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Falling for her Mediterranean Boss
Anne Fraser
Enter into the world of high-flying Doctors as they navigate the pressures of modern medicine and find escape, passion, comfort and love – in each other’s arms!The playboy surgeon’s proposal!Dedicated junior doctor Julie McKenzie is dumbstruck by her new boss – plastic surgeon Pierre Didier’s sexy accent, striking looks and professional expertise make him the most gorgeous man she has ever met!However, Julie is the last woman Pierre should allow himself to become involved with. If she falls in love it would be for keeps, and forever is the one thing he cannot give her.Yet Pierre is drawn to shy, pretty Julie, and he can’t help wanting to make her feel like the beautiful woman she really is…


Julie raised her hand to cover the scar. ‘I am happy with my face the way it is,’ she said stiffly.

Pierre reached out and, taking her hand, gently pulled it away. ‘It is a beautiful face,’ he said, looking her directly in the eyes.

He was so close she could almost distinguish the individual eyelashes framing his deep blue eyes. Eyelashes like that were wasted on a man, she thought, trying to ignore the way her heart had started galloping. Then what he had said sank in. He had called her beautiful. Her heart beat even faster. Did he really believe that? She gave herself a mental shake. No, of course he didn’t—he was just being kind. It was far more likely that he just couldn’t stop himself from complimenting every woman who crossed his path.

‘Your bone structure is perfect,’ he continued, scrutinising her face with a professional eye. ‘You are lucky. No amount of plastic surgery can ever improve on that.’
Anne Fraser was born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse, before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child, she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.

Recent titles by the same author:

POSH DOC CLAIMS HIS BRIDE
HER VERY SPECIAL BOSS
DR CAMPBELL’S SECRET SON

FALLING FOR HER
MEDITERRANEAN
BOSS
BY
ANNE FRASER

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

FALLING FOR HER MEDITERRANEAN BOSS
Gu mo theaghlach an Uibhist—gu h-araid Lachie—tapadh leibh.

(To my family in Uist—especially Lachie—thank you.)
CHAPTER ONE
DR JULIE MCKENZIE wrapped her fingers gratefully around her coffee-cup and sank back in her chair in the doctors’ mess and closed her eyes briefly. What she wouldn’t do for a couple of hours’ sleep. She had been up all night. Just as she had been about to go home and crawl into bed for a couple of hours of much-needed sleep, the head of surgery—Mr Crawford— had asked her to stay on.
‘The new locum consultant is starting today,’ he had told Julie. ‘And since you’ll be working under him for your rotation on Plastics, I think it’s a good idea if you stay on and meet him.’
His tone had made it clear that it wasn’t optional. Besides, Julie was curious, even a little anxious, to meet her new boss. She had enjoyed working with Mr Crawford for the last six months in General Surgery, but as part of her training she was scheduled to spend the next three months attached to Plastic Surgery.
She lifted a hand and touched the scar that ran from the corner of her eye to her jawbone, feeling its raised surface under her fingertips. It was ironic, really, her working in Plastic Surgery. On the other hand, her own disfigurement meant she was drawn to the specialty. At least she would have no difficulty empathising with patients who sought help.
A polite cough aroused her from her reverie. Grief! She realised she had been on the point of dropping off. She jumped to her feet, knocking over her half-drunk cup of coffee. A hand shot out, catching the mug just in time to prevent the hot liquid from spilling over the carpet. In front of her stood Mr Crawford and, holding the errant mug, a blue-eyed man with thick black wavy hair, who was looking at her a half-smile playing on his lips.
Her heart gave an odd erratic beat. He was, by far, the most gorgeous man Julie had ever seen outside the movies. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet at least, with eyes that glinted like diamonds. Only a slightly hooked nose prevented high cheekbones and a sensuous mouth from looking feminine in their beauty. He was lean but well built, his theatre greens sat low on narrow hips. Julie felt her mouth go dry. She couldn’t ever remember having such an immediate and powerful attraction to a man before. Julie swallowed a groan. She was acutely conscious that her scrubs were crumpled and that she looked a mess after having been on her feet for twelve hours straight.
‘Dr McKenzie, I’d like to introduce you to Dr Pierre Favatier, our new consultant plastic surgeon. He will be with us for the next couple of months.’
Dazed, Julie held out her hand and felt it engulfed. She looked down. He really did have the most beautiful hands, she thought, the long elegant fingers of a piano player or a surgeon.
‘So this is Dr McKenzie,’ he said in a deep husky voice that made her think of late nights in smoky bars.
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ Julie said, mortifyingly aware that she sounded breathless.

‘And I am pleased to meet you too,’ he said formally echoing her greeting, and then added, ‘I hope you hold a scalpel more firmly than a coffee-cup.’
She could detect a glint of humour in his eyes. God, was he aware of the effect he was having on her?
‘Of course. You startled me—that’s all!’ she said defensively.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ he said politely, and, despite the gleam in his eye, Julie wasn’t sure whether he was joking.
‘I understand that you will be my junior while I am here? Mr Crawford speaks well of you.’ He was French. That much was clear from his accent, although it was faint and only evident in the way he pronounced the h’s at the beginning of words.
‘Mr Crawford is right.’ She cast a grateful look at her chief. ‘I am an excellent surgeon—whatever first impression I gave you there.’ Well, she was. In whatever other area she lacked confidence, it wasn’t in her surgical ability, and although she knew she ran the risk of appearing arrogant, she wanted this man to know that she was good at what she did.
He laughed, the sound low and genuine. ‘Ah, confidence. I like that in a doctor. Especially one who works with me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I do not like incompetent doctors. I have no time for them. They can learn with somebody else. I demand perfection. Are you perfect, Dr Mackenzie?’ Once again there was a challenge in his ice-blue eyes, although a hint of laughter still lurked in their depths. She had the uneasy feeling he wasn’t just referring to her surgical skills.
Julie squared her shoulders and eyed him coolly, striving to get her racing pulse under control. ‘I don’t think anybody is perfect—least of all me.’ She forced a smile. ‘Although, in my work, I do try.’

For a moment as their eyes locked, it was as if there was no one else in the room. His gaze dropped to her mouth then flickered feather-like over the contours of her face, before coming back to her eyes. Now she knew what animals felt when pinned by the stare of a predator. As heat flooded her cheeks, she couldn’t prevent herself from raising her hand to her scar. Damn it! She hadn’t meant to do that. He tilted his head and regarded her intently, speculation darkening his eyes. Her heart continued to beat as if she had just completed a downhill race.
Mr Crawford broke into the silence that seemed to crackle across the room.
‘I wouldn’t be allocating Julie to your team if I didn’t think she was one of the best, if not the best, junior we have on the rotation at the moment,’ he said mildly. ‘You know, she was once a champion skier,’ he added proudly, as if taking personal responsibility for Julie’s successes. ‘She’s driven to excel in everything she does. No one works harder. She’s always here at the hospital, and even when she’s off duty I find her in the library at all hours, reading up on cases. So, as I said before, Dr Favatier, you can rest assured you have the best working with you.’
Julie felt her blush deepen at the praise. She hadn’t been aware until now that Mr Crawford held her in such high regard. Perhaps finally all the extra effort she put in was paying off. Of course, Mr Crawford wasn’t to know that a barren social life left plenty of time for work and study. She sneaked a glance at the new consultant. Despite his smile, his forehead was knotted again.
He shook his head as if to clear whatever was puzzling him. ‘Bon!’ he said. ‘Then I am satisfied. Too many young doctors have other distractions.’

