‘OK, buddy, back up. Tell me the story.’
Charlie relayed the details of the previous night’s incident. ‘She’s so not my type. She looked like a gypsy. She was wearing tie-dye, for God’s sake. You know I prefer pinstripes.’
‘Like vile Veronica?’
‘Well…yes.’
‘Oh, yeah, that turned out so well.’
‘Well, it should have.’
‘Your ex-wife was a stuck-up cow. Strikes me you could do with a little tie-dye.’
‘She has a child. A little girl.’
‘OK, stop right there.’
‘I know, I know. It’s crazy. I shouldn’t be thinking like this.’
Joe laughed. ‘Relax, Charlie. It’s just the celibacy talking, man. In two weeks’ time the tests will come back negative and you can get back on the horse. No man can think straight after a year of no sex.’
Charlie nodded. His friend made a very good point. ‘Right.’
‘Right. So…see you soon?’
‘Right.’
Charlie hung up the phone and checked his watch, his thoughts returning once again to Carrie. Damn it! He drummed his fingers more loudly.
Carrie was late. It was unprofessional and rude. She tried the number again but was blocked by yet another busy signal. Last night’s accident had sure thrown a spanner into the works. Having to arrange insurance and quotes and organise a hire car this morning had not been conducive to punctuality. And she’d slept badly, tossing and turning and thinking about Charlie all night.
She stood in front of the drab-looking building that she’d been assigned to and felt uncharacteristically depressed. A faded sign on the front announced it was the Valley Drop-In Centre. God, I’m tired. She pushed through the mesh reinforced glass doors and looked around the room.
‘Dr Wentworth?’ she asked a couple of bored, tatty-looking teenagers. They pointed to a closed door and she approached it briskly. She had a job to do and regardless of her near-death experience last night, she needed to put it aside and concentrate on today. Concentrate. The chipped nameplate said ‘Dr Charles Wentworth’. She thought of Charlie and then shook her head disgustedly. Concentrate, damn it!
She gave a brisk rap.
‘Come in.’
Carrie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and walked into the office. She stopped in mid-stride, knowing instantly who the tall rangy man with the shaggy downcast head sitting behind the desk was and gave a startled gasp.
Charlie looked up at the noise, his pen stilling in surprise. ‘Carrie?’
‘Charlie?’ A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t be. ‘You’re Dr Charles Wentworth?’ she asked, hoping desperately that he was just there doing some locum work for the good doctor who she’d assumed to be years older.
‘The very same.’ He nodded. Surely she wasn’t his appointment? ‘And you’re…Dr Douglas?’
Carrie nodded, temporarily unable to form words.
Charlie stared in dismay at her smart businesslike suit. Navy blue. Rich, red, silky blouse. Pinstripes. No tie-dye in sight. Pinstripes—hell! ‘And you’re here to…’
She nodded again. ‘Audit you.’
The wall clock ticked so loudly in the silence it might as well have been a bomb. Charlie recovered first, ignoring the ominous ‘A’ word and its implications to the viability of the centre. He’d lived under the cloud of closure since he’d opened the clinic five years ago.
‘You’re a doctor?’ What the hell?
Carrie lifted her chin. She’d never had to justify her title before and she was damned if she’d do so now. For the next month she was in charge here so it was imperative that she assert her authority immediately. Having him think less of her qualifications, ones she’d worked long and hard for, ones her parents had worked two jobs and re-mortgaged the house for, rankled. ‘Yes, I am.’
Charlie was flabbergasted. He couldn’t have been more surprised than if she’d told him she was a hooker. ‘A medical doctor?’
‘Yes, Charlie, a medical doctor.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
She shrugged, trying for nonchalant when in reality her heart was hammering madly in her chest. Surely he could hear it? ‘I’ve been in management for a while now.’
‘I thought only middle-aged has-beens went into management.’
No. Sometimes young has-beens did, too. ‘It’s a legitimate career option these days. I’m on track to become the youngest hospital MD in Australia.’
Whoa—real party girl. ‘So, what, when other little girls wanted to be fairies and princesses, you decided to chose something more—’ boring ‘—practical?’