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Doctor And Son
Maggie Kingsley


A previous affair ended badly, but it left Annie with her beloved son. Now Jamie is old enough for day care, and Annie is going back to work – in the gynaecology department of Belfield Infirmary.As a single mom and a junior doctor, Annie has enough to worry about. Having to keep her son a secret at work makes it worse. But she'd be coping just fine if not for the interested, interfering, irresistible Gideon Caldwell. Annie has to work with him, but she can't seem to get him out of her private life…or even out of her head!









What in the world was happening to him? Gideon wondered


Just four weeks ago his life had been ordered, settled. He’d had his work, his career, and that was all he’d wanted, and then a golden-haired girl with large blue eyes had cannoned into him on the hospital staircase, torn his character to shreds, and nothing had been the same.

Because you’re falling in love with her, a little voice whispered at the back of his mind. He crushed the voice down quickly. It wasn’t true—couldn’t be true. He liked his life the way it was. No emotional entanglements, no potential for heartache, and yet…

She was blowing on Jamie’s chips to cool them, and all he could think was how wonderful it would be to turn her head, to capture those lips with his own and taste them.

Sex, he told himself firmly. These thoughts—these feelings—they don’t mean anything except that your hormones have kicked into life.

But it wasn’t just sex, he realized with dismay when Annie laughed at something Jamie had said, then turned to share the joke. Yes, he wanted to hold her, to touch her, but he also knew that he never wanted to let her go.


Dear Reader (#u22337ca9-cbb9-5fb2-804f-64e0d55aa8f6),

I’ve been thinking of writing a book set in Obstetrics and Gynecology for quite a while, but it wasn’t until I’d created the Belfield Infirmary that it all fell into place. The character of Annie came first. I wanted her to be a single mom with a four-year-old son who returns to work not just because she loves being a doctor but because she needs to support herself. She’d be strong, independent and not looking for love, but often it’s when we’re not looking for love that we’re most likely to find it. What kind of man could get through Annie’s defenses, make her realize that she could trust again, love again? He was going to have to be somebody pretty special.

I think Annie found him.

And if you enjoy this story, look out for the second in the series—The Surgeon’s Marriage.

Regards,

Maggie Kingsley




Doctor and Son

Maggie Kingsley







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




CONTENTS


Cover (#u9e75755e-da13-5db8-b8b4-d88b558410f7)

Dear Reader (#u7d90c605-7159-5746-abf5-fcf71eec37dd)

Title Page (#ue4c89e80-6f8b-5d01-84ff-d2f2d64f1224)

CHAPTER ONE (#u1004a885-1dae-5aa5-b3c5-c6bdfa317164)

CHAPTER TWO (#uece80e5a-d9ea-5a4e-9b8c-4df6c3570714)

CHAPTER THREE (#u794b9e84-9126-5ce5-9cff-54d29595b0a7)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u22337ca9-cbb9-5fb2-804f-64e0d55aa8f6)


ANNIE was going to be late. Very late.

‘Take the lift to the fifth floor,’ the porter had said. ‘Turn right when you get out, then left, then right again, and Obs and Gynae is through the double doors at the end of the corridor.’

It had sounded so easy—so simple—and it probably would have been if the Belfield Infirmary’s ancient elevator buttons had been working properly, and if what they’d proclaimed to be the fifth floor hadn’t, in fact, turned out to be the third.

I am not going to cry, Annie told herself as she hurried down yet another of the Belfield’s rambling Victorian corridors in a desperate search for the stairs. Grown-up women of twenty-eight didn’t cry. Jamie hadn’t cried this morning when she’d left him at the day-care centre, and he was only four.

‘You will remember to come back for me, Mummy?’ was all he’d said, his blue eyes huge in his little face, his small nose reddened by the cold January wind. ‘You won’t forget?’

And she’d been the one who’d got all choked up, and now she was on the verge of tears all over again because she was late. Late for the first job she’d had since Jamie was born, and if she messed it up she was never going to get another one.

‘It’s full time, you know, Dr Hart,’ the head of administration at the Belfield Infirmary had said, gazing at her uncertainly. ‘And your shifts won’t always be eight until four. There may be some night work, some afternoon shifts…Look, I guess what I’m trying to say is, you have a young child. Are you sure you’re up to it?’

And Annie had said of course she was up to it—had even gone out and bought two of the most modern medical manuals to make doubly sure she was up to it—and now everything had gone wrong, and she hadn’t even started.

‘Whoa, there, where’s the fire?’ a deep male voice protested as she raced out of the door marked STAIRS and cannoned straight into him.

‘I’m sorry—so sorry,’ she gasped, temporarily winded. ‘But I should have been in Obstetrics and Gynaecology ten minutes ago, and—’

‘Hey, calm down,’ the man interrupted, amusement plain in his voice. ‘So you’re late. It’s hardly a hanging offence, is it?’

Which was all very well for him to say, she decided, prising her nose out of his rough tweed jacket and looking up. Nothing and no one would ever frighten this man. He was big—seriously big. OK, so at five feet six she wasn’t exactly a giant herself, but this man had to be six feet five at least.

‘Please—you’ll have to excuse me,’ she exclaimed, trying to sidestep him without success, ‘but it’s my first day on the ward, and I’m supposed to report to a Dr Dunwoody—’

‘You work in Obs and Gynae?’ he interrupted, his forehead pleating into a sudden frown.

‘As from today I do.’ She nodded. ‘I’m the department’s new junior doctor.’

‘Oh, I see.’ His frown cleared. ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about Woody. She might seem a bit brusque on the surface, but underneath she’s a real pussy cat.’

Yeah, right, Annie thought with a sinking heart. In her experience people described as pussy cats invariably turned out to be tigers, and people with nicknames always did. The last specialist registrar she’d worked under had been a classic. Jet-black hair pulled back into a tight bun and a tongue which could blister paint. And Dr Dunwoody sounded exactly the same. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

‘Look, you’ve obviously got yourself in a bit of a state so why don’t I show you the way?’ the man continued, as though he’d read her mind.

‘No, really—there’s no need,’ she protested. ‘Now I’ve found the stairs—’

‘It’s no trouble,’ he insisted. ‘As it happens, I’m going that way myself.’

Probably to visit his wife, she decided as he began taking the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t wearing any hospital identification badge, but he was wearing a wedding ring, so he’d probably come in to visit his wife before he started work. He looked like the kind of man who’d do something like that. A nice man. A kind man. The sort of man you could trust.

Oh, really? her mind whispered as she hurried to catch up with him. And since when did you get to be such an expert on men? You couldn’t tell a louse from a knight in shining armour four years ago so what makes you think you’re any better at it now?

Because a louse would never wear such an ancient tweed jacket, or a shirt with a button missing, she argued back. He’d wear something to impress, and this man clearly didn’t want—or feel the need—to impress anyone.

‘It’s very kind of you to help me,’ she said.

He threw her a smile. ‘Nonsense. The Belfield’s a regular rabbits’ warren, and I’d hate to think of you wandering around it for days.’

She would have done, too, she realised as she followed him through yet another door and up more stairs. The hospital she’d trained in had been brand-new, with colour-coded directions to the various departments, but the Belfield…

‘Where did you do your training?’ the man asked, mirroring her thoughts yet again with uncanny accuracy.

‘At the Manchester Infirmary, but this is my first post since I came back to Glasgow four years ago. That’s why I’m a bit nervous. Four years is a long time to be out of medicine, you see, and I’m just hoping I can cope, and…’

Why am I telling him this? she wondered, biting off the rest of what she’d been about to say. She’d made it her business ever since she’d come home not to make friends, not to let anyone get too close, and yet just because this big man was smiling down at her she was telling him things about herself. Things he had no right—or need—to know.

‘Are we almost there?’ she said quickly. ‘Only—’

‘You’re late. So you keep saying.’ He pushed open the door beside him and stood back. ‘There you go. Obstetrics and Gynaecology.’

It was, too, and she held out her hand with relief. ‘Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.’