Julie’s eyebrows rose. With his dark good looks and blatant sex appeal, he struck her as a man who would enjoy many ‘distractions’, as he so oddly put it. Catching her look, Pierre winked at her. The gesture was so unexpected Julie thought she must have imagined it. He was her boss after all! Nevertheless, she felt her blush extend to the tips of her ears and wished she had managed to find the time to shower and change before Mr Crawford had waylaid her. But, she told herself impatiently, what did it matter what Dr Favatier thought of her appearance? Someone who looked the way he did was hardly the type of man to look twice at her—even if she was dressed up to the nines. Nevertheless, she had to fight against the impulse to release her hair from its ponytail and let it fall across her face and cover the scar.
Dr Crawford turned to Julie. ‘And you are extremely fortunate to have the chance to work with Dr Favatier. He’s considered a pioneer in reconstructive plastic surgery in his own country. We are very lucky to have him here for the next couple of months so we must—and I know you will—make the most of the time we have with him to learn as much as possible.’
‘Of course,’ Julie replied, thinking frantically of all the extra reading she’d have squeeze in to make sure she was up to speed. ‘Thank you, Mr Crawford. And I’m very pleased to have the opportunity to work with you, Dr Favatier.’
‘C’mon, then Pierre, let’s leave Dr McKenzie to get herself home for some well-deserved rest. There’s a case in Theatre I’d like your opinion on.’ Pierre gave Julie one last searching look, before allowing Mr Crawford to usher him out the door.
‘Get some rest, Julie, and we’ll see you soon,’ her chief said over his shoulder.
Once the two men had gone, Julie sank back in her chair. For some unfathomable reason she felt as if she had just been caught up in the middle of a tornado. A tornado that had only subsided when her new boss had left the room. He was a hunk. There was no denying it. But, Julie reminded herself with an inward grimace that hunks had no place in her life or, more to the point, she in theirs. Just as well, then, that the only thing that mattered to her was whether he would be a good teacher. And from Dr Crawford’s introduction, it seemed there was plenty to be learned from Dr Pierre Favatier.

Julie let the beat take over as she relaxed into the rhythm of the music from the DJ. She liked the way the darkness of the club hid her. For once, she felt totally unselfconscious. She rarely ventured out in the evening unless Kim, her best and only friend, persuaded her, but tonight, as a special favour to Richard, she had agreed to come to his eighteenth birthday celebration at the nightclub.
‘You don’t want me there,’ she had protested earlier in the week when he had asked her. ‘I’m too old—I’ll only spoil the evening for you.’
But he had insisted. ‘Please, Julie. My friends will think it’s really cool to have you there—you once being famous and all. And, besides, you’re not old—not really.’
Julie had to laugh, knowing that at twenty-six she probably did seem old to Richard and his friends, plus she’d never really been famous. Eventually she had given in and agreed to go, knowing that tonight was especially important to him. She had met Richard at St Margaret’s hospice, where her mother had spent the last few weeks of her life, and had got to know the young lad with the friendly and cheerful personality well. Richard had been suffering from a childhood form of leukaemia, and before he had become ill had liked to ski, and on the occasions he’d felt well enough he’d persuaded Julie to take him to the dry ski slopes on the outskirts of town.
Recently he and his family had been given the news they had so desperately being praying for. Richard’s disease was in remission, and tonight was a special celebration of his recovery, as well as a birthday party.
As Julie danced with her young protégé, she had the uncomfortable feeling someone was watching her. Raising her eyes she was disconcerted to see Dr Pierre Favatier on the balcony, his gaze fixed on her. For a moment their eyes locked and Julie felt her world shift. His brow furrowed before he turned his head to scan the room as if searching for someone in the mass. What was he doing there? It was the last place she had expected to see him and she wondered who he was with. He looked out of place in his suit and tie, she thought. Hardly clubbing gear. Had he, not knowing the city too well, wandered in by accident, mistaking the club for some other, more sophisticated venue?
Julie contemplated going over to him and saying hello, but for some reason she felt shy and awkward about approaching him. Instead, when his eyes rested on hers again, she lifted a hand and gave him a small wave of recognition. She only had time to catch a glimpse of his return wave before Richard pulled her around.
‘What’s happening over there, Julie?’ the teenager asked, gesturing with his chin to where a crowd of dancers had stopped moving to the music. People were standing on tiptoe, looking towards the rear of the club.
Then, as the music came to a sudden halt, there was a ripple of unease in the crowd. Someone called out and necks craned to see what the fuss was about. A fire alarm sounded and the agitated voice of the DJ came over the speaker system.
‘Could everybody, please, make their way to the nearest exit? Do not panic. Do not stop to collect your belongings. I repeat, could everybody make their way as quickly as possible to the fire exits?’
Now Julie could smell the faint, but distinctive smell of smoke. There was a moment’s stillness, as if no one could believe what was happening, then pandemonium broke out. The crowd turned and started pushing and shoving their way to the exits, almost knocking Julie off her feet.
Julie grabbed hold of her dancing companion. ‘Richard,’ she said urgently, ‘I want you to get out of here as fast as you can— without panicking. I’m going to see if anyone needs help.’
Frightened eyes looked at her. ‘Come, too,’ Richard shouted over the noise.
‘I’ll be all right. Trust me.’ She shoved him in the direction of the nearest fire exit. ‘Just go. Quickly! But don’t panic,’ she warned again.
She turned against the heaving tide of bodies. Her heart was pounding. More than anything she would have liked to follow Richard to safety, but she fought against the instinct to save herself. She couldn’t. Not until she was sure that everyone was out of the building.
The lights flickered, dimmed and then went out completely. In the sudden darkness, fear turned to terror and the throng surged forward with more determination than ever. Cries of alarm drowned the voice of the DJ pleading for calm. Even when the emergency lighting came on, Julie knew his entreaties were too late. There was widespread panic now as people were pushed to the floor and trampled by fellow clubbers in their driving need to get to the exits. Julie knelt beside a young girl who had fallen in the crush. Julie had to fight hard to stay upright as still more people pushed past. The girl was conscious, but in need of help.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked. The girl nodded, looking up at Julie with a tear-stained face. ‘I think so, but someone stood on my ankle.’ She sat up and clutched her right foot, clearly in pain.
Bracing herself, Julie pulled the injured clubber to her feet. ‘Can you walk on it?’
The girl tried, testing her weight, but Julie had to catch her as her ankle gave way.
‘Lean against me, I’ll help you,’ she said. Before she could begin to shuffle her towards the exit, Pierre appeared by her side. Julie had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
‘I’ll take her,’ he shouted in her ear. ‘Follow me.’ Then he scooped the frightened girl into his arms and headed towards the exit. Julie watched his retreating back for a second, before turning and heading back against the flow of bodies still pushing their way out. However much every nerve in her body was telling her to get out, there was no way she could leave while there were still people inside. She had almost reached the rear of the room, where Richard’s group had been sitting, when she found herself face to face with Susan, one of the youngest of Richard’s friends.
‘Susan, Are you all right? Why haven’t you got out? Where’s everyone else?’
Susan eyes darted from side to side. She looked terrified. ‘They’re all out, except Martha. She went to the toilet shortly before the alarm went off. I don’t want to leave without her. Please, help me find her!’ She clutched at Julie, her voice catching on a sob. ‘She must be around here somewhere!’

