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‘The only other option,’ Eliot said tonelessly, ‘is for me to be in the same position as Ryan’s mum. Married. So I can offer Ryan the same kind of stable home, with two parents.’
Why did the idea of Eliot marrying someone else make her feel as if someone were dissecting her heart with a rusty knife?
‘…completely mad.’
‘What?’ She’d missed most of what he’d just said.
‘I said, at three o’clock this morning I thought of the perfect solution, but it was completely mad. You’ll say no, so there’s no point in asking.’
‘No to what?’ she asked, mystified.
‘Marrying me.’
No down-on-one-knee, no declaration of love, no nothing. He didn’t even look as if he was saying something out of the ordinary. No, he probably hadn’t even said that. It had been a mixture of wishful thinking and—
She blinked, hoping to clear her head. ‘Did you just ask me to marry you?’
Kate Hardy
www.millsandboon.co.uk
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER ONE
‘IF I wasn’t just back from honeymoon, I’d be tempted,’ Tilly said with a grin. ‘Eliot Slater is very easy on the eye.’
‘Oh, puh-lease.’ Claire rolled her eyes in response. ‘Yes, he’s nice enough. He’s good with the parents.’ And, yes, he was easy on the eye—fair Celtic skin teamed with dark hair and eyes the colour of peridot. ‘But at the end of the day he’s like every other locum and leaves dead on the dot.’
‘And so does every other medic with any sense,’ Tilly pointed out. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly—just because you’re a workaholic and spend every second you can on the ward, Claire Thurman, it doesn’t mean everyone else has to. He’s probably got a life, that’s all.’
‘I’m not a workaholic. I just happen to like my job. Anyway, I go out with the rest of you, don’t I?’
‘Only because you know I’d nag you if you didn’t,’ Tilly said. ‘Seriously, I know he’s a couple of years younger than you, but maybe a toyboy would do you good.’
Claire laughed. ‘Tills, I know you’re blissfully married, but not everyone wants the same as you do. So don’t get any of your matchmaking ideas, will you?’
‘Me?’ the nurse practitioner deadpanned.
‘Yeah, you, Tilly Mortimer. Like the last time you begged me to go to the theatre with you because Matt didn’t like Shakespeare, and you’d already bought the tickets. Except when I turned up, you weren’t sitting next to me.’
‘It was worth a try. And Robin was a nice bloke.’
‘And desperate to get married and have babies. You know that’s not for me.’ If Claire told the lie often enough, maybe she’d end up believing it.
‘You’re a paediatrician—a neonatal specialist, to be precise, so don’t you dare tell me you hate babies.’
‘I don’t. I just don’t want my own.’ Another lie. But, thanks to her ex-husband Paddy kissing more than just the Blarney Stone, Claire couldn’t have children of her own, something she hadn’t admitted even to her closest friends. Everyone simply thought she’d divorced Padraig O’Neill for adultery and had picked up the pieces of her life, and was happy concentrating on her career. And she was happy to let them think it.
But today Claire had received a letter from Brigid, her ex-mother-in-law, who still stayed in touch. One of Brigid’s warm, happy, chatty letters that usually made Claire smile and pick up the phone. Except this one had contained some news Claire really hadn’t wanted to hear—that Paddy had just had a son. Padraig O’Neill junior, a beautiful bouncing nine pounds and with his father’s curly dark hair and gorgeous smile.
A son that should have been hers.
A son she’d never have, thanks to her ex-husband.
Claire pushed the thought away. No point in dwelling on might-have-beens. She had to look to the future, not the past. A future with herself as consultant. Senior consultant. Professor of neonatology. That was enough.
It had to be.
‘Anyway, he’s probably already spoken for.’
‘You mean, you don’t know?’ Tilly raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t it in his file?’
‘I was more interested in his work,’ Claire said wryly. ‘And I’m staying happily single at least until I’ve got a consultant’s post, thank you very much.’
‘Firstly, he doesn’t look married. Secondly, you’re practically consultant now—you’re acting consultant, and that’s near enough in my book. You just need to meet Mr Right. Or Dr Right.’
Claire smiled. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine and dandy on my own, Tills. I don’t need any complications.’
