Dear Reader,
Itâs possible one day Iâll regret that I wrote this book. I love my American heroine, Candace, with her combination of strength and vulnerability. I donât regret her. She really deserves Steve Colton, the sexy Australian doctor who comes into her life. I love the way their story developsâsex comes early and real life hits them hard soon afterward. I love the atmosphere of surgery and the cast of minor characters, particularly Candaceâs mother. No regrets there, either.
What Iâll regret is the fact that Iâve given away one of Australiaâs great, undiscovered secretsâthe beautiful coastline south of Sydney, stretching for miles and miles. As youâll find out when you read The Surgeonâs Love-Child, some of those gorgeous beaches are deserted enough that you can walk for an hour and scarcely see another human beingâ¦or make love in the dunes after dark without fear of discovery.
I hope you love Candace and Steveâs story, and that the setting inspires some of you to come for a visit. But please donât tell anyone. We want to keep the place to ourselves, donât you think?
Lilian Darcy
HE WAS holding up a sign with her name on it, but he wasnât Terry Davis.
Definitely not.
Terry wouldnât have needed a sign. He and Candace had known each other, on and off, for years. She would have recognised his weatherbeaten face at once, and he would have seen her coming towards him through the milling crowd of arrivals at Sydneyâs international airport. He would have smiled.
This man wasnât smiling. He hadnât seen her yet. He hadnât realised that Candace had spotted her name, scrawled quickly by hand in black felt-tip pen on a makeshift rectangle of cardboard, and that she was zeroing in on it.
This man looked much younger than Terry. Early thirties, tall and fit and medium dark, with a body that somehow managed to be both solid and lean at the same time. He was wearing jeans and a navy T-shirt that hugged his form closely. In contrast, Terry was well past fifty, and had always looked his age. He never wore jeans.
Candace herselfâDR CANDACE FLETCHER, as the sign correctly statedâwas thirty-eight years old and intensely conscious of the fact. She had been for months and was, suddenly, particularly conscious of it now. It had been twenty-four hours since she had left Boston. She must look like a dogâs breakfast, despite a recent freshening in the unappealing cubicle of the aircraft toilet.
She reached the stranger and his sign, and was tempted to wave a hand in front of his face. Hell-o-o-o! Iâm here! He was still scanning the crowd with a frown etched across his high, squarish forehead. Apparently, she didnât look like her name.
âAre you waiting for me?â
The frown cleared at once. âWith insufficient vigilance, obviously, Dr Fletcher. You sneaked up on me.â
âI did think about waving.â
âProbably not what you expected. I should have been Terry.â
âMmm.â
She almost blurted out that not much in her life had gone according to expectations over the past year and more, but managed to keep the words back. Dear God, it would be so easy to get emotional!
âIâll explain as we head to the car,â he said.
âSounds good.â
Unobtrusively, he took control of the luggage cart and began to wheel it towards the exit. She walked beside him, matching his pace.
âIâm Steve, by the way. Steve Colton. Youâll be seeing me in Theatre fairly regularly. Iâm often rostered to handle the anaesthesia. Terryâs wife isâ¦not well. Thatâs why he couldnât make it.â
âOh, no!â Candace said. âThatâs too bad! It isnât serious, I hope.â
âSo do I,â he answered soberly. âBut Iâm actually her GP, so I canât really talk about it. Is this all of your luggage?â
âThis is it,â she confirmed. Three suitcases and a box, for a one-year stay. âMy mother helped me pack, and sheâs very strict.â
âTravels light?â
âArrives light. Leaves heavy. Sheâs convinced that Australia will have glorious shopping possibilities, thanks to the state of your dollar.â
âSheâs right, if you can find anything you want to buy. Terry told you Narraleeâs not a big place, I hope. Not exactly a shopperâs heaven.â