and honour.
Almost as much as Lily?
He had to give her the truth, he thought, or as much as he needed to divulge to get her off both their backs.
‘Lily’s having trouble with her mother,’ he said. ‘Major trouble.’
‘Illness?’
‘Her mother’s stolen her savings and has taken up with the local vicar. And if you repeat that to a soul I don’t care who your family is, I’ll hang you out to dry. I imagine Lily would kill me if I told anyone.’
Evie stared at him, stunned. ‘All her savings …’
‘Yep.’
‘So that’s why she’s finally staying with you. Oh, the poor girl.’
‘I’m fixing it,’ he said heavily.
‘You’re fixing it?’
‘As much as she’ll let me.’
‘You?’ she said, and he wondered what exactly the staff did think of him.
‘Leave it,’ he said, and her face creased into a smile.
‘Our Luke, fixing it,’ she said happily. ‘How about that? Falling for a woman with problems.’
He wasn’t.
Or wait … maybe he was.
He needed to get things in perspective.
He wasn’t sure what perspective was.
‘Luke, while you’re in fixing mode …’ Evie said
And he thought, Uh-oh, here we go. He did not have this kind of conversation with Evie. He didn’t have this kind of conversation with anyone.
Did Evie suddenly think he’d changed?
‘It’s Finn,’ she said. ‘I’m worried.’
Here was another jolt. Evie wasn’t a worrier; she was a brisk, efficient doctor with the weight of the Lockheart fortune behind her.
Finn.
The niggle of worry he’d been feeling about his friend surfaced again, and turned into something more substantial.
But this was Finn Kennedy they were talking about, and no matter how much money Evie’s family had, he wouldn’t thank Luke for crossing boundaries. A junior doctor was talking to him about his boss. ‘I don’t think he’d thank you for worrying about him,’ he said dryly.
‘You’re his friend,’ Evie snapped.
Was he? Finn didn’t do friends. Still … He’d been there when Finn had been released from the army. He’d spent time with him whether Finn wanted him or not. The number of bottles of single malt they’d consumed …
There was a good reason why Finn had hit the bottle, Luke conceded. His brother had died in front of him. He’d been wounded himself. There was trauma, deep and never spoken of.
He didn’t want to get involved.
Too late. He already was.
‘So why are you worried?’ he growled, and started walking again, but Evie took his arm and made him stop. Here in the carpeted corridor of the private suites they could have some privacy.
‘He dropped his clipboard.’
He dropped his clipboard. He let her words sink in. There wasn’t a lot of basis there for worry.
But this was Evie, talking about Finn. Evie didn’t do worry lightly.
Evie and Finn sparked off each other. Evie gave as good as she got. They’d make a good pair, Luke thought, but, wow, there’d be some fights.
Maybe that’s what Finn needed. Fights. Someone to stand up to him.
His thoughts were flying tangentially. He was thinking about Finn. He was thinking about Tom.
He was thinking about Lily.
He didn’t do personal concern. Or he hadn’t. Suddenly he was surrounded on all sides.
In half an hour he had to take Lily home. Put her back into his bed. Make her something to eat …
Keep her safe.
No. Focus on Finn. Of the three worries, this was the easiest.
‘Tell me what you’re worried about.’
Evie exhaled and he thought this seemed liked a major decision, to talk to him about it.
‘Wednesday night … he was walking down the corridor in front of me, carrying patient notes in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Heavy pile in the left. Clipboard in the right. He dropped the clipboard. I … We’ve been a bit tense with each other so I stood back; hoping he wouldn’t turn around and see me. He stared down at the clipboard and then he stared at his hand. Swore. He set the notes down, put the clipboard on top of the notes and lifted them all in his left arm. Then he kept going, everything in his left arm, his right arm sort of tucked against him. And, Luke … yesterday in Emergency we had a guy who needed urgent stitching and I was flat out. Finn was passing. You know how he’s always passing. I called for help and he stitched for me. It was tricky. This was a guy’s face but Finn’s good. Anyway, fifteen minutes later I finished what I was doing, went to the cubicle where Finn was working and he handed back over to me. “This is your job,” he snapped. Okay, that’s his usual style. But, Luke, I’d swear his right hand was trembling.’
Silence.
Luke stared out of the window and watched the Manly ferry chug slowly across the harbour.
His boss. A shaking hand.
It was probably nothing—only Evie didn’t worry for nothing.
No matter how convoluted the gossip network of the Harbour became, Luke stayed detached. He liked to think he’d taught himself not to care, only of course he did care. From a distance.
Finn was a bad-tempered, surly, uncommunicative surgeon. He was one of the best surgeons Luke had ever worked with.
He was, like it or not, his friend.
How much of the single malt was he putting away?
So what to do? Head to Finn’s office and say, ‘I hear your hand’s shaking?’
There was not one snowball’s chance in a bushfire of that happening, and of getting back out of the door if he did.
Besides, he needed to check on Tom. And then take Lily home.
Lily, of the gaunt face. Lily, who was too thin even before the gastro.
She’d needed this weekend to recover and it had ended like this.
‘That’s all I wanted to say,’ Evie said, brisk again. ‘I just thought … someone else should know.’
Gee, thanks, Luke thought morosely. Hand over your worries to me, why don’t you?
But that wasn’t fair, and he stopped himself from saying it. Evie could have taken her concerns straight to the medical director. Eric would then be bound to take them further. The legal implications of an impaired director of surgery would make Eric act whether he wished to or not.
Evie had chosen the kinder path.
‘Thank you,’ he said heavily.
‘I’m sure you mean that,’ she said dryly. ‘Sorry, but I had to tell someone. Short of counting the whisky bottles in his garbage and confronting him with it, I didn’t know what else to do. So can you fix Finn as well as Lily and her mother? I’ll see to Uncle Tom.’
‘That’s hardly a fair division of labour.’
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