‘Slow down, Susan.’ Julie grasped the young girl by the shoulders, forcing her to look directly into her eyes. ‘Tell me where you’ve looked.’
‘Everywhere. I don’t know where she could be!’ Susan coughed. The smoke was getting thicker, making it difficult to see. On the far side of the room Julie could see flames leaping towards the roof. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the building was completely ablaze.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll find her. You get out.’ She shoved Susan in the direction of the exit. Then she lifted the bottom of her T-shirt and covered her mouth. It wouldn’t be much protection against the smoke, but it might buy her a few minutes. Julie was relieved to hear sirens in the distance. The rescue services were on their way.
The main dancing area was almost empty, most of the revellers having made it outside. However, even in the smoke-filled atmosphere Julie could make out at least two bodies lying on the floor. For a moment she hesitated. What should she do? Continue to look for Martha, or help the victims on the floor? The fire had already spread alarmingly in the short period of time she had been talking to Susan and tongues of crimson flames were now creeping towards the bodies. There was a good chance Martha was outside and safe. But unless she did something for the collapsed victims, they would be in danger of being consumed by the fire. She couldn’t afford to wait for the firefighters. Before she could act, her attention was drawn by movement towards the rear of the room. The DJ was trying desperately to beat out flames that were licking up his arms. For a moment their eyes held. Julie had never seen such abject terror before. His attempts to extinguish the flames were proving futile, and Julie could see that in the short time she had stood, horror-struck, they had spread from his arms across his chest. It was clear that unless someone did something, and quickly, the DJ would have no chance.
Realising that she had only a few seconds at the most, she rushed towards him. She had only taken a couple of steps when felt herself yanked backwards. She was swung around to face Pierre.
‘I thought you were following me out!’ he said, his accent more evident than ever. Even in the dim, smoke-filled light Julie could see his eyes glinting with anger.
She wrenched her arm out of his grasp.
‘Let me go!’ She pointed over to the DJ who had fallen to the floor. ‘I need to help him!’
Pierre took in the situation at a glance. ‘You get the others, I’ll get him.’ Before Julie had a chance to protest he was moving towards the stricken man. Whipping off his jacket, he wrapped it around the DJ and rolled him around to smother the flames.
Tearing her eyes away from the two men, Julie hurried over to the inert form of a female clubber lying on the floor. The girl was barely conscious and Julie knew she had to move her out of the reach of the fire. Blocking out the terrifying crackling of the flames, Julie put her arms under the girl’s armpits and started dragging her across the floor. It was hard going. The limp body was deadweight and the smoke was beginning to make breathing almost impossible. But then, just as she thought she could go no further, firemen in their full firefighting gear appeared and relieved Julie of her burden. Gesticulating towards the exit, it was clear that they were ordering Julie out of the building.
‘Help them!’ She pointed to the DJ and Pierre, her eyes streaming. Thank God, the flames that had been licking the DJ’s torso appeared to be almost out. Julie was finding it difficult to speak and her chest hurt. ‘And there’s someone else that needs help over there.’
One of the firemen nodded and made for the other victim while another firefighter grasped her arm and propelled her out of the building. She tried to resist, not wanting to leave until she was sure Pierre and the other casualties were all right, but she was no match for the burly firefighter.
Outside, the shock of freezing night air made Julie gasp. Bending over, she rested her hands on her knees for the few moments it took for her to stop coughing and for her eyes to stop streaming. Dazed, she looked up and could barely comprehend the scene before her. It was reminiscent of footage of disasters she had seen on television. At least four fire engines lit the area in swirling patterns of red and blue. Numerous clubbers stood around, looking shocked and bewildered. Several more were sitting on the ground, struggling for breath or sobbing quietly. Snow had started to fall in large wet drops, but everyone seemed oblivious to it. As her laboured breathing normalised, Pierre swept past her, carrying the unconscious figure of the DJ in his arms. In the moving beams of light from the emergency vehicles Julie could see that the DJ was badly burnt. Pierre would need her help. She quickly checked the other victims, breathing a sigh of relief that no one appeared seriously hurt. Leaving them, she hurried over to Pierre, who had laid the DJ down on a grassy verge a safe distance from the burning building. Swallowing her horror at the extent of the injured man’s burns, she dropped to her knees.
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked Pierre as she searched for the DJ’s carotid pulse.

