. In a way, I suppose it’s a relief for Emma that she’s finally gone. No one likes to see someone they love in pain. But she’s going to be awfully lonely, that girl.’
‘I suppose so,’ Jason said. ‘Er…it’s surprising that a pretty girl like Emma doesn’t have a boyfriend,’ he ventured, trying to look innocent.
Muriel shot him a sharp look. ‘Surely you’ve heard about Emma and Dean Ratchitt. I would have thought Ivy would have said something, what with your visiting her so often these last few months.’
‘I don’t recall her mentioning anyone by that name,’ Jason said truthfully. Dean Ratchitt, eh? The only Ratchitt he knew was Jim Ratchitt, a cranky old so-and-so who lived on a run-down dairy farm just out of town. ‘Is he related to Jim Ratchitt?’
‘His son. Look, you might as well know the score,’ Muriel said as she handed over the change. ‘Especially if you’re thinkin’ of casting your eye in that direction.’
‘What score do you mean, Muriel?’
Muriel gave him a dry look. ‘About Emma and Dean, of course.’
‘They were lovers?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Dean liked his girls free and easy, and Emma’s not that way at all. Ivy brought her up with solid old-world