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‘That’ll be for you,’ she said, and watched as he ambled over with his long-legged stride.
‘Hello, Valley Drop-In Centre, this is Charlie.’
‘Is there something wrong with using your full medical title? Really, Charles, the Wentworth name is something most doctors in Brisbane would kill to have.’
Charlie gripped the receiver tighter. ‘Father.’
Carrie looked up from the keyboard. Charlie’s dad? He looked and sounded about as pleased to hear from him as he had the day she’d walked in. She didn’t know anyone who used such a formal title in everyday conversation.
‘Have you looked at that application I emailed you? With my recommendation you’d get the position easily.’
‘I’m not having this conversation again. I have a job. I’m not interested in a surgical position.’
Charlie’s voice was terse and Carrie looked back at the screen, pretending she couldn’t hear every word he was saying.
‘Charles! Every Wentworth since—’
‘Since federation has risen to the level of consultant in his or her chosen specialty,’ Charlie ended, used to the spiel by now.
‘You think this is amusing, Charles?’
Good lord, no. His father was about as funny as a wet week. But, on the other hand, it was getting kind of ridiculous. ‘Mildly.’
‘I’m thinking of what’s best for you Charles.’
‘Nonsense. You’re thinking of the family reputation. Hell, Dad, the Wentworths aren’t the Mafia.’ Although it was beginning to feel like it. ‘Give it up.’
The Wentworths? The Wentworth family? Charlie was one of Brisbane’s first family? Medical royalty? What the hell was he doing here, in a lowly drop-in clinic?
‘We’ll speak more about this at lunch on Sunday.’
‘Oh, goody,’ he said derisively.
‘Your mother is expecting you, Charles. Goodbye.’
Charlie hung up on his father’s reproachful tone. He glanced at Carrie tapping away at her keyboard, looking for all the world like she wasn’t actually there. He chuckled. ‘It’s OK, Carrie, it was kind of hard not to hear.’
Carrie gave up the pretence. ‘You’re one of the Wentworths?’
‘Afraid so.’
Good. It was good that she’d found this out now. Charlie Wentworth was way out of her league. Had she been interested. Which she wasn’t. ‘So that makes you…’
Charlie nodded. ‘The black sheep.’
She gave him a quelling look. ‘Ignatius Wentworth’s son? Sir Nelson Wentworth’s grandson?’
‘Guilty.’
The smile he shot her was slow and lazy and her toes curled. Stop it! Charlie’s family had an entire national research facility named after them, for crying out loud. And she was most definitely a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. ‘How the hell did you wind up here? Did you kill someone?’
Charlie was momentarily shocked at her bluntness. And he laughed as she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her quick horrified gasp at her unprofessional comment.
‘I’m sorry…that didn’t quite come out the way I’d planned. Forgive me.’
Charlie sobered. ‘It’s OK, and, no, I didn’t kill someone. I’m here through choice.’
‘Choice? Wentworths don’t choose grungy drop-in centres.’
‘That would be why I’m the black sheep.’ He grinned.
Carrie shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. You could be doing anything.’
Charlie looked at the utter disbelief in her face. Veronica had looked at him like that. Often. Had said the same words. Somehow he’d thought Carrie was different and the thought that she wasn’t was strangely depressing. He pulled up a chair and sank into it, taking a swig of his coffee.
‘There was an incident when I was a med student. I was on a ride-along shift with the ambulance and we got called to the valley to an overdose. When we arrived there was this girl, she was about my age. And it was cold, you know the middle of winter, so cold. We were all rugged up and she was wearing this tiny T-shirt and miniskirt.’ He shook his head, still staring at his coffee.
‘No one knew her. I mean, there was this crowd of people around her, gawking at her like she was an exhibit in a museum, but no one knew her. She had tracks all up her arms. A junkie. We tried to revive her but it was too late. We declared her deceased and everyone just drifted away. No one cared. She was just a faceless street kid all alone at the very end with no one to grieve for her. No one to mourn the waste.’
Carrie shivered as she listened to Charlie recount the story. He was staring into the murky depths of his coffee, a far-away look in his cloudy grey gaze.