* * *
Eliot had been about to go to the nurses’ station when he’d heard his name mentioned and decided it probably wasn’t a good time to interrupt. Now, standing in the corridor and hearing Claire’s scathing comment, he gritted his teeth. Like every other locum...leaves dead on the dot. That really wasn’t fair. He’d been working at Ludbury Memorial Hospital for a week and he gave his all when he was in the neonatal unit. But he couldn’t blindly disregard his working hours. It wasn’t because he was lazy or didn’t want to work a single second more than he was paid for, as Claire had implied. It was simply that he knew if his timekeeping wasn’t perfect, Fran would leave and everything would collapse around his ears.
He’d become a locum five years ago so he could walk away when he needed to, without letting the team down. But the senior registrar clearly thought he was a lightweight. Eliot burned with the injustice of it. Though if he explained to her now, he’d feel he was pressing the point too hard. Or, worse, whining for sympathy. And didn’t they say that eavesdroppers never heard any good of themselves?
He took a deep breath and walked round to the nurses’ station.
‘Dr Slater.’ Claire gave him a very professional smile. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve just updated the notes on Becky Poole if you want to review the file, Dr Thurman,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ She took the proffered file. ‘You’re due a break, aren’t you?’
That comment about locums still rankled: no way was he going to go off duty for even a second before his shift ended. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said.
‘Actually, it does,’ Claire said, surprising him. ‘The special care baby unit’s a high-pressure environment, so you need regular breaks to recharge your batteries.’ She gave him a half-smile that made his heart rate speed up a notch. ‘I don’t crack the whip that hard on my staff.’
‘Regular dragon is our Claire,’ Tilly said with a grin.
Claire pulled a face at her. ‘Yeah, right. I have a patient to see. Catch you later.’
‘Her bark’s worse than her bite,’ Tilly told Eliot.
‘I didn’t think dragons barked,’ Eliot said drily.
Tilly chuckled. ‘This one does. Seriously, Eliot, don’t take any notice if she growls at you. Claire’s great. She backs her staff to the hilt—no politics where she’s concerned, because the patients come first, last and always. So how long are you with us?’
‘Until Kelly comes back,’ he said, referring to the doctor he was filling in for while she was on maternity leave. Unless...But no. He wasn’t going to tempt fate and think up problems. Be positive, he told himself. Fran was going to stay and Ryan was going to be just fine.
* * *
Some time later, Eliot was called down to the maternity ward to look at one of the newborns. ‘I’m not happy about this little one,’ Shannon told him. ‘Ricky Peters—he’s twenty hours old, a thirty-seven-weeker, weight a shade under six pounds. He’s his mum’s first baby. No problems in the pregnancy, though she had a bit of a long labour and she needed a ventouse at the end.’
‘What was his Apgar score?’ Eliot asked. The Apgar score was a way of classifying the baby’s condition one minute and five minutes after birth—relating to the baby’s breathing, heart rate, colour, muscle tone and reaction to stimulation. A high score usually meant that the baby would be fine.
‘Six, at five minutes,’ Shannon said.
Not quite as good as Eliot had hoped—he’d really wanted a nine or ten—but not that bad either. ‘What are his symptoms?’ Eliot asked.
‘That’s just it. I can’t put my finger on it—I just know that something isn’t right. He’s a bit sleepy, which I know you’d expect in an early baby, but he’s not feeding as well as he was earlier.’
Shannon’s badge proclaimed she was a senior midwife. Eliot decided to trust her instincts.
‘Mum’s temperature is up a bit, too,’ Shannon said.
A bell rang in the back of Eliot’s head. Maternal fever...‘Did she have group B strep during pregnancy?’ he asked.
Shannon looked through the notes. ‘She wasn’t tested, according to this.’
And even if she had been, Eliot knew that the test was unreliable, with a fifty per cent false negative result. ‘Let’s have a look at him,’ Eliot said.
Shannon introduced him to Leona Peters, and Eliot duly admired the baby. ‘Well done, you. He’s gorgeous,’ he said, cuddling the baby.
‘My hubby says he looks like a Martian with that pointed head,’ Leona said wryly.