Pierre glanced at her. ‘Go and get yourself checked out,’ he said roughly.
‘I’m okay,’ she fired back, shouting to make herself heard above the sounds of the sirens.
He looked at her sharply, his blue eyes drilling into hers. ‘I don’t have time to argue,’ he said, lowering his head and beginning to breathe for his patient.
Finding what she was looking for, a faint but discernible pulse, Julie knew that they had to get some oxygen into his lungs and some fluids into his veins as quickly as possible.
‘I’ll get help,’ she said, scrambling to her feet. ‘Someone must have emergency supplies.’ As she stood, an ambulance pulled up, its flashing blue lights adding to the red pulses of the fire engines, making it all seem even more surreal. Thank God, Julie thought. There was little she and Pierre could do for the DJ without medical equipment. Almost before the paramedics were out of the ambulance, Julie was by their side. She pointed to Pierre and the inert form of the DJ. ‘Over there! They need oxygen and a drip, and any other medical equipment you might have. Stat.’ The paramedics nodded and, gathering their loaded bags, rushed across to Pierre. Another couple of ambulances pulled up, their sirens cutting the cold night air, their occupants leaping out ready to offer aid.
As Julie turned back towards Pierre, Susan and Richard ran across to her.
‘We’ve got Martha and everyone else. Are you all right?’ the young girl asked, her eyes wide. Then she burst into tears.
‘Hey, I’m fine.’ Julie assured them, grabbing hold of Richard’s arm. ‘Rich, get your friends together and move them to a safe position on the other side of the road. Stay there until someone checks all of you over. Okay?’
Richard nodded and, taking the still sobbing Susan by the arm, moved away.
Julie raced over to Pierre, who was still attending to his patient. ‘I’m back,’ she said quietly. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Pierre looked up as his patient coughed and struggled for breath. Julie took an oxygen mask from one of the paramedics and placed it over the DJ’s mouth.
Pierre was looking worried. ‘His throat is swelling,’ he said. ‘The oxygen won’t get to his lungs that way.’ He spoke a few words to one of the paramedics, who rushed back towards one of the ambulances. Then he turned to Julie. ‘There are two main problems with someone as badly burnt as our patient. Firstly, the swelling of his throat is restricting his breathing. I’ll need to do an emergency tracheostomy here—right now. If we leave it until we get him to hospital, it will be too late.’ The paramedic returned and Pierre began searching through the bag she had brought. In the meantime, Julie had taken the line and drip the paramedic had passed to her earlier and found an undamaged vein in the man’s groin to insert the cannula.
‘The other problem is that as we resuscitate him, his skin will also start to swell, becoming like leather squeezing tighter and tighter on his chest wall. As it constricts, it squeezes down on the chest, preventing the lungs from inflating properly.’ Pierre continued. ‘Once I’ve made the hole in his throat and we’re getting oxygen into his lungs, I may well have to make a few incisions into the skin on his chest.’ He seemed to have found what he was looking for in the bag, and a scalpel flashed in the light. He looked straight into Julie’s eyes. ‘I’m going to need you to help me. You’ll have to hold him steady. Can you do that? If you can’t, I need to know now.’
Julie returned his look steadily. ‘Just tell me what to do.’
Whatever he saw in Julie’s eyes must have reassured him. He bent low over the injured man. ‘I’m going to do something that will help you breathe,’ he said. ‘I may have to cut into your chest. It won’t hurt, but I’ll give you something for the pain, and then we’ll get you to hospital.’
He glanced at Julie and she could tell from his expression that he didn’t hold out much hope for the man on the ground. ‘He won’t be aware of what we’re doing,’ he said. Gently he tipped the man’s head backwards so the front of his neck stood out and he felt below the prominence of his Adam’s apple. Then swiftly, but confidently, he inserted the scalpel into the victim’s trachea. Julie used a sterile swab to dab away the blood, and then Pierre inserted a tube through the incision into the throat. ‘Bag him,’ he instructed Julie. She fixed an ambu-bag over the tube and squeezed air into the lungs. Within seconds Julie could see the colour seeping back into the victim’s face. But as Pierre had predicted, almost immediately his breathing started to become laboured again.
‘Merde!’ Pierre cursed. ‘It is as I thought. He will need an emergency escharotomy—where we incise the skin on his chest to help him. I hoped the tracheostomy would be enough until we got him to hospital.’ Once more he bent over the patient and, using the scalpel, scored two deep incisions across the chest. Immediately the skin parted, leaving deep furrows across the chest. To Julie the procedure seemed almost barbaric.
Pierre glanced up and, catching her questioning look, said, ‘The burnt skin will have to be removed later once we are sure he is stable. He won’t have felt anything even if he was conscious as the nerve endings are too badly damaged. This way he has a better chance of survival.’
‘Does he?’ Julie whispered. ‘Does he have a chance, do you think?’
‘The extent of his burns…’ He shook his head. ‘Well, they are bad. But I am hopeful. The sooner we get him to hospital the better. Let’s get him into an ambulance.’
As the paramedics helped Julie and Pierre load the injured man onto a stretcher, Pierre said to Julie, ‘I need to go with him in the ambulance.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she offered. ‘I just need to make sure the people I’m with are okay.’
Pierre shook his head. ‘We can’t wait. He has to go now. Anyway, there is only room for one of us to go with him. And it is better that I go.’ He hesitated, glancing over Julie’s shoulder. ‘Could you do something for me?’
Julie looked around. There were still four or five casualties needing medical attention but they were being attended to by paramedics. Furthermore, she could see a fluorescent jacket with ‘Doctor’ emblazoned on the back. It seemed as if her help here was no longer required.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Just tell me what.’
‘Can you drive?’
Julie was surprised at the question.
‘Yes,’
‘Do you have a car with you and have you been drinking?’
‘No and no,’ she replied.
Pierre dug around in his pocket before pulling out a set of keys and pressing them into Julie’s hands. ‘I don’t like to ask you, but see that girl over there?’ He pointed to a young woman who was leaning against a wall, looking dazed. ‘She is my niece. It’s her I came to find here. She is alone. Please, could you take her home? See that she’s all right? Tell her that I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
He watched as his patient was loaded into the ambulance. Julie could see he was worried. For his patient, his niece, or both, Julie couldn’t be sure.
‘Okay,’ she said, a little reluctantly. She would much rather have followed up the patient in hospital. Perhaps assisted in Theatre—if the DJ made it that far. Still, she could hardly refuse her new boss’s request—and he was probably right about space in the ambulance. Besides, she did need to make Richard sure and his friends were reunited with their parents, who…she glanced at her watch…should be arriving to collect them any time now.
‘Thank you,’ Pierre said softly, just before the doors of the ambulance closed. ‘I owe you a favour,’
As soon as the ambulance pulled away, with its lights flashing and siren blaring, Julie crossed over to Pierre’s niece. The girl looked up at Julie’s approach.
‘He’s gone to the hospital, then?’ The girl nodded in the direction of the departing ambulance. The words were slightly slurred. Had she been drinking? Julie wondered. Apart from that, and an ashen pallor to her skin, she looked okay.
‘Yes, he had to. He asked if I could take you home. He’s concerned about you. Are you okay? Has someone checked you over?’
The girl took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I’m fine. A bit shook up, but that’s all. I was outside when the alarms went off. Is the person in the ambulance going to be all right?’
‘I hope so,’ Julie said. ‘He’s getting the best possible care. I’m Julie, by the way.’ She held out her hand to the girl who shook it reluctantly.
‘Caroline,’ the girl replied shortly.
‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting just a few minutes while I check on the guys I came with? Then I’ll drive you home.’ Julie said.
‘Whatever,’ the girl said. ‘But really you don’t have to take me home. I’m quite able to look after myself. Uncle Pierre treats me like a kid.’ Caroline’s mouth was set in a sullen line
‘Please,’ Julie said, ‘let’s just do as he asks. He’s my boss and if I don’t see you home I’ll be in trouble.’
Caroline gave a loud theatrical sigh. ‘He’s such a bully. But okay—I’ll wait here for you.’
It only took a couple of minutes for Julie to check on her young charges. Although still shocked, their fright was beginning to wear off and turn to excitement. Their parents had begun to arrive and, seeing that Richard’s parents had everything under control, Julie returned to Caroline. She was relieved to find that she had waited for her. Somehow she wouldn’t have put it past the girl to have sneaked off while her back was turned.
‘Do you know where your uncle’s car is parked?’ Julie asked. Caroline pointed in the direction of a low-slung sports car across the road. Julie whistled under her breath. She had always wanted to drive once of those. She grinned at Caroline.
‘He does have some pluses,’ she said, and Julie briefly caught a glimmer of a smile.
‘C’mon, then,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you home.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHERE to?’ Julie asked Caroline as she eased the car into the traffic. Although it was late, the city centre was busy with late-night partygoers, many of whom had come to investigate what was going on. Caroline named a street that made Julie gasp. It was commonly known as Millionaires’ Row by the locals.
‘Is that where your parents live?’ Julie glanced at Caroline and there was just enough light from the streetlamps for Julie to catch the wave of grief that crossed the girl’s features.
‘My parents are dead,’ Caroline said flatly. ‘They died in an accident.’
Julie slid a hand across and briefly grasped the girl’s cold fingers in hers.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said. ‘I know what that feels like. I lost my mother a couple of years ago and my father a few months after.’ She still missed them both terribly. ‘When did it happen?’ she asked gently.
‘Just after Christmas,’ Caroline said softly.
Only a few weeks ago, then. Julie knew how raw her grief would still be.
‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’
‘I’m an only child,’ Caroline responded.

Just like me, then, Julie thought, already feeling herself drawn to the young woman. It seemed they had a lot in common.
‘It’s why Uncle Pierre has come to stay,’ Caroline continued after a pause. ‘He lives in France. He’s French, like my father is…was.’ Her breath was ragged as she corrected herself. ‘I told Pierre I was old enough to live by myself, but he wouldn’t have it. Said it was impossible.’ She pouted. ‘He hardly knows me and now he is here bossing me about—interfering in my life.’
‘But no one should be alone after such a terrible loss. I’m sure he just wants to help.’
‘He never bothered with us before. Dad was always asking him to come and visit, but he was always too busy. Eventually my parents went to visit him. And now they’re dead. If they hadn’t gone—if he had come to see them instead like he should have—they’d still be all right. He is so unbelievably selfish.’
Julie was taken aback by the anger in Caroline’s voice. But then she remembered how after her accident, when she’d felt she had been robbed of everything she’d thought mattered, she too had been angry, pushing away everyone, even her parents. And when a few years later her parents had died, she had thought she could never feel happy again. She too had been angry with the world at first. It had seemed so unfair.
‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months.’
Julie was surprised. Made up as Caroline was, she could have easily passed for twenty—older even.
‘And you were out at the club by yourself?’
‘Pierre didn’t want me to go on my own. But he just doesn’t understand…’ She tailed off and looked out the window.
‘Go on,’ Julie prompted gently.

