Doctor And Son

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,

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

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

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—’