The Surgeon's Miracle (3 page)

‘OK. Thanks for the lunch. What do I owe you?’

He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Nothing. You can get them next time.’

Next time?

He headed off to PICU, and she followed him out of the office, pulling herself together and trying not to think about next time. She was having enough trouble dealing with this time!

She went into the boys’ bay to sort the bed out, and stood there for a moment considering the situation. There were six of them—Lucas, and Rajesh, another boy of the same age who’d had an open fracture of his right forearm which had been fixed and plated that morning. He wouldn’t be there long. Then there was Joel, a boy of fifteen who’d fallen through the roof of the conservatory climbing out of the window above when he’d been grounded; he’d suffered multiple fractures and so was now well and truly grounded until the casts on both arms and the halo frame stabilising his neck could be removed.

Then there were Christopher and Jonathan, twin brothers who’d fallen out of a tree when a branch had snapped, and broken three legs and one arm between them. She’d like to keep them together for company. And Nico, with repaired ligaments in his ankle. He’d been cleared for discharge and was waiting to go, so she moved him into a chair to wait for his parents, and as she and the health care assistant finished remaking the bed, Michael arrived in a wheelchair with his long-suffering and patient father.

‘Hi, there,’ she said, going out and introducing herself
with a smile. ‘I’m Libby Tate, the ward sister, and you must be Michael. We’re expecting you. Come on through, I’ll show you to your bed.’

She’d put him between Lucas and Joel, the boy who’d fallen through the conservatory roof, and by the time he was settled against the pillows the banter had started. Good. He’d be fine, and a welcome distraction for Lucas and Joel.

She put the clipboard with his charts on the end of the bed and smiled at the boy and his father. ‘Right, I’m off duty now, Michael, but the anaesthetist will be round to see you soon and Mr Langham-Jones is taking you down to Theatre in a while—he’ll be up to see you afterwards to tell you how it went, and I’ll be on in the morning so I’ll catch up with you then. The others will look after you, won’t you, boys?’ she said to them all with a smile, and as soon as she’d handed over, she grabbed her coat and went out to her car, wondering if it was her imagination or if there was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there earlier.

Yup. Definite spring, and she felt ridiculously lighthearted. Silly. It was a no-strings, pretend date. Not really a date at all. Her heart really shouldn’t be getting excited.

But it was…

T
HE
dress was gorgeous, shot with navy and olive green so it looked like the sea on a stormy day, the colours changing as the light caught it, and by the time Amy had poured her into the dress, hitched up the front a little for decency and scooped her hair into a knot and put a necklace round her throat, no amount of reasoning with her pulse was going to make a blind bit of difference.

Amy stood back and stared at her, and shook her head slowly. ‘Wow.’

‘D’you think?’ Libby hitched the front up again and had her hand slapped for her pains.

‘Leave it. You’ve got gorgeous boobs, be proud of them. Stick them out and hold your head up—that’s better. Fabulous. You’ll knock them all dead.’

‘Knock them out, more like,’ she said, shuffling her bra—clearly no room for a minimiser in there with that neckline!—and biting her lip. ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’

But Amy just rolled her eyes and draped an exquisite oyster-pink silk and cashmere pashmina around her shoulders. ‘There. You can always cover your cleavage with this if it worries you. Don’t lose it, it cost a fortune and it’s my only real extravagance. And you can wear it tomorrow with the black. Let me see you in it?’

So Libby changed into her dearly loved and classic little black dress, the high scoop neck and on-the-knee hemline much more demure and discreet. The back dipped to a V just above her bra strap, and there was a tiny kick-pleat at the back to allow for movement, and she loved it. It was elegant, sophisticated and timeless—which was just as well because she’d had it for three years now and by her reckoning it still owed her a substantial amount of money. It was, however, a little more snug than it had been before Christmas, and she sucked in her stomach and sighed.

‘You’ve given me too much to eat,’ she said. ‘Or I have, for weeks and weeks. It’s too tight.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Amy said, standing back and eyeing her critically. ‘Very demure. Very sexy.’

‘It’s not meant to be sexy,’ she said, her eyes widening. ‘It’s meant to be respectable!’

‘It’s perfectly respectable.’

She gave up, not entirely reassured, but her time and her options were dwindling by the minute. ‘Good. Can I go now? I’ve got to get my jeans dry somehow so I can pack them in the morning. Apparently we’re leaving at six and I don’t finish work till five tomorrow, so I’ve got to wash my hair and pack tonight—all except for the things still in the washing machine. Oh, why aren’t I better organised? I really wanted my nice cream jumper but it won’t be dry, it takes ages.’

‘I’ve got a jumper you can borrow,’ Amy said, rummaging in her chest of drawers and pulling out a couple of clingy little scraps.

‘It’s only just April! I meant a
jumper
, Amy, not a second skin!’

‘You’ll be fine. Here. Take them anyway, they’ll suit you. You can always wear your coat if you’re cold.’

‘In the house?’

‘They’re bound to have heating, you’ll be fine. Go on, scoot. You’ve got things to do and you need a good night’s sleep or you’ll have bags under your eyes.’