‘My friends would have come with me. They’re always asking me to go out with them. But even though they mean well, I get tired of their sympathy. They’re always asking how I am. Am I okay? How am I doing? But they just don’t get it—that all I want to do is forget. Just for a little while. Is that so awful?’
‘No,’ Julie said softly. ‘It’s not awful at all. Sometimes we all need to forget about stuff that hurts us.’
‘I slipped away when his back was turned.’ Caroline admitted. ‘I left him a note telling him where I was and not to worry about me. But he came after me anyway. So embarrassing to be treated like a kid.’
Julie hid a smile. She was having no difficulty imaging the friction between the two. In many ways Caroline reminded her of herself as a teenager.
‘But he was sort of right, wasn’t he? Look what occurred back there. You could have been hurt. I’m sure he would never have forgiven himself if anything happened to you.’ Julie shivered, remembering. ‘I was terrified. Weren’t you?’
‘When the worst thing possible has already happened to you, there’s not much that frightens you,’ Caroline said softly, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, and Julie’s heart went out to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, regaining her composure. ‘I don’t usually go on like this. I think I must be more shaken than I thought. Anyway, I’m completely fine now, and that’s what matters. I would have taken a taxi home perfectly easily, so he’s fussing over nothing.’
Julie knew there was little point in pursuing the conversation. It was between Caroline and her uncle. The two women sat in silence for a few moments.
Caroline looked at Julie curiously.

‘What happened to your face?’ she said.
As usual, whenever someone reminded her of her scar, Julie’s hand went to her cheek. Sometimes, not often, she managed to forget.
‘Skiing accident,’ she said, ‘when I was about your age.’
‘You should ask Uncle Pierre to fix you,’ Caroline said, and this time Julie heard the note of pride that had crept into her voice.
Fix me? Julie thought. She didn’t think anyone could fix her.
‘He’s a famous surgeon in France, you know,’ Caroline added.
‘So I gather,’ Julie said dryly. ‘However, I’m used to my face the way it is.’
But as she said the words she knew she was lying. She hated the scar.
They pulled up outside the address Caroline had given her. The house was an impressive detached sandstone building with a driveway large enough to hold several cars. Caroline showed her how to operate the gate from a button on the keyring, the gates swung open and Julie drew up beside the front door.
Caroline eased herself out of the car.
‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she said politely.
‘Will you be all right on your own?’ Julie asked, unsure what to do. Should she go in with the girl? Wait for Pierre to return home? ‘Would you like me to come in? I could wait with you until your uncle gets back.’
Caroline shook her head with a disdainful lift of her brow.
‘There is no need. Please, you did what you said you’d do. I’ll be perfectly fine.’ Then her features softened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to be rude when you’ve been so kind. And I didn’t mean to offload on you like that. I think it was the fright.’

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Julie said. ‘I understand. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?’
Caroline shook her head again. ‘I’m going to go straight to bed.’ Julie knew she could hardly force her way into the house. So after a brief goodnight, and watching until Caroline was safely inside, she turned the car in the direction of the hospital. She was wide awake and knew sleep would be impossible, so she did what she always did when sleep eluded her—she went in search of work.

A and E was bustling with activity. A number of the clubgoers were being treated with minor injuries or for the effects of smoke inhalation. Julie found her friend Kim, one of the A and E nurses, gulping a cup of coffee at the nurses’ station.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Julie asked.
‘Good grief, woman, do you tune into the police radio or what? How come you always seem to know when we have a rush on? Don’t you have a life?’ Kim stifled a yawn. She was always scolding Julie for working too hard, telling her she should get out more. Julie just ignored her friend’s good-natured cajoling. It was her life, not Kim’s, and she would live it the way she wanted to.
‘I was at the club,’ Julie said. ‘Yes, really. And dancing!’ She ignored her friend’s look of feigned astonishment. ‘I’m looking for one of the victims. The DJ. He was pretty badly burnt. Dr Favatier brought him in.’
‘Ah, the divine Dr Favatier,’ Kim sighed, rinsing her mug at the sink. ‘I’d heard about him from some of the other nurses—and they weren’t exaggerating. He is hot!’ She gave herself a little shake, then grinned at Julie. ‘But what am I thinking? And me a happily married woman and all.’ Her expression turned serious. ‘Your DJ—his name’s Tom Blackheath—is still in Resus. It’s been chaos in here the last few hours—since even before the fire. This is the first chance I’ve had to draw breath.’ She set her mug on the counter. ‘Let’s go find out how your injured DJ is.’
Tom was the only patient in the resuscitation room. There were several doctors and nurse working over him, Pierre included.
Tom had been sedated and ventilated and was still holding his own. Julie stood back from the gurney, not wanting to get in the way. She watched as Pierre checked the incisions and conferred with the A and E consultant. Eventually he noticed Julie. He seemed surprised to see her.
‘You managed to get Caroline safely home, then?’ he asked, turning peeling off his latex gloves and tossing them in the bin. When Julie nodded he continued.
‘Thank you, but you didn’t need to bring the car back here. I would have collected it tomorrow.’
Although it was after two in the morning and he was developing stubble, which only added to his dark good looks, he didn’t seem tired. Quite the opposite, in fact. He radiated energy and vitality that pulsated through the room. Immediately something clicked inside Julie. Despite his image, here was someone who felt the same way about the job as she did. It was where they belonged—where they felt most alive.
His dark hair had flopped across his forehead and for one heady moment Julie was tempted to reach across and push it away from his eyes. Horrified at the thoughts that were flitting through her mind, she forced the image out of her head. What was she doing? Fantasising about her boss. It was totally inappropriate! Besides, she hardly needed to remind herself a man like this wouldn’t be interested in someone like her.
‘Yup, she wouldn’t let me come in. I hope it was all right to leave her?’ Julie prayed she wasn’t blushing. He was probably used to women getting flustered in his presence but she was damned if she was going let him see how much he affected her.
‘She is a very stubborn girl,’ Pierre replied grimly. ‘Takes after her father.’
He turned to theA and E consultant. ‘I’ll operate tomorrow,’ he said, ‘if he pulls through. In the meantime, I’m off to bed. Unless you would like any more help?’ Satisfied he was no longer needed, he steered Julie away from the resus room.
‘Are you ready to go?’ he said. ‘I’ll run you home.’
‘I’d rather stay and help,’ she said.
He looked at her sharply, narrowing his eyes. ‘If you remember, you are joining my team tomorrow…’ He glanced at his watch. ‘This morning. De bleu! It is almost three. You need your rest.’
‘I don’t need much sleep,’ Julie protested.
‘You do if you are working with me,’ he said firmly.
Julie ignored him and nodded backwards in the direction of Tom. ‘How is he?’ she asked.
Just for a moment Pierre looked tired. He rubbed a hand across his cheek. ‘The next twenty-four hours are critical. If they manage to stabilise him—if he survives—we’ll start doing skin grafts later on today. You can assist, if you like.’
‘I’d appreciate that,’ she said quietly. ‘I would like to see his treatment through. I feel I owe it to him,’
Pierre looked at her intently. ‘I’ll need you alert and under control,’ he said. ‘There’s no room for emotion in the theatre,’ he said.
Julie realised it was pointless to argue. He had completely misunderstood what she had meant. Suddenly the adrenaline seeped away, and she felt exhausted.
‘You don’t have to take me home,’ she said. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’
The last thing she wanted right at this moment was to find herself in close proximity to this man. A good night’s sleep, or at least a few hours—and there was hardly enough time to get more than that now—would be enough for her to pull herself together and get her emotions under control.
‘Of course I am going to take you home. It is the least I can do.’ He held out his hand. For a stunned moment Julie thought he meant her to take his hand, and almost laid hers in his. Just in time she realised he was expecting his car keys but she was unable to prevent the tell-tale blush flooding her cheeks. Pierre looked at her quizzically, then grinned.
‘You will be perfectly safe with me, Dr McKenzie, whatever people might say.’
Julie shot him a furious look before she could prevent herself and felt herself redden from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes. Was he actually flirting with her? And what was worse, did he actually think she’d be flattered, grateful even?
‘And why should I think I wouldn’t be safe with you, Dr Favatier?’ she asked in the coldest voice she could summon. He looked at her, then as recognition dawned his blue eyes glinted mischievously.
‘Because people think I drive too fast, of course. What other reason could there be?’
Julie felt her skin shrink with embarrassment. Great start,dr mckenzie, she thought. Way to go, girl!
* * *