‘Hey, rescuing damsels in distress is my speciality.’ He grinned, and when her own lips curved in response he nodded approvingly. ‘That’s better. Now you don’t look quite so much like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car.’

‘It’s how I feel this morning, believe me,’ she admitted, but when she tried to extricate her hand he held onto it, his face suddenly concerned.

‘Look, if you have any problems with your work—want to talk to somebody about it—I’m a very good listener.’

He looked as though he would be. Not a handsome man. No way was he a handsome man. Late thirties, she guessed, with a shock of ordinary brown hair and a pair of equally unremarkable brown eyes, but he had a nice face, and an even nicer smile.

‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ she said.

‘I mean it,’ he insisted. ‘Starting a new job—it’s often very stressful—and if you’re worried about people overhearing us, there’s lots of restaurants and pubs near the hospital where we could go and be quite private.’

Where we could be private.

A wave of disappointment coursed through her as she stared up at him. Nick had known lots of private places, too. He’d taken her to quite a few before he’d finally told her he was married but was getting a divorce. And she’d believed him. Believed every word. Well, she might have been a sap four years ago, but she wasn’t a sap any more.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said coldly, pulling her hand free.

‘It would be no trouble,’ the man declared. ‘In fact, I’d be only too happy to help.’

Nick had said that, too, she remembered, her disappointment giving way to anger.

What was it with married men nowadays? Even this man she’d thought nice, kind. Just because she’d been grateful for his help he’d seen it as an invitation to something else. A quiet lunch for two in some out-of-the-way restaurant. A quiet lunch he undoubtedly hoped would lead to something a whole lot more interesting.

Well, he could go take a running jump. Him with his frank, open face, tatty tweed jacket and shirt with one button missing. He could go take a running jump, preferably right off the top of the Kingston Bridge.

‘Won’t you be too busy, taking care of your wife?’ she snapped.

That rattled him. She could see it from the way his jaw dropped.

‘My wife?’

‘Yes, your wife. Remember her—the poor woman you promised to love and to cherish? Well, I suggest you go practice your listening skills on her, mister, because this girl’s not buying.’

And before he could reply she’d pushed past him and walked through the doors marked OBSTETRICS AND GYNAECOLOGY, deliberately letting them bang shut behind her.

The nerve of the man—the sheer, unmitigated nerve. At least Nick had been smart enough to remove his wedding ring so she hadn’t known he was married before she’d fallen in love with him, but this man…He wasn’t simply a louse, he was stupid as well.

‘Can I help you at all?’

A plump, red-headed girl wearing a sister’s uniform was gazing at her curiously, and Annie managed to dredge up a smile. ‘I’m Annie Hart—’

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ the girl exclaimed. ‘Woody’s been spitting nails, thinking you weren’t going to show up.’

‘It was the lift buttons. They said I’d reached the fifth floor—’

‘Never mind about that now,’ the girl interrupted. ‘Just stow your gear in the staffroom and get yourself onto the ward fast. Tom and Helen are due any minute, and if Gideon arrives, too, the fat really will be in the fire. Not that he’s an ogre or anything, but he’s a stickler about ward rounds and we’re way behind already.’

‘But—’

‘I’m Liz, by the way,’ the girl added with a harassed smile. ‘Sister Liz Baker. Welcome aboard.’

And I’m all at sea, Annie thought as the girl shot off down the corridor.

Tom—Helen—Gideon? Who were these people and, more importantly, where was the staffroom? She could see a door labelled SLUICE ROOM, another marked TOILETS—

‘Dr Hart, I presume, and only twenty minutes late. I suppose I should be grateful you decided to show up at all.’

Annie’s heart sank as she saw a tall, slender woman advancing towards her. Dr Dunwoody. OK, so the hair pulled back into a tight bun was auburn instead of black, and she couldn’t have been any more than thirty-five, but those cold grey eyes, the tight, pursed lips…Yup. She’d bet her first month’s pay cheque this was Dr Dunwoody.

‘I’m sorry I’m late, Dr Dunwoody, but—’

‘Spare me the excuses, Dr Hart. All I’m interested in now you’ve finally got here is whether you actually know anything about medicine.’

This was a pussy cat? No way was this a pussy cat. This was a full-grown tigress, and each and every one of her claws were showing.

‘Dr Dunwoody—’

‘The staffroom is over there. Please, hang up your coat and get yourself out on the ward so we can see if you’ve been worth the wait.’

Well, hello, and welcome to Obs and Gynae, Annie thought as Dr Dunwoody strode away. It wasn’t her fault the lift buttons weren’t working properly. If she’d been told about them she would have got here earlier. Not that she suspected it would have made any difference. Something told her that even if she’d arrived at seven o’clock, clutching three medical degrees and a glowing reference from the BMA, Dr Dunwoody would still have hated her on sight.

There was only one thing she could do. Keep her head down, get on with her work, and maybe then Dr Dunwoody would revise her opinion of her.

It was easier said than done. By lunchtime she had a pounding headache. By mid-afternoon she felt like she’d been hit by a truck, and it wasn’t the actual medicine that was the problem.

‘I just feel so stupid all the time,’ she told Liz Baker when they hastily grabbed a coffee in the small staffroom. ‘Not knowing any of the patients—what they’re in for. Dammit, I didn’t even know where the blood-pressure gauges were kept until you told me.’

‘Why should you?’ Liz exclaimed, munching on a chocolate biscuit with relish. ‘You’ve only just arrived, so you can hardly be expected to immediately know everything.’

‘Dr Dunwoody thinks I should.’ Annie sighed. ‘Dr Dunwoody thinks I’m a dork.’

‘No, she doesn’t. I saw the way her eyebrows shot up when you got that catheter into Mrs Ferguson in fifteen seconds flat.’

‘Then why does she keep watching me?’ Annie protested. ‘Like she’s expecting me to suddenly run amok with a kidney dish or something.’

‘It’s because you’re a junior doctor. Look, no offence meant,’ Liz continued as Annie gazed at her in surprise, ‘but we’ve had some real corkers in the past. Junior doctors who thought it beneath their dignity to fetch a patient a glass of water. Junior female doctors who were more interested in chatting up the hospital talent than examining any patients.’

I’ve no intention of doing either, Annie thought grimly, only to stiffen as a familiar figure walked past the open staffroom door. It was him. Mr Mountain Man from the stairs. The big louse himself. Presumably he’d finally found time to make his duty call on his wife.

‘Something wrong?’ Liz asked curiously, seeing her sink further down into her seat.

Apart from never wanting to see that jerk again? Not a thing, Annie decided, but she didn’t say that.

‘Are there any more of those chocolate biscuits left?’ she asked instead.

‘Dozens. One of our ex-patients brought them in as a thank-you for Gideon, and he gave them to us.’

Gideon Caldwell, the ward consultant. She hadn’t met him yet. She’d met Tom who’d turned out to be Dr Brooke, Obs and Gynae’s other specialist registrar, and his wife Helen Fraser, who was the ward SHO, but she hadn’t met Mr Caldwell.

‘What’s he like—Mr Caldwell?’ she asked.

‘Lovely. Great to work for, and a terrific surgeon. Normally you’d have met him when he was doing his morning rounds, but an ectopic was brought into A and E so he’s been in Theatre all morning.’

Lovely? Well, she wasn’t interested in ‘lovely’, but ‘great to work for’ sounded encouraging. And she desperately needed some encouraging information after spending the better part of the day running around like a headless chicken.

Helen Fraser looked as though she could do with some upbeat news, too, judging by her harassed expression as she appeared at the staffroom door.

‘No, don’t get up,’ she insisted when Annie scrambled hastily to her feet. ‘I just wondered if either of you knew where Sylvia Renton’s blood results were. I was positive I’d put them back in her file but they’re not there any more.’

‘Dr Brooke’s got them, Dr Fraser,’ Liz replied. ‘He said he wasn’t happy about her haemoglobin level.’

‘I’m not happy about it either, which is why I wanted to check it again,’ Helen said with exasperation, then smiled ruefully across at Annie. ‘Men, eh? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.’

I sure plan to, Annie thought, but managed an answering smile.