Not a chance, she thought. There was no way she’d sleep. She was getting ridiculously excited, and when she walked onto the ward the next morning Andrew was there, lounging against the nursing station and chatting to Lucas’s parents. He looked up and met her eyes and smiled, and her heart turned over in her chest.

Ridiculously
excited, she told herself, trying not to grin like an idiot, and she went to find the staff nurse to do handover and made a futile attempt to ignore his presence.

Andrew watched her turn away and busy herself, and resisted the temptation to cut the conversation short. Despite their encouragement and constant support of Lucas, his parents were naturally worried about their son, and he took the time to reassure them yet again before he gave in to the need to speak to Libby.

She was at the nurses’ station in the middle, talking to the staff nurse who’d been on since seven, and as he excused himself and crossed over to her she looked up, her smile lighting up her face and warming him like sunshine. He propped his arms on the counter and smiled back at her, glad it was between them because he was having trouble resisting the unexpected urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her.

Not a good move. He cleared his throat slightly.

‘Hi, there.’

‘Hi. How’s things?’ she asked, her voice music to his ears. ‘I hear Jacob’s improving. How did you get on with Michael?’

‘OK. It was absolutely straightforward. He can go home today once the physio’s got him up on crutches. I’ll see him in the fracture clinic next week for follow-up, but he should be fine. He was lucky.’

‘He was an idiot,’ she reminded him drily, and he chuckled.

‘True. And Jacob’s looking good, considering, so I should be able to get away reasonably promptly tonight. Are you all set?’ he added softly as the staff nurse turned away to answer the phone.

‘I am. All packed and ready. I washed my hair last night so I should be OK for six. Well, except that I haven’t got your mother a birthday present yet.’

‘You don’t have to do that! Just give her a card. She’ll be overwhelmed with presents and it’s the last thing she’d expect.’

‘Sure?’

‘I’m sure. Anyway, we need to head off as soon as we can. Will you have time to get ready?’

‘I should. Do you want me to change before we go, then, or are we changing there?’

‘Change before we go,’ he advised, trying not to sniff for the scent of apples in her hair. ‘The place’ll be in chaos and it’ll be easier. Tell me your address and I’ll pick you up as soon after six as I can get to you.’

‘Fourteen Elm Grove,’ she said. ‘It’s off Wood Farm Drive, but it’s sort of buried. I can give you directions.’

‘No, I’ll find it. Postcode?’ he asked, keying the information into his BlackBerry, and she gave him the code. ‘OK. The sat-nav should do it, but you’d better give me your phone number in case it fails. It has been known.’

‘Surely not,’ she said with a teasing smile, and he felt a kick in his gut.

No strings? Who was he kidding?

It was going to be an interesting weekend…

The day was chaos.

After she’d seen Michael and his parents to discuss his
discharge, there were several other post-op patients who needed her attention, and of course there was Lucas. He was desperate to show off his new-found skills with the crutches, and as Amy had been up to the ward to equip Michael with his own set and show him how to use them, they were busy competing, the accident clearly not having slowed Michael down at all.

She stopped them before there was another accident, threatened to confiscate the crutches from Lucas, saw Michael off with his paperwork, then had to deal with an IV crisis in a tearful, wriggling three-year-old, and by the time she’d handed over and got away, it was nearly five-thirty. So much for her plans to slip off early!

She raced home, ripped off her uniform and had the quickest shower on record, skimmed the lightest of make-up onto her face, brushed her hair and pulled on her dress as the doorbell rang just after six. She wriggled the zip up and then, grabbing her shoes and evening bag, she ran downstairs and threw open the door, hardly pausing to greet him as she ran back into the living room, hopping on one foot as she put her shoes on on the move.

‘Sorry, I’m on the drag, I couldn’t get away,’ she said breathlessly over her shoulder, then turned and stopped talking, because he was standing there behind her, looking utterly, devastatingly gorgeous in his DJ, the dress shirt with its immaculate black bow-tie blinding white against his skin, his jaw freshly shaved, his hair—damp?

‘Either you have far too much gel in your hair or it’s still wet,’ she pointed out unnecessarily, and he gave a soft grunt of laughter.

‘I showered and changed at the hospital or I wouldn’t be here now,’ he said wryly. ‘I was hoping to get away early, but you know what it’s like. Are you all packed and ready?’

She laughed with him. ‘Sort of. Hang on.’ She rummaged in her case, came up with the perfume and spritzed herself lightly, then threw it back into the case and zipped the lid. ‘Now I’m ready,’ she said with a slightly nervous grin. ‘Will I do, or will I disgrace you?’

She gave a self-conscious twirl, and he ran his eyes over her. ‘No, you won’t disgrace me,’ he said softly with an odd note in his voice. ‘Turn around, your zip’s not quite up.’ And she felt his fingers cool against her heated skin as he pulled the zip up the last half-inch and fastened the hook, then smoothed it with his hand and stepped back.

‘All done,’ he said, and she tugged it straight and turned to pick up her coat.