Julie sank into the soft leather seat of Pierre’s car. Asking her for her post code, he programmed it into the satellite navigation system of his car.
‘It easier than you telling me how to get there,’ he said, pulling out into the road. ‘You did very well back there, at the fire.’
‘I’m just glad you were there,’ she said. ‘I would have hated having to do a tracheostomy on my own.’ She slid him a look. ‘It’s quite different having to do something out of the hospital setting.’
Pierre turned and flashed her a smile. ‘Something tells me you would have coped okay,’ he said. ‘You stayed very cool.’
Julie felt herself glow at the praise. ‘Skiing teaches you that. How to stay focussed, even when you’re terrified. And I was,’ she admitted.
‘Then you hid it well,’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to like having you on my team.’ He drove quickly through the now deserted streets. Julie was acutely conscious of his presence in the cramped interior of his car. Suddenly she felt awkward.
Glancing down at this hand on the gearstick, she noticed that his right hand had been burnt.
‘You hurt your hand,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I put some cream on. It will be fine.’
He smiled at her again, his eyes creasing at the corners. Julie felt a tingle run up her spine.
‘Are all Scottish women so reckless?’ he asked. ‘You must know you risked your own life staying inside the burning building to help.’
Julie straightened in her seat. ‘I only did what anyone would have done. I couldn’t stand back and do nothing. I wasn’t being reckless.’

‘I know men who wouldn’t have done what you did,’ he argued.
‘How people behave in a time of crisis has nothing to do with what sex they are!’ Julie said crossly.
This time Pierre laughed out loud.
‘Dis donc,’ he said. ‘So you say.’
Julie felt her skin prickle. He was mocking her. Despite finding him unnervingly attractive, she wondered if she actually liked her new boss—even if he was the kind of surgeon she aspired to be. He seemed to have a pretty sexist view of women. Perhaps that was down to the type of women he spent time with. Julie could just see him with a glamorous simpering model on his arm. Someone who hung onto his every word and liked to have doors opened and him order for her. Someone who was unlike her in every possible way.
‘Anyway, you were pretty reckless yourself,’ she said. ‘You took a risk going to help the DJ.’
Pierre raised an eyebrow, his eyes silver in the semidarkness. ‘A chance you were about to take yourself. In fact, you would have taken a greater risk than I. You would have never been able to get him out of there. And somehow I suspect you would not have left him.’
Hearing the admiration in his voice, Julie felt somewhat mollified. But whatever he thought, she’d only done what anyone in her shoes would have done.
Happily, before she had a chance to think of a response they had pulled up outside her flat in the West End of Edinburgh.
She leapt out of the car, noticing Pierre’s surprise at her almost indecent haste to get away.

‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later this morning.’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned and was relieved when she heard his car roar off into the night.

Pierre felt strangely unsettled as he drove home. Stopping at a traffic light, his eyes caught an enormous billboard straddling the pavement. The woman advertising a famous make of bath soap reminded him of someone. Almost at once he realised who—Julie. The model had the same glossy-brown hair, sweet smile and charcoal smudged grey eyes radiating warmth, compassion and intelligence.
He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. Dr Julie McKenzie was brave and cool under pressure, qualities he knew were important in a surgeon, but it was the Julie the woman who intrigued him most. She seemed oblivious to how beautiful she was, even with the scar. Instead, she came across as shy and uncertain of herself as a woman. He couldn’t help recalling the way she had blushed in his company. Had she’d been anyone else he would have felt flattered, even been tempted to show her how attractive she was. But she wasn’t just anyone, he reminded himself. She was his colleague, his junior colleague, and therefore out of bounds. An affair with her was completely out of the question. And not just because she was a colleague but because he guessed she was not someone who would take any relationship lightly. For him, the only relationships he liked were the casual ones. All his lovers knew that. At least he assumed they all did. Until Monique, that was. She had chosen not to believe him even though he had made his position clear right at the start of their relationship. But when he had told her it was over, after it had run its course, she had been devastated and furious. After the most embarrassing scene he had sworn he would never get involved with a colleague again.
It was a pity about Julie, he thought. He had enough of experience of women to suspect that underneath that shy exterior lay a woman of passion. Not that she was really his type. Not even remotely. Why, then, did the knowledge that Julie was off limits leave him feeling bleaker than ever?

Julie yawned as she poured herself another cup of coffee in the duty room. She finished looking over her patients’ charts as the other staff gathered together.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ one of the staff nurses was saying to her colleagues. ‘And as for that accent…’ She shivered with delight. ‘He could have his wicked way with me any time.’
Despite herself, Julie felt her ears prick up. It was obvious who they were talking about.
‘You’ll need to get in line, then,’ Dr Cramond, one of the other junior doctors, replied.
She, unlike Julie, was pretty in that doll-like way most men seemed to admire. She was probably just Pierre’s type, Julie thought, trying to ignore how envious the thought made her.
‘Do you think he’s attached, Julie?’ Dr Cramond asked.
‘Not a clue,’ said Julie, returning to her notes. She really didn’t want to be drawn into a discussion about Pierre with her new colleagues. Even if it made her seem a little standoffish.
‘Bound to be,’ said the nurse, a friendly looking woman with glossy black hair who had introduced herself as Fiona. ‘Very likely he has someone back in France.’
‘But I gather he’s not married,’ Dr Cramond said wistfully, ‘so as far as I am concerned that makes him fair game.’
They stopped talking abruptly when the man himself walked into the duty room. Dressed in a dark grey suit that must have cost an arm and a leg, clean shaven and with just a hint of aftershave, Julie was struck again by his model good looks. He wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of a magazine.
Julie replaced her cup and scrambled hastily to her feet.
‘Good morning, Dr Favatier,’ she said.
‘Bonjour,’ he replied. He glanced down at the sheaf of notes he held in his hand. ‘Shall we get started?’
‘Have you heard how our patient from last night is doing?’ she asked as she and Fiona accompanied him across the ward.
‘I saw him in Intensive Care this morning,’ Pierre answered. ‘He’s stable. I plan to take him to Theatre later this morning. We’ll go and see him again after rounds. But first let’s see our elective patients.’
Pierre walked over to the first patient, a lady in her early sixties with short grey hair and a ready, if lopsided smile. ‘Bonjour, Madame Tulloch,’ Pierre greeted her with a broad grin. ‘I gather you know Staff Nurse already?’ he said, indicating Fiona. ‘And this is Dr McKenzie, who will be helping me look after you.’
‘Good morning, Dr Favatier. It’s nice to see you again, and to meet you, Dr McKenzie,’ Mrs Tulloch responded. Despite her smile, Julie could say traces of anxiety in her faded blue eyes.
‘Could you remind us of this lady’s history, Dr McKenzie?’ Pierre asked.
Julie had made sure that she had read up on all the patients earlier, having arrived at seven to give herself enough time.
‘Mrs Tulloch saw her dentist for a routine check-up six months ago and he discovered a suspect growth on her jaw bone. He referred her to the surgeons, who identified a tumour. The surgeons removed the tumour and a piece of bone was taken from the left hip and grafted onto the jawbone. Mrs Tulloch has had two rounds of radiotherapy and is doing well, apart from some difficulty with speaking and swallowing.’
Pierre nodded approvingly. ‘Well done, Dr McKenzie. Brief and to the point.’ he said.
‘Mrs Tulloch is scheduled for Theatre this morning,’ Julie finished.
‘How are you feeling, Mrs Tulloch?’ Pierre asked the woman, who had been listening intently to Julie’s résumé of her condition.
‘I feel fine,’ she said. ‘A little anxious perhaps, but otherwise fine.’ Although her words were slurred, Julie could understand her perfectly.
‘You know we are planning to operate today?’ Pierre told the woman. ‘And while you might not get a full return of movement to your mouth, I am hoping for a great improvement.’ He traced a gentle finger down her line of her jaw. ‘We should also be able to improve the way the scar is pulling down the right side of your mouth.’
‘It’s not so much the way it makes me look,’ Mrs Tulloch said. ‘I know I should be grateful the operation was a success and I am grateful. It’s just that it makes my speech and eating so awkward.’
Pierre turned to Julie, ‘What do you think, Dr McKenzie?’
Julie bent over Mrs Tulloch. She asked her a few questions then, with the patient’s permission, gently examined her jaw. The incision had healed well, but the scar tissue puckered the skin, pulling the mouth out of shape.