‘Helen and Tom love each other to bits, really.’ Liz chuckled when the SHO had gone. ‘It’s just sometimes Tom thinks he’s the only doctor on the ward.’

‘How long have they been married?’ Annie asked, carrying her coffee cup across to the small sink.

‘Ten years. They met at the Belfield when they were both junior doctors, and have the cutest eight-year-old twins you could ever hope to meet, John and Emma.’

Jamie was cute, too, Annie thought as she followed Liz out of the staffroom. At least usually he was, but today was the first day they’d been apart since he’d been born. Please, oh, please, let him be enjoying himself, she prayed. Please, let him not be missing me. If he’s unhappy and miserable, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have to work. We need the money.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ she asked, suddenly realising that Liz was gazing at her expectantly.

‘Only that I was offering you the choice of the century,’ the girl replied, her lips twitching. ‘Do you want me to assist when you examine Mrs Douglas, or would you prefer me to assist while you examine Mrs Gill?’

Annie stared at her suspiciously. ‘I know Mrs Douglas is suffering from acute constipation after her hysterectomy. What’s wrong with Mrs Gill?’

‘Would you believe acute constipation, too?’ Liz chuckled, and Annie laughed.

‘Great choice. Actually, that reminds me of something that happened at my last hospital…’

She came to a halt. Mr Mountain Man was talking to Tom Brooke at the top of the ward. Nothing unusual about that, of course. Patients’ relatives often wanted a quiet word with the specialist registrar, but it was the way Mr Mountain Man was talking to Dr Brooke. Or rather the way Tom was listening to him. Intently, deeply, almost…almost reverentially.

An awful thought crept into Annie’s mind. A thought which was crazy—insane—but…

‘Liz. That man talking to Dr Brooke. Who is he?’

The sister turned in the direction of her gaze and smiled. ‘That’s Gideon Caldwell. Our consultant.’

The man she’d met on the stairs was Obs and Gynae’s consultant? Oh, heavens.

‘Liz, Mr Caldwell’s wife—she…’ Annie swallowed convulsively. ‘She wouldn’t happen to be a patient on the ward, would she?’

‘Good heavens, no. Gideon’s a widower—has been for five years. Actually, it was terribly tragic. She died of ovarian cancer two years after they were married.’

Not married, but a widower. And not just a widower, but a widower whose wife had tragically died of ovarian cancer. Oh, hell.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ Liz continued, her plump face suddenly concerned. ‘You’ve gone a really funny colour.’

Was it any wonder? Annie thought wretchedly. What must he think of her? At best that she was neurotic. At worst…She didn’t even want to think about the worst.

Maybe he wouldn’t recognise her. Maybe she’d look so different in her white coat that he wouldn’t recognise her.

But he did. As he began walking down the ward, she saw him pause in mid-stride and then keep on coming. And, to her horror, Dr Dunwoody joined him.

‘Annie, what’s wrong?’ Liz asked, looking even more worried. ‘You’re not going to faint, are you? Look, maybe you should sit down in the staffroom…’

The staffroom sounded good. The store cupboard sounded even better. Preferably for the next three months.

Oh, get a grip, Annie. You can hardly spend the next three months hiding in the store cupboard whenever Gideon Caldwell does his rounds. No, but she could hide in there today, and by tomorrow—OK, so it was a very long shot—by tomorrow he might have calmed down.

‘I think you’re right, Liz,’ she said, beginning to back her way up the ward. ‘I think I might just sit down for a couple of minutes.’

‘OK, but—Annie, be careful.’

‘It’s probably just something I ate…’

‘No, I mean—Annie, watch out!’

Too late Annie saw what the sister had been trying to tell her—that the afternoon tea trolley was right behind her. Too late she felt her hip catch it and whirled round quickly, but the damage was done. The trolley toppled over, sending its cups and saucers tumbling to the floor with a resounding crash.

For a second she stared in horror at the devastation she’d created, then turned to find Dr Dunwoody glaring at her furiously, Liz looking dumbfounded and Gideon Caldwell…Was he trying very hard not to laugh? It looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh.

And suddenly it was all too much. The whole awful, rotten day was too much, and to her utter mortification she burst into tears.

‘I’m sorry—so sorry,’ she sobbed, scrabbling wildly in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘I’ll get a brush and pan—clean it up…’

She didn’t get a chance to. Before she could move a firm hand had grasped her by the elbow and Gideon Caldwell was propelling her out of the ward and down the corridor.

‘Sir, I have to clean it up,’ she protested as he steered her into his consulting room and towards a chair. ‘I can’t just leave—’

‘One of the cleaners will do it.’

‘But it was my fault,’ she said, dashing a hand across her wet cheeks. ‘I should—’

‘Tea or coffee?’ he asked, opening a cupboard and pulling out two mugs.

‘Neither—I can’t. Dr Dunwoody—’

‘Tea or coffee—black or white—with sugar or without?’

He clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He equally clearly wasn’t used to being refused. ‘Coffee, please,’ she said miserably. ‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Good,’ he said with a nod, switching on the kettle. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

Or merely postponing the inevitable, she thought, miserably blowing her nose. The moment when he told her his ward couldn’t afford a clumsy idiot like her. The moment when he fired her. And she couldn’t afford to be fired. Simply couldn’t.

‘Please, I know I should have been watching where I was going—but, please, won’t you give me another chance? I’m not normally so clumsy, and I don’t make a habit of bursting into tears—’

‘I know you don’t,’ he interrupted, spooning some coffee into the mugs. ‘The woman I met on the stairs didn’t strike me as a wimp. A little strange, perhaps, but certainly not a wimp.’

Oh, cripes, he was bypassing that nightmare on the ward and going straight to her even bigger disaster on the stairs. ‘Mr Caldwell—’

‘The name’s Gideon. I’m only Mr Caldwell in front of patients.’

She would have preferred to call him Mr Caldwell. After what she’d said to him earlier, she’d infinitely have preferred to call him Mr Caldwell.

‘What I said to you on the stairs…’ she said, opting out of calling him anything at all. ‘I can only apologise. I made a mistake—’

‘You thought I was hitting on you, didn’t you?’ he observed. ‘You saw my wedding ring, decided my offer to help was actually a thinly disguised invitation to a future affair, and that’s why you chewed my head off.’

Lord, but it sounded dreadful when he put it like that, but she couldn’t deny it, much as she longed to.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What interests me more is why you should jump to that conclusion,’ he said, holding out a mug of coffee to her, then sitting down. ‘I’ve been racking my brains off and on all day but I can’t for the life of me remember saying anything which might have suggested I was some sort of sexual predator.’

Scarlet colour darkened her cheeks. ‘You didn’t—truly, you didn’t. It was me. I was stupid—overreacted.’

Yes, but why? he wanted to ask. OK, so she was a very pretty girl, but surely married men weren’t constantly harassing her?

Or maybe it wasn’t married men, he suddenly thought. Maybe it was one particular married man who had put those dark shadows under her eyes, made her so thin and pale. To his surprise, the thought angered him. A lot.

Well, of course it did, he told himself. He was the head of a very busy department and if a member of his staff was having problems it was up to him to investigate before the problem affected their work. And it didn’t make a blind bit of difference if the member of staff in question possessed a pair of the largest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and short curly hair the colour of sunripened corn. It didn’t.

‘And I know I shouldn’t have said what I did, but if you could just give me another chance.’

The blue eyes were fixed on him, unhappy, pleading, and he gazed at her blankly. What on earth was she talking about? What second chance? And then the penny dropped.

‘Good grief, Annie, I’m not going to fire you.’

‘You’re not?’ she said faintly, and he shook his head.

‘For one thing, Woody says you’re an excellent doctor.’

‘She does?’

‘Mind you, that was before the tea trolley went west so she’s probably revised her opinion by now.’ He’d hoped for a chuckle. He’d hoped at the very least for a small smile, but she simply gazed at him miserably, and he frowned. ‘Annie, I clearly said something to you earlier that deeply upset you, and I do wish you’d tell me what it was.’

What could she say? That it wasn’t what he’d said, but the fact that she’d thought he was married that had made her so angry? He wanted her to explain, and she didn’t want to explain. Her private life was just that. Private.

‘I’m sorry I was so rude to you, and I’m sorry about the tea trolley,’ she muttered. ‘I promise it won’t happen again.’

‘Annie—’

‘Can I go now, please?’

He stared at her in frustration. He couldn’t force her to stay and drink her coffee. Couldn’t hold her hostage until she told him what—or who—had caused those deep shadows under her deep blue eyes. With a sigh, he nodded.

‘Just remember I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to,’ he called after her as she hurried out of his consulting room. ‘No strings—no hidden agenda.’

She didn’t answer him—couldn’t. He’d been a lot kinder to her than she deserved, but she didn’t want him to be kind. She didn’t want him to see her at all. She wanted anonymity. Anonymity was safe. Being noticed wasn’t. She had her son, and now this job. She didn’t want anything or anyone else in her life.

‘Did he fire you?’ Liz asked as soon as she saw her. ‘I didn’t think he would,’ she continued with relief when Annie shook her head. ‘It was an accident, and accidents can happen to anyone, can’t they?’

To me more than most, Annie thought ruefully, then remembered. ‘What did Dr Dunwoody say?’

Liz’s eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘As bad as that?’

‘Just be grateful your shift’s over.’

Annie glanced at the ward clock. Liz was right. It was almost a quarter past four. She had to go. David had offered to collect Jamie from the day-care centre and to look after him until she got home, but the last thing her brother needed was a small boy under his feet. Especially if that small boy was being difficult because he’d had a rotten day.

He hadn’t. In fact, she could scarcely get a word in edgewise while Jamie excitedly told her about the toys he’d played with, the Viking longship he’d made from egg boxes and the lunch he’d enjoyed.

‘I said you were worrying needlessly, didn’t I?’ David grinned when she finally managed to get Jamie into bed.

‘I’m his mother,’ she protested. ‘Worrying goes with the territory.’

‘I’m his uncle, and I say you worry too much.’

She did—she knew she did—just as she also knew she would never change.

‘How was your day?’ she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

‘I didn’t get the promotion.’

‘Oh, David…’

‘To be honest, I never really expected to. Admin and I have never really seen eye to eye, so…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal, Annie.’

But it was. Her brother was a gifted obs and gynae specialist registrar, and if anyone deserved being made consultant at the Merkland Memorial it was him. He’d been so good to her, too. Bringing her back to Glasgow when she’d told him she was pregnant, insisting she stay with him after Jamie was born, and it hadn’t been his idea for her to move out and get a place of her own.

‘I can’t—and I won’t—live off you, David,’ she’d told him when he’d protested at her decision—and had protested even more when he’d seen the flat. ‘It’s time I was independent.’

He’d agreed eventually, had even paid her first month’s rent, and now he hadn’t got the promotion he deserved because the administration at the Merkland didn’t like his innovative ideas.

‘David, couldn’t you—?’

‘You haven’t told me how you got on at the Belfield.’

Who was changing the subject now? she thought, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about his own problems so obediently she told him. Told him every single, humiliating incident, and by the end, to her surprise, she was laughing about it as much as he was.

‘Honestly, love, when you mess things up, you really go for it,’ he exclaimed, wiping the laughter from his eyes. ‘This Gideon bloke sounds all right, though. How old is he—fifty—sixty—nearing retirement?’

‘Late thirties, I’d guess, but I don’t see—’

‘Good-looking—pot ugly? Look, just answer the question, OK?’ David continued when she looked even more confused.

‘Ordinary-looking, I guess, but tall—very tall—with brown hair. Well, it’s more sort of beech nut brown, really,’ she amended, ‘with little flecks of grey at the sides. His eyes are brown, too. A kind of hazel brown—’

‘Not that you noticed, of course.’

Her brother’s eyes were dancing, and she gave him a very hard stare. ‘David…’

‘Pretty junior doctor Annie Hart arrives for her first day at work and falls headlong into the arms of tall, ordinary—but apparently not all that ordinary—consultant Gideon Caldwell. Their eyes meet across a bedpan—’

‘And he hits her with it because she’s the ward dork,’ she finished dryly. ‘David, Mr Caldwell would never be interested in me in a million years. And even if he was, I certainly wouldn’t be interested in him.’

‘Annie, not all obs and gynae consultants are rats,’ her brother protested, ‘and giving up on men because of what happened to you in Manchester is crazy. You’re only twenty-eight. That’s way too young to have stopped dating.’

‘You date enough for both of us,’ she said with a laugh, then quickly put her hand up to her brother’s lips to silence him. ‘David, you’re my big brother, and I love you dearly, but I’ve got my son, and you, and now I’ve got a job. I don’t need anything else.’

And she didn’t, she thought when David went home still muttering under his breath.

She’d vowed four years ago never to let another man into her life. Never to let anyone get close enough to hurt her the way Nick had, and she’d meant it. She’d loved him so much. Believed him when he’d said he loved her. Trusted him when he’d said he was getting a divorce. And then he’d walked away, leaving her with nothing.

No, not with nothing, she thought wryly, picking up one of Jamie’s toys. Jamie had been the accidental result of one of their nights of love-making, and despite everything she could never regret him.

Yes, the last four years had been tough, but things were starting to look up. Gideon Caldwell could have fired her today, and he hadn’t. Jamie could have hated the day-care centre, and he’d loved it. It was going to be all right. If she could just hold onto this job, everything might finally be all right.




CHAPTER TWO (#u22337ca9-cbb9-5fb2-804f-64e0d55aa8f6)


‘DON’T want to go to the day centre. Want to stay home with Mummy.’

Annie glanced at the kitchen clock then back to her son’s truculent face with a groan. She didn’t need this, not today. Not when Gideon had asked her to sit in on his morning clinic for the very first time.

‘I thought you liked the centre. You said the toys were terrific—’

‘Don’t want to go. Don’t like it there any more.’

Annie put his cereal bowl in the sink, her brain working overtime.

‘I could collect you early today,’ she suggested. ‘I should be finished at the hospital around two o’clock, and after I’ve done some quick shopping—’ frantic, more like ‘—I could collect you at three.’

Jamie didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked even more truculent. ‘I’ve got a sore tummy.’

‘I’m not surprised considering how fast you ate your breakfast.’

‘I mean a really sore tummy. And a sore head.’

She stared at him uncertainly. He’d been perfectly fine when he’d got up this morning, and he looked perfectly fine now, but…

‘Wait here while Mummy gets her thermometer,’ she ordered.

‘Don’t want the termoneter,’ Jamie yelled after her. ‘Want to stay home.’

And I’m the worst mother in the world, Annie thought when she’d taken his temperature and found it to be normal. It was obvious what was happening. The novelty of going to the centre had worn off and this was Jamie’s way of telling her he felt abandoned, but what could she do? She had to work to keep a roof over their heads. She couldn’t keep on relying on David for the rest of her life.

‘Sweetheart, Mummy has to work—you know she does.’

‘You never did when we stayed with Uncle David,’ Jamie argued, his face beginning to crumple.

‘Look, if you’re a good boy and go to the centre, I’ll buy you that pudding you like for tea,’ she said swiftly. ‘The one with the chocolate bits in it?’

And now I’m bribing him, she thought, seeing Jamie’s face miraculously clear. Bribing my own son. But I don’t have time for this. Dr Dunwoody is only just speaking to me after the tea trolley disaster on Monday, and if I’m late…

‘Can I have chips for my tea, too?’ Jamie asked as she helped him on with his coat. ‘And beans—can I have beans with my chips?’

Beans and chips, and chocolate pudding. The hospital nutritionist would faint clean away at the sound of that diet, but if she said no she’d never get Jamie to the centre.

‘OK, but only for today as a special treat,’ she replied, salving her conscience. ‘Now, remember—’

‘Not to sing or shout going down the stairs, ’cos Mrs Patterson will come out wearing her grumpy face.’