‘So do all ventouse babies—but it doesn’t last. His head’ll be back to normal before you know it,’ Eliot reassured her. ‘Right, then, little one, let’s see how you’re doing.’ The baby’s heart rate was a bit on the high side for Eliot’s liking, and the baby was breathing fast and ‘grunting’ slightly. Ricky was also slightly irritable during the examination, and the warning bell in the back of Eliot’s head grew stronger.
‘I’d like to do a few tests, Mrs Peters—just to rule out a couple of things that might be brewing,’ he said. ‘I’d like to take him up to my ward—the neonatal unit—to warm him up a bit.’
Leona looked alarmed. ‘Special Care, you mean? How long will he be there?’
‘It shouldn’t be too long. And you’re very welcome to come with him,’ Eliot said. He knew it was the ward policy to encourage bonding between parents and babies.
She nodded. ‘I wondered if he was coming down with a cold. I feel a bit groggy at the moment, and there’s been a filthy summer cold going round at home.’
‘Could be.’ It could also be something a lot more serious, but Eliot decided not to worry her just yet. ‘If it is a virus, it’d be handy to know what it is, so I’ll ask Shannon to do a couple of tests on you before you come up, if that’s all right.’
He wrapped the baby gently in a blanket. ‘Have you got a spare hat, Shannon, and some oxygen to keep him going until I’m upstairs? And could you ring up to Tilly to tell her to expect us?’
‘Sure.’ Shannon returned a couple of minutes later with the oxygen and a hat. ‘Could I ask you to give Mrs Peters a swab, please?’ he asked. Roughly one in a thousand babies were born with a group B streptococcal infection, and the numbers were increasing. He lowered his voice slightly. ‘I’m a bit concerned about GBS, so I’d like a high vaginal swab, please.’
‘Rightio,’ Shannon said. ‘I’ll bring Leona up to you when we’ve finished down here.’
‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her and took Ricky up to the neonatal unit.
‘Tilly said you had a suspected GBS,’ Claire said, coming over to the cubicle just as Eliot settled the baby into the cot.
Eliot nodded. ‘He’s lethargic, he’s not feeding properly—even though the first couple of times at the breast were fine—his heart rate’s a bit on the high side, he’s grunting and his temperature’s up. I know it could be RDS—’ RDS, or respiratory distress syndrome, was common in early babies ‘—but at this stage it’s too early to tell if it’s that or something else. The mum’s got a temperature, too.’
‘What’s his blood pressure?’
Eliot checked. ‘Low. And his breathing’s fast. I’ve asked Shannon on Maternity to give the mum a swab for group B strep—there weren’t any indications in the notes.’
‘Three out of ten pregnant women have group B strep without any symptoms, and the only reliable test is the enrichment culture method—which isn’t widely available,’ Claire said. ‘So if there weren’t any indications to give her antibiotics in labour, the baby could have picked it up as he came through the birth canal. I take it that it was a normal delivery, not a section?’
‘Ventouse,’ Eliot said. ‘So I don’t want to take any chances. If it is group B strep, time isn’t on our side. I’ll get bloods done, a lumbar puncture and an X-ray, but I don’t want to wait for a culture. I think we should start him on antibiotics now. Penicillin for group B strep and gentamycin in case it’s pneumococcus.’
Claire nodded. Sepsis could suddenly become overwhelming in tiny babies, and if the sepsis was untreated there was a fifty per cent risk of the baby dying. If the lumbar puncture results were clear, they could discontinue antibiotics in forty-eight hours. ‘We need to keep a really close eye on him in the next two days in case it turns into pneumonia or meningitis. Is the mum coming up?’
‘When she’s had her swab.’
‘Good. Do you want me to talk to her about the possibility of group B strep?’ Claire asked.
‘No, I’ll do it,’ Eliot said. ‘But if you’re offering...’
‘You want me to do the lumbar puncture?’ Claire guessed.
He nodded. ‘I really hate doing them.’
Claire brushed the backs of her fingers against the baby’s cheek. ‘I’ll try not to hurt you, little one. I’ll get the pack while you sort out the bloods,’ she said.
Weird, Eliot thought as he took the blood samples and labelled them carefully. Although he’d spent a week on the ward, it felt as if they’d worked together for years. It was as if she could read his mind. Or maybe it was just as Tilly had said: Claire was a good doctor. She knew her job so well that of course she could second-guess everything he was going to say. Just as she would with any other SHO.