‘Looks like Mrs Tulloch has made a good recovery from her initial surgery,’ she said. Pierre passed her the X-ray, which clearly illuminated the tumour prior to surgery. He then passed her another film, which showed the jaw bone with the tumour removed and the grafted piece of bone.
‘You were lucky that this was caught when it was.’ Julie smiled down at the woman. ‘And it looks as if the replaced bone in your jaw has healed well.’
‘I do feel lucky. If I hadn’t gone to the dentist that week…I nearly didn’t, you know—too much going on—and if he hadn’t been suspicious, it could have been a different story.’
‘But it wasn’t. It was caught it in time, and we’ll soon have you looking as close to how you looked before. I can see you were a very attractive woman.’ Pierre grinned at his patient.
Goodness! Julie thought. Did he flirt with everyone?
Mrs Tulloch smiled back crookedly. ‘A long time ago perhaps, Dr Favatier. But it would be nice to look more normal again.’
With a few more words of reassurance Pierre moved away from the bedside and explained to Julie what they were planning to do in Theatre. ‘Of course, you will just be assisting me, but I need you to do exactly as I tell you. I will be operating very close to one of the major facial nerves. We can’t afford any damage there.’
They crossed the ward to speak to the second patient on their list. Julie looked at his chart. Mike Simpson was a twenty-three-year-old who had come off his motorbike the day before. He had lost a chunk of his calf in the collision and Pierre planned to graft some skin from his thigh to help the wound heal. Mike was sitting up in bed plugged in to his MP3 player, which he removed as soon as they approached. Pierre talked the patient through what he planned to do later in Theatre.
‘How long before I can go biking again?’ Mike asked. ‘It’s pretty boring being cooped up inside while all my mates are out having fun.’
‘I’d give it at least four weeks for the graft to heal,’ Pierre replied. ‘But your broken leg will take longer.’
‘You haven’t been put off, then?’ Julie asked. She knew from the notes that Mike had been lucky to escape with his life from the accident.
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ Mike replied. ‘The insurance has already said they’ll pay out and I’ve decided which new bike to buy. A Kawasaki 750. I’ve always wanted one of those beauties.’
‘I’ve got a Harley Davidson. I brought it with me from France.’ Pierre said, and as the men launched into a discussion on the various advantages of different motorbikes, Fiona and Julie exchanged a look. Julie knew how Mike felt. After her accident she couldn’t wait to get back on her skis. Being near death’s door wasn’t what had stopped her from skiing competitively—it had simply been that her accident had meant that she’d had too much time off training to be selected for the Olympic squad. That had been almost the worst thing about the accident. All those years of training, getting up in the small hours of the morning to go to the slopes, leaving her parents from a very young age to go abroad to train—all of it—for nothing. Still, she couldn’t regret everything about it. If she hadn’t had the accident she would never gone in for medicine. And now she couldn’t imagine any other life.
Their next patient was in the paediatric ward. Shona was a girl of ten who was scheduled for an operation to have her ears pinned back. She was shy and clearly overawed by her surroundings. Her anxious mother sat by her bedside, reading to her from a book.
‘Phillip Pullman,’ Julie said reading the title. ‘He used to be one of my favourite writers. Still is.’ She grinned down at the young girl, who smiled back.
‘But you’re a grown-up,’ she said.
‘I think his books are so good anyone can read them, don’t you?’
While Julie distracted the young girl, Pierre finished examining Shona’s ears.
‘You know what we are going to do, petite?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘And you are certain that this is what you want?’
The girl glanced at her mother, before nodding. Pierre frowned and looked enquiringly at the mother.
‘You know, Shona,’ Julie said gently, ‘you don’t have to have the operation if you don’t want to. It’s not a big operation— not at all—but, still, if you’d rather not…’
The mother glanced at Julie. ‘I’ve told her so many times,’ she said, ‘that there is nothing wrong with her ears.’ She leaned across and stroked her daughter’s head.
‘You are such a pretty girl, no one will even notice your ears,’ Pierre said. ‘We discussed this when I saw you yesterday. You know you can still change your mind?’
The girl looked at the three adults and folded her arms across her chest, a mutinous line to her mouth.
‘I want this operation. They tease me at school. They call me Dumbo!’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be teased because of the way you look.’ As she said the words she looked at Julie and her hand flew to her mouth in horror. ‘I’m sorry…I mean…’ she stumbled.
It took every ounce of Julie’s willpower not to raise her hand and cover her scar. Instead she sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘No one teases me,’ she said. ‘At least, not to my face. They wouldn’t dare. But I do know what it’s like to feel self-conscious about the way you look. It can hurt when people stare at you.’
Shona nodded, clearly gratified that someone understood. Pierre was watching Julie closely.
‘So if you are sure that this is what you want, that is fine. As I said, it’s not a big operation, but you’ll be sore for a while.’ Julie repeated.
‘I want it,’ Shona said.
‘Then you shall have it, of course,’ Pierre said. ‘I just wanted you to know that you could still change your mind.’
Pierre and Julie left Fiona finalising the patients’ prep for theatre.
‘Let’s go and see Tom in ITU,’ Pierre suggested. ‘I’ve added him to the end of the list. His operation is the trickiest and most time-consuming.’
As they made their way towards Intensive Care, Pierre stopped and turned to Julie. He lifted long fingers to her face and gently felt along the ridge of her scar. It was all Julie could do not to flinch, but whether it was from embarrassment or the electric tingle she felt from his fingertips, she didn’t want to hazard a guess.
‘What happened?’ he asked softly, dropping his hand to his side.
‘Accident at speed. While I was skiing,’ she said
His mouth relaxed.