Annie’s heart constricted as she stared down at her son. He was only four. He should be able to run and play whenever he wanted, but their landlady had made her feelings only too plain when they’d moved into the flat above hers.

‘It was bad enough when I rented the place to those university students,’ she’d sniffed. ‘Playing their stereos at all hours of the day and night, never shutting a door when they could bang it, but I refuse to have my eardrums blasted by a screaming child. No offence meant, Ms Hart, but I’ve always been a firm believer in speaking my mind.’

And speak it she had. Constantly.

But at least not today. For once Annie managed to tiptoe down the stairs and past Mrs Patterson’s door without having to endure her usual catalogue of complaints. She’d undoubtedly have to hear them when she arrived home this afternoon, but at least she’d missed them this morning. Now all she had to do was to get Jamie to the centre, and herself to the hospital on time.

A task she had about as much hope of achieving as flying, she realised, glancing down at her watch with a groan.

‘Where have you been?’ Liz exclaimed when Annie flew into the staffroom at ten past eight. ‘I’ve been stalling for you as long as I could but—’

‘Is Woody blowing a fuse?’ Annie interrupted, throwing her coat over one of the staffroom chairs.

‘Luckily for you she’s been on the telephone for the past fifteen minutes, trying to discover what’s happened to the X-rays she ordered for Mrs Douglas. It’s Gideon I’ve been stalling, and by now he must think you’ve got severe bladder problems.’

‘Bladder problems?’ Annie repeated, pausing in the middle of dragging on her white coat.

‘I had to come up with something to explain your absence so I said you were in the loo. Now, for heaven’s sake, get yourself along to his consulting room fast.’

Annie needed no second bidding. She was out the door, running. Head down, heart racing, along the corridor, round the corner, and to her utter horror slap bang into Gideon yet again.

‘I’m sorry—so sorry,’ she gasped, disentangling herself from his arms as fast as she could, red-cheeked with embarrassment.

‘I’m not.’ He grinned. ‘In fact, I think I could get to quite like this. Not every day, of course—you can have too much of a good thing—but once in a while? Yup, I reckon I could live with that.’

He was joking—she knew he was—trying to make her feel better—but it didn’t help.

Why did this have to keep on happening to her? She never used to be so inefficient. She never used to be so clumsy, and yet in less than a week at the Belfield she’d been late twice, trashed the contents of a tea trolley and now cannoned into her boss for the second time.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said unhappily. ‘I know I’m late again.’

‘I wondered about that. Liz kept telling me you were in the toilet, and I was beginning to think you might need to see me in a professional capacity.’

He was smiling but, try as she may she couldn’t smile back. ‘Please, don’t blame Sister Baker—she was only trying to help. I had…There were problems at home.’

All amusement instantly disappeared from his face. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

Just my son realising that when I leave him I’m going to be gone for hours. Just the question of what am I going to do tomorrow, or the day after, if the same thing happens again.

Tell him, her mind whispered, he’ll understand.

But what if he didn’t? The male doctors at the Manchester Infirmary had been anything but sympathetic when a female doctor was late, or distracted, because of family problems.

‘Unreliable’ had been one of their favourite comments. ‘Not sufficiently committed’ had been another. And always the implication had been the same. That it was a mistake to employ a female doctor with a young child.

‘No, it was nothing serious,’ she said. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘But—’

‘Do I have time to look at the files of some of the patients you’ll be seeing this morning?’

He knew she was changing the subject. He also looked as though he’d very much like to press her on why she’d been late, but abruptly he turned on his heel and led the way into his consulting room.

‘Take your pick.’

She stared at his desk. Her pick? Good grief, there had to be at least fifty—if not more—files sitting there.

‘How long did you say this clinic was supposed to last?’ she asked involuntarily, only to colour when she suddenly realised how that might sound. ‘Not that it matters, of course. I mean, that’s what I’m here for—to learn, to assist. And I know we don’t work nine to five, and—’

‘Annie, I wasn’t about to whip out a placard with the words “Poor attitude—lack of commitment” written on it,’ he snapped. ‘So relax, OK?’

The colour on her cheeks darkened. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Half of those files belong to patients we’ll be seeing today. The other half belong to patients I’ll be seeing on Monday, and I’m taking them home with me for a quick read-through at the weekend.’

‘Oh, right.’ She nodded. ‘Sorry.’

And I wish to heaven you’d stop apologising to me, Gideon thought, selecting the top file from the pile on his desk and handing it to her. The woman he’d met on the stairs might have got his intentions all wrong but at least she’d had some spunk about her. Lord, but she’d been angry that day, her blue eyes flashing, contempt plain on her face, but he’d liked her. He still did, but not when she behaved like some stressed-out, scared rabbit.

She’d said there’d been trouble at home. Could she be looking after an infirm or elderly relative—was that why she’d been late this morning? Her file might tell him but to get it he’d have to ask Admin, and he knew only too well what the gossiping girls who worked there would make of such a request.

‘Mr Caldwell’s interested in Annie Hart,’ they’d snigger, and they’d be right.

But not in the silly, lovesick way they would mean. His interest was purely professional. Based solely on safeguarding the best interests of the department. And yet as he saw a small frown suddenly crease her forehead he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make her smile—really smile. Dammit, she couldn’t be any more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and yet she looked as though she carried all the cares of the world on her shoulders.

‘Annie—’

‘Miss Bannerman has fibroids?’

Well, it wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind as a topic of conversation, but if talking about their first patient would make her relax he was more than willing to go with it.

‘Carol was referred to me six months ago because of excessive menstrual pain and bleeding, and bladder problems.’

‘The bladder problems would be due to the pressure of her fibroids?’ she suggested, and he nodded.

‘Fibroids—or benign tumours of the uterine muscle to give them their correct name—are very common amongst women over thirty-five. It’s only when they start to interfere with a woman’s life—as they have done in Carol’s—that we need to do something about them.’

She handed him back the file. ‘I notice you’ve been treating her with drugs.’

‘Fibroids are caused by too much oestrogen in the body. If we can decrease the level, the fibroids usually shrink, and the pain and excessive bleeding lessens, but—’

‘The drugs can’t cure the fibroids, and as they tend to have side-effects if taken for too long, it’s not a long-term solution,’ she finished for him.

He stared at her thoughtfully. Woody had said she was bright, and she obviously was, but bright doctors didn’t necessarily make good ones. Annie could have all the book learning in the world, but if her communication skills with patients were as poor as they were with him…

He cleared his throat. ‘On Carol’s last visit I told her she really only had two options. A hysterectomy, or a laparoscopic myomectomy. She’s coming in today to discuss those options, and I’d like you to advise her.’

‘Me?’ she faltered. ‘But—’

‘As you said yourself, you’re here to learn.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I’m not going to abandon you, Annie,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll sit in—put in my pennyworth if you need it—but I think it would be a useful exercise, don’t you?’

She obviously didn’t, and he could see her point. Throwing her in at the deep end on her very first clinic was deeply unfair. It was also, as it turned out, a revelation.

The minute Carol Bannerman walked in, Annie became a different woman. Gone was the nervous, apologetic person he kept meeting, and in her place sat a calm, understanding professional. A professional who gently and simply outlined the two procedures, showing not a trace of impatience or irritation whenever Carol asked for clarification.

Which made her decision not to immediately apply for a junior doctor’s position after she’d finished med school all the more puzzling. She was bright, confident—just so long as he wasn’t around—so why had she put her career on hold for four years?

It was a mystery, and one he intended solving, but not right now. Not when it seemed that Carol had finally come to a decision.

‘I want to have the laparoscopic myomectomy,’ she declared. ‘I know Mr Caldwell said my fibroids might come back if I had that, but to have a hysterectomy…’ Tears filled Carol’s eyes and she blinked them away quickly. ‘I’m only thirty-six, Dr Hart, and my partner and I really want a baby.’

Annie glanced across at Gideon, but his face gave her no clue as to what he was thinking. Her brother always said that consultants who performed hysterectomies for fibroids were lazy surgeons, but if it was Gideon’s preferred choice…

Go for it, Annie, she told herself. He asked you to advise Carol Bannerman, and if he doesn’t like what you say, so be it.