‘Oh, Kitty!’ she wailed. ‘You rascal—you can see why I wear black,’ she added drily to Andrew, and he chuckled, eased the black cat off her coat, gave it a shake to remove the hair and held it out for her, settling it solicitously on her shoulders, and she wondered if she’d imagined his hands lingering for the tiniest moment.

Her shoulders tingling, she reached for her case, but he was there first, leaving her to scoop up her handbag and keys, then she followed him out of the door.

‘So who feeds the cat while you’re away?’ he asked, opening the car door for her and tucking her coat in.

‘Oh, I’ve got an automatic thingie. I’ve set it.’

‘In which minute?’ he asked with a chuckle, then slid behind the wheel and threw her a smile. ‘You look lovely, by the way,’ he added softly, making her heart hiccup and her insides tighten with anticipation. ‘Much better than the uniform.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t be hard. It’s a bit tight, though. I haven’t worn it since before Christmas—I must have been
staving off the cold a bit too enthusiastically,’ she said with a rueful smile, but he shook his head.

‘It’s perfect. You look very convincing.’

Convincing. Of course. That was what this was all about, and she’d better not forget it. He’d only invited her as an afterthought, and she needed to keep that in mind. This was not, repeat not, a date. She was there to be convincing, and so convincing she’d be. End of. She flashed him a bright smile. ‘Well, that’s a relief! I won’t be pitched out on my ear as a fraud, at least.’

They shared the smile as he started the engine and headed out into the countryside. She had no idea where they were going. Somewhere near Southwold? She’d meant to look it up on the internet to see if she could find the address of the Ashenden pile, as Amy called it, but she simply hadn’t had time. She hadn’t had time to draw breath, really, since yesterday morning, and as she sank back into the soft but supportive leather seat, she realised just how tired she was.

‘All right?’

‘Yes—it’s just been a busy day. Well, busy week, really. I’m glad it’s a sit-down formal dinner, because I don’t think my feet would cope with standing up all evening in these ridiculous heels after a day like today.’

He peered across at the footwell in the dark. ‘Are they ridiculous? I thought they looked rather good.’

He did? ‘Thank you—but looking good and feeling good aren’t the same thing,’ she explained ruefully, and his lips twitched.

‘No, I can imagine. I’ve only worn high heels once, and it was excruciating.’

She shifted in the seat, turning to face him, struggling to hold down her incredulous laughter. ‘You’ve worn high heels?’

He grinned. ‘And a dress. It’s amazing what my brother can persuade me to do for charity,’ he said drily.

That piqued her interest—that and the thought of Andrew in a dress and heels. ‘Any particular one?’

‘Meningococcal disease. He had it as a teenager and could have lost his limbs, but he was lucky and he’s very aware of that, so now he fundraises for research—well, the whole family do, he makes sure of it. The house and gardens are open to the public alternate weekends during the summer and they hold events in the park and split the proceeds between the charities and the estate.’

‘Gosh, that sounds like a lot of hard work.’

‘It is. Will’s the estate manager, so he just incorporates it into his workload, and Mum oversees the garden and the house, but it’s pretty much a full-time job for them keeping the place ticking over. And one day it’ll be my job.’

She detected a note of resignation in his voice and tipped her head on one side enquiringly. ‘You don’t sound thrilled.’

He laughed. ‘I’m not. I have a job, in case you haven’t noticed, but I’m the oldest, so I get the short straw. Not for a while, though. Dad’s only sixty-three and he’s as fit as a flea, so between them hopefully they’ll struggle on for a good few years yet.’

‘I take it your brother will be there this weekend?’

‘Will? Oh, yes. And his wife Sally. She’s their events manager at the moment, but she’ll be off for the summer on maternity leave, which should make life interesting.’

‘I’m sure. Will they cope without her?’

He chuckled. ‘I have no idea, but I’m not volunteering, I can assure you. I have quite enough to do.’

‘I imagine you do. Does your brother know you’re bringing me, by the way?’

He turned towards her, and in the dim light she could
see his eyebrow twitch. ‘As in, did I tell him I’m bringing a girl? Yes. Did I mention why? No.’

She smiled at that. ‘Won’t he think it’s odd?’

‘That I have a social life? No. Should he?’

‘No, of course not, but I didn’t mean that.’ She shrugged. ‘I meant—I don’t know—that none of them have ever heard of me. Won’t there be a lot of speculation? Most people wouldn’t turn up for their mother’s sixtieth birthday with a total stranger in tow.’

‘They would if they had my mother,’ he said drily, making her laugh. ‘And anyway, speculation is the general idea, isn’t it?’

‘Probably.’ She rested her head back and looked across at him. ‘Tell me about your mother, I’m sure she can’t be that bad,’ she said, and listened to him talking about his parents and his childhood with great affection. They were obviously a close-knit and loving family, and she envied them that. Her father was dead, her mother was remarried and lived in blissful penury in Ireland with her artist husband, and she and her married elder sister hardly ever spoke. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, but with seven years and several hundred miles between them, they had little in common, and the last time she’d seen her had been at a great-aunt’s funeral a few months ago—a gathering that had opened a potentially devastating can of worms.