‘Now, why am I not surprised? It seems to me you are someone who enjoys danger,’ he said. ‘Going too fast, I think?’
‘It was part of it. I had to go fast. I was training for the woman’s downhill. For the Winter Olympics.’
Pierre’s eyebrows shot up. He let out a low whistle. ‘Why did you stop competing? Was it because of the accident?’
‘Yes, I had missed too much training so I was dropped from the team. I still ski, although now it’s only for pleasure. I go up north—usually to the Cairngorms—whenever I get the chance.’
Together they started walking again. Julie was relieved that they had moved on from discussing her face, although she found talking about her aborted skiing hopes no less distressing.
‘I’d heard one could ski in Scotland, but I didn’t really believe it. I didn’t think there was enough snow.’ Pierre said, sounding surprised. ‘I would like to see for myself if it is still possible.’
‘Oh, there’s plenty of snow still if that’s what you’re worried about.’ Julie reassured him. ‘We haven’t had much the last few seasons, but this year’s made up for it in spades.’
Pierre frowned. ‘In spades? What do spades have to do with skiing?’
Julie laughed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s an idiom. It just means there is plenty of something—in this case snow.’ Amazingly she found herself beginning to relax in his company.
Pierre stopped outside the door of ITU. He looked down at her, his blue eyes searching her face. ‘I should like to see you ski,’ he said. Something in his tone made Julie’s heart thump. ‘Perhaps you could show me these Scottish mountains of yours one day?’

Confused at the turn the conversation was taking, Julie could only nod. Was he asking her out?
‘I have skied all my life,’ he went on. ‘But I haven’t had much chance recently. I find it’s a good way to relax and I know Caroline would like to learn,’ he said, looking thoughtful. ‘Maybe it could be something she and I could do together.’
Of course, Julie thought. He was thinking about his niece. Not her. Acutely aware of feeling irrationally disappointed, she was relieved when he turned away towards Tom’s bed.
The DJ was still sedated, and was being monitored by an intensive care nurse called Linda, whom Julie had met several times before when she’d been on General Surgical.
‘He’s pretty strong,’ Linda told Pierre and Julie, sounding pleased. ‘We think he’s got a good chance of pulling through.’
Julie caught her breath when she looked down at the injured man. Swathed in bandages and with tubes everywhere, he looked in no fit state to be operated on.
‘Shouldn’t the grafts wait until he’s recovered?’ she asked Pierre.
‘The sooner we start doing the grafts the better, believe me,’ he replied. ‘When so much of the skin has been destroyed, there is nothing left to heal and cover the open tissue. As it is, it will take a number of operations before we replace enough skin.’
As they were making plans for Tom’s future surgery, a young woman with frantic red eyes underscored with dark circles approached the bedside. She had obviously flung on the first thing that had come to hand—crumpled jogging pants and a T-shirt. She looks out of her mind with worry, Julie thought.
‘This is Tom’s girlfriend, Trudi. Trudi, this is Drs Favatier and McKenzie,’ Linda introduced them.

‘How is he?’ Trudi whispered. ‘Please, tell me he’s going to be all right.’ She blinked, struggling to hold back the tears.
‘Trudi has been here for most of the night,’ Linda explained. ‘I’ve tried to persuade her to go and get some rest, but she won’t hear of it.’
‘I don’t want to leave him,’ Trudi said. ‘I only went to get some coffee to help me stay awake. I’m petrified something will happen to him while I’m not here.’
‘We’re not going to let anything happen to him,’ Pierre said firmly. ‘Not after he’s made it this far.’
‘You’re the doctor who saved his life!’ Trudi said. ‘They told me it was the French doctor that pulled him out.’ She looked up at Pierre, her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll never forget what you did.’
Pierre shuffled his feet. ‘Dr McKenzie was there too,’ he said. ‘She spotted him in trouble, and she would have risked her own life to save him. It’s her you should be thanking, not me.’
Linda’s gaze swung from Pierre to Julie. Julie sensed that this was the first time she had heard about their involvement in the fire and guessed it would be all over the hospital by lunchtime. Inwardly she cringed. She hated drawing attention to herself.
Trudi turned to Julie and grasped her hands. ‘I’ll never forget either of you,’ she said fiercely. ‘Never.’
‘Please,’ Julie said, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t do very much.’ She looked at Pierre in desperation, and was grateful when he seemed to pick up on her extreme discomfort.
‘We will talk again later. After the operation,’ he said gently. ‘In the meantime, Dr McKenzie and I are due in Theatre.’
‘So that’s four patients we have in Theatre altogether,’ he said as they headed out of ITU. ‘Although Shona’s operation will be quick, the other two will take up the rest of the session. Then lastly we have Tom.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Theatre starts in an hour, so I suggest if you haven’t had something to eat, you get something now. We could be in Theatre for the rest of the day.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, if you wish, I could operate on that scar for you. I do a lot of cosmetic surgery back in France.’
Julie raised her hand to cover the scar. ‘I am happy with my face the way it is,’ she said stiffly.
Pierre reached out and, taking her hand, gently pulled it away. ‘It is a beautiful face,’ he said, looking her directly in her eyes. He was so close she could almost distinguish the individual eyelashes framing his deep blue eyes. Eyelashes like that were wasted on a man, she thought, trying to ignore the way her heart had started galloping. Then what he had said sank in. He had called her beautiful. Her heart beat even faster. Did he really believe that? She gave herself a mental shake. No, of course he didn’t, he was just being kind. It was far more likely that he just couldn’t stop himself from complimenting every woman who crossed his path.
‘Your bone structure is perfect,’ he continued, scrutinising her face with a professional eye. ‘You are lucky. No amount of plastic surgery can ever improve on that.’
So it wasn’t really her he was seeing after all! To him she was just another surgical problem he could solve. ‘I’ll see you in Theatre,’ she said abruptly, wanting nothing more than to get away from him so she could still her pounding heart. Without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel and left him standing in the corridor looking bemused.
* * *

In Theatre Pierre appeared even more assured and confident than ever. Despite herself Julie was very conscious of the dark hairs on his bronze chest that she could see from the V in his scrub top. Only his eyes were visible as they glittered above his mask, and Julie was beginning to develop the uncomfortable feeling, as they drilled into hers, that he could read her thoughts. The thought made her cringe. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she, like every other woman, was not immune to his stunning looks and the charisma enveloped him like a cloak. Kim was right. She needed to get a life, she thought with exasperation, before forcing her attention back to the operation. And she needed to concentrate. Regardless of how Pierre viewed her as a woman, above all else she wanted him to think highly of her as a clinician.
The operations went well and Julie was surprised when she looked up at the clock on the theatre wall to find it was long past five o’clock. She had to admit that, despite his film-star good looks, Pierre was a highly skilled surgeon. Every stroke of the scalpel was sure and confident and, unlike some of the surgeons Julie had worked with, he never seemed impatient when staff were slow to respond to his instructions.
Before they’d started, Pierre had asked for a CD of Rachmaninov’s third piano concerto to be played. Of course he wasn’t to know the twentieth-century Russian composer was one of Julie’s favourites. As he’d operated, he’d patiently explained to Julie every step of what he was doing. Even when she had fumbled a little with the retractors, he had smiled and simply corrected the movement of her hands. As Theatre progressed, Julie found herself anticipating what he wanted her to do before he asked her. It Theatre at least it seemed as if they were in synch.
When it was Shona’s turn to be wheeled into Theatre, Pierre replaced the Rachmaninov CD with a favourite of the little girl’s. Shona recognised the music straight away and immediately relaxed, chatting with the theatre staff about her favourite bands. Even when the young girl succumbed to the anaesthetic, Pierre insisted that they leave Shona’s music playing. His thoughtfulness impressed her. Maybe there was more to Pierre Favatier than met the eye.

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