‘I see no reason why anyone should have a perfectly healthy uterus removed just to get rid of some benign tumours,’ she said firmly.

‘Then you agree with me?’ Carol said uncertainly. ‘You think I should have a myomectomy?’

Deliberately Annie avoided Gideon’s gaze. ‘Yes, I do. There’s only one thing I should warn you about,’ she continued when Carol let out a sigh of relief. ‘If you do become pregnant after the myomectomy, you’ll almost certainly need a Caesarean section to deliver. The procedure tends to weaken the uterine wall, you see.’

‘A Caesarean sounds good to me,’ Carol observed with a shaky laugh. ‘Eliminate all that painful huff, puff and pant stuff, and just get the baby out.’

‘If it was as simple as that, every mum-to-be would opt for one.’ Annie smiled. ‘But a Caesarean’s not something to be undertaken lightly. It’s an operation—a big one—and most women take six to eight weeks to recover from it. Not a very attractive proposition if you’ve a young baby to look after.’

‘I’ll cross that bridge when—if—I ever get to it,’ Carol declared. ‘How long will I have to stay in hospital?’

‘I…um…’ Annie glanced across at Gideon in mute appeal and he leant forward in his seat.

‘A couple of days at most, and if everything goes to plan you should be back at work within a fortnight. It’s not a difficult procedure,’ he continued when Carol looked surprised.

But was it what he would have recommended? Annie wondered as he made a note in his appointment book. Surely it must be, or wouldn’t he have contradicted her advice?

But he didn’t say anything—not even after Carol had gone. To be fair, there wasn’t really the time—not with a waiting room full of anxious, nervous women—but she thought he might have said something. Even if it had only been, ‘Annie Hart, you’re an idiot.’

‘So what did you think of your first clinic?’ was all he said when the last of their patients had finally gone.

‘I enjoyed it,’ she replied. ‘Especially meeting your IVF patient—Mrs Norton. She was so thrilled to be pregnant.’

‘I’m surprised she wasn’t a little smug.’

‘Smug?’ she repeated in confusion.

‘I wanted her to stop when her third IVF treatment failed. It’s so emotionally devastating, you see, when the procedure doesn’t work, but Jennifer was determined to give it one last try, and as it turns out she was right and I was wrong.’

He’d given her the opening she needed, and she took it. ‘Carol Bannerman—the lady with fibroids. I was right, wasn’t I, to suggest she opt for a myomectomy?’

His eyebrows rose. ‘I think the more important question here is, do you think you were right?’

‘But—’

‘But me no buts, Annie. Do you think you advised the best possible course of treatment for her?’

Quickly she mentally reviewed Carol Bannerman’s case notes, then took a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

For what seemed like an eternity he said nothing, then his lips curved. ‘So do I.’

‘Then why didn’t you say so?’ she protested, letting out the breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. ‘I’ve been sweating buckets all morning—’

‘I noticed.’

‘Why, you…you rat!’ The words were out before she could stop them, and she flushed scarlet. ‘I’m so sorry—’

‘Please—oh, please, don’t apologise,’ he exclaimed, his face creasing into a broad smile. ‘You’re absolutely right. It was a rotten thing to do, but I was curious to see how long it would take you to crack and say something to me other than “Sorry”.’

‘Your entire clinic apparently,’ she said ruefully, and his smile widened.

‘That’s better. That’s what I’ve been wanting to see—some lightness about you, some humour.’

She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t realise I was so grim.’

His brown eyes caught and held hers. ‘Not grim. Just tense, and nervous, and there’s no need for you to be. I’m not an ogre, you know.’

No, he wasn’t, she thought as she gazed up at him and felt her own lips curving in response to the smile on his. He was nice, and understanding, and…

This is a mistake, her mind warned. A big, big mistake. You’re starting to like him. Not as your boss, but as a man, and remember what happened the last time you liked your boss—the heartache it caused, the devastation when he walked away. Do you want that again?

‘Annie—’

‘Good grief, is it a quarter to two already?’ she exclaimed, catching sight of the clock on the wall behind him. ‘I have to go.’

‘But I was hoping we might have lunch together in the canteen,’ he protested. ‘I know you’re supposed to go off duty today at one o’clock, but you can’t call me a rat and then not give me the opportunity to prove to you that I’m actually a big soft teddy bear.’

Lunch with him in the canteen sounded appealing—far too appealing. Thank goodness she couldn’t. Thank goodness she really did have to go.

‘I’m sorry but I can’t,’ she said, quickly picking up her bag and heading for the door. ‘I have to go shopping.’

‘But, Annie—’

She’d gone, and he threw down his pen with frustration. What the hell had he said wrong now? For crying out loud, all he’d suggested was lunch in the canteen, and yet she’d shot out of his room as though he’d lit a fire under her. To go shopping.

He snorted derisively. He supposed it was marginally better than the old ‘I’m washing my hair’ routine, but why she’d needed to make up an excuse was beyond him. It wasn’t as though he’d asked her for a date, just to join him for lunch in the canteen so they could get to know one another better. And he’d thought they were beginning to do just that when—

‘Gideon, have you got any more of those cervical smear leaflets we give out to patients?’ Helen asked, popping her head round his consulting-room door. ‘There’s none left in the waiting room.’

‘If there’s none left in the waiting room, get onto Admin,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not the local stationery office.’

‘Right.’ She nodded. ‘Sorry.’

‘Hell’s bells, not you, too,’ he groaned, then shook his head when his SHO’s eyebrows rose. ‘Sorry, Helen, but right now I’ve had my fill of people apologising to me.’

‘Rough clinic?’ she said sympathetically.

‘Not the clinic. It’s…’ He struggled to find the right words, and gave up. ‘Helen, do I seem like an ogre to you?’

‘An ogre?’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘Of course you’re not an ogre. Who said—?’

‘Nobody,’ he interrupted hurriedly. Lord, but he wished he’d never started this conversation. Especially not with Helen. ‘It isn’t important. Forget it.’

‘Not on your life!’ she exclaimed, her brown eyes sparkling. ‘Come on—give. Who is she?’

‘She?’ he repeated faintly.

‘Gideon, I’ve known you for almost seven years, and you’ve never terrified a patient in your life, so it’s got to be a girl. Someone you desperately want to make a good impression on, or you wouldn’t care two hoots whether she was terrified of you or not.’

He stared at her, open-mouthed, then shook his head. ‘The processes of the female mind are wondrous to behold.’

‘I’m right, though, aren’t I?’ Helen declared. ‘Who is it? I hope it’s not that busty new nurse in Paediatrics. She’s not your type at all, and that frosty-faced receptionist in radiology would be a disaster.’

‘Helen—’

‘Which only leaves either the new nurse in A and E, or Annie Hart.’

To his dismay, hot colour began to creep across his cheeks. ‘Helen—’

‘It’s Annie, isn’t it?’ she whooped with delight. ‘Oh, Gideon, I’m so pleased. I know how much you loved Susan, but Annie’s a sweet girl, and—’

‘Helen, read my lips,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I am not—repeat not—interested in Dr Hart other than in a purely professional capacity.’

‘You’ve had a row, right?’ she commiserated. ‘Look, it’ll blow over. All you have to do is be your own sweet self, and she’ll come round.’

And I’m surrounded by lunatics, Gideon thought dazedly as Helen’s bleeper sounded and she hurried off to answer it. All I asked was whether I was an ogre and immediately my SHO’s hearing wedding bells. With Annie Hart, of all people. OK, so she’s a very pretty girl, and she clearly needs somebody to take care of her, but it isn’t going to be me. No way. Not ever.

But it felt good when you were holding her, didn’t it? his mind whispered. Every time she’s tumbled into your arms it’s felt right, almost as though she somehow—oddly—belonged there. And what about the feel of her slender waist beneath your fingers, the soft curve of her breasts—so high and surprisingly full—and—

He swore under his breath as his body suddenly reacted with unbridled enthusiasm to the picture his mind had just created. How long had it been since he’d been out with a woman—two, maybe three years? It had obviously been far too long, but he’d been so busy since Susan had died with all the interminable meetings that were part and parcel of his job. The clinics, the operations, the ward rounds…

Excuses, Gideon, his mind whispered as he strode out of his room, and not very good ones at that. You haven’t dated anyone since Susan died because you’re scared to get close to anyone again in case you lose them, too. It’s fear that’s kept you celibate, not work.

‘Oh, shut up,’ he muttered just as Tom Brooke came out of his room. ‘No, not you, Tom,’ he continued when the specialist registrar looked startled. ‘I’m just having a bad day, that’s all.’

‘Join the club,’ Tom sighed. ‘Are you coming down to the canteen for lunch?’

Gideon shook his head. ‘I think I might just do a quick ward round, then get off home.’

‘Good idea.’ Tom nodded. ‘You look as though you could do with some rest.’

He sure as heck needed something, Gideon decided after he’d toured the ward then made his way down to the car park. And it wasn’t Helen sticking her oar in. OK, so his long-dormant hormones seemed to have unexpectedly kicked into life, but that didn’t mean he had to act on them. It didn’t mean he was interested—in the sense of being interested—in Annie Hart.

He had a lot more important things to think about anyway, he told himself as he drove down Rottenrow, then along Richmond Road and into Duke Street. Like getting home, for a start. He should have left the hospital earlier, of course. The traffic was always murder on a Friday afternoon, and today it was even slower because of the icy roads and driving sleet.

At least he was warm and cosy in his car, he thought as he drummed his fingers absently on the steering-wheel, waiting for the van ahead of him to move. Not like the poor people out on the street. People like…

Annie. He’d have recognised her anywhere, and she hadn’t been lying about the shopping. She was lugging four obviously very heavy carrier bags up the road, and she looked wet, and cold, and miserable.

Without a second’s thought he cut in towards the pavement, ignoring the cacophony of car horns that greeted his manoeuvre, and parked beside her.

‘M-Mr Caldwell,’ she stammered as he got out of his car. ‘Is there something wrong—at the hospital—?’

‘The name’s Gideon, and nothing’s wrong at the hospital, but you look in serious need of a lift home.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I just live round the corner in Thornton Street.’

Which was a good half a mile away if he remembered rightly, and all of it uphill. He opened his passenger door. ‘Get in, Annie.’

‘No, honestly, there’s no need—’

‘Annie, I’m illegally parked on double yellow lines, so unless you want me to get a ticket from that traffic warden who’s bearing down on us, please, get in the car.’

She did so with obvious reluctance, and when they arrived in Thornton Street she even more reluctantly allowed him to carry her groceries up to her top-floor flat.

He wasn’t surprised. Given how edgy she always was in his company, he’d have been amazed if she’d welcomed his offer of help, but what did surprise him—horrified him, if he was honest—was her flat.

‘It has a lovely view of the cathedral,’ she said defensively, clearly sensing his dismay as he carried her groceries through to the tiny kitchen. ‘And it’s near to the hospital.’

Yes, but it’s the most depressing place I’ve ever seen, he wanted to reply. OK, so it was clean and tidy, and the few pieces of furniture gleamed with much polishing, but its dark green wallpaper would have given him nightmares, and as for the chipped and peeling paintwork…

‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked.

‘Two months.’

Two minutes would have been more than enough for him. ‘Annie—’

‘Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?’

Subtle she wasn’t, but he had no intention of leaving. Not yet, at any rate. Junior doctor’s salaries weren’t exactly lavish, but surely a single woman could have afforded something better than this?

‘I’ll help you unpack first,’ he said firmly. ‘And, yes, I know you don’t need any help,’ he continued when she opened her mouth, patently intending to protest, ‘but just humour me, please, hmm?’

Gideon didn’t wait for her reply. Instead, he determinedly began emptying her grocery bags, but the more packets and tins he placed on the kitchen table, the more confused he became. Spaghetti hoops, Twinkie bars, lollipops. What kind of weird diet was she on?

‘Far be it for me to criticise,’ he observed, reaching down into one of the bags to retrieve what looked like Beanie biscuits, ‘but if this is a sample of your eating habits, I think you badly need some nutritional advice.’

She opened her mouth, closed it again, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘They’re not for me. They’re…they’re for my son.’

His hand stilled. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’

‘I’m not. And I’m not divorced either,’ she continued as his eyebrows rose. ‘I’m a single parent.’

He stared at her silently. It explained so much. Answered so many questions, and yet raised a whole lot more.

‘Your son—he’s four, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but how—?’

‘It didn’t require much genius to figure it out,’ he declared as she stared at him in astonishment. ‘You took four years out between finishing med school and applying for the post at the Belfield, so…’ He shrugged. ‘Was that why you were late this morning—because of your son?’

‘It won’t happen again,’ she said quickly. ‘He didn’t want to go to the day-care centre, you see, but I promise it won’t happen again.’

‘Hell’s bells, Annie, your son is your first priority, not the bloody hospital,’ he snapped, then bit his lip when she flinched. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, but I do understand. I know the kind of pressure Helen faces with her two kids—’

‘I don’t want—or need—any allowances made for me.’

But she did, he thought. Every working mother needed help sometimes. ‘Annie—’

He came to a halt as her front doorbell rang, and when she went to answer it he stayed in the kitchen. He would have remained there, too, if the increasingly strident sound of a female voice hadn’t aroused his curiosity.

‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, emerging from the kitchen in time to see a dumpy, middle-aged woman brandishing a toy truck under Annie’s nose.

‘It’s nothing,’ Annie said quickly. ‘Please, go back in the kitchen.’

Not on your life, he thought, seeing the woman glance from him to Annie with a look he didn’t care for.

‘I’m Gideon Caldwell—a friend of Annie’s,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And you are…?’

The woman didn’t unbend an inch. In fact, she bristled even more.

‘Mrs Patterson, the landlady, and as I’ve just been telling Ms Hart, this is the fourth time I’ve found this toy lying outside my door.’

‘And you brought it back for her—how very kind of you,’ he said smoothly.

‘Kindness had nothing to do it,’ she snapped. ‘It shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’

‘I’ll speak to Jamie,’ Annie said hurriedly. ‘Make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘You keep saying that, and it’s not good enough,’ Mrs Patterson retorted. ‘He’s always leaving his toys lying about, and he was running up and down again this morning. Thump, thump, thump, from seven o’clock onwards. I could rent this flat to anyone, Ms Hart—’

‘Did you advertise this flat as being unsuitable for children?’ Gideon interrupted.

Mrs Patterson stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘When you advertised this flat, did you specifically stipulate it was unsuitable for young children?’ he asked, his voice hard, cold.

‘No, but—’

‘Then so long as Dr Hart pays her rent, I think you should take yourself, and your veiled threats, elsewhere, don’t you?’

Mrs Patterson’s mouth fell open. She turned a quite amazing shade of red, then with a fulminating look at Annie she banged out the door, leaving Annie gazing after her.

‘Well, I think I sorted that out, don’t you?’ Gideon smiled, but to his surprise Annie didn’t look pleased. She looked furious.

‘Sorted it out?’ she repeated. ‘All you’ve done is made things ten times worse!’

‘But—’

‘She’s already on my back twice a day.’

‘Then move out—get somewhere else.’

Her colour changed from fiery red to white, then back to red again. ‘Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a woman with a young child to get affordable rented accommodation in Glasgow?’

‘No, but—’

‘It took me almost six months to find this place—’

‘You should have kept looking.’

She clenched her hands together until her knuckles showed white. ‘OK, that does it. You waltz in here uninvited, sneer at my home—oh, yes, you did,’ she continued as he tried to protest, ‘and then you antagonise my landlady. I think you’ve more than outstayed your welcome, don’t you?’

‘Annie—’

‘Goodbye, Mr Caldwell.’

‘The name’s Gideon,’ he said in exasperation. ‘G-I-D-E-O-N. Good grief, it’s not that hard to pronounce.’

‘And the door is right behind you,’ she said pointedly.