‘Can you hold him in position for me?’ Claire asked.
‘Sure.’ Gently, Eliot manoeuvred the baby into position.
‘Thanks.’ Claire counted down to the space between the third and fourth vertebrae and cleaned the area thoroughly. Then she gave the baby a local anaesthetic, waited a couple of minutes for the lignocaine to numb his back, then took the sample of cerebrospinal fluid. ‘All done, littlie,’ she said softly to the baby. She capped the needle and put a fresh sterile swab over the puncture, pressing on the area to stop the flow of fluid, then applied a spray dressing.
‘There you go,’ she said, stroking the baby’s arm. ‘We’ll have your mum up to see you any second now. And Eliot’s going to sort out your temperature and make it easier for you to breathe.’
She’d used his first name almost unconsciously, and Eliot was shocked by the pleasure that glowed through him. No. He couldn’t start thinking like that about Claire Thurman. She might be single, but nothing could happen between them. Number one, she was his boss. Number two, and most importantly, he had to put Ryan first. Number three, Claire had made it very clear she wasn’t looking for marriage and babies—if she didn’t want her own child, she certainly wouldn’t want to take on someone else’s.
This relationship was going to be professional only, he told himself. And he wasn’t going to start thinking about her chestnut hair, how it might look if he loosened it from the stern French pleat and let it run through his fingers. He wasn’t going to start thinking about what colour her dark eyes would be when she’d just been kissed. And he definitely wasn’t going to start thinking about her beautifully shaped mouth...
‘So you’ll explain to the mum that we’re going to feed him through a line?’
Eliot pulled himself together with difficulty. ‘And that if it is group B strep, he’ll need to be in for ten days or so.’
‘Right. I’ll get this lot off to the lab, then.’ She swiftly measured six drops of spinal fluid into three sample bottles and labelled them.
Just as Claire was about to leave, Shannon Hooper brought Leona Peters up in a wheelchair.
‘Is he all right?’ Leona asked, visibly panicking.
‘He’ll be fine. He’s having a bit of a rough ride at the moment, but we’re keeping him comfortable while we find out what the bug is,’ Claire said. ‘I’m Claire Thurman, the senior registrar on the neonatal unit. I believe you’ve already met Dr Slater, who’s looking after Ricky for you.’
‘Yes.’ Leona’s face was pinched with strain.
‘It can be a bit scary up here, with all the wires and equipment,’ Claire said, ‘but try not to worry. It’s there so we can make sure he gets enough oxygen and his temperature’s under control. I’m taking these samples off to the lab, and Dr Slater will tell you more about what’s happening.’
Eliot smiled reassuringly at Leona. ‘We think he might have something called group B streptococcus. It’s a bacterium that lives in just about everyone’s body at some point, usually without any effects, but babies can’t cope very well with it—especially if they’re a bit early. We’ve put Ricky on some antibiotics, and he’s going to find it very hard to feed for the next day or so—he’ll be tired because he’s found it a bit difficult to breathe—but we’re going to give him some food through a line in his arm until he’s up to feeding again, and he’ll be able to take some breast milk from you later.’
‘Can I touch him?’ Leona asked.
‘Of course you can. Hold his hand, stroke him, talk to him—he’ll know you’re here and it will help him.’
‘How long will he be in here?’
‘It depends how he responds to the antibiotics,’ Eliot said. ‘Probably ten days or so.’ Unless there was a complication such as meningitis, when it would be another three or four days. ‘It’s probably best to take it day by day for now.’
‘Is he going to die?’ Leona asked, her face crumpling.
‘We’ve caught the bug early, so he’s got a much better chance than if we’d left it,’ Eliot said. ‘There’s a ninety per cent chance he’ll be fine. Those are pretty good odds.’ Though it still meant there was a ten per cent chance they might lose him...‘How are you feeling?’
‘Rotten,’ she admitted. ‘I thought when you had a baby it was like being a bride—you’re meant to be all sparkling and happy and radiant. But...’ She shook her head. ‘All this. It just doesn’t seem real.’
‘Hey. Don’t be too tough on yourself. Having a baby’s hard work. What they don’t tell you is that afterwards you just feel shattered and want a good sleep. Plus your hormones are settling down and your milk’s coming in, so you’ll feel all over the place for a couple of days. Trust me. This time next week, you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Though it hadn’t quite worked like that for Malandra. He suppressed the thought rapidly. Hopefully Ricky wouldn’t have to go through what Ryan had five years ago.
Leona gave him a watery smile. ‘Maybe.’
‘Hey. Come and give your son a cuddle—that’ll help you feel better.’ He wheeled Leona next to the incubator. ‘Put your hand through the porthole here and let him hold your finger.’
‘He’s holding on,’ Leona said, sounding amazed.
‘We’re keeping a close eye on him, and all these machines are just helping us check his temperature, how much oxygen is in his blood, how fast his heart’s beating and how fast he’s breathing. I’ll introduce you to the nurse who’ll be looking after him on this shift,’ Eliot said, ‘and she’ll be able to tell you where the phone is, where the vending machine is and that sort of thing.’
‘Intensive care. It sounds so...’ Leona’s face crumpled; she covered her face with her hands and started to sob.
‘It sounds scary, I know, but he’s in the best possible hands,’ Eliot soothed. ‘Try not to worry. Really. We know how precious he is to you, and we’ll take the best possible care of him.’
Leona sobbed harder, and Eliot patted her shoulder, wishing he could comfort her and knowing that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late and...
Hell. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. This was definitely one of those days when he wished he’d suppressed his love of medicine and found himself a nice steady administrative job somewhere, where his hours would be regular and he could take work home to make up for not staying late at the office.
* * *
If only Tilly hadn’t said it. Easy on the eye...Maybe a toyboy would do you good...
No. Claire was going to stick to her plan: no relationships until she made consultant. And then whoever she married would have to accept that her career came first and children wouldn’t even be an issue.
And yet...Damn. She kept seeing Eliot Slater in her mind’s eye. The kindness on his face as he explained procedures to a distraught parent. The gentleness in his eyes as he treated a tiny baby. Worse, her mind supplied other images. His pupils widening as he looked at her. Those beautiful green eyes darkening with passion. His mouth parting as it lowered to—
No. This wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she have had a female locum? Or a man who was silver-haired, the favourite-uncle type? But, no, she got a man two years younger than she was, with film-star good looks. Dark curly hair that he kept cut short and tamed for work, fair skin, beautiful green eyes and a mouth that promised a mixture of passion and vulnerability.
But, as she’d said to Tilly, Eliot Slater was probably already involved. She couldn’t remember what it had said on his file, but even if he wasn’t spoken for, she had a feeling that Eliot had his own ghosts to deal with. According to his résumé, he was thirty. By now, she’d have expected him to be a registrar. But he was still a senior house officer, and he worked as a locum. A locum who only did day shifts. Maybe he was looking after an elderly parent and had to fit in work around day care?
But that was none of her business. She wasn’t going to get involved. All she had to worry about was whether Eliot Slater did his job properly. And so far he was doing just fine. He’d picked up a case of potential sepsis—and as they’d caught it early enough, little Ricky Peters stood a good chance.
* * *
Eventually Leona stopped crying, and Eliot mopped up her tears and called her husband to explain the news. He was just about to leave the ward when he heard Claire’s voice. ‘Can I have a quick word, Dr Slater?’
As long as it was quick. ‘Sure,’ he said, willing himself not to look at his watch.
‘I just wanted to say thanks. You did a good job with Ricky Peters,’ Claire said.
Praise indeed from Claire Thurman...but her face said the rest of it for her.
Eliot couldn’t stop himself. ‘For a locum, you mean.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’
‘I overheard you talking to Tilly earlier.’
‘Oh.’ Her face was impassive. ‘Well, you do leave dead on the dot. And you don’t do nights.’
He nearly said, ‘Locum’s privilege,’ but stopped himself just in time. He needed Claire on his side, not against him. ‘I’m committed to my job, Dr Thurman. While I’m on duty, I’ll give a hundred per cent. But I can’t work longer hours, for personal reasons.’
Claire waited, as if giving him time to explain, but Eliot had no intention of doing that. He didn’t want pity from anyone. And he particularly didn’t want pity from Claire.
Though he wouldn’t allow himself to speculate about what exactly he did want from her. It was way too dangerous.
‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, and walked out of the door.