He wondered if he should remind her that he hadn’t had his coffee yet, but one look at her furious face told him it would be a mistake. She’d undoubtedly give it to him all right. Right over his head.

Well, fine, he thought as he strode out the door. If she didn’t want his help, then fine. If she wanted to be intimidated by a harridan landlady, and live with her son in a depressing flat, then that was fine, too. He washed his hands of her.

He had better things to do than worry about a girl with corn-coloured curls and large blue eyes who probably had to lug heavy shopping bags up that steep hill every week. Much better things. And if he couldn’t think of a single thing at the moment, he sure as heck soon would.




CHAPTER THREE (#u22337ca9-cbb9-5fb2-804f-64e0d55aa8f6)


SYLVIA RENTON stirred uncomfortably in her bed and sighed as Annie took her blood pressure.

‘You know, doctor, the ironic thing is I always wanted a baby. Even when I was a child, I pictured myself married with a baby of my own, but I never thought it would be like this. I expected to have a little morning sickness—all pregnant women do—but I never thought I’d still be throwing up at seven months.’

‘Most women aren’t,’ Annie said sympathetically. ‘Morning sickness—or Hyperemesis gravidarum to give it its proper medical name—normally stops after twelve to fourteen weeks.’

‘Then why hasn’t it stopped for me?’ the patient protested. ‘I’ve been doing all the right things—eating dry crackers, making sure my meals were small and regular—but still nothing stays down.’

And it showed, Annie thought as she sat down on the edge of Sylvia’s bed. Not only was the woman’s weight gain far too low for a seven-month pregnancy, she was in real danger of becoming dehydrated, which was why Gideon had hospitalised her.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know why you’ve been affected like this,’ Annie said. ‘Some experts think it’s because the placenta is producing very high levels of a hormone called chorionic gonadotrophin. Others believe the baby itself could be raising your oestrogen levels. The only thing we know for certain is that it tends to be more common in women carrying twins or triplets.’

‘Mr Caldwell’s done all the tests, and I’m only carrying one.’

‘I know.’ Annie nodded. ‘Which seems to suggest you’re just one of nature’s unlucky ones.’

Tears welled in Sylvia’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to be one of nature’s unlucky ones. I want you to do something—give me something—to make me feel better. I’m only twenty-four, but I feel a hundred and four.’

‘Sylvia—’

‘My husband said that if you give me drugs it might be harmful to the baby, but do you know something, Dr Hart? Right now I don’t give a damn about side-effects. Right now I don’t give a damn about anything—including this baby. All I want is for you to stop me feeling so awful all the time.’

It was an understandable request, Annie thought as she walked slowly back down the ward. OK, so the actuality of being pregnant rarely mirrored the glossy pictures in the mums-and-babies magazines, but to be constantly sick for seven months, then hospitalised, and having to exist solely on electrolyte replacement and enriched fluids through an IV line couldn’t be much fun.

‘Any word of when I’m going to get something to eat, Doctor?’ Kay Wilson shouted from her bed by the window. ‘Giving birth is hard work, you know.’

Annie smiled back. ‘Sorry, but it’s nil by mouth for you for the rest of the day. We want to find out if the high levels of sugar which appeared in your urine when you were pregnant have disappeared now you’ve given birth, or whether they’re still there.’

‘You mean I’m not even going to get a cup of tea?’ Kay protested. ‘Doctor, I’ll fade away.’

It was highly unlikely, Annie thought with a wry, inward chuckle. By any definition Kay was a seriously big girl.

‘Hey, look on the bright side,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Think how wonderful food is going to taste when you finally get it.’

‘I’d far rather taste it now than think about it,’ Kay complained, and Annie laughed, but her laughter died as she glanced back down the ward at Sylvia.

She hadn’t heard the girl laugh once since she’d been admitted, but what was even more worrying was that she was clearly starting to resent her baby. If the resentment continued after the child was born…

‘Problems?’ Helen asked, seeing her lost in thought.

‘It’s Mrs Renton,’ Annie replied. ‘She’s feeling really wretched, and I can’t say I blame her. Seven months of morning sickness would depress anyone.’

‘The trouble is, we’ve got to balance the benefits of giving her drugs to stop the sickness against the possible damaging side-effects to the baby,’ Helen replied. ‘The last thing we want is a repetition of the thalidomide disaster.’

Annie nodded. There wasn’t a doctor in the UK who didn’t know about that particular catastrophe, when pregnant women had given birth to babies with stunted and deformed limbs after they’d been treated for hyperemesis gravidarum.

‘Something wrong?’ Gideon asked, glancing from Helen’s pensive face to Annie’s worried one as he joined them.

‘It’s Sylvia Renton,’ Helen replied. ‘Annie thinks she’s getting very low psychologically.’

Gideon bit his lip and frowned. ‘I’ve been half expecting this, but…How often does her husband visit?’

‘Every day,’ Annie answered, ‘but she scarcely says more than two words to him.’

Gideon’s frown deepened. ‘How do you get on with her?’

‘Me? OK, I guess,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I mean, we talk a bit, and I think she likes me—’

‘Good. Keep on talking to her. Give her as much emotional support as you can. It looks as though I’ll have to perform a Caesarean eventually but I’d like to wait as long as possible to give the baby the best chance of survival.’

‘Do you want me to report to you if I think there’s any further deterioration in her mental condition?’ she asked, and Gideon shook his head.

‘If you tell either Helen or Tom, that will be fine.’

Well, what had she expected? Annie thought as he walked away. Considering she’d all but thrown him out of her flat last week, she could hardly expect him to want to spend any time in her company now.

Which was just fine. After all, it wasn’t as though she wanted to spend time with him. A simple boss and junior doctor relationship suited her just perfectly. It did. And if she found herself missing the smiles he’d greeted her with before, well, that was just plain stupid.

‘Gideon’s a very decent bloke, you know.’

Helen was gazing at her thoughtfully, and Annie said nothing. She thought plenty. She thought of telling the SHO that decent blokes didn’t waltz into people’s houses uninvited. Decent blokes didn’t interfere where they had no business to interfere. But she said nothing.

‘He met his wife at the Belfield,’ Helen continued, as she led the way into the staffroom and switched on the kettle. ‘Susan was an SHO in Paediatrics, and he was a specialist registrar in Obs and Gynae. He was absolutely devastated when she died. In fact, there was a time when Tom and I really thought he might not make it through.’

‘Did you?’ Annie murmured noncommittally, wondering why on earth the SHO was telling her all this.

‘He desperately needs someone in his life again,’ Helen commented, spooning some coffee into two mugs, ‘but the trouble is, he’s got right out of the habit of talking to women. Oh, he’s great with our female patients, but in a personal situation…’ She shook her head. ‘He puts himself down too much, and I don’t think he realises how attractive he is.’

And I still don’t know why you’re telling me this, Annie thought, accepting the mug Helen was holding out to her. It’s none of my business. If Gideon can’t string more than two words together when he’s alone with a woman, it would still be none of my business.

Neither was he attractive. OK, so he had a nice face and a nice smile, but he wasn’t attractive. Nick had been attractive. Actually, Nick had been totally gorgeous. And fickle, and disloyal, and a louse.

‘Annie, the very girl I’m looking for.’ Liz beamed, bouncing into the staffroom. ‘I just happen to have a few tickets left for the St Valentine’s Ball a week on Friday—’

‘A few?’ Annie exclaimed, her eyes widening at the bundle Liz had produced from her pocket. ‘Good grief, it’s not exactly the hottest date in town, is it?’

Liz grimaced. ‘OK, so you’ve rumbled me. These tickets are proving harder to shift than Mrs Gill’s constipation, and I can’t understand it. When we first suggested throwing a ball for Valentine’s Day everybody was all for it, but now…’

‘I’ll buy two tickets from you,’ Helen said, extracting her purse from her handbag. ‘Tom and I haven’t been to a dance for ages.’

A slight flush of colour appeared on Liz’s plump cheeks. ‘I…I understood from your husband that you and he had plans for that night, Dr Fraser